The Rebellious Twin (19 page)

As for those paintings, it appeared they were worth something after all. But how to sell them? She would have to think about it. Surely there must be a way.

A knock sounded on the door, then it opened. Clarinda. Rissa felt a surge of anger. She wondered if she could keep her vow not to say anything about the shocking scene she’d witnessed. But perhaps I should confront her, she suddenly realized. Perhaps I can use the knowledge to my advantage.

Rissa quickly closed the dictionary and set it atop the papers. Placing a smile on her face, she turned to face her sister.

What is Rissa up to? thought Clarinda as she entered her sister’s bed chamber. How strange to see Rissa sitting at her desk, acting the studious scholar, papers stacked in front of her, as well as the tattered French-English dictionary they had used for their French lessons so long ago.

Rissa’s face had an odd expression, as if she had been caught at something naughty. “You startled me,” she said with an nervous smile. “I was, uh, just brushing up on my French.”

“How commendable,” Clarinda answered pleasantly. She could not resist adding, “In fact, quite the miracle.”

Rissa appeared to take a moment to digest Clarinda’s needling remark. But instead of replying in kind, as she normally would, she shifted her eyes away, a sure sign she was hiding something.

But what? Clarinda didn’t know and knew it was useless to try and find out. “Estelle wants to know what we plan to wear for dinner tonight.”

Her twin, composure quickly restored, regarded her with critical eyes. “You really should toss out that awful old riding gown.”

Ah, the old Rissa again. “Just pick something to wear for dinner. Something simple.”

“The bottle-green cotton batiste should do.”

“Fine.” Clarinda was turning to leave when Rissa asked, “Incidentally, has Sara Sophia made her plans?”

“Regarding what?”

“Regarding leaving Hollyridge Manor.” Rissa’s forehead creased in a frown. “Surely she’s not staying?”

Why all this interest in Sara Sophia? This was the second time Rissa had asked pointed questions about her friend. “Sara Sophia is considering two positions as governess. She will chose one or the other quite soon, and then be gone. I shall miss her terribly.”

“Hmm, but of course.” Rissa made no attempt to conceal the look of relief that crossed her face. Again Clarinda turned to leave. “What are you doing tomorrow?” Rissa asked.

“Just the usual. Why do you wish to know?”

Rissa gave an elaborate shrug. “No reason. You don’t intend to go visiting or anything?”

“You know very well I am supposed to stay home and repent my many sins.” Since when did Rissa care about her plans for next day? She was planning something. It could not be good. “What are you up to?” Clarinda asked bluntly.

“Nothing.” Rissa stood and faced her with a look of deep concern. “Oh, Clarinda, I am worried about you.”

“May I ask why?”

“I was on the river path today.”

“Really? I am astounded. Don’t tell me you were actually riding Dublin.”

“That’s exactly what I was doing.” Rissa glared resentfully. “You needn’t be so high and mighty. You think you’re the best at everything — well, don’t forget I had riding lessons too.”

Clarinda realized she had been unkind. “I didn’t mean — “

“It’s quite all right,” Rissa said with a martyred air. “But what I was trying to tell you was that, quite accidentally, I saw you with … oh, dear.” Rissa rolled her eyes upward, as if she were suffering from some acute malady.

What is Rissa up to? whispered a warning voice in Clarinda’s head as she asked, “Are you talking about Lord Stormont?”

“You know very well I am talking about Lord Stormont.” Rissa looked as if she were about to cry. “I am so concerned! What if Mama and Papa find out? You know what they’d do.”

Clarinda smiled wryly. “This comes as a surprise. You mean you would actually care if I was packed off to Grandfather Montagu’s?”

“Of course I would care. You’re my twin. You mean the world to me, despite…” Rissa hung her head. “I do regret that business about Lord Cranmer. That was wrong of me. I am most concerned for your welfare, so much so, that today, when I saw the two of you by the riding path embracing, for all the world to see, I was most upset and vowed I would speak to you. How terribly reckless! Anyone could have seen you, and then what if they went and told Papa? You would be sent off … Oh, I cannot bear to think of it!”

“Why, Rissa, I am touched,” Clarinda replied, completely baffled. Could Rissa be sorry for what she’d done? And even more amazing, did Rissa actually harbor some remnants of affection for her? Despite Rissa’s selfish tantrums, they had been inseparable when they were little. Only in recent years had they grown apart. Clarinda had wondered if their alienation had in any way been her fault, but no, she knew in her heart she had done her best to keep the bonds between them close. It was Rissa who was full of jealousy, not her. But if now she felt differently, how wonderful.

“Rissa, it s my heartfelt wish that we be close again, just as we were when we were children.” Clarinda smiled wistfully. “I miss those days.”

“I, too,” Rissa answered.

If so, you’ve done a fine job of hiding it these past few years, But perhaps she shouldn’t be so cynical. “Then we’re off to a new start?”

“Of course we are, and you might begin by vowing to stay away from Lord Stormont,” Rissa answered sweetly. “You seem to have forgotten he is mine and you promised to stay away from him.”

Clarinda felt a crush of disappointment. She might have known Rissa’s gesture of friendship was too good to be true. “I did not make such a promise. If memory serves correctly, I told you to take him if you could get him, I really didn’t care.”

Rissa’s smile had disappeared. “That was then — this is now. You do care, don’t you?”

Did she care? Clarinda recalled Stormont’s passionate embrace today. The very thought of it sent a thrill through her. I do care. I did enjoy that kiss. But what of Rissa? Clarinda could almost guess her sister’s next words.

“I could tell Mama and Papa myself,” said Rissa, not in the least to Clarinda’s surprise. “It would be for your own good. They would believe me, you know, even if you tried to lie.”

She was right. Suddenly Clarinda found herself looking into a bleak future. “I don’t tell lies, Rissa. You should know me better than that.”

“Hmm…” Feigning deep thought, Rissa rested her chin on the tip of her finger. “But of course I don’t have to tell them.”

“No, you certainly don’t have to tell them. But if you don’t, I suspect you would expect something in exchange.”

Rissa smiled brightly. “I want only one thing — that you keep that promise you said you didn’t make. It’s simple. I want to hear you vow you shall have nothing to do with Stormont ever again. In exchange, I won’t mention your moment of recklessness to Mama and Papa.”

Clarinda thought of Stormont’s marvelously self-assured demeanor, his blunt masculinity, those dark, mocking eyes, that sensual mouth that could curve down in disdain or up in faint amusement. The man was devastatingly attractive, so unlike all those fops and dandies she had known before. She recalled the first time they met when she fell from Donegal, and how concerned he’d been as he bent over her. She thought of how she had been in his arms today and caught her breath just thinking of how he had swept her in his arms and pressed her against his hard, strong body. At the thought, a flickering flame stirred deep within. It was a feeling no man had ever made her feel before, not even Jeffrey.

Rissa was speaking. “…and besides, aren’t you being disloyal to Jeffrey’s memory? Where is that great love you said you had for him?”

Jeffrey.

Something clicked in her mind. Suddenly she saw her feelings for Jeffrey for what they really were. Saw that out of the real Jeffrey she had constructed Hero Jeffrey, who, she was devastated to admit, only existed in her wildest fantasies. Hero Jeffrey was her dreamy-eyed poet whose works ranked with Robert Burns and Thomas Moore. Real Jeffrey wrote mediocre verse which even at the time had sounded juvenile and insincere, though she had been loathe to admit it at the time. Hero Jeffrey was the most tender of lovers, who would, when the time came, transport her to the heights of passion; Real Jeffrey had given her nothing but an old book of poems and a rose. Not only that, he had aroused her not one iota that one time he had kissed her, not like…

Stormont. She had backed away from him today because of her supposed Great Lost Love, as well as Mama’s orders. But not next time! She could hardly wait to be pressed tight in his arms again. Oh, how different things would be!

“Well, Clarinda? Why are you staring into space?”

Clarinda realized she had better set her mind to the problem at hand. Would she toady to her sister? Never! “Tattle if you must. I find I have feelings for Lord Stormont, so I can make no such promise.”

“Are you sure?” Rissa asked, her voice glacial.

“Yes I’m very sure, so do what you have to do, although I hope you meant what you said about wanting us to be close again.” Clarinda smiled. “Of course, I still hold the deepest of affection you. Nothing will ever change that. Can we still be friends?”

Rissa smiled sweetly. “But of course. I had no idea you felt so deeply about Lord Stormont. Now that I know, he is all yours. And you can rest easy. I wouldn’t dream of telling Mama and Papa. Your secret is safe with me.”

“How wonderful that you understand,” said Clarinda, hugging Rissa tight. But even as they hugged, she had a nagging feeling something wasn’t right.

*

None but the servants were awake the next morning when Clarinda walked the mile to Hollyridge Manor to ride Donegal. When she arrived, she was not surprised to see Sara Sophia, always the early riser, grooming Sham in the cobblestone courtyard. “He’s gone?” Clarinda asked, distressed by her friend’s pale face and strained expression.

Raw hurt filled Sara Sophia’s eyes as she nodded. “I shall miss him.” She laughed bitterly. “Call that a slight understatement. My heart aches for him. I have just lost the only man in the world I’ll ever love. Oh, I try to be optimistic — you know me — but I know what my life holds from now on. I shall always be alone, and lonely, living in someone else’s home, never my own, until I get old and die — probably in the middle of the night, all alone.”

“Oh, Sara Sophia, that’s not true!” Clarinda cried, putting comforting arms around her despondent friend. “I have never seen you in such a state. You’ll find someone else, I know you will. And meantime, you can work as a governess, which should be vastly entertaining, and most interesting, and very worthwhile, and — “

“No, it won’t.” Sara Sophia pulled away, grimly shaking her head. “Do you know what the life of a governess is like? No, how could you? Well, let me tell you, it’s a dreadful life. When you are a governess you are neither fish nor fowl — ” she laughed bitterly again ” — which I am anyway, so nothing will change. Only I shan’t eat with the master in the dining room, as I do here, I’m not good enough. Neither shall I eat with the servants because they’re not good enough. So I shall eat alone in my room like an outcast.” She buried her face in her hands. “I loved him, Clarinda,” she whispered. “I shall never forget those rides we took, the poetry he read me. He loved me, too. He told me, and I could see it in his eyes. Oh why must I be such a nobody! He wanted to marry me, regardless of my status — run off to Gretna Greene. But I couldn’t have that. What could I do but tell him I would never see him again? What could he do but leave?” Finally she looked up. “My heart is broken. I shall never love again.”

Clarinda had listened, helpless, searching in vain for something comforting to say. But Sara Sophia drew herself up bravely. “Sorry. I must stop torturing myself. Don’t be concerned, I won’t make a spectacle of myself again. I’ve decided which position I shall take.”

“You have?” Clarinda asked tentatively. After Sara Sophia’s outburst, something she’d never heard her do before, she didn’t know if this was good news or bad.

“I shall be governess to the eight children of Thomas Rich, the Earl of Middlestone, at a place called Rondale Hall. It’s in Northumberland, near Alnmouth on the River Aln.”

“But so far away!”

Sara Sophia nodded sadly. “It’s not likely I shall see you for while.”

More like forever. Clarinda searched for words of reassurance that it wouldn’t be so bad, but nothing came to mind. Sara Sophia did face a dismal life. She was indeed a nobody, at least in the eyes of the world. “I shall never forget you,” she said softly, “you will always be my dearest friend, even if we never see each other again.”

Sara Sophia gazed back, a wealth of warmth and affection in her eyes. “You shall always be my best friend, too. I do admire you so, Clarinda. You’re so bright and witty, and compassionate and kind, and you can ride a horse like nobody else I’ve ever seen. I just wish your parents saw you as I do. You deserve nothing but the best in this life.”

“I’m afraid that’s not likely to happen…”

Clarinda proceeded to describe her meeting with Stormont on the riding path yesterday — the embrace, which, luck would have it, Rissa witnessed. “She wants us to be friends again and says she won’t tell Mama and Papa. I assume she means it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Rissa said she was sorry about Lord Cranmer. I believe her.”

“Should you?”

“She admitted she was wrong. Of course I believe her.” Clarinda noted Sara Sophia’s skeptical little smile. “Besides, even if I didn’t believe Rissa, what more harm could she do?

*

That afternoon, Lady Rissa Capelle, elegantly attired in a pink velvet spencer over an embroidered white silk afternoon dress, sat in the back of the family curricle which was proceeding at a brisk pace toward the home of Lady Constance Lynbury. Perched on the high seat in front, Timmons, the chief coachman, dressed in crimson livery, guided the two high-stepping matched bays. A footman, attired in the same gold and red livery, stood on the back step.

What a fine picture we make, thought Rissa as the equipage turned into the long, circular driveway that led to the fine Tudor Mansion of Lady Constance Lynbury. A breeze caught the curls that lined her forehead. “Slower, Timmons!” she called. Drat the man. Estelle had worked for an hour to create her fine coiffeur, only partly covered by her best ribbon-and silk flower-trimmed bonnet. She did not want it mussed.