Fated Folly (9 page)

It took time to disabuse the Carradales of the hideous conviction of Clare's supposed elopement, which was apparently culled from the garbled accounts of Miss Carradale's enterprising page boy and her maid, Olive. Like Pippa's abigail, the girl had found her mistress's bed empty in the early hours. It seemed she had then recalled Dobbin's odd late entrance the night before and the strange fact that Miss Clare had not rung for her to come and undress her.

Rupert was thankful Lord and Lady Carradale were eventually made to understand that their subsequent, if not unnatural, conclusions had been false. But his own anger revived as distress engulfed both parents all over again at the news of Justin's very real elopement.

Carradale was inclined to blame Rupert, not much to his surprise. He was touched when Clare became hot in his defence.

‘
You cannot excuse Justin and Pippa by bemoaning Sir Rupert's having decided against their marriage, Papa. That is quite unfair.'

‘
I don't mind it, Miss Carradale,' said Rupert, attempting to soothe. It did not serve.

‘
Well, you should. If anyone other than my brother is to be taken at fault, let it be Lord Ashendon. I am very sure neither of them would have thought of eloping were it not for him.'

Ashendon raised his brows, and adopted that world-weary tone he seemed to believe served to make him sound sophisticated, when to Rupert it merely rendered him ridiculous and conceited.

‘
Really, Miss Carradale, these incessant, and quite unfounded, accusations.'

‘
Oh, hold your tongue,' snapped Rupert, irked beyond bearing. ‘If your complicity in that affair is in doubt, you are assuredly responsible for Miss Carradale's present predicament.'

‘
Which,' broke in Lady Carradale reproachfully, ‘is of far more significance. It is too late to avert the scandal Justin has made, but—'

‘
Oh no, Mama,' broke in Clare distressfully. She turned urgently to Sir Rupert. ‘You must continue your journey. You cannot allow matters to take their course. After all, Mrs Nateby knows nothing of that scheme. Only bring them safely back and no one need know anything at all about it.'

‘
If that is what you think,' acidly stated her parent, ‘then you know nothing of Alethea Nateby. You may depend upon it, by this time she will have woken that noddy of a son, who needs must be a friend of Justin's, and together they will have added up two and two to make four. Lord, I should do so myself. Anyone can see that if we are here, and Wolverley is here, our errands must be the same. Thanks to my idiotic son's indiscretion, his romantic attachment is known to the world at large.' A sob entered her voice, and Clare sighed with frustration. ‘And if the news of his elopement is not all over town w-within hours of Alethea's arrival there, you may c-call me a dunce.'

‘
Hrumph. No—um—need to—hrumph—work yourself into a state, my dear,' protested her father, in a feeble way that Clare knew would not be attended to.

‘
There is every need,' contradicted her mother predictably, hunting for her pocket handkerchief. ‘How in the w-world am I to hold up my head with both my children in disgrace?'

The wail of anguish that ended this speech brought Lord Carradale hurrying to her side, where he stood uttering ineffectual noises, and frantically rubbing his spectacles against his sleeve.

For the first time Clare was struck with a creeping realisation. She stared at her mother, now quite bowed down with woe, as numbness entered her brain. Could it be true? Was it really so serious? She found Sir Rupert Wolverley at her elbow and turned, the startled question in her mind evidently showing in her eyes as she looked up at him.

‘
Your mama is in the right of it, you know,' Rupert said, speaking with a gentleness born of sympathy for her evident dismay. ‘There is little point in chasing the runaways now. They could no more reappear in Town unmarried and expect to be received than fly to the moon. But your case, my child, is not hopeless. Don't look so downcast, I beg of you.' He looked across to Lady Carradale, where she sat sniffing into her handkerchief. ‘Ma'am, I think there is a possible way to make use of the elopment to rescue Miss Carradale. It seems to me that we ought to tell Mrs Nateby the whole story and throw ourselves upon her discretion. Once she knows the real reason for Clare's presence here—'

‘
Discretion?' interrupted Lady Carradale on a mirthless laugh. ‘She does not know the meaning of the word.'

‘
Nor Nateby either,' said Ashendon in a smug tone, suddenly entering the lists. ‘The whole tale will be doing the rounds of the clubs in no time.'

‘
That affords you satisfaction, does it?' enquired Rupert icily as Lady Carradale let out a moan.

Ashendon's sneer was pronounced. ‘I am merely offering an opinion based on my knowledge of the man, and of his mother. It has nothing to do with me.'

‘
That we shall see,' Rupert said grimly.

‘
But he is right,' wailed the afflicted lady. ‘The more meat we give them, the faster they will eat. No, no. Silence or denial are all the defences we have, and they will avail us nothing. Clare will be ruined in any event.'

‘
But you are here now, Mama. And Mrs Nateby has seen you herself. That must surely obviate any question of impropriety,' Clare offered.

Rupert could hear the underlying desperation and would have spoken if he had not been forestalled by Lady Carradale, who turned to her flustered spouse.

‘
Does the child understand nothing? Can she not recognise that her absence
all night
in the company of a man, regardless of his identity, is matter for conjecture? Does she not know the damage a few malicious words can cause?'

‘
But, Mama, I told you that Lord Ashendon did not even spend the night at this inn.'

‘
Do you imagine anyone will believe that? Tell her, Carradale. Explain it to her, for pity's sake! I have not the patience.'

Throwing up her hands, Lady Carradale closed her eyes, her fingers clutching at her temples in a gesture of intense agony. Rupert could not but be amused, despite his concern for Clare's distress. He had no great hopes of Lord Carradale, however, though he supposed the man was doing his best.

‘
Hrumph. There now—um—you see, my dear? Hrumph. Your mama knows the ways of the world much better than you.'

Rupert's brief respite of amusement died as Clare turned to him. Somehow he felt that she did so instinctively, and he must not fail her. He met the unconscious plea in her expressive face, and set his jaw, glancing at Ashendon. The young rogue had been taking snuff in a leisurely way, but Rupert suspected he was less at ease than he appeared.

‘
Well, Ashendon?' With satisfaction he noted the fellow jump at hearing his name. ‘Have you nothing to suggest for the relief of Lady Carradale's anxiety?'

‘
I?' echoed the boy, the horror unmistakeable as he clearly took in the portent of Rupert's words.

‘
You,' Rupert agreed, an edge to his voice. ‘I am sure you can offer a sensible solution.'

He failed to notice Clare's revulsion. She interrupted without ceremony.

‘
Offer? You must have taken leave of your senses, Sir Rupert. You cannot mean that you expect me to marry Lord Ashendon?' She drew a breath and glared. ‘I would rather die!'

At that, Ashendon's eyes flashed. ‘The matter is not open for choice, ma'am.'

‘
Well, thank God for that,' retorted Clare. ‘I had rather marry a snake!'

‘
Insolence! How dare you?'

Satisfied to have shaken him out of his habitual pose, Clare lifted her chin and glared at him with defiance.

‘
Snake indeed!' he snapped. ‘And considering the fact that I took the greatest care to sleep elsewhere—'

‘
As has already been said, no one will take notice of that,' interrupted Sir Rupert.

‘
Clare, are you mad?' burst from Lady Carradale, before he could finish. Her agitation was plain as she jumped up. ‘The answer to a prayer, and you fling it away!'

‘
Answer to a prayer?' echoed Clare. ‘I tell you I would choose ruin first. And as he will be only too ready to tell you, he wants to marry me as little as I want to marry him.'

‘
Less,' put in Ashendon acidly. ‘A more unpleasant fate I cannot conceive.'

‘
There,' Clare said in triumph, adding with gruff defiance, ‘And I do not see why I should be obliged to marry anyone. No one pays attention to anything Mrs Nateby says.'

‘
On the contrary.' Ashendon's lip curled unpleasantly. ‘Everyone listens avidly to her conversation.'

‘
That is perfectly true,' mourned her mama, ‘which is why, Lord Ashendon—'

‘
But why me, Lady Carradale?' protested Ashendon, and his sudden smile threw Clare into suspicion. His gaze turned to Sir Rupert. ‘Even Mrs Nateby was uncertain which of us she was ready to believe had compromised your daughter.'

Rupert felt all eyes upon him, but he had room for none but Clare. Her startled gaze was trained upon him and he hardly heard the interruptions breaking out around him.

‘
You mean Sir Rupert to —'

‘
What? Bless me, not again! Preposterous! We are agreed on that.'

‘
Well, cousin? Will
you
marry the girl?'

The malicious tone barely got through to Rupert. The sudden hush felt breathless in its intensity. His gaze was fixed on Clare. She was staring at him in that unselfconscious way she had, her animated countenance alive with uncertainty, as if this unexpected turn of events had taken on the aspect of a dream. As indeed it felt to Rupert. He saw Clare's already wan cheeks drain a little more of colour and watched her lip tremble. She looked young, and enticing, and altogether vulnerable.

In a voice which did not seem to be his own, Sir Rupert heard himself speak.

‘
If she will have me, yes, I will.'

Something leapt in Clare's bosom and her lips parted in shock. There was a bursting feeling in her lungs, and her breath was trapped in her throat. She could not speak.

It did not matter, for pandemonium at once broke out around her. Vaguely she heard her father's voice raised in angry protest—strangely, something about appealing to the Archbishop of Canterbury—and her mother's in shrill but emphatic response. Ashendon was forgotten, except as some vague shadow in the background. It seemed to a stunned and dazzled Clare that Sir Rupert Wolverley's dynamic features filled her vision. A buzzing sounded in her ears, and her senses threatened to overcome her.

Quite how it happened she could never afterwards recall, for the figures and voices outside of Sir Rupert's own—now close to her, speaking urgently into her unresponsive ear—were like actors on a stage somewhere outside her experience. But somehow, as she came back to full awareness, she found herself alone with him in the little antechamber to the tap-room, seated on the very wooden settle on which she had dozed fitfully only a few short hours before.

‘
I thought we would do better to discuss this matter in private,' he was saying calmly.

‘
You—you did not mean it, did you?' Clare managed faintly.

‘
I should not otherwise have said it.'

He smiled as he spoke, and all at once Clare's tongue was free, the mischief leaping into her brain.

‘
Sir Rupert, are you offering yourself up as a sacrifice on the altar of matrimony?'

He grinned. ‘Miss Carradale, I am.'

He might have guessed, Rupert thought, that she would turn it all into a joke. He was glad. It made it easier. He must feel his way, for he was on delicate ground. Truth to tell, he had shocked himself almost as much as he had shocked the child. She was speaking again, and he was obliged to force back an extraordinary heady lightness that had invaded his mind.

‘
It is quite enchanting of you, Sir Rupert, but I cannot let you do it. You had no hand in compromising me. Besides, you don't want to marry me. You said it was preposterous.'

‘
No, that was your father's word, not mine.'

A puzzled look came into Clare's eyes. ‘Was he talking of the Archbishop of Canterbury?'

Rupert's smile was rueful. ‘Indeed he was. He seems to feel that the worthy cleric will have some objection to me becoming both uncle-in-law and brother-in-law to the same fellow.'

A giggle escaped her. ‘Heavens, so you would. Will there be an objection, do you think?'

‘
Unlikely. I dare say it will be thought a trifle eccentric, but that, I imagine, should not trouble you.'

‘
No,' Clare agreed, eyes dancing. ‘After all, we must not forget that I am a minx who is going to lead my husband a dance.'

He laughed. ‘And I am an ogre. How in the world shall we manage?'

Clare's face clouded. ‘You didn't mean it.'

‘
I did. I do.' He found her hand and lifted it to his lips. He felt the quiver of her fingers and folded them inside his much larger clasp. ‘Don't be afraid.'