The Rebellious Twin (10 page)

With a final, scathing glance, Lady Lynbury stalked from the room, followed by her snickering daughter-in-law.

Lord Cranmer had the grace to look confused. “Clarinda?” he asked, “you are not — ?”

“No!” Clarinda was breathless with rage and stood taking deep gasps of breath, trying to control her anger. “I am not Rissa,” she finally managed to whisper in a trembling voice. “But even if I were, how dare you!”

Lord Cranmer offered a slight bow. “First, my apologies — Clarinda, is it? My, my, so alike. Ah, well, how was I to know? But as to your question, how dare I?” He sniggered and disdainfully raised a brow. “Best ask your twin that, m’lady. I, being a gentleman, cannot say.”

She was calmer now, although her heart was still pounding. “Sir, you are no gentleman, but a complete knave.”

“Ask Rissa how much she prefers a gentleman,” Cranmer replied. He cast an anxious glance at the door. “Now if you will excuse me, I had best depart.”

“And hasten back to London before Papa hears,” Clarinda retorted.

“Yes, there is that, isn’t there?” He frowned in puzzlement. “But before I go, tell me, why would Lady Lynbury assume ‘twas you and not your twin?”

Clarinda felt herself go crimson with resentment and anger. “Because I am the bad twin,” she said, spitting the words out bitterly. “Who would believe my dear sister would do anything as crass as this?”

“Pity.” Cranmer clucked his tongue sympathetically. He bowed again. “Goodbye, my dear. Again, my apologies. It would appear I’ve gotten you into a spot of trouble.”

Clarinda watched as Cranmer swiftly took his leave from the library. Galling, how he had not in the least lost his equanimity. His last words spun through her head. A spot of trouble. Her heart sank. Oh, yes.

*

Throughout the evening, Robert, despite himself, had not been able to take his eyes off the slender, lithe young woman who glided with great zest and grace around the dance floor. Clarinda. Even her name rolled melodiously from his tongue. Her ready smile and infectious laughter were enchanting. Even the way she held herself — so straight and proud — was a delight to behold. He cursed himself for doing it, but he had surreptitiously watched when she took supper with that oaf, Sufton. Not an easy task, considering her insufferable sister had cornered him for supper. That self-centered chit must think the whole world revolved around herself. He could hardly move his eyes away, so intent was she on monopolizing his full attention. Still, he was aware when the oaf led Clarinda to that secluded bench on the balcony, where he no doubt proposed. How had she answered? He would give his best saddle to know.

Later, when he saw her go into the library, he wanted to follow. Not a good idea, though. The lovely Clarinda most definitely did not care for him. He had best remember that, and go about his business.

At the end of the evening, when he and Lucius were riding home from the ball, he inquired, “Well, Lucius, did you have an enjoyable evening?”

“I was engulfed in utter boredom,” came his friend’s terse reply.

“But you can’t still be thinking of Sara Sophia.”

The long pause that followed told Robert all he needed to know.

For a time they rode to the sounds of crickets and muted hoof thuds before Lucius finally spoke again. “Did you hear about the scandal?”

“What scandal?”

Lucius perked up, as he usually did when passing on a piece of juicy gossip. “You would never guess whom Lady Lynbury caught dallying in the library.”

“I have no idea and don’t want to know.” Robert had little tolerance for gossip of this sort.

Undaunted, Lucius continued, “One of the miscreants was that rakehell, Lord Cranmer, which comes as no surprise. But the other! Did you not notice how tongues were wagging when we left?”

“Just tell me,” Robert wearily replied.

“‘Twas Lady Clarinda, the host’s own daughter — you know, one of the twins.” With a deep chuckle, Lucius continued, “Cranmer’s fleeing to London as we speak. Capelle must be furious. She’s the bad twin, judging from what they say, but whichever she is, I should hate to be in that young lady’s shoes right now.”

The ball was over. The guests had either departed or gone to bed. For the second time in a week, Clarinda stood before her father’s desk in the library. Papa was seated, wordlessly staring at her in stunned surprise. Mama stood next to him, nose pinched with outrage. Clarinda had thought the other day was bad, but this was a hundred times worse.

“We are disgraced,” Mama’s curt voice lashed at her. Fists clenched, she gazed toward some hidden deity above and inquired, “Why did you send me such a child?” She asked Papa, “What did I do wrong? Is this God’s punishment?”

“Nothing wrong with you, my dear,” Papa answered in conciliatory fashion, and turned his attention to Clarinda. “Have you any explanation?”

Clarinda felt her heart pounding in her chest as she stood silent, trying to think of what to say. This was her chance to set things straight, but she was well aware a simple recitation of the facts would sound like a lie. They would never believe her. Desperately she cast about for words that would ring true and sound convincing. “The truth is, I went to the library to be alone.”

“Why alone?” Mama demanded, her eyes hard and filled with animosity.

“I just wanted to be alone. Then Lord Cranmer came in, and before I could say a word he grabbed me, bent me over his arm and kissed me, and then he started taking other liberties. I was pinned in his arms. There was nothing I could do.”

How limp that sounded! It wasn’t believable, even to her own ears.

“Ha! You expect us to believe that?” Mama pointed a trembling finger. “Admit it, you had an assignation in the library with Lord Cranmer. Had not Lady Lynbury walked in, Lord knows how far it might have gone.” Mama squeezed her eyes shut, as if to avoid picturing the worst. “I cannot bear to think of it.” She gazed at her husband and beseeched, “Why did I have twins? Why could I not have had just Rissa?”

“God works in mysterious ways,” answered Papa, looking distinctly uncomfortable. It was an answer that side-stepped Mama’s question, but still, again he had not stood up for her.

They never wanted me. Clarinda felt a sob rise in her throat. She flung out her hands and cried, “But I did nothing wrong. Things are not … not what they seem.”

“Then tell us, how are things,” demanded Mama, voice full of contempt.

“I…” She wanted to tell them that Lord Cranmer had mistaken her for Rissa, but what was the use? In her parents’ eyes, Rissa was the sweet, pure, loveable twin who could do no wrong, whereas she was the rebellious twin who could do no right. If she told the truth, they would never believe her. Worse, putting the blame on Rissa would further dishonor her in her parents’ eyes. If that was possible, she thought with bitter irony.

“I cannot explain,” Clarinda replied in a low, tormented voice, “other than to swear to you I was not at fault.”

Mama stared at her with an unrelenting gaze. “I want you out of my sight, but first — “

“Yes, I know.” Clarinda’s mind was bursting with unspoken protests and explanations, but she knew none would help. “You’re going to take Donegal from me, aren’t you?”

“Have we a choice?” asked Papa. He paused in deep thought. “The other day I gave you a choice, remember?”

“How could I forget? I would consider marrying Lord Sufton or lose Donegal.”

Papa nodded. “You have no choice now. There’s no ‘consider’. You will marry Sufton or you lose Donegal and get packed off to North Wales.”

Mama added, “Where you will spend the next ten years of your life, at the very least, if I have anything to say about it.” In an aside to her husband she remarked, “If she agrees to marry Sufton, fine, but will he still have her? Tongues are wagging already. By tomorrow even London will have heard of Clarinda’s disgrace. Sufton must have heard by now. Who knows what he’s thinking after this debacle?”

“He’ll come ‘round.” Papa did not look concerned. “I can always increase her dowry.”

I cannot endure this thought Clarinda. Over a huge lump in her throat she asked, “You would pay Sufton a huge sum to marry me?”

“You are damaged goods,” answered Mama with a sneer. “How else can we marry you off?”

Clarinda felt such a swell of pain and humiliation that she didn’t think she could bear it. You shall not subject yourself to this degradation, came a little voice within herself. The truth came clear. She had been deluding herself if ever she thought she could marry Larimore, especially now, not when he would have to be bribed to marry her. Honor decreed there was only one course she could take.

“Take Donegal.” She raised her chin high. “Send me to North Wales if you will, but I shall never marry Lord Sufton.” There, the words were out. She commanded her knees to stop shaking, but they wouldn’t.

Papa looked puzzled. “But why? You were at least considering Sufton yesterday.”

“A dowry is one thing,” Clarinda answered, “but a bribe is another. I have my pride. How could I spend the rest of my life with a man who had to be paid to marry me?”

A small smile of satisfaction crossed Mama’s lips. “‘Tis hopeless,” she said to her husband, “Donegal must be sold immediately. Let us hope he fetches a good price.”

Papa bestowed a look tinged with contempt at his wife, brought about, Clarinda surmised, by the subtle reminder of Mama’s gambling debts. Then sorrow settled on his face. “You might wish to reconsider, Clarinda.”

“I am positive,”

“No, you think about it,” Papa answered gently. “I only want what’s best for you. By morning you may think better of your decision and change your mind.”

“Oh, Papa!” Her heart leaped at the thought that her father might care, at least a little. But before he could answer, Mama spoke up.

“You are being much too lenient with her, John.”

Papa sighed deeply. Clarinda’s heart sank. She knew that sigh. It was the kind of sigh he always gave when, invariably, he caved under the influence of his iron-willed wife. “All right, Edwina, the horse shall be sold tomorrow. As for North Wales, tomorrow will be soon enough for a final decision. You had better go now, Clarinda.”

Sick at heart, Clarinda went to the door. The specter of dreary years spent with dour Grandfather Montagu in that dark, dank castle in North Wales hung over her. She couldn’t even bear to think about losing Donegal.

She must try once more. In the midst of her despair she could see two faint glimmers of hope. First, she sensed that Papa wasn’t eager to send her away. Did this mean he possibly had a shred of affection left for her? And if he did, could he stand up to Mama? He was not a coward, and, in fact, ran his estates with an iron hand. It was only in matters where the children were concerned that he always let Mama have her way. But perhaps, just this once, he could show some backbone.

And the second glimmer of hope…

At the door she turned. “Mama, Papa, if I could prove to you I did nothing wrong would you reconsider?”

Papa answered, “Of course, child.”

She hardly dared hope that Rissa would ever admit the truth, yet it was worth a try. Without another word, she left the library and hastened to Rissa’s bed chamber.

*

“Are you daft?” asked Rissa.

Estelle had been dismissed for the night. Rissa, in her voluminous white night gown, golden hair falling loose around her shoulders, sat cross-legged in her bed with the covers pulled up. “What are you saying?” she asked, “that I had something to do with your scandalous conduct in the library with Lord Cranmer?” Giggling, she admonished, “Really, Clarinda, such an embarrassment! The worst of it is, ‘twas Lady Lynbury and that mealy-mouthed Agatha who caught you. Now the whole countryside will know.”

Clarinda sat carefully upon the foot of the bed. “I find no humor in this,” she answered, suppressing her anger. Forceful but calm — that was the way to handle Rissa. “I want the truth. When Lord Cranmer walked into the library he called me ‘Rissa’. It was clear he knew you from London and that something had gone on between you.”

Rissa started to pout. “That’s not true.”

“It very well is true.” Clarinda looked her twin directly in the eye. “Nobody’s here except the two of us, so there’s no need to lie.”

Rissa shifted her gaze away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do know.” Clarinda shook her head in puzzlement. “I don’t understand. Twins are supposed to love each other, help each other, but ever since we were children, you’ve resented me, for some reason, I don’t know why.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Is it? Mama and Papa are taking Donegal away, all on account of you. It’s breaking my heart, but do you care?”

“Of course I care,” came Rissa’s sullen reply, but her words were belied by a tiny flicker of triumph that flashed through her eyes. She yawned, stretching her arms high. “I’m sleepy now. Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”

“We’ll talk about it now.” Rissa was an expert at avoiding unpleasantness, but not this time. “I recall when we were children how close we were, but even back then, there were times I had to take the blame for something you’d done. Nothing’s changed, has it? Sometimes I think you take great delight in seeing me come to grief.”

“Of course I don’t,” came Rissa’s weak reply. Eyes still averted, she started plucking at the covers.

“You’ve resented me all our lives, so why would you change now? You did carry on with Cranmer in London, didn’t you?”

“What if I did? Rissa bit her lip to stifle a grin. “You could never prove it.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Rissa’s face lit. “I’ve been dying to tell you,” she burst. “Lord Cranmer is madly in love with me. When we were in London, he said he adored me and I drove him to distraction and he could not eat or sleep for thinking about me. Well, what could I do? I did permit a kiss or two, out of pity more than anything else … well, maybe a little bit more. You should have seen him!” Rissa giggled again. “He got all excited and was breathing like the bellows of a forge. Then he got so carried away he plunged his whole hand down my bodice and grabbed my — “

“Spare me the details,” Clarinda quickly said. “How often did this happen?”