The Rebellious Twin (27 page)

“So?” Lucius gazed at him significantly.

“I shall think about it,” Robert said. Back in a dim corner of his brain, certain facts were beginning to fall into place.

Clarinda awoke the next morning with a headache, a real one this time. As she came fully awake, the events of yesterday came crashing back, both the good and the bad. She groaned, thinking of Robert and how she had lost him. But today, she firmly told herself, she would try to concentrate on Sara Sophia’s good fortune. Already a footman had been dispatched in one of the smaller coaches, carrying her letter. By tomorrow he should reach Rondale Hall. She pictured her dear friend’s face when she read,

Dearest Sara Sophia,

Something wonderful has happened. It is a matter of the greatest urgency that you return home immediately. Bring all your possessions, for it is highly unlikely you will ever return to Rondale Hall once you have heard the news.

My father’s coach will bring you directly here, to Graystone Hall, where I shall be eagerly awaiting your return. I am looking forward to telling you of the most remarkable and fortunate events that have occurred. Trust me, you will not be disappointed.

Most sincerely,

Clarinda Capelle

*

She could hardly wait! Now, as she sat at her dressing table, staring at her pale face in the mirror, she had not one regret. If her sacrifice would bring happiness to her dearest friend in the world, then all the misery she felt, and would continue to feel, perhaps the rest of her life, was well worth it. Lord Wentridge was here, visiting Hollyridge Manor. That meant the lovers would soon be united. Just picturing their joyous reunion made Clarinda’s heart swell. But thinking about reunited lovers soon brought her back to that dismal scene yesterday in the gatehouse when she had been compelled to reject Robert’s proposal. How stunned he had looked. He was a man who brimmed with self confidence and no doubt had never given a thought to the possibility she might say no. And why should he? What right-minded woman would reject a man as bright — witty — charming as Robert, Lord Stormont? Let alone, she thought wryly, a man with his vast wealth and high title.

How she wished she could take back her words of refusal to his marriage proposal. Her mind searched for ways to reunite with him somehow, but no use. Whether Rissa captured him or not, six months was a lifetime. Considering the cold way she’d treated him, he would never come back. She swallowed the sob that rose in her throat and admonished herself, don’t think of him. If she allowed herself to dwell on the loss of the only man she had ever truly loved, she might not even wish to survive. But that was foolish, even though she knew she would never get over her love for him. Despite her resolve, her spirits plunged as she envisioned a desolate future. She had felt the same when Jeffrey died, but for different reasons. Then, she had been a giddy young girl infatuated with a book of poems and a handsome uniform. But with Robert, she loved the man himself. How could she not help but mourn his loss?

But if I’m brave enough, and strong enough, I can get over this. Surely I can create a reasonable happy life for myself.

She heard a quick knock on the door. Estelle entered, asking, “M’lady, what will you and Lady Rissa wear today?”

Clarinda succumbed to the tide of rebellion that rose within her. “I shall not be dressing like my twin anymore. Ever!” She thought of her gold necklace lying on her bosom and pulled the chain over her head. “Nor shall I be wearing this any more, either.” Disdainfully she dropped the necklace on her dressing table.

Distressed, Estelle protested, “But, madam, what will her ladyship and his lordship say?”

“They can send me off to North Wales for all I care. The way I feel today, I would be glad to go.”

“But won’t Miss Sara Sophia be coming back soon, m’lady? Surely you would weesh to be here when she arrives.”

Amazing, how quickly servants discovered every single happening in their employers’ lives. Nothing was sacred. Resigned, Clarinda replied, “You’re right about Sara Sophia. Of course I should be here, and I shall be. I really must stop moping about.” She thought of Robert and sighed.

“Oh, m’lady, I am so sorry.” In a gesture totally uncharacteristic of her, Estelle, who had always been the perfect lady’s maid, stepped out of her impersonal role and patted Clarinda’s shoulder. Her brown eyes filled with sympathy. “It ees hard, I know, what weeth Lady Rissa — ” she paused and shook her head ” — but I say too much.”

She knows about Robert, thought Clarinda, touched by Estelle’s sympathy. “There’s nothing to be done, I’m afraid, but don’t worry, I shall survive.”

Estelle picked up a brush and started brushing Clarinda’s hair. “There are other men in the world,” she said.

Looking straight ahead, Clarinda addressed Estelle’s image in the mirror. “Not for me there aren’t. I shall never marry.”

“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.”