The Rebellious Twin (28 page)

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

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,” he 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.”

“Of course!” she called back over her shoulder. Rubdown indeed. Jupiter tossed his head back, whinnying his delight at being out of his stall. Damnation! If she could just manage to hang onto the back of this cursed animal, all would go well, exactly as she planned.

A raindrop splashed her forehead. She gazed tenderly at her little brother as he rode beside her. “A little rain won’t hurt us!” she called gaily. “We shall go for a nice, long ride. Won’t this be fun?”

*

Rained poured, thunder clapped, lightening lit the late afternoon sky as, hours later, they came back from their ride. Alexander, drenched and shivering, had long since ceased to speak, but simply hung onto the saddle, his face pale and drawn.

Morris was nowhere to be seen as they brought their horses to a halt in front of the stables. Now how am I supposed to get off this wretched horse? she wondered. It stood seventeen hands. Just jump off, she supposed. She jumped and landed, splat! into a puddle. Odious beast.

Less than an hour into the ride, Rissa had decided maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. She was freezing cold, as was Alexander. The rain had started coming down in buckets, and that was before they got lost. It had taken her forever to find the right path back, all the while, Alexander coughing and hacking, and whining about how he wanted to go home.

She could hardly wait to get back to her cosy bed chamber, to the warmth of her fireplace. Picking herself up from the puddle, she saw Alexander slide from his horse, moving ever so slowly, as if he were stiff from the cold. “Come, we shall run to the house,” she called.

“No!” Alexander shouted back, his thin voice barely audible over the sound of the storm. “First we must take care of the horses.”

“Morris will see to that. Come along.”

“No! We cannot let the horses stay out.”

Little brat. “All right then, we shall get them inside.”

They led Jupiter and Captain, dripping wet, shivering, and still with their saddles on, into the stables and put them in their stalls. “There, that’s enough,” she said. “Let’s us be off.”

Looking at her little brother, she began to worry. He was white as a ghost and shivering violently. “But Clarinda,” he protested through chattering teeth, “you know we must take their saddles off and rub them down.”

“That’s Morris’s job.”

“But he’s not here.” Alexander looked desperate. “Can’t you see Jupiter’s cold and shaking, and so’s Captain. We must rub them down, Clarinda. Papa will kill us if we don’t.”

“Papa won’t be back ‘til morning,” she told him. She’d had no idea Alexander would look so awful. She must get him into the house and get him warm. “We are going to the house this instant,” she told her brother firmly, “then I shall go find Morris and he can take care of the horses.”

Rissa’s remorse grew as they hurried through the driving rain toward the main portico. She hadn’t thought that Alexander might have a relapse. She hadn’t thought it would rain, or that they would lose their way. At least Mama and Papa weren’t home. There, indeed, was a blessing. All she needed to do was get Alexander to his room and into dry clothes, get her own dry clothes, and then sneak into Clarinda’s room and put the necklace and riding gown back.

But this is going to work, she assured herself. She pictured the scene next morning, when Papa discovered Clarinda had gone riding in the rain, not only taking along his precious little son, but riding Jupiter, his sacred, sacrosanct, stupid horse. He would be absolutely livid. Clarinda could deny it all she pleased, but how could she prove she hadn’t done it? Especially when Alexander said it was Clarinda who took him for the ride, and Morris said Clarinda was the one who had ordered him to saddle Jupiter.

Perfect! Her little scheme wasn’t so bad after all.

They reached the front entryway and ran up the steps. At the top, she heard the sounds of hooves and jangling harness. It sounded like … oh, no! It sounded like a coach. Rissa stared, paralyzed. Mama and Papa must have cut short their visit to Cousin Clara’s. They were coming home.

*

In the front entryway, water dripped from Rissa’s skirt and puddled on the marble floor as she cowered before her mother. Never, in all her twenty years had she seen Mama so angry. “But, Mama, you don’t understand,” she said, trembling, tears running down her face.”

“I understand well enough,” Mama shrieked, her features contorted with anger. “How dare you take Alexander for a ride when I forbade him to go out? The boy is sick! You know how fragile he is. If something should happen to my one and only son…!” Mama took in a deep breath, attempting to get control of herself. In a slightly less frenetic voice, she continued, “This is the last straw, Clarinda. I shall tell Papa he should pack you off to North Wales immediately, this very moment.”

Papa, who had carried Alexander up to his bed chamber, came hurrying back down. “The nanny has him,” he said to Mama. “Perhaps it’s not too serious. Some hot soup, a poultice of verbena on his chest, he’ll be fine.”

Mama glared at him. “You must send her off to Grandfather Montagu’s this instant.”

Yes, but not now! Rissa screamed silently. Not until she’d had a chance to switch the necklace back and become Rissa again. She waited, her heart in her mouth, for Papa’s response.

“Let’s not be too hasty, Edwina. Doubtless Clarinda didn’t realize it was going to rain — “

“That’s not the point,” Mama declared. “Lord knows, the girl’s been given enough chances. Now I want her out of my sight.”