The Heiresses (37 page)

“Favor?! Grateful?!” Ro yelled as the door to her right opened and a yawning Clio entered the scene. “How can you say that?!” It was at this moment Ro knew Thalia was truly capable of anything. Since the three sisters had learned they must fight for the inheritance that should rightfully be theirs, Thalia had proved this time and time again. Why did she always give her the benefit of the doubt? What kind of sister behaved in such a fashion? Well, no longer, Ro thought. No longer …

In front of Ro’s hardening expression, Thalia continued. “This was the only way I could think of that would make you wake up and see what a dirty little social climber he really is! Goodness, please don’t think for a moment that I
enjoyed
any of it,” she scoffed. “Really, I have no idea how you endured him. All that ridiculous kissing of every imaginable body part. On and on, endlessly. It was all terribly … moist.” She pawed at her own throat with this. “Anyway, that’s it. If he would be willing to sleep with me, you can hardly want him now, can you?”

Clio glanced from one sister to the other, frowning. “What on earth is going on here?”

“Vincent is in Thalia’s bedroom,” Ro replied, her voice flat.

Clio’s eyes widened. “What? But…”

“Invited willingly by Thalia, it seems,” Ro explained. “One might even say lured.”

With this, the door to Thalia’s bedroom opened further and a sheepish-looking Vincent emerged, now fully clothed. “Ro, I…”

Ro held up a hand. Barely able to look at him, she chose instead to ignore his presence and glanced away.

Thalia took her lead and refrained from acknowledging Vincent’s presence. “Don’t you see? If he’d even consider sleeping with me, your sister, what else has he been up to? Has he any scruples? Really, ask yourself that, Ro. You do need to.”

“Ro…,” Vincent entreated.

But Ro continued to refuse to look at him. “Just go,” she whispered, her eyes fixed to the recurring rectangular pattern on the wallpaper.

“Yes, do,” Thalia seconded. “You can see yourself out.”

Clio said nothing, but watched the scene unfold before her, horrified, as Vincent slowly walked down the hallway toward the main staircase, his gaze remaining on Ro until he turned the corner and was gone.

“Right,” Thalia said, almost cheerfully. “Now that Vincent’s off to ravish ten other girls for their fortune and Ro is focused on the job at hand, we can get on with business.”

“Business?” Clio echoed.

“Yes, business. The business of your real father, that is. I mean, it really is unbelievable luck—Clio’s father being the Duke of Hastings. Powerful! Political! He’s the kind of man who could ruin Charles’s pathetic little political ambitions with just a few words to the right men. Don’t you think?”

“I … suppose so,” Clio said. “But…”

“But nothing.” Thalia barely paused for breath as Ro continued to shoot daggers at her with her eyes. “I might not be the brains of this threesome, but I know what people want and I know what they’ll do to get it, too.”

“But we can’t tell Charles I have a different father,” Clio said slowly. “Then he’ll know I’m illegitimate. He’ll know William was not my father after all and that I’m not entitled to any of our mother’s fortune.”

“This is true,” Thalia continued. “But, trust me, you are far more useful to Charles as the Duke of Hastings’s daughter. After all, won’t your father be furious when he finds out that some young whippersnapper is toying with his daughter’s emotions by holding on tight to an inheritance that is not rightfully his—a fortune that is actually the duke’s dead beloved’s? I’d guess that Charles will hand our mother’s money over to us tied up with a bright red ribbon when good old Felix gives him a quick visit.”

“It is a good point,” Clio said quietly, glancing at Ro who continued to glare. “But I haven’t even met him yet. I can’t go asking him to—”

Thalia cut her off. “Of course you can! And if you won’t ask him, I’ll ask him for you. That’s what papas are for, my dear. He should have already fought many battles on your behalf so far. You’ll only be asking him for what’s due. Wait! What’s wrong?” Thalia called out as Ro turned abruptly and stalked away without a backward glance.

“What’s wrong?” she hissed without turning around. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You make me sick. You make me sick and I never want to set eyes on you again.” And, with this, Ro slammed her bedroom door behind her.

*   *   *

Clio had the least restful night of her entire life. The moment her eyes began to droop, she would remember who she was due to meet in the morning and then her eyelids would snap open and her heart would race once more. Being woken by Thalia and Ro’s argument outside her room did not help in the slightest, either. It was only as dawn was breaking when Ro, unable to sleep also, had knocked softly, seen Clio was awake, and climbed into her bed with a tear-stained face, that she was finally able to drift away and find some peace.…

“Clio?”

Clio rolled over in her bed to see Ro standing on the other side, fully dressed. Sunshine peeped through the drapes. “What time is it?” she asked, squinting.

“That’s why I’ve come to get you. It’s nine o’clock. I’ve brought you up some breakfast.” Ro gestured toward Clio’s dressing table, where a tray was set.

It was only then that it all came flooding back and Clio recalled the events of last night and that she would be meeting her father, her real father, in less than an hour.

“And there’s somebody here to see you.” Ro patted her arm, then bent down and quickly stood up once more, placing something on the bed.

Haggis McTavish.

He proceeded to try to lick Clio in any and every way possible, which she was thankful for—at least deflecting his advances was a welcome distraction. For Ro also, she thought. “Are you all right, Ro?” she asked, doubtfully.

“Yes,” a puffy-faced Ro answered. “Though I’ve been better.” She endeavored to pin Haggis McTavish down in order to give him a pat, but he proceeded to bound around the bed excitedly, lapping up the attention. “Come on, you.” Ro scooped up a very silly Haggis McTavish as he bolted from the end of the bed toward Clio once more. “And you”—her eyes flicked to Clio—“have something to eat and get dressed. I’ll check in on you again soon and then we’ll set off.”

*   *   *

Clio held her breath nervously as the clock ticked away in the Duke of Hastings’s study. The introductions had been made, the small talk had petered out, and now … well, Clio had no idea what was supposed to happen now. Certainly, she was not about to burst forth and ask her father for help with Charles, despite Thalia insisting she must. She had barely said ten words to him yet! Clio shifted in her seat, feeling ill at ease. Her dress, borrowed from Thalia, felt all wrong. A colorful confection of royal blue, with a rather showy number of crisp pleats, Thalia had insisted in finishing it off with a matching scarf, knotted jauntily at the neck. The scarf, in particular, felt like a farce. It suggested the owner was gay and carefree and Clio felt anything but, especially since Ro had left her side. Now it was just her and … him. Her real father. The duke.

“You…,” the duke started to say.

“I…,” she said at the same time.

The pair both stopped short, embarrassed.

“Please, continue,” the duke told Clio, gesturing with one hand.

“I was about to say that I’m not really sure what to call you,” Clio said quietly, her eyes not quite meeting his. But she did notice his seemingly relaxed pose in the armchair he sat in now. How could he not be nervous? It was all Clio could do to remain seated and not pace the room like a caged lion. Slowly, Clio’s eyes rose to meet his, and upon doing so, she was somewhat pleased to see that this was where his anxiety lay—in his dark eyes. He wasn’t as at ease as he would have her think. “I can’t call you Papa, as I know your daughter must. And Your Grace, or Duke seems…”

“Somewhat ridiculous, given our situation?” The duke chuckled slightly now, bringing a warmth to his expression.

Clio dipped her head, smiling slightly. “Well, I was about to say ‘a little formal,’ but I think ridiculous will do nicely.”

“Perhaps you should call me Felix, as Hestia does?” the duke tried.

Clio thought about this for a moment. “I think that would do very well,” she eventually answered. Her eyes strayed once more to the photograph of Felix’s wife and child. Ro had mentioned she had seen it in his study and Clio had found herself seeking it out as soon as she had entered the room. Now she could barely keep her eyes from it. She forced herself to glance at her father. “Now I see where my looks come from,” she said, by way of conversation. “I had always wondered. And now I know.”

“Your looks might very well come from me, my dear, but you are far more like your mother than you think.”

Clio thought Felix was being kind. “But you have seen my sisters. Well, Ro, at least. And a photograph of Thalia. You must see there is nothing of my mother in me.”

Felix sat forward slightly in his seat. “Now you are simply wrong. You have her countenance. Her grace. There is much of your mother in you, believe me. I see her in your every movement, Clio.”

Silence enveloped the room. Clio knew if she spoke, she would most likely cry. What Felix had just told her—he would never know how much his words had meant. All this time, having to look at her sisters’ faces … to know that there was something, anything, of her mother in her, meant so very much.

Finally, Felix spoke once more. “Your parents … they were good to you? Erato assures me this is the case, but I must know. I could not bear to think that…” He broke off here, unable to continue, his every word filled with emotion.

“Please, don’t think for a minute that…” Clio waved both of her hands. “My mother and father—that is, the people who took me in—oh, but I could not have had a lovelier childhood. You must believe me. Certainly, we did not have as much money as Ro’s family, or the family who took Thalia in, but I was much loved and wanted.”

“I hear your father was a vicar.”

Clio nodded. She went to open her mouth to say something about her father, but found herself suddenly at a loss for words, thinking how much she needed him with her right now.

“You must think me a dreadful sinner,” Felix said quietly, his eyes fixed on his daughter. “And I was, of course, but in my defense, I must tell you I loved your mother very much. Too much. In the way that I became blind to all else. It is only with age and experience and a daughter—two daughters!—of my own, that I can see not everything Demeter and I did was right, simply because we were in love. Youth does blind you to these matters…” He shook his head slightly with this. “Oh, how old I sound saying that. Positively decrepit!”

“No,” Clio said quickly. “I understand. I might only be eighteen, but I already know love can be … difficult.” She thought of Edwin’s proposal now. And of how much she missed his cheery presence in her life, despite his foibles.

“There is … something else I must tell you.” Felix’s voice remained quiet.

But Clio barely heard his words, having found her eyes dragged, mesmerized, back to the photograph on the side table—the photograph of Felix’s wife and daughter—as she thought of Edwin. And of family. Of perhaps one day having a family of her own, like Felix did. It took Clio’s brain several more moments to register that Felix had spoken. “Did you say something?”

“Perhaps we shall speak about it another day.” Felix smiled indulgently, seeing what Clio was staring at. “You do look awfully alike, don’t you? I must say it was quite a shock seeing you for the first time. Almost as if I was presented with a grown-up version of my ten-year-old daughter. Would you like to meet her?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Penelope, I mean?”

“Oh, yes. Very much,” Clio said as she nodded enthusiastically. “Very much indeed.”

“She is desperate to meet you.” Felix twisted in his chair, gesturing toward the closed door to the study. “If you go over and open the door,” he continued quietly, “I’m sure you’ll find she’s been there the whole time.” He turned back to Clio, with a comical smile upon his face and Clio immediately understood he meant her to surprise the unsuspecting Penelope.

With a smile that, unknowingly, matched Felix’s exactly, Clio stood silently and crept across the room, while her father looked on. She placed her hand upon the cold brass doorknob slowly … then, all at once, twisted it and wrenched the door open dramatically. And there, just as Felix had said she would be, was Penelope, staring up at her with wide, deep brown eyes and a little
o
for a mouth, formed from the shock of being caught eavesdropping.

Clio couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you so very much!”

Penelope continued to stare at her mutely and, eventually, Clio thought she had better say something. “Hello,” she said as she held out her hand. “I’m Clio. And you must be Penelope.”

It was Clio’s words that saw Penelope move into action. Suddenly, her own words flew out, garbled and breathless. “I’ve always wanted a sister of my very own. Even more than a pony! My friend Beatrice has one—a sister, I mean, not a pony, though she has a pony, too. And Eleanor. Alice, too! And now I do! Because you’re here. You’re really here!”

Clio gasped, then laughed, her eyes welling unexpectedly once more with tears at her half sister’s explosive welcome.

Penelope continued to peer up at her with those eyes of hers—Clio’s eyes. One and the same. Then she lurched forward and attached herself to Clio’s waist, encircling her with her arms in such a way that Clio suspected she might never let go.

“Pene!” her father called out, standing up from his seat.

But Clio only raised a hand, asking him to pause. “It’s all right,” she said, and picked Penelope’s arms off her waist, in order that she could get down on her knees and embrace properly the girl, her half sister, this gorgeous creature Penelope. And as she pulled Penelope to her, feeling the warmth of her love for her, she realized how very fortunate she was to be accepted into two loving families in one lifetime.

No, she might not have grown up with the status, education, or money that her sisters had, but in her heart she knew without a doubt that she was, by far, the most fortunate of the three indeed.