The Rebellious Twin (9 page)

Rissa nudged her. “Which is which?” she whispered from behind her fan.

Clarinda raised her own fan. “That’s Lawrence to the left, Larimore to the right.”

“How can you tell?”

“Easy. Larimore’s the balder of the two.” Both twins had rapidly receding hairlines.

They reached the grand hallway, spectacular with its vaulted ceiling and high fanned windows. Rissa greeted Lawrence while Clarinda, turning on determined charm, murmured, “Good evening, Lord Sufton, how dashing you look tonight.” What a lie. Both Lawrence and Larimore looked as bland as potato pudding with their small eyes of a nondescript color, undistinguished noses, and weak chins.

Larimore awarded her a deep bow. “You look dashing yourself, Lady uh, uh…”

“Clarinda.”

“Ah, yes, Clarinda! I declare, you two are alike as — “

“And how was your journey from London, Lord Sufton?” This, indeed, was going to be a terrible night.

“Splendid weather,” he answered, “‘twas a sunny day.”

“Do tell. I had heard it might rain.”

“Might rain? Oh, yes, yes, come to think of it, there were a few rain clouds in sight.”

“Well, happily it did not rain, sir.” How could she marry this milksop of a man? She would be doomed to boredom the rest of her life.

The orchestra struck up a tune. “Might we dance, Lady Clarinda?” asked Larimore, regarding her with puppy dog eyes. “I hope I can have all your dances. I hope … well, uh, uh, I might have something important to ask you before the night is over.”

“Do tell, Lord Sufton.” Ah, no, no, no! The end of the world was coming. How could she possibly say yes? But if she didn’t…

What a pity Donegal would never appreciate the sacrifice she was about to make.

*

Well into the evening, Clarinda took a respite from her tedious dancing with Larimore and came to stand with Rissa and Mama.

“Well, has he asked yet?” inquired Mama.

“No.”

“Hinted?”

“Perhaps. He — “

“Good evening, Lady Clarinda.”

Lord Stormont His tall presence had loomed in front of her so unexpectedly that for a moment she was speechless. “Good evening, sir,” she said, recovering quickly. Remembering her manners, she performed introductions. Stormont had met both her parents in London on more than one occasion, but never Rissa, to whom he bowed briefly. Rissa, appearing instantly taken with him, started prattling her usual inanities, but he soon turned back to Clarinda. “Would you care to dance?”

Despite her aversion to the man, Clarinda could not think of a reason why not. She allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor. When they started dancing, she could not help but compare Larimore’s limp clasp to the commanding manner in which Stormont’s hand grasped her own. It was a firm hand, quite hard, not girl-soft, like Larimore’s. And only this morning it was brazenly clasped around my leg.

“You must have guessed which twin I was,” said Clarinda as they began to swirl around the floor.

“It was not a guess.”

“Then how did you — ? Oh, I know, you saw the scratch on my forehead.”

“It doesn’t show.”

“Then how?”

He pulled back and regarded her strangely. “Of course I know who you are. How could you think I would not?”

“But…” she began, faltered and fell into silence. Could he really tell her apart from Rissa? Hardly anyone could, but then…

What a delightful possibility! Brightening, she looked him up and down. How magnificently tall he was, and how handsome with those snapping dark eyes and those dimples in his cheeks that magically appeared when he smiled. And how impeccably dressed, too. Perhaps he was not quite the villain she had thought he was. After all, Lord Westerlynn had been old but of sound mind. If he was fool enough to risk his estate in a ridiculous game, why blame Stormont?

“I trust you have recovered from your fall,” said Lord Stormont.

“Completely.” No sense mentioning her various aches and pains. They continued talking, mostly about horses, which she discovered he knew a great deal about.

“So shall you be living at Hollyridge Manor?” she inquired as the dance came to an end.

“No.”

Startled, she asked, “Then what do you intend?”

“I plan to sell it.”

She was almost afraid to ask. “And the horses?”

“Excellent stock, most of them,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ll see they’re transported to my estate in Kent.”

“Including Sham?” she asked in a small voice. Poor Sara Sophia.

“Of course, Sham. A marvelous animal. I shall transport him, the Cleveland Bays, and all the thoroughbreds. That’s the lot, except for those two old pipers.” He shrugged indifferently. “I’ll have to get rid of them.”

She had listened with rising dismay, and now a pain squeezed her heart as she realized Hollyridge’s beautiful horses would soon be gone, all except poor Bottom and Nicker. Broken and winded as they were, they would not spend the rest of their days grazing peacefully in a meadow as they deserved, but would undoubtedly be quickly dispensed with.

The dance ended. She had to get away. “If you’ll excuse me, m’lord.”

He asked, “Would you care to dance another?”

She had half turned away before she wondered, why not tell him the truth? Stormont deserved to know what she thought of him, and why. She turned back and said with quiet firmness, “I am deeply disturbed at what you’re planning for the horses. Sara Sophia will be utterly devastated at the loss of Sham, and the rest of the horses, as shall I.”

He had been smiling, but now his face might have been carved in marble. “I plan to sell them, not slaughter them.”

“Oh, really? Who would want Bottom and Nicker? You might as well sell them straight to the slaughterhouse.”

His face took on a tolerant, but firm expression. “Lady Clarinda, you must understand that Hollyridge Manor is mine now. I have the right to dispose of the horses however I wish.”

She favored him with a frosty smile. “Of course it is your right, sir,” she said, edging the word with loathing, “and I can do nothing about it. But it is my right to say thank you for the dance, and no thank you, I do not wish to dance with you again.” That said it all, she decided, and with a quick turn, she left the dance floor, making sure she had a pleasant expression on her face in case that gleeful purveyor of gossip, Lady Constance Lynbury, might be watching.

Nonplused, Robert watched after her. He had no idea the girl would be so upset over a pair of worthless horses. Women and their soft hearts. Still, he admired her compassion. Perhaps he could find a home for Bottom and Nicker, or even keep them. Against his better judgement, of course, but he’d had no idea … Yes, he’d keep them.

He started through the crowd after her, but at the edge of the dance floor the other twin approached. Damme. Anxious though he was to find Clarinda, he was compelled to stop.

With a simpering smile on her face, the twin tapped him with her fan.

“You’re frowning, Lord Stormont. What has my dear sister done?”

“Nothing, Lady … uh…” Blast! He was good at names, but this twin had made little impression on him.

“I am Rissa,” she told him in a bubbly voice. “Short for Clarissa, which we don’t use because the names are so alike. But I’m curious. What did Clarinda do to put such a frown on your face?”

Too late. Clarinda had been swallowed up in the crowd, so for the moment he might as well talk to her amazingly identical sister. They were not all that identical, though. Clarinda seemed surprised he knew who she was, but in truth, he’d had no problem. The way she walked was much more graceful. The way she looked at him, with that tiny gleam of devilment in her eye, was quite unlike the twin whose eyes contained a rather bland expression. Even the way Clarinda held her head when she was talking was different. She was more alert, an indication she was much more interested in the world about her than her twin. All those traits were so identifiably Clarinda’s, there’d been no question in his mind when he first saw the twins together.

Stormont smiled wryly. “It would appear your sister is upset because I plan to move some of the Hollyridge horses to my own estate. Only the best ones, of course. The rest I shall sell, or at least I’d planned to. Your sister was not overly pleased with that.”

Rissa burst into a peal of laughter so loud and long-lasting it had to be forced. “I know just what you mean,” she said, making a great display of fluttering her fan. “I must confess, there are times when my parents and I are greatly embarrassed by Clarinda’s abounding love for all animals, especially horses. But you must excuse her. She has a kind heart, despite being misguided. Did you know I also have a horse? Dublin, an exact match to Donegal, but I never ride him. I have no use for a horse that isn’t hitched to a carriage, taking me where I wish to go. But Clarinda?” Rissa heaved a highly questionable sigh of concern. “You should see how she makes a fool of herself with Donegal. Sometimes I wonder if she doesn’t love her horse more than she does her family. ‘Tis quite amusing, though how she can purport to love a mere animal is simply beyond me.”

How can I get away from her? thought Robert.

The music started. “A quadrille,” exclaimed Rissa, smiling brightly. “I do adore dancing a quadrille.”

Trapped. Robert bent gallantly and offered his arm. “Would you care to dance, Lady Rissa?”

Later in the evening, Clarinda was still upset when Larimore, as expected, claimed her for supper. Also as expected, when they finished their dessert, Larimore led her to an isolated bench on the balcony where he ardently proposed. “I want to marry you, Lady Clarinda. Your beauty has captured my heart. I find your skin is like rose petals, your hair soft as the finest silk, your eyes — “

“Yes, yes, yes,” she interrupted. She would leap up and flee if she heard one more honeyed word. Blast it all! She must give him his answer. She opened her mouth to say yes, but nothing came out. She tried again, but her vocal chords refused to cooperate. Finally she managed, “Dear Lord Sufton, I am mindful of the great honor you have bestowed upon me.”

With a cry, Larimore took up her hand in his limp, sickeningly white one. “Picture it! You, I, Lawrence, and Rissa — just the four of us, living in wedded bliss at Bolton Hall for the rest of our days.” His pale, vapid eyes actually lit with a spark of excitement. “Just think! Even our children might look exactly alike. Exciting to contemplate, is it not?”

Lord, deliver me. I cannot do this tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow she would accept. But tonight? If her life depended on it, the word ‘yes’ was stuck in her throat and would not come out. “May I give you my answer tomorrow? I cannot make such an important decision without sleeping on it. You do understand?”

“But of course,” he answered eagerly. “If I must wait, I must wait, although I can guess what your answer will be.” He gave her an insufferably indulgent smile. “You ladies will play your little games, won’t you?”

“‘Tis hardly a game,” she responded, not totally hiding her annoyance.

Larimore hastened to say, “Oh, no, not a game — surely not a game. What I meant was, ‘tis not beneficial for ladies to think too much. You’re too delicate. Your brains are smaller.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” she answered, trying to conceal her disgust. How unjust that even a ninny like Larimore could talk down to her, and all because he was a man and she a mere woman. It was hard to keep the smile on her face, but she did, mindful she must keep a pleasant demeanor.

At the first possible moment, Clarinda excused herself and slipped into the empty library. Perhaps she could hide here until the ball was over and no one would come in. But no such luck. The door opened. To her chagrin, the odious Lord Cranmer entered and shut the door carefully behind him.

Cranmer was a tall man with classical good looks, in his early forties. Clarinda had seen him in London many a time, but had sought to avoid him, unlike Rissa who had seemed fascinated by him. A bachelor, and rich, he was a fixture at Almack’s and all the swank balls. The young girls had been warned about him. She was not exactly sure why, except he had a reputation for “taking advantage” of innocent young debutantes and doing things said to be “unspeakable.”

“Rissa!” exclaimed Lord Cranmer. His eager eyes raked over her boldly. “I’ve been desperate to get you alone all evening.”

“I am not — ” Clarinda began, but before she could get the rest of her words out, Cranmer had swiftly crossed the room, seized her, and bent her back over one arm.

With his face only inches from hers, his hot breath coming hard, he whispered, “My darling, I’ve been out of my head since you left London. Rissa, my sweet, sweet girl.” His hand explored the hollow of her back while he pulled her to him and crushed his lips to hers.

Paralyzed, in a state of utter shock, Clarinda had not at first offered resistance, but the feel of his wet lips, followed by — ugh! — the tip of his tongue pressing for entrance, galvanized her to action. Unable to speak, she conveyed her fury with desperate little deep-throated mmm’s while whacking his back with her fan. When finally he lifted his lips, she cried, “Let me go, you villain!”

“Why you little tiger,” he murmured huskily and covered her mouth hungrily again. His hand slid up her side. Stunned, she felt probing fingers slip beneath the bodice of her dress. Desperately she struggled, trying to wrench herself away. But she was helpless in his strong, sure clasp and there was nothing she could do.

Over the sound of her muffled protests she was faintly aware of a door opening. There was a moment of silence, and then a horrified, “I am shocked!”

Lord Cranmer stood back so abruptly he nearly dropped her. With an effort, she regained her balance, thinking, it cannot be.

But it was. Not only was Lady Lynbury staring at her with shocked surprise, but an avidly curious Agatha peered from behind her. “Lady Lynbury,” Clarinda exclaimed as she looked down at herself and straightened her dress. “I can explain…”

“Don’t bother.” Lady Constance Lynbury’s more than ample bosom quivered with righteous indignation. Her thin lips, set in a line of haughty incredulity, parted barely enough to utter, “Shame, Clarinda. Your parents shall hear of this. Come, Agatha, this is not a sight for innocent eyes.”