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The Rebellious Twin

Page 22

by Shirley Kennedy


  “Oh, madam, no!”

  “No man could ever replace him, so why should I even try to find someone else? Besides, are men everything? Surely, a woman could live happily with other interests in her life.”

  Estelle regarded her shrewdly. “Like what?”

  “Well, like horses. There’s Donegal — Dublin — Sham — Jupiter. My love of horses will keep me alive.” In the mirror she saw Estelle smother a smile. “You think not?” she demanded.

  “Someone as beautiful as you should not remain single. Mon Dieu, what a waste if you do!”

  Perhaps Estelle was right. Clarinda thought of all the spinsters she knew and felt dismayed. Most were forced to live a second class existence, dependent upon the charity of their relatives. They were treated like servants, or even worse. But surely that would not happen to her. “Rest assured, Estelle, even if I never marry, I shall not turn into a dried up, embittered old ape leader.” She glanced about her spacious bed chamber. “This will always be my home. Papa will always make me feel welcome, and when he dies, Alexander will.” An old resentment flared. As a woman, she would not inherit a farthing. So unfair! But today it hardly mattered. Nothing mattered except the joy she would soon experience for Sara Sophia.

  “That is all very well and good, m’lady,” Estelle was saying, “but aside from the horses, what will you do with your life?”

  Clarinda thought a moment and tilted her chin defiantly. “I shall spend my days riding horses, of course, and doing good works like taking care of the sick and carrying food baskets to the poor.”

  It didn’t take Estelle’s amused sniff to tell her how ludicrous that sounded. Yet what was she to do? She had lost Robert. Never would she risk her heart again.

  *

  It was still morning. Clarinda’s headache was worse than ever. Estelle had helped her dress and fixed her hair, but now she was lying on her bed, a cold compress on her forehead. Manning knocked. She called to him to come in.

  “A visitor to see you, Lady Clarinda.”

  Wincing from her headache, Clarinda swung her legs to the floor and regarded the elderly, dignified butler with surprise. “Me? Not her ladyship?”

  “You, m’lady.”

  She glanced at the Ormolu clock on her mantle. “But it’s only ten o’clock.”

  “I am aware of that, m’lady. ‘Tis Lord Stormont. Given the time of day, I had no idea what to do with him, so I put him in the music room.” Only a slight twitch of his nostril indicated Manning’s low opinion of any guest who would dare to call before early afternoon.

  What on earth could he want? Concealing her agitation, Clarinda said coolly, “Tell Lord Stormont I shall be down directly.”

  When Manning had gone, Clarinda hastened to her mirror. She turned this way and that, assessing her appearance in her simple, sky blue crape gown. She looked presentable enough, she supposed, not that it mattered.

  She started down the stairs, caught herself descending much too fast, and slowed herself to a more dignified pace. Entering the music room, she found Stormont, an unreadable expression on his face, leaning casually, arms folded, against the piano.

  “Good morning, m’lord,” she said, offering a slight curtsy.

  He did not immediately respond but looked her up and down. “No?” he asked, slightly cocking his head.

  She frowned in puzzlement. “What do you — ?” Suddenly it came to her. He meant her answer yesterday.

  “No?” he asked again.

  “That is correct, sir, I said no.”

  “I have come to ask why.”

  This was going to be so hard! She searched frantically for a reply that wouldn’t be a lie. “No is no. That’s all I have to say.” What a stupid answer.

  Though Stormont’s stance was still casual, she perceived from his hardened expression he was deeply affected. “That’s hardly a sufficient answer from a girl who was in my arms but two days ago,” he said bluntly. “Odd. If memory serves correctly, she said she loved me.”

  Out of sheer misery and frustration, Clarinda’s heart started pounding. This was getting worse and worse. She forced a laugh. It sounded so fake she stopped abruptly. “Well, you know how we silly young chits are,” she managed. “Always flirting. Mercy me, you should not believe a word we say.”

  With a snort, Stormont strode to the double doors of the music room and shut them tight. He turned back, regarding her with an expression of unmitigated disgust. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would strongly advise you not to use any sort of empty-headed belle pose on me. In the first place, you’re not fooling me. In the second, I deserve a better answer.”

  What more could she say? She felt a wild desire to escape the room, but his dark, smoldering eyes held her to the spot. She spread her palms. “I simply will not marry you. Is that not clear enough?”

  “Damme, there’s something wrong here,” he said, his face slowly becoming a glowering mask of rage.

  In all her sheltered life, Clarinda had never before witnessed the anger of an enraged male. She was seeing it now. Not that she felt physically threatened — his fist was not clenched, he had not yelled. Nonetheless, she felt the power of his suppressed fury and it made her tremble. “I … I have nothing more to say,” she answered in a small voice. With what dignity she could summon, she continued, “So if you do not mind, I shall take my leave.”

  She looked toward the doors, but got no farther. Stormont was on her in a flash, wrapping her in his arms, pulling her to him so roughly she involuntarily gasped. “So take your leave,” he said in a voice thick with anger, “but first I shall give you a final farewell.”

  Before she could resist, he crushed his mouth to hers in a long, hard kiss of such fierce intensity she could hardly breathe and her knees went weak from the shock of it. She tried to push him away, but the assertive demand of his lips soon sent a hunger pulsing through her. Loathe though she was to respond, her arms crept around his neck of their own volition, and she found herself returning his kiss with eager abandon.

  Suddenly he broke off the kiss. He did not set her free, though, but instead swiftly cupped the back of her head with one strong hand. Roughly entwining his fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back, and in a voice hoarse with emotion, demanded, “Say you don’t love me. Say it!”

  “I…” She stared into the glowering face hovering over her, too overcome to speak.

  “Say it!” He gripped her shoulders. “Say it!” he demanded again, his harsh words accompanied by one swift, furious shake.

  “I … don’t … oh, I cannot!” She could stand no more of this. “Let me go,” she demanded, striking her fists against his chest.

  Visibly trembling from the intensity of his rage, Stormont released her and backed a few steps away. She felt dizzy. Gripping the edge of the piano, she watched as he stood silent, staring at her. He was drawing in ragged little breaths, his chest heaving up and down. Gradually they subsided. Finally he appeared back in control. “You will forgive me,” he said in a deadly calm voice that only on the edges held the trace of a rasp. “This won’t happen again.”

  “I trust not,” she replied, hating the stiff formality in her voice.

  His fury ebbed. For a long time he looked at her, his expression filling with such tenderness she had to restrain herself from hurtling back into his arms. “We would have been good together, you and I,” he finally said, his voice filled with regret.

  Her own regrets assailed her as she slowly shook her head. “Perhaps. But it’s over.”

  He asked, “It’s Rissa, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes you do. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow it’s Rissa who’s come between us.”

  For a moment she closed her eyes. “I have nothing more to say.” She had to get out of here. Half blind with tears, she stumbled to the double doors.

  He followed her. She could tell his anger had returned when he grabbed the knobs and flung the doors wide. “Leave, then. I�
�ve had enough of your dissembling.”

  She forced herself to step away from his tense, hard body. “Then it’s goodbye.”

  “No, it is not goodbye.” A gleam of determination lit his eyes. “If you think you’re rid of me, you had better think again.”

  “But I told you — “

  “I want you, Clarinda, far more than I have ever wanted any woman in my life.” He offered her a sudden, arresting smile. “And I intend to have you.”

  “You can’t have everything you want.”

  “I can’t? We shall see about that.”

  “Manning will see you out.”

  Turning blindly, she stumbled once, caught herself, and with her head held high, walked with stiff dignity across the grand entryway and ascended the stairs.

  Robert stared after her. Good God, what had he done? No woman had ever treated him in such a fashion. Never had he felt so humiliated, so deflated. Worse, he, in his complete frustration, had lost control of himself and made his beautiful Clarinda cry. You fool! he told himself.

  “Why, Lord Stormont, what a delight to see you, and so early, too!”

  Good God, here came the twin down the stairs — the last person in the world he wanted to see.

  Or was she?

  Rissa had reached the bottom of the staircase and was beaming at him. “How rude of Clarinda to leave you standing here. Won’t you come into the drawing room? It’s early, but I shall order tea.”

  Stormont smiled smoothly, betraying nothing. “Would you step into the music room, Lady Rissa? I want to talk to you.”

  Chapter 16

  Within himself, Robert fought a battle of restraint as he followed Rissa into the music room and with great deliberation shut the doors. It would not do to rebuke her, much as he would derive a certain satisfaction from telling her exactly what he thought. To achieve his purpose, he must exercise the utmost control.

  Rissa had not ceased her chattering. Now, as they stood facing each other, she was pointing to a sampler she had embroidered, framed and hanging on the wall. “Clarinda was never much into needlework,” she babbled. “You will never find one of her samplers on display, whereas mine…”

  Robert felt a small rush of compassion. A twin jealous of her twin was much to be pitied. How sad for her. She would not be history’s first envious twin, he supposed. No doubt, all her life Rissa had felt inferior to her sister, and no wonder. In nearly every way, the poor girl was indeed inferior.

  “…and I excel in watercolors, too,” Rissa was saying, “which is yet another womanly skill my sister has no interest in.” Rissa smiled up at him, eyes bright with eager anticipation. “So what did you have to say to me, m’lord? Was it, perhaps, a question?”

  What in blazes? Does the chit actually think I am going to propose?

  Pity forgotten, Robert hastened to set her straight. “I have no questions for you, Lady Rissa,” he said pleasantly but firmly. “I decided it was time to get you aside and tell you of my feelings for your sister.”

  “My sister?” Rissa’s face had already started to cloud. “And what might those feelings be?”

  “I am deeply in love with Clarinda,” he said, taking pains not to sound as if he relished his words. “I felt you should know that.”

  In a low, ominously calm, voice Rissa asked, “Has she consented to marry you?”

  “I have proposed, but, alas, she has told me no.” He gave her a withering stare. “She hasn’t given me a reason, but, quite frankly, I suspect you are to blame. How, exactly, I don’t know, although I am aware of some of the other mischief you have caused.” He paused, mainly for effect, and continued in his most commanding manner. “Let this be an end to it. There will be no more nasty little plots aimed at discrediting your sister. If another one occurs, you will have me to answer to. Agreed?”

  With a shocked expression on her face, Rissa backed a step away, pressed her hand to her mouth and wordlessly stared at him. A blush of anger crept over her cheeks. “You led me on,” she finally exclaimed, her voice shrilly indignant.

  “I did no such thing.”

  “You did! You sought me out. You showered me with attention. Naturally, I was led to believe — “

  “I apologize if I gave that impression. Trust me, I was merely being polite.”

  Rissa came close to wailing as she protested, “But I was expecting you to propose! How could you love her instead of me? Don’t we look exactly alike? What do you see in her? I am the one who excels at needlework and watercolors and all the womanly arts, while all she does is ride horses.”

  “You would never understand,” Robert said, suppressing his urge to smile. “I have no wish to wound you, but I shall be perfectly candid. I do not love you. I shall never love you. Most assuredly, I shall never marry you, even if, God forbid, Clarinda were to depart this earth this very day.”

  Rissa’s mouth dropped open. She appeared too stunned to speak until finally, in a shaking voice, she managed, “This is Clarinda’s doing, isn’t it? She put you up to this.”

  Robert gazed at her intently. After a time he muttered, “Hopeless,” strode to the door and turned. “Heed well what I said. I regret the indelicacy of my remarks, but bear in mind you have only yourself to blame. Have I made myself clear?”

  A Chinese porcelain vase stood on a small table. Rissa picked it up and flung it at him. Robert dodged and it missed, shattering against the wall into a thousand pieces.

  “Apparently I have,” Robert dryly remarked, and left the music room without another word.

  *

  Clarinda’s fault! This is all Clarinda’s fault, Rissa thought as she sped up the wide staircase and headed for Clarinda’s bed chamber. She would confront her perfidious sister this instant! Estelle was in the upstairs hallway. Seeing Rissa, she raised a finger to her lips and whispered, “Shh! Lady Clarinda ees suffering from a dreadful headache. I gave her a spoonful of Kendal Black Drops and now she ees asleep and should sleep for hours. Eet would be best not to disturb her.”

  Rissa snapped, “Oh, very well,” and with an indignant toss of her head, marched to her own room and slammed the door. She stumbled to the bed where she flung herself face down, gripped the coverlet and began to sob. I do not love you, he had said. I shall never love you. Oh! She wished she were dead! And wouldn’t they be sorry if she were? Perhaps she should really do away with herself. She could — what? — slash her wrists? Yes, that should do it. Imagine the grief that would ensue when they found her poor, lifeless body. Clarinda would never get over the loss of her beloved twin. Mama and Papa would be overcome with sorrow. And Stormont…

  Her sobs subsided as she pictured the arrogant, holier-than-thou Lord Stormont, weeping inconsolably over her casket. What a supremely satisfying thought. How stricken with guilt and remorse he would be! His life would be ruined, of course. Doubtless he would never marry, and would spend the rest of his days in bitter, lonely repentance, cursing the day he had said those dreadful things which, in truth, he didn’t really mean.

  It seemed a fine plan, except…

  There was just one problem with her plan — she’d be dead.

  Well, there was no fun in that, Rissa thought as she wiped her eyes. No suicide, then, but somehow, some way, she must get her revenge. Never had she been so humiliated! She cringed with embarrassment, just thinking of Stormont’s stone cold eyes when he told her…

  Ah, she could not bear to think of those awful moments in the music room.

  Could she impersonate Clarinda again? Hmm … she would have to think about it. What could Clarinda do that would be so terrible, so unforgivable, that she would be packed off immediately to North Wales, never to return?

  *

  “Alexander, are you feeling better?”

  The little boy, who was just recovering from his latest bout with illness, was dressed warmly against the chill of the day and sat on the carpet in front of the burning fireplace of his bed chamber, playing with his marbles. “I’m not sick anymore,” h
e proclaimed with a pout. “It’s not fair, Rissa. Mama says I mustn’t go outside today. I have to stay right here, in my bed chamber.” He kicked at his marbles. “I wanted to ride Captain.”

  Laughing, she knelt beside him. “I’m Clarinda, not Rissa,” she said. “For once you guessed wrong.”

  Alexander looked surprised. “But I always know which one of you is which, and you’re Rissa.”

  “But you’re wrong this time,” she said and laughed again. “Just look” — she fingered the gold necklace that hung from her neck — “here’s my necklace with the “C” to prove it. She glanced down at the well-worn gray riding gown. “Besides, would our Rissa wear this old thing?”

  “I guess not,” Alexander said, frowning.

  “Come on,” she said, “I’ve come to take you riding.”

  “But Mama said — “

  “She changed her mind. You could ask her, but she and Papa are riding out this afternoon, clear to Cousin Clara’s house, I understand. They are staying overnight and won’t be back until tomorrow.”

  Alexander sprang to his feet. He looked out the window at the dark, chill, cloudy day. “We had best go quick, before it starts to rain.” His cheeks were pink with fever. He was caught by a coughing spell that bent him nearly double.

  “Stop that!” she said, laughing. “We’ll have no more of that coughing now. Do you want to ruin our ride?”

  At the stables, Morris looked aghast. “Jupiter? But, Miss Clarinda, his lordship never — “

  “I said Jupiter. Papa asked me to ride him. For the exercise. And get Captain for Alexander.”

  Morris gazed at the sky. “Those are mighty dark clouds, m’lady. Looks like rain, and it be cold today. Are you sure — ?”

  “Saddle them, Morris, and be quick.”

  Minutes later, she was practically frozen with fear atop Jupiter. It had taken all her courage to mount the snortish, skittish animal, but with Morris’s help she had managed. And quite nicely, she congratulated herself.

  Looking gravely concerned, Morris watched as she and Alexander rode out of the cobbled courtyard and turned their horses toward the river path. “Be sure to find me when you get back, m’lady,” he called, “Jupiter will need his rubdown, and Captain, too.”

 

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