The Rebellious Twin (22 page)

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.

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 hopeless 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.

“Quick, girls! Lord Stormont has come to call. Rissa — ?” Mama looked confused. “You are Rissa, are you not? ‘Pon my soul, twenty years and I still cannot tell.”

“Of course I am Rissa,” Rissa snapped.

Unremorseful, Mama actually looked pleased for a change. “This makes three times he’s come visiting — far beyond the necessary for courtesy calls. You were right, Rissa. Lord Stormont is most definitely a suitor.” In a rare show of emotion, Mama clasped her hands together. “I am most pleased. You have succeeded, Rissa. A fine title! Twenty thousand pounds a year! I am beside myself with joy.” Her expression changed to disapproving as she looked toward Clarinda. “You must also come down.”

“I think not, Mama.”

“Whyever not?” Mama inquired indignantly. “Twice you have made excuses, don’t think I didn’t notice. If you refuse to come down again, you are being most rude, especially since Lord Stormont might soon become a member of the family.” As an afterthought, Mama added, “Besides, Lord Stormont specifically asked to speak to you.”

“He did?” Clarinda’s heart took a leap.

“He wanted news of Sara Sophia.”

“Only you would know,” Rissa interjected with a smirk.

Clarinda’s spirits plunged again. “Very well, Mama, I should be happy to tell Lord Stormont the latest news of Sara Sophia, not that there’s much to tell.” She didn’t want to see him — would much have preferred to stay in her room, but she was curious. Why would Lord Stormont want news of an insignificant orphan who had no standing and was poor as a church mouse?

Soon, Clarinda and Rissa were dressed alike in gowns of white muslin with a tartan belt and band around the hem. For once, Clarinda was glad she looked exactly like her sister. She looked forward to their entrance into the drawing room. Despite Stormont’s boast he always knew who she was, this time she would take pains to ensure he would not be able to tell them apart.

When they finally entered the drawing room, Clarinda was exactly in step with Rissa, and her head was tilted exactly the same. Let him just guess which was which! How she would love to see him fumble.

Spying them, Stormont set down his tea cup and stood. As he rose to full height, Clarinda was reminded once again of how splendidly tall he was, and how magnificently tailored. But no matter. She could hardly wait to see the embarrassed look on his face when he couldn’t tell them apart.

Stormont bowed to her sister. “Lady Rissa,” he said without hesitation, “how lovely you look today.” He bowed again, this time to her. “And Lady Clarinda,” he continued, looking her directly in the eye. “You cannot imagine how devastated I was to hear of your headaches. I trust you’re better now.” Only a slightly raised eyebrow gave his amusement away.

How dare he tease her! But what was most astounding, how did he know Rissa was Rissa and she was she? Astonishing, considering even Mama could not tell them apart. She wanted to ask how he knew, but no, she would not give him the satisfaction. He would not be privy to her feelings in any way.

She dipped a slight curtsy and gave him a radiant smile. “I am most grateful for your concern over my headaches. They’re much better now. ‘Tis the most amazing thing, how I seem to get a headache every time you come to call.”

“Clarinda!” Mama began in a shocked voice, but Stormont starting laughing.

“Alas, it appears I have that effect on some young ladies,” he said lightly. He motioned towards the settee. “Come, sit down, shall we? Were you told, Lady Clarinda, that I wanted news of Sara Sophia?”

After they were seated, Clarinda related some of Sara Sophia’s letter — only the good parts, though. Sara Sophia was much too proud to want anyone to know the travesty her life had become. “And so she is doing quite well at Rondale Hall, m’lord. May I inquire why you ask?”

“I was not asking for myself,” Stormont replied, “although of course, I’m concerned for her welfare. It was…” He paused, seeming reluctant to say more, finally continuing, “My good friend, Lucius, Lord Wentridge, has an interest in her. He will be pleased to hear Sara Sophia is doing well.”

“Well enough, I suppose.” Bite your tongue, you foolish girl. She had just implied Sara Sophia was not doing well. Most men would not pick up on such a subtle insinuation, but she suspected Stormont would. Those dark eyes of his, so sharp and assessing, were focused on her now.

“Only well enough?” he asked, confirming her suspicion.

“Sara Sophia can take care of herself wherever she goes,” she answered firmly, hoping that would assuage Stormont’s curiosity.

It did. Or so she thought. Nothing more was said concerning Sara Sophia. The rest of Stormont’s visit was taken up with frivolous conversation, led by Rissa, who preened, giggled, and did everything but stand on her head to keep Stormont’s attention. How I would love to dump a pitcher of cold water over her head, Clarinda mused idly as she watched in disgust. Despite herself, she felt a growing anxiety. Stormont appeared more than attentive to Rissa’s blandishments. He seemed to be quite taken with her. You don’t give a fig, she told herself. But whom was she fooling? Of course she did.

When their visitor had left, Rissa clasped her hands in delight. “He likes me. Don’t you think, Mama?”

“Most definitely.”

Rissa addressed Clarinda. “What do you think? Does he like me?”

“It would appear he does,” Clarinda answered, a heaviness settling around her heart. There had been no warmth in Stormont’s eyes when he looked at her. He had, in fact, been only as polite as courtesy decreed, and no more. Again, for at least the thousandth time, she wondered what had gone wrong and why Stormont, who once had trembled with passion as he held her in his arms, could now, it appeared, hardly stand the sight of her.

*

A heaviness weighted Robert’s shoulders as he swung onto Sham and started home. Perdition. He had failed miserably, all the way around. Was there anything he had not mucked up? He thought of poor Lucius, beside himself in London. “Sara Sophia said she wouldn’t write and she hasn’t,” he had cried. “I have no idea how she is. Robert, can you at least find out if she is happy and in good health?”

Robert shook his head as he rode along. Lucius’s transformation from high-living dandy to love-sick clod was astounding. Well, not clod. That Lucius had a truly deep, abiding love for Sara Sophia was beyond all doubt. One could not fault him for that. But dear God, how the man had suffered for his hopeless love! To their friends’ astonishment he had become practically a recluse, eschewing Tattersalls — White’s — his old taverns of choice — and most astounding, all enticements from his various lady loves. Now former lady loves. Lucius had lost his charming, acerbic wit. He hardly ate anymore, and to Robert’s amazement now led a celibate life. He might as well become a monk, Robert thought dismally.

He had told Lucius, “Rest easy. I am returning to Hollyridge tomorrow. The first thing I shall do is visit Graystone Hall. Surely Lady Clarinda will know how Sara Sophia is faring.”

And so he had, but instead of gleaning reassuring news of Sara Sophia, he had ascertained just the opposite. He must find out more news of Sara Sophia. That meant talking to Clarinda.

Clarinda.

He had spent the past weeks trying to convince himself he most definitely did not love her. Indeed, heeding his father’s advice, he had vowed long ago not to love any woman until he was ready, and he most certainly was not. His life was too comfortable, too well-arranged, to allow a woman in to ruin it. Time and again he recalled his parents’ miserable marriage: the screaming — carping — name calling — constant complaints. No. His father had it right. “Do not marry under any circumstances before you are forty,” Papa had admonished him, “and when you do, find some young chit who’s attractive enough, but more important, she must be quiet, docile and uncomplaining. Even a large dowry is unnecessary, my son, you don’t need the money. A small dowry will work to your advantage. She will be so everlastingly grateful you married her, she will never complain.”

Papa was absolutely right, Stormont assured himself for at least the thousandth time as the gables of Hollyridge came into view. Although…

An astounding thought struck him. Why, he was as bad off as Lucius!

Father, did the juices of hot passion never flow through your veins? Did you never want a woman so badly you could not eat — sleep — think straight? Did you never want a woman as much as I want Clarinda … ?

Curse the woman. With a moan, Stormont pulled Sham up short. Before this visit today he had vowed he would remain aloof to Clarinda’s charms. As far as appearances went, he had succeeded. His behavior had been impeccable. He had even managed, God knew how, to show a decent interest in her ninny sister. But inside…

I do not love her, he told himself again, but his words rang hollow. The trouble was, even if he did love her, what was the use? He started to laugh — a bitter, haunting laugh that went on so long that Sham turned his head and regarded him with one big, brown, curious eye.

His laughter stilled. Stroking the horse’s mane, he softly inquired, “Sham, how could I love a woman who called me a toad? Complete folly, would you not agree?”

He did love her. No sense fooling himself. But it was hopeless. The worst of it was, for the sake of his desperate friend he would have to see Clarinda again — find out the truth about Sara Sophia.