The Rebellious Twin (12 page)

Robert was at a loss for words. He thought to inquire as to why the gelding was being sold but stopped himself. He didn’t have to ask. It was obvious her parents were taking Clarinda’s horse away as a punishment. How cruel. He thought of the first time he’d seen her — only yesterday, but he’d never forget. It had taken his breath away — the sight of that young, spirited girl, laid out nearly flat on the back of her magnificent Irish hunter, the two of them streaking across the field, graceful as a swan in flight, almost as if they were flying. He remembered, too, before she mounted again, how she had pulled down Donegal’s head and whispered something endearing. In acknowledgment, the horse had pawed the ground, nodding as if he’d understood, his ears fluttering like young birds. It was obvious Clarinda loved that horse nearly as much as life itself. Now, for reasons he was positive were unjust, her unfeeling parents were going to sell her beloved Donegal.

“I am terribly sorry,” Robert said, then waited quietly, knowing the worst thing he could do was gush with sympathy.

Finally she raised her head, revealing tear-stained cheeks. “Thank you,” she said simply. He offered her his handkerchief. Gratefully she took it and blotted the tears away. “It’s nothing anyone can do. I am being punished for my so-called indiscretions.” He could hear the tears in her voice as she laughed bitterly. “I am such a naughty girl.”

“Are you really?” he asked, knowing full well his question was beyond the realm of politeness.

She looked him square in the eye. “That was my feeble attempt at a joke. There was a misunderstanding. I have done nothing wrong. That’s all I can tell you.”

“If you say you are innocent, then you are.” Robert felt a great relief. He had known her only briefly, but he sensed she wouldn’t lie. “Might I ask, what’s to be done with Donegal?”

“My parents are selling him, I don’t know to whom.” She looked so stricken he was afraid she would start to cry again, but she bit her lip and smiled bravely. “I shall never see him again, that’s the worst of it. Oh, dear.” She gulped and again dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief. When she raised her eyes, she was in control. “But I shall be fine, sir.” She lifted her chin and eyed his hand which still grasped her horse’s bridle. “I must be on my way, that is, if you would not mind letting go?”

“As you wish.” He dropped the bridle and watched as she signaled Donegal with a nudge of her knees. The horse started away. He called, “Good day, Lady Clarinda. I’m sorry for your troubles.”

“Don’t be,” she said, looking back with her features deceptively composed. “Thank you for your kindness. I shall be fine, just as I always am. I don’t want your sympathy.” Her horse picked up the pace and disappeared down the trail.

Perdition! thought Robert staring after her. How utterly unfair. He wished he could help, but what could he do?

Nothing, he firmly told himself as he turned Sham towards home. He must get all this nonsense out of his head and concentrate on those musty, muddled account books. Then he would go back to London — do a bit of gambling and also visit Selena. Strange, since yesterday he’d hardly given her a thought.

*

Shortly after Robert resumed his work in the library, Lucius strode in, dressed in his riding clothes. “Damme if she wasn’t right,” Robert commented. Lucius nearly always slept until noon, but here he was, not only up, but with a spring in his step and an eager spark in his eye.

As usual, Lucius retained his aplomb. “Not only am I up, my good fellow, but I am going riding.”

Robert gave him an odd glance. “I never knew you to be so eager to take the morning air. Could it be a certain dark-eyed young female is involved in your decision?”

Instead of returning his usual caustic reply, Lucius nodded pleasantly. “There’s a first time for everything,” he said softly. “I find Miss Sara Sophia Clarmonte most attractive.” Before Robert could answer, he raised his hand. “No further comment, please! She’s a delightful riding companion, that’s it, nothing more.”

“I’m glad to hear you say it. What a disaster it would be if you — “

“If I fell in love with Sara Sophia?” Lucius laughed loudly — too loudly. “Ridiculous!”

Not ridiculous a’tall, thought Robert, not taken in by Lucius’s so obviously false laughter. But there was nothing to be gained from further comment. He changed the subject by mentioning what was utmost on his mind: how he had met Clarinda on the trail and the sad news that her parents were going to sell Donegal.

“Damn shame,” commented Lucius.

“The girl loves that horse. She will be devastated…” Robert let his words trail off, aware he was revealing more of his thoughts than he wished his friend to know. “Something should be done. What they’re doing is a crime.”

Lucius sized him up with a slanted glance. “My, my, such concern for a chit you hardly know? How unlike you, Robert. What do you care whether the girl loses her horse or not?”

His friend’s indifference caused Robert to fume inside. Lucius simply didn’t understand. “In the first place, the girl did nothing wrong.”

“What about that business with Cranmer in the library? Are you sure she’s innocent? Cranmer’s an impudent dog, but he has a way with women.” Lucius thought a moment. “‘Tis more than likely she allowed him — “

“Silence!” Robert bellowed.

A heavy silence followed. Finally Lucius, much subdued, ventured, “Have they sold the horse yet?”

“How do I know?” asked Robert, also subdued. “Sorry I yelled. Why did you ask such a question?”

“Apology accepted.” Undaunted, Lucius continued, Why don’t you find out if the horse is sold, and if it’s not, buy it yourself? Then you could keep it here and let your little chit ride it.”

The idea jolted Robert. Why hadn’t he thought of it himself? With caution, he ventured, “I suppose it’s a possibility.”

“Just an idea, Robert, but on second thought, not very practical. For one thing, aren’t you going to sell Hollyridge?”

“I was planning to.”

Lucius brightened. “I have it! Disrepair or not, Hollyridge Manor is twice the estate Oakley House is. Did you ever consider not selling Hollyridge? Why not move here? You’d be getting a beautiful river at your doorstep, let alone there’d be much more room for your horses. Then you could keep Donegal here. Clarinda could still ride her horse, or at least take comfort from the knowledge her gelding was close by and well cared for.”

“That wouldn’t work,” said Robert, shaking his head. “They are selling the horse to punish the girl Like as not, they would not want her horse within a hundred miles of here.”

“But on the other hand,” Lucius persisted, “from what I hear, Lord Capelle is strapped for cash right now. He might consider your offer regardless, provided you sweeten the pot a little.”

Robert looked puzzled. “What do you mean? Capelle’s a wealthy man.”

“Indeed he is,” Lucius replied. “His holdings in the West Indies alone are worth a fortune, but not a ready fortune. Lady Capelle’s the problem. From what I hear, her gambling losses have put them deep in the hole. Capelle may well accept your offer, provided it’s an exceptionally generous one.

Robert lapsed into deep thought until Lucius impatiently inquired, “So what will you do?”

Robert brought his hand to his chin and mused aloud. “Money aside, that Irish Hunter is a beautiful piece of horseflesh I would buy in a minute, whether or not he belonged to Clarinda.”

“Then you may as well purchase the animal. If you don’t, someone else will.”

*

Lucius’s remarks had set off a new, wild train of thought in Robert’s head. The rest of the morning and part of the afternoon he mulled over various plans, all the while asking himself why he was going to such lengths for a chit of a girl. By late afternoon his plans were set.

“Jennings, tell the groom to saddle Sham,” he ordered the butler. “I shall be visiting Lord Capelle.”

Lucius overheard. “What are you planning?”

When Robert told him, Lucius burst into uproarious laughter. “Are you out of your mind? They will never accept an offer as insane as that.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Robert said confidently, although inwardly, he was not at all sure himself.

In the oak paneled library at Graystone Hall, Robert sat across from Lord Capelle, each with a brandy snifter in his hand. Capelle wasn’t a bad fellow, Robert mused as they chatted. In fact, he had greatly enjoyed discussing horses with his tall, pleasant-faced neighbor at last night’s ball. But that wife of his! Such a cold woman. He had seen her occasionally in London, usually playing whist at the home of Lady Archer or Lady Buckinghamshire. And losing plenty, as he recalled. She was no dilettante, though. She took her whist seriously — a bonafide, hard-nosed gambler. Hard to believe she was the mother of a girl as warm and charming as Clarinda.

Although Capelle was a gracious host, Robert noticed a certain tenseness in his neighbor’s face, and that he kept up a nervous drumming of his fingers on the arm of his Roman giltwood armchair. Finally Capelle asked, “Well, Stormont? You said you came for business.”

“I understand you have a gelding for sale.”

Capelle was instantly alert. “Indeed I do, sir. An Irish Hunter, sixteen hands, three years old. Great strength in his jumping quarters, as I’m sure you know. No finer specimen — “

“I want to buy her,” Robert said.

“Really?” asked Capelle, faintly surprised at Robert’s unquestioning resolve. “By gad, I don’t see why you couldn’t buy her, except … hmm.”

“Is there a problem?”

“I am afraid so.” Lord Capelle’s normally friendly, open face clouded with concern. “There is a certain delicate matter to be considered here.”

Robert deftly asked, “I understand the horse belongs to Lady Clarinda?”

“Yes, Donegal is Clarinda’s. You must understand, certain, er, events have occurred which have compelled me to make this decision to sell the animal.” Capelle stopped and cleared his throat, obviously reluctant to proceed. “Donegal must go. You’re obviously a good judge of cattle, Stormont, so I don’t have to tell you what a fine piece of horseflesh you’d be getting. Paid two hundred guineas for him, and a like amount for Dublin, Rissa’s horse. Might I ask — ?”

“Four hundred guineas for Donegal,” answered Robert, “however, there is a condition.”

Capelle could not suppress a gasp. “That is more than generous, sir!” A satisfied smile lit his face, but quickly faded. “Uh-oh. I have just thought of an obstacle.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Not even knowing your condition, under ordinary circumstances, I would accept your fine offer immediately. However, circumstances compel me to … ahem!..consult with her ladyship.”

“What obstacle is that, sir?” Robert asked.

“Er … ‘tis a family matter.”

Robert set down his brandy glass. “May I be honest?” Capelle nodded. “I mean brutally honest, and if you will permit me, with great reluctance, I am compelled to refer to that delicate family matter.”

“Go ahead,” said Capelle, also setting down his glass. He sat back, steepled his fingers, and waited for his guest to proceed.

Robert continued, “I take it you are selling Lady Clarinda’s horse as a punishment. Am I correct?”

Capelle nodded affirmatively. “Not only that, we are seriously considering sending the girl to her grandfather’s castle in North Wales.”

No. Robert felt a jolt in his stomach. “I had not realized. But you say you are only considering such a move?”

Capelle sighed. A melancholy frown flitted across his features. “If ‘twere up to me, I would consider the selling of her horse punishment enough. Actually too much, between you and me, but” — he rolled his eyes upward, doubtless toward the current whereabouts of her ladyship on the third floor — “mine is not the only opinion involved here.” He smiled wryly. “They say a man is master of his household, but in some matters…” He gave a helpless shrug, then took another healthy sip of his brandy.

So, thought Robert, that shrew of a wife ruled the household, just as he suspected. Judging from Capelle’s pleasant, easy-going nature, he was not surprised. He decided to go a step further. Risky, breaking all sorts of society’s silly rules, but he could always back down. “Forgive me for intruding on private matters, but I take it this punishment had something to do with the incident that occurred last night involving Lord Cranmer.” To Robert’s relief, Capelle did not become incensed at such a rude intrusion of the family’s privacy, but rather, nodded glumly. Robert inquired, “Could there have been a misunderstanding?”

Capelle sadly shook his head. “She claims she is innocent, but, alas, the facts speak for themselves.”

Facts can easily be twisted, Robert thought, but now was not the time to argue. “I had planned to sell Hollyridge immediately, but as fate would have it, my plans have changed. I shall keep the estate, and, in fact, have made preliminary plans for moving there.”

“I am simply delighted,” exclaimed Capelle. “Couldn’t ask for a finer neighbor.”

“Thank you, sir. Which leads me back to the condition I mentioned.”

“And what might that be?” Capelle asked. He was still resting easy in his chair, but his shrewd eyes were alight with interest.

“That Clarinda be permitted to come to Hollyridge and ride Donegal whenever she wishes. Actually, she would be doing me a favor because the horse would be in need of exercise.” Robert chuckled to himself. No need to mention the more than adequate number of stable boys he planned to employ.

“And for how long would this arrangement last?” asked Capelle.

The shrug Robert gave was as casual as he could make it. “Until she marries, I should think. You know how these young girls are. Soon her mind will be occupied with things domestic, and maternal. Meantime, I shall have a fine piece of horseflesh for myself.”

Capelle sat straight. “I must confess, I am mystified. Considering you have hardly met Clarinda, your offer is beyond magnanimous. Might I ask why you’re doing this?”

Why? Because he was an idiot. But he had best find a more suitable answer. “I met Clarinda on the riding path yesterday. ‘Twas easy to perceive her devotion to her horse. Perhaps I, also a lover of horses, feel a certain … affinity.” Damme, this was hard. How could he explain his actions when he hardly understood them himself?