But what had she done? she wondered. Robert had seemed so eager. What changed him? She racked her brain, but could think of no reason.
*
“Coming for breakfast, Robert?” asked Lucius, addressing his friend who was staring moodily out the many-paned library window.
“Hmm? Oh, go ahead without me, Lucius, I find I’m not very hungry this morning.”
Lucius frowned. “Whatever is the matter with you, Robert? You were in high spirits yesterday when you arrived home, but now you look as desolate as a tomb.”
“I am in fine spirits,” snapped Robert. “I’ve no idea why you would think otherwise.”
Ignoring his friend’s barbed comment, Lucius inquired, “I say, does this have anything to do with that rumor the servants are bandying about?”
“What rumor?”
Lucius chuckled. “It’s silly, really. It seems your Lady Clarinda was visiting Lady Lynbury the other day and in the course of the conversation called you a toad. How droll! My valet told me, who got it from the butler, who got it, I surmise, from the Lynbury’s butler. Her exact words, if I can repeat them correctly, were, “I could never love a man like Lord Stormont. How I shall dread sharing his bed! He’s such a — “
“Enough!” Stormont had ground the word out from between clenched teeth. “Get your breakfast. I shall be down later.” Without another word he left the room and proceeded to his bed chamber where he closed the door, dropped into a chair and let his head fall into his hands. Damn the woman! And to think, he had been about to propose. Luckily the cursed web of servants’ gossip had reached him in time, through his valet, who, though red and stuttering with embarrassment, had mustered up the fortitude to tell him the appalling truth.
Toad? How could she have said such a thing? He had thought she felt as he did. Of course, that first kiss had taken her by surprise, giving her no chance for objection. But on the river path that day, had she not come close to falling into his arms? He had certainly thought so. In fact, up until now what woman had not fallen into his arms when given the opportunity?
Stormont strode to his mirror and struck a manly pose, chest out, fists resting on his hips. Not bad. Surely she could not find him repulsive. But then, perhaps she could. “You are an arrogant fool, Stormont,” he said aloud, grimacing at himself. Lesson learned. Jeffrey, Lord Landsdale, might have been a mediocre poet, and only an accidental hero at Trafalgar, but they said love is blind and they were right. Nodcock or no, Jeffrey was first in Lady Clarinda’s heart and likely to remain so.
Very well. This humiliating rejection was all it took for him to realize that in future, he should confine his romantic notions to his London ladybirds. There, for the cost of a few trinkets, he could find all the love needed.
As for Lady Clarinda, just the thought of her…
Robert gave a choked desperate laugh as a raw, primitive grief overwhelmed him. He had lost her. For a brief moment he thought he could not go on. Only for a moment, though. He was nothing if not strong. With luck, he would not see her again, although that was doubtful now that he lived on the adjoining estate. He simply would not think of her — pretend she did not exist.
Stop being an idiot, he informed himself. Of course he would think of her again. These past weeks he had thought of nothing else.
*
That night, Clarinda, trying to hide her anguish, looked around the long, crowded dinner table at Graystone Hall. There were aunts, cousins, grandparents, and other relatives of the Capelles, who had gathered from far and wide for the Yuletide celebration. Mama, actually looking cheerful for a change, remarked, “I do hope it snows tonight. ‘Tis more like Christmas if there is snow on the ground when we bring in the Yule log.”
Mama’s remark reminded Clarinda of all the years past when she, her family, guests and servants, had traipsed merrily into the woods to haul home the log that had been selected months before. It was always a huge one, massive as it could be and still fit into the main salon fireplace. At first, oxen and horses, all draped with garlands of Yuletide greenery, would drag the log from the woods, the whole assembly following, singing carols, shouting, sounding loud horns. But once at the front door, all together would triumphantly push and pull the huge log into the main salon. After it had been settled into the fireplace, and lit ceremoniously from the remnants of last year’s log, there would be music, dancing, a banquet, and many toasts proposed from around the wassail bowl.
What a joyous occasion it had always been! But not this year. Clarinda dreaded tomorrow. She would have to laugh and sing, act as joyous as the rest, while all the time her heart was breaking and she felt nothing but despair. She would hide her true feelings, though. Never would she dream of dampening the family’s holiday spirits.
“Everything all right, Clarinda?” asked Papa from the head of the table. He was gazing at her with concerned eyes.
“Of course, Papa, I am fine.” He had noticed! She was torn between chagrin and gratefulness that Papa, for the first time in weeks, had spoken kindly to her. She had lost Stormont, but if she had regained her father’s love, at least in part, she would be greatly thankful.
From the foot of the table, her mother spoke again. “Oh, by the way, Arthur, I have invited our new neighbor to participate in tomorrow’s festivities.” To the gathered relatives she explained, “Robert, Lord Stormont, has just taken over Hollyridge Manor, which borders Graystone Hall. He is quite the handsome bachelor and wealthy, besides. Of course, I’m only inviting him out of kindness, since he is new, and not yet acquainted with the gentry of the countryside, and yet” — she cast a quick sidelong glance at Rissa — “one cannot overlook the possibilities of an alliance with one of our lovely belles, can one?”
“Mama, please,” admonished Rissa, blushing, though obviously pleased. “You know very well I have plans for another London Season, and yet … well, I do find Lord Stormont attractive.” She turned to Clarinda and pointedly asked, “Don’t you?”
“Indeed,” Clarinda answered. Keeping her voice light had been difficult. She felt sick inside. How could she bear to see Stormont tomorrow, knowing he had spurned her? Tomorrow would be a dreadful day, unless, of course…
Tomorrow would they have a chance to talk? And if they did, could he possibly have some reasonable explanation for his unfathomable behavior?
*
The day dawned bright, clear, and with snow on the ground. Clarinda, for once under no edict to dress like her twin, had chosen to wear a blue cashmere shawl over a plain wool dress, black leather lace-up boots, and warm bonnet.
Soon she was trudging through the snow, surrounded by laughing friends, servants, and family, while she, filled with sadness, fought to keep a smile on her face. It was not easy. Stormont and his friend, Lord Wentridge, had arrived early, both appearing to be in excellent spirits. So far, whether by design or accident, hers and Stormont’s paths had not crossed. He had ignored her completely, and to make matters worse, if that were possible, he was now walking behind the log with Rissa, chatting amiably.
Papa, rosy cheeked from the brisk air, appeared beside her. “You seem a mite downcast,” he remarked after they had walked for a while. “That’s not like my Clarinda.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “It has not exactly been a good year.”
Papa clasped her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. “I know. We’ve been hard on you. Your mother … well, enough of that. Clarinda, I sense you’ve not been happy. Won’t you reconsider marrying Lord Sufton? If you did, I would buy back Donegal, if Stormont agreed. Think how happy your mother would be — all of us, the whole family.”
She cast him a skeptical look. “You mean Mama would forgive me?”
“Leave that to me.”
Marry Larimore? What a depressing thought! How could she? And yet, she felt heartened that Papa had noticed how unhappy she was and was trying to help. Little did he know of how she yearned for Robert Stormont.
From ahead, she heard Stormont’s bo
oming laughter — saw him bend his head in some obviously amiable conversation with Rissa.
Clarinda felt Papa’s warm, comforting hand on her shoulder and wanted to cry.
*
“Oh, Lord Stormont, you are so very droll!” Rissa cried prettily with a flutter of her eyelashes. She knew she looked her best, with her face framed by her fur-lined hood and her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. She looked up at the tall, handsome man walking through the light covering of snow beside her. “Now you must promise to sit next to me at dinner tonight. I shan’t take no for an answer.”
Stormont smiled down at her. “I am honored, Lady Rissa.”
Her heart glowed with satisfaction. Not once today had his eyes sought out Clarinda. “How do you know I am Rissa?” she asked coyly, fluttering her eyelashes once more.
“Rest assured, I know who you are,” he said, in a tone she could not quite fathom. But why worry? Obviously the details of her visit to Lady Lynbury had reached Stormont’s ears. Rissa laughed to herself, thinking of her close call with the necklaces. She had thought Clarinda would not immediately notice, but she had, unluckily before Rissa had a chance to switch the necklaces back. No harm done, though. Honest, high-minded Clarinda was satisfied one of the servants had done it. She would never have guessed the truth in a million years.
*
Later that night, the height of the celebration was reached when everyone gathered around the large wassail bowl. All evening Clarinda had wondered if Stormont might speak to her, but so far, he had not. What could be wrong? she wondered over and over. Why had he seemed so passionate that day on the river path, but now so cold? Finally, as the butler ladled the mixture of ale, cider, and wine sweetened with sugar into the serving cups, hers and Stormont’s gazes locked. He stared at her, eyes like granite, then turned away.
All hope was gone. It’s over, she thought with a sinking heart. Truly over. Disinclined to make a spectacle of herself, she kept a smile pasted on her face, but inside, she felt disconsolate and heartbroken. She needed to get away, far from the gaiety and laughter. When no one was looking, she slipped from the grand salon and hastened to her bed chamber. Estelle was downstairs, celebrating Christmas with the rest of the servants, so she undressed by herself. Untying the back of her dress was awkward, but she managed. Down to her chemise, she unclasped the gold necklace and held it in the palm of her hand. How she hated it — this burdensome symbol of her fettered life as a twin. Quickly she dropped the necklace into her jewelry box. She wished she could get up the courage to tell her parents she would never wear it again. But no, she must try to do their bidding. She felt better about Papa. He had asked her not be rebellious, to reconsider a betrothal to Lord Sufton.
Perhaps she should.
What was left to her otherwise?
To think, only two nights ago she had fallen to sleep dreaming of the wonderful life she could have with Robert, foolish enough to think that yesterday he might even propose. Such folly. She dreaded the thought of marrying Larimore, but if she did, Papa would buy back Donegal. What a wonderful thought! Wonderful, except for the price she would pay, having to live with boring old Larimore the whole rest of her life. But then, having Donegal back just might possibly be worth it.
*
A frigid January went by, too cold and snowy for riding, as was February and at least half of March. Clarinda stayed away from Hollyridge during that time, assured that Pitney and his newly hired staff would take good care of Donegal. She rode Dublin a few times, but with the weather so cold, never stayed outdoors for long. Besides, every time she rode, she thought of Sara Sophia and the rides they used to take, and that made her even sadder.
To her surprise, Stormont visited Graystone Hall a time or two, but she had presumed it was out of politeness to her parents and Rissa, and had stayed in her bed chamber and not come down.
As for Lord Sufton, she could not make up her mind. She would soon be compelled to do so, though. Papa was getting impatient, she could tell.
In the middle of March, a letter from Sara Sophia finally arrived. Clutching it tight, Clarinda took it to the library where a warm fire blazed in the marble fireplace. Settling into the recessed velvet window seat, she opened it.
*
My Dearest Clarinda,
Months have passed since I left Hollyridge Manor, but not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you and fervently hoped that you and your family are well and in good spirits.
As for myself, I am now firmly established as the governess for eight children, ranging in age from six to sixteen. Alas, they are a rambunctious lot, not a one dedicated to serious study. I do try. In all modesty, I feel I have a natural bent for teaching, but what I told you before I left most certainly applies. Since the Lord and Lady of the manor treat me like a servant, and a lowly one at that, how can I expect their offspring to respect me? Suffice to say, they do not. Not a day passes but what I am hard put to keep my patience when one or the other of the children misbehaves, sometimes, I fear, just to goad me. They do so with impunity, for they know that no matter what they do, they will not be punished.
Ah, well, I do not mean to complain and should dwell more on the optimistic. I have a room to myself, thank goodness. It is quite small, dark, and rather on the cold side, but adequate. I take my meals there alone, just as I predicted. Sometimes I think that out of sheer loneliness I would prefer eating with the servants, but Lady Rich would not allow it. She is a stern woman, much on the haughty side, who is a great one for obeying rules and running Rondale Hall strictly by the clock. Meals — lessons — visits, are all scheduled to the minute. There is a set hour for my young lady charges to play the pianoforte. There is a thirty minute period in the evening for all the children to exchange pleasantries with their parents. Otherwise, I must keep them out of sight.
There are extensive stables at Rondale Hall, and many fine horses. Alas, I am not permitted to ride. I am informed my one and only duty is to the children. Further, I am obliged to put all thoughts of my own amusement out of my head.
You will forgive me for not writing sooner, but as I am sure you understand, it is difficult to write when one’s heart is heavy and when one has little of a happy nature to report. Oh, I hate being such a pessimist! But Clarinda, I miss you — and Sham — and Hollyridge so much that each night I cry. And when I think of Lucius, and how I have lost my dear love forever, I see naught but a bleak future ahead. Sometimes black thoughts overtake me in the middle of the night. I see myself growing old here, and dying here, and no one will care. But enough of this self pity. I shall try my best to be cheerful and find a purpose for my life.
Again, please forgive me. I promise my next letter will be more cheery. If it is not, then I shan’t send it! I miss you horribly, dear friend, and yearn for those happy times we spent together that will never come again.
Ever your fondest,
Sara Sophia
*
Clarinda pressed her hand over her eyes as she let her friend’s letter fall to her lap. How could it be that a woman like Sara Sophia, who could light up the room with her tender smile, who was both witty and wise, could be doomed to a life of drudgery and sadness? Talk about injustices in this world!
She gazed through the arched Venetian window, to a dreary gray sky that hung over the winter-barren garden, and was assailed by a terrible sense of bitterness as she watched snowflakes begin to swirl. Sara Sophia did not deserve such a fate. How Clarinda wished she could help somehow, but there was nothing she, or anyone, could do.
Chapter 12
A chilly March gave way to a sunny April bursting with the promise of spring. Clarinda hardly noticed. She was still caught up in a melancholy mood that would not go away. Sara Sophia’s plight lay heavily on her mind. Clarinda had written to her several times, but since that first sad letter, she had not heard from her friend again.
Clarinda’s estrangement from Lord Stormont still hurt so much it was difficult to get through the day without a h
opeless feeling overcoming her. Through gossip, she had learned he was making great progress in his renovation of the neighboring estate, as well as augmenting the stables with the finest thoroughbreds. She yearned to see them but had stayed away, not once returning to Hollyridge Manor since that fateful day he had not kept their rendezvous. Though she missed Donegal dreadfully, she had her pride. Nothing she could imagine could drag her back to the stables at Hollyridge.
As yet, Clarinda had made no decision about marrying Larimore, although not a day passed that Mama didn’t plague her. Now, part of her day was taken up with riding Dublin. Sometimes she took Alexander along, when he wasn’t sick. He adored riding Captain, his Shetland pony. The two would have great fun riding the many paths around Graystone Hall, but only the paths that led nowhere near Hollyridge Manor.
At first, she feared her parents would object to her riding any horse, but Mama scarcely noticed, she was so taken up in getting Rissa ready for the upcoming Season. As for Papa, of course he noticed, but remained silent, appearing to tacitly approve. When she wasn’t riding, she was either reading, playing games with Alexander, or, when Mama insisted, working on a detested sampler.
Meanwhile, Rissa grew more radiant every day. Lord Stormont had called twice! Mama, ever cautious, had warned her they were probably just courtesy calls, but as usual, Rissa heard only what she wanted to hear. Stormont was calling on her and her alone, she just knew. “I have him eating out of my hand, Mama. I doubt I’ll need another Season. I expect a proposal soon.”
Would he propose? Clarinda wondered. On both occasions when Stormont had called, she had pleaded a headache and not gone downstairs. She had no desire to be the object of his glacial stare again.
Now, on a sunny afternoon in April, Clarinda and Rissa were in Rissa’s bed chamber being fitted for new gowns when Mama poked her head in.
The Rebellious Twin Page 17
