The Rebellious Twin (26 page)

In contrast to his wife’s overblown enthusiasm, Lord Capelle had retained his usual composure. “That is excellent news, Clarinda. You must be most pleased and happy for your friend.”

“But first she must be told,” Clarinda told him quietly. “I would like to travel to Rondale Hall myself and give her the news.”

“Impossible,” Mama interjected quickly. “You must not forget you are not to leave home.” She addressed her husband. “Is that not right, m’lord?”

Papa cleared his throat. “Er … perhaps under the circumstances — ?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Er … of course, my dear.” Papa gave a weary sigh. “Very well, then. How would it be, Clarinda, if you wrote a letter to Sara Sophia instead? I shall send one of our footmen with the message, direct to Rondale Hall. Tell her it is of the utmost urgency that she return to Hollyridge Manor immediately. When she returns, you can give her the news.”

At least her father had found a reasonable compromise. “That will be fine, Papa.”

“I have a question,” Papa said, turning thoughtfully to Rissa. “Lord Westerlynn gave the keys and letter to you on the day he died?” When Rissa nodded, a puzzled expression spread across his face. “Westerlynn died months ago. Why did you withhold this information until now?”

Rissa started to turn red. “Because … because…” she stopped and bit her lip. Mama quickly interrupted.

“The girl was in a state of shock, m’lord. She was not thinking clearly.”

“Odd,” remarked Papa, “she was thinking clearly enough to write this translation.” He held Rissa’s splotched pages up distastefully. “Messy though it may be.”

Mama opened her mouth, no doubt to continue her defense of Rissa, but at that moment, Manning, the butler, entered and addressed her.

“Lord Stormont to see you, m’lady.”

All else forgotten, Lady Capelle beamed and threw Rissa a quick smile. “There, what did I tell you? Have him come in, Manning.”

Clarinda stood hastily. “Have him wait a moment, Manning. Mama, I have just developed a headache. I shall retire to my room.”

“Nonsense,” said Papa. “Lord Stormont’s a fine fellow. No need to be rude. You stay put, young lady.”

“Yes, Papa.” Clarinda sank back on the settee in such an inner torment she wasn’t sure she could endure seeing Stormont again, knowing he could not be hers.

*

Robert had awakened in a marvelous mood. Clarinda shall be mine, he kept thinking over and over again. He could not get over his marvelous luck in finding a woman who could ride a horse as well as he and was not only bright and beautiful, but a woman who disdained society’s follies and foibles, as did he, and, unlike most of the young chits he knew, had no affectations.

This afternoon, when he visited Graystone Hall, he would somehow get her alone, and she would accept his proposal. They would be married as soon as possible. Soon she would be lying in his bed, in his arms, and he, so tormented by his thoughts of her these past few weeks that he could hardly think straight, would at last make her truly his.

Stop acting like a green school boy, he chastised himself, but no use. For the sake of the servants, and Lucius, who was visiting, he carefully maintained his cool facade. But inside, thoughts of Clarinda were so dizzying he was not at all sure he could last to the hour when good manners decreed he could pay his visit to Graystone Hall to ask for her hand.

When they were married, what long, lingering, trailing kisses he would give her! Starting with her smooth, white forehead — sliding slowly to her soft mouth, where he would linger, caressing her lips again and again, until her arms would creep around his neck and he heard the beginnings of passion in her sigh. Then he would slide his lips to the inviting hollow of her neck. And then…

Damn society’s rules!

Why could he not go visiting when he wanted to, which would be the crack of dawn, the way he was feeling. But he had controlled himself, quelling the maddening pulsing of desire that spiraled deep within him every time he thought of her. Now, dressed to the nines, feeling confident as a falcon in flight, he strode into the Capelles’ drawing room.

“Ah, Capelle, back from London I see,” he smoothly remarked to the older man who had stood to greet him. “Lady Capelle,” he acknowledged with a bow, noting the woman was smiling for a change. “Rissa, how lovely you look.” He bowed again, wondering if the girl would ever stop that silly simpering. “And Clarinda.” My God, what is wrong? he thought as he looked into his beloved’s pale, unsmiling face.

“How delightful to see you, Lord Stormont,” she said, in a voice both unnatural and strained.

He would have asked her what was wrong, but Lady Capelle spoke up. “Dear Lord Stormont, do sit down and have some tea. We have the most remarkable news to tell you concerning Sara Sophia.”

For the next few minutes, Robert, teacup in hand, listened to the astounding tale, told, for the most part, by Lady Capelle, embellished here and there by Rissa. But not a word from Clarinda, who sat, still as a stone statue, on the settee.

“What a remarkable story,” he said when they had finished.

“Indeed,” said Lord Capelle. He nodded toward the keys, now held by Lady Capelle. “I trust you don’t mind a bit more trespassing, but I s’pose our next step would be to see if those paintings are still there, and if their value is as high as this Louise Marie de Clarmonte seemed to think.”

“But of course,” Robert answered amiably. Rissa had indeed trespassed, but he would ignore that. “We can go to the gatehouse now, if you like.” He had been only half listening. Surely the revelation about Sara Sophia was wonderful. She was a gentle, bright young woman whom he liked very much. At some other time he would have been delighted at her good fortune. But not now. All he could think of was, what had happened to Clarinda? He must get her alone.

“Lord Stormont…?”

Lady Capelle was talking to him, but he hadn’t heard. Really, he must get his wits together. “Umm, yes m’lady, why don’t you and your daughters come to the gatehouse by carriage? As you know, the tower is in a remote corner of the estate, in an area still unkempt, but I do believe we can get within walking distance. Lord Capelle, why not saddle Jupiter and ride back with me?”

“Splendid idea.” Papa stood, eager as he always was when anticipating a ride on his beloved stallion. “Come Edwina, girls, we shall see you at the gatehouse.”

*

The paintings were there, still safe in the musty tower room of the gatehouse, and so magnificent Robert forgot for a moment his concern over Clarinda, so awed was he by the smuggled treasures that lay unrolled before him. “A Reuben,” he exclaimed, “and look here, m’lord, engravings by William Hogarth.”

“All absolutely splendid,” proclaimed Lord Capelle, as awed as he. “And worth a fortune, just as the Countess said. Without doubt, Sara Sophia will live in luxury the rest of her life.”

“I would never have guessed they were worth so much,” said Rissa. “Even that fat, naked lady,” she said with a giggle, pointing at the Reuben.

Lord save us from bird-brained women, Robert thought, pitying the poor man who would end up marrying the silly chit. As for Clarinda…

What was wrong with her? She had stood quietly, obviously pleased and excited when some of the canvases had been unrolled, and yet, hardly saying a word.

I must get her alone, Robert thought, if only for a minute.

His chance came when they all left the tower room and had to tread down the narrow, stone steps one by one. Except for himself, Clarinda was the last to go down. She was about to set her foot on the top step when he touched her shoulder.

“What is wrong?” he whispered. He hated this sort of subterfuge, but he was desperate to know.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said.

“Just like a woman!” he fiercely whispered back. He gripped her arm. “Now tell me!”

She made to continue on, then thought a moment, seeming to realize he deserved an answer.

“I cannot marry you,” she said with averted eyes.

He was thunderstruck. For a moment he could not speak. Finally he managed, “But yesterday I thought — “

“No!” She looked directly at him, her blue eyes full of remoteness. Holding her head proudly she replied straight-out, “You thought wrong, sir. Now I really must go.”

Clarinda pulled her arm from his grasp and without another word, hurried down the flight of stone steps to join her family. He stood watching, his innards shocked. He was too appalled to say another word.

*

“Light more candles, Jennings,” Robert crossly demanded that night at dinner. “This room is dark as a dungeon,” he muttered, glancing around at the shadowed mahogany paneled walls of the dining room. “I have half a notion to move back to Oakley House.”

From Robert’s right at the dinner table, a puzzled Lucius regarded him. “You are out of sorts tonight, old fellow. Whatever is the matter with you?”

Out of sorts? Robert thought ironically. Such a description could hardly begin to describe the bleak hopelessness of the mood that enveloped him. For one thing, he had been obliged to decide whether or not to tell Lucius the stupendous news regarding Sara Sophia. He yearned to tell his friend, yet was cautious enough to realize much could still go wrong. Surreptitiously, he regarded his dinner companion. Lucius was thinner — dark circles under his eyes. Worse, his enthusiasm for life, acerbic though it had been, had fled. In his grief for Sara Sophia, Lucius had become a dull, drab shadow of his former self. Now, after the heartache he had suffered, it would be cruel to raise his hopes, only to have them dashed again. More prudent to wait, Robert decided. He would break the news to Lucius when Sara Sophia arrived safely home.

That decided, Robert thoughts now dwelled continually, without respite, on the undeniable and dreadful fact that Clarinda had rejected him. He had been stunned by her words, partly because, he had to admit, he had never before been rejected by a woman. Never!

“Robert? Are you listening? You seem a million miles away.”

“Er, sorry, Lucius. My mind was elsewhere.” Robert debated whether or not to say more, but decided he would not. In fact, he vowed, he would not think of her, he would not talk of her. But then, almost as if they had a mind of his own, the words popped out. “It’s Clarinda. I proposed and she rejected me.”

Lucius’s eyes went wide. He nearly dropped his fork. “You? Proposed to a woman?”

“To what else would I propose, a stump?” Robert snapped.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean — “

“Of course not,” Robert interrupted, instantly remorseful. “No need for me to bite your head off. It’s just … I love her, Lucius. I thought she loved me. I was confident when I proposed she’d fall into my arms crying, yes, she’d marry me. But no! She rejected me, Lucius. I, who have never been rejected by a woman before, have been most definitely put in my place.” Robert’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. “A lesson in humility. Much needed, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” replied Lucius, who had listened carefully. “‘Pride goeth before a fall’, they say. That is certainly true in my case. I was a user of women, plying them with gifts and attention, then casting them aside when they no longer suited me.” Lucius shook his head regretfully. “With never a thought to their feelings. Now I’ve learned…” His voice broke. He took a hasty of sip of water. “I’ve learned the meaning of the word hurt, Robert. Never shall I hurt a woman again.”

“I’m as guilty as you,” Robert admitted. “I never loved any woman until Clarinda.”

“But surely you would not have proposed had you not been sure she would accept.”

Robert blurted, “That’s what I thought, but then there was all the excitement over Sara Sophia — “

Damme! Robert clamped his mouth shut but not soon enough.

Lucius, still holding his crystal water glass, set it slowly back on the table, then gazed at Robert with sharp, assessing eyes. “Tell me, Robert,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Don’t hold back or I shall, at the very least, use my bare hands to throttle you.”

Robert had no choice. He told Lucius all of it. The rusty keys to the old gatehouse — the paintings — the astounding letter from Louise Marie de Clarmonte which clearly established the fact that Sara Sophia, heretofore impoverished orphan, was in reality Countess Sara Sophia Alexandrine de Clarmonte.

At the end, Robert apologized. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, old man. I, myself, only found out this afternoon. I was going to tell you, but first — “

“No, no, it’s all right,” said Lucius waving his hand to stop any further apologies. He had listened, almost without expression, to Robert’s revelations. Now he shut his eyes, as if attempting to absorb the news with all his attention. A tear trickled down his cheek. “Oh, God,” he finally murmured, “how could I have been so lucky? I’ve been given a second chance.” Trembling with emotion, he put his head in hands, and Robert, touched and nearly overcome himself at the overwhelming emotion of his friend, spent the next minutes comforting him.

Lucius finally sat straight again and pulled himself together. “If you tell anyone in London…” he said with a warning glance.

“That Lord Wentridge, that heartless rake, actually shed a tear?” Robert asked, mockingly aghast. “Never!” He smiled at his friend. “She should be home in a day or two. Meanwhile…” His spirits dipped again, even farther than before because his friend’s happy tidings reminded him of his own loss. “Ah, well, at least one of us reason to celebrate tonight.”

His old self again, Lucius remarked, “Knowing you, you would never have proposed, lest you were sure the chit had some affection for you.”

“She did,” Robert replied, “or so I thought. Only yesterday, I kissed her and she kissed me back with such warmth I was sure she cared for me.” Robert brought his fist down so hard on the table Lucius jumped. “Dammit, she did care. But then, today, she treated me like some cur she’d like to kick aside.”

“Well, then,” Lucius said in his most logical voice, “did it ever occur to you that something must have happened between yesterday and today to make her change her mind?”

“I hadn’t thought,” Robert began, then fell into silence. “The only thing that happened was the discovery about Sara Sophia.”