Fated Folly (10 page)

‘
Oh, I'm n-not,' Clare stammered, struggling now with her churning emotions. ‘Only—only shocked.' She hazarded a naughty twinkle. ‘But pray don't offer me any brandy this time. You cannot wish for a wife who is addicted to the bottle.'

‘
I don't wish for a wife at all,' he returned, laughing.

Clare's spirits plummeted, and did not rise even when he instantly retracted.

‘
No, I don't mean that. Rather let me say I am not hanging out for a wife. I have an heir, you see. Marriage—a second marriage—had not seemed…'

‘
And now you mean to disrupt your life, all to save my face,' Clare stated flatly, the disappointment a lead weight in her bosom. ‘Perhaps I had better take Ashendon, after all.'

Sir Rupert's grasp tightened a little painfully about her hand. ‘No, that
would
be preposterous.'

She felt her other hand taken and both were held so strongly that she was hard put to it not to wince, despite the deep delight his touch engendered.

‘
Listen, Clare, this is not in any sense an ideal solution, I know that. But your case is desperate, and it is in some sort my fault—'

‘
It most certainly is not!'

‘
We will not dispute that. Say then, my responsibility, for it is my relative—I refer to Ashendon—who put you in this situation.'

It was not at all what she wanted to hear, and she tried to protest.

‘
But that is—'

‘
Hear me out. I am sure you will not “disrupt my life”. I only hope I may not altogether wreck yours by such a marriage. For I know it cannot be a real marriage, not at first at least. You are so very young.'

She heard a wistful note in his voice and wondered at it. ‘Well, but I have heard of many marriages unequal in age. And you are not so very old either.'

‘
I am three and thirty, and that is old enough. You are exceptionally young, and cannot be expected to know your own mind.'

‘
But I do know it,' Clare protested with a touch of indignation, hardly aware of how she returned the pressure of his fingers. ‘You have not asked me what is in my mind, Sir Rupert.'

His grip relaxed, and he smiled a little. ‘Under the circumstances, I think, don't you, that we can dispense with the title?'

She let out a gurgle. ‘You mean I should call you “Rupert” instead of “ogre”?'

‘
That was not precisely the exchange I had in mind,' he said drily, and released her hands.

Clare looked down at her own fingers. They were tingling from his hard grasp, and her heart was pumping so hard it threatened to choke her. What had possessed her to challenge him so? At any second he would ask her what was in her mind and she could not answer him. She dared not. Not now that he had so heavily crushed all the hopes that had burgeoned so swiftly and so suddenly. But his impulsive offer had sprung not from his heart, but from a sense of obligation, and of pity.

She felt his fingers under her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his questioning glance, schooling her features to hide the confusion of her mind and heart.

‘
What is it?' he asked, unnervingly aware of her change of mood.

Clare summoned her twinkling smile. ‘Are you quite sure you wish to make this chivalrous gesture?'

‘
Gesture?' He released her chin. ‘I am offering you the protection of my name, Clare.'

Her lip trembled in spite of herself. ‘Nothing more?'

‘
My God, so that is it! My poor child, I am not a monster. You need not fear that I shall importune you with unwanted attentions.'

Fear? Unwanted? Good heavens!

‘
All that must wait until you are older, until you feel—well, until you are ready perhaps.'

She dared not say that she was ready now. But she could charm him into changing his mind, could she not? For he did like her. She could feel it. At least she would be near him. With him.

He was eyeing her in a fashion that spoke of anxiety. He must think he had not allayed her supposed fears. Clare tried to think of a way to reassure him without giving herself away, and could find no such words.

‘
Clare,' he said at last, and she thrilled to her name on his lips, ‘I don't mean to sound like a coxcomb, but I believe—I think you are disposed to like me a little.'

‘
Oh, Rupert, not a
little
,' she uttered unguardedly.

Was it her imagination, or did Rupert redden a trifle? There was no trace of embarrassment in his voice, however.

‘
Then, do you think you might consent to be my wife, in name at least to begin with?'

All her common sense told Clare that she would be mad to do so. This was not the romantic proposal she had envisioned in her secret, impossible dreams.

Then Rupert smiled that transforming, dazzling smile, saying quizzically, ‘Come, if I promise faithfully not to be an ogre, will you marry me, minx?'

Clare broke into laughter, but her eyes were suddenly swimming and she spoke without thinking.

‘
Dear ogre, I think it the height of folly to marry you, but I truthfully cannot bear to refuse.'

 

 

 

Chapter Four

 

Young Lady Wolverley glanced down the dining-table to the far end where her husband was laughing at something Mrs Dearham, on his left, was saying to him. An involuntary pang shot through her.

Blanche Dearham was a handsome woman. Tall, with dark hair sweeping up from an alabaster brow and held by a feathered turban. She had dark, glowing eyes and a warm smile gracing full lips. Was it any wonder that she and Rupert had such an easy understanding? Or was it something more intimate?

At that instant Rupert caught her eye, and Clare, ashamed of her thoughts, gave him a quick smile and turned her attention to Lord St Merryn on her right.

‘
Is the syllabub to your liking, my lord? Or shall I ask Brookland to serve you with something else?'

The Earl of St Merryn turned his head in the direction of her voice, but Clare knew that the green eyes, so like Ashendon's except for their blank, fixed gaze, did not see her.

‘
No, no, m'dear,' he said in his bluff way. ‘Perfectly satisfied. Don't mind me being a tortoise, do you? Must let poor Kitty get something down herself.'

He laughed at his own witticism, dipping his spoon too hastily so that it sliced into the bowl at the wrong angle, and splashed the tablecloth. Clare admired how deftly his daughter, seated as always at his side and ready at every moment to lend him aid—in so practised a manner that everything she did was unobtrusive and discreet, hardly to be noticed—immediately put out her fingers to guide his hand to the correct position, at the same time saying merrily, ‘Oh, if I get anything more down me, Papa, I shall be in danger of bursting out of my stays.'

Lord St Merryn laughed with her, but said in a mock scolding tone, ‘Stays, girl, stays? Trifle indelicate for Lady Wolverley's dining-table, ain't it?'

‘
Oh nonsense, Cousin Will,' said Pippa from across the table. ‘We are practically all family here.'

Which was true enough, Clare reflected, relieved that the visit she had engineered, pleading with Rupert to hold out an olive branch, had so far been trouble-free. Justin and his wife were behaving impeccably, and Rupert was at least polite.

Pippa had turned with a smile to the gentleman seated to her right, opposite Lord St Merryn. ‘Except Mr Dearham. But we have known you and Mrs Dearham forever, so that I count you quite one of the family.'

Mr Dearham appeared to Clare to be concentrated only upon the food before him, and he merely grunted. Pippa and Kitty exchanged glances of amusement, stifling giggles. Clare did not know how to reprove them without drawing undesirable attention to the fact, but Berinthia Flimwell, who was seated between Kitty and Mrs Dearham, tutted under her breath and attempted to frown down her former charge.

‘
Tush, Mrs Carradale,' she fretted, ‘you will put poor Lady Wolverley out of countenance.'

But Pippa, no longer answerable to her erstwhile duenna, merely grinned at her sister-in-law. ‘Don't fret, Cousin Berinthia. Clare does not mind, do you,
Aunt
?'

This set off both cousins giggling again, while Clare shook a fist, although she quivered with amusement nonetheless. ‘Don't dare call me that, Pippa.'

‘
Well, you are my step-aunt,' Pippa insisted, exchanging a comical grimace with her cousin.

‘
Lady Wolverley prefers to remember the other relationship, Mrs Carradale,' put in Miss Flimwell repressively.

Clare threw the lady a smile, for Berinthia was in some sort her companion now, although Miss Flimwell insisted that she was only temporarily in residence, until another eligible situation might be found.

‘
Exactly,' she agreed. ‘Though if you insist on calling me Aunt, I shall have to scold you for talking of “stays”, I suppose. Only I am in so much discomfort myself that—'

‘
How can you, Clare, as slim as you are?' protested Pippa. Turning to Kitty, she added, ‘She does not even need to wear them.'

‘
I should imagine not,' Kitty said, looking with envious eyes at Clare's figure. She was herself built on similar lines to her cousin. Tall and full-bodied, with a generous bosom.

‘
No, and what is worse, she will not be obliged to abandon them with no doubt distressing results, as I shall have to soon enough.'

Miss Flimwell drew in her breath sharply, casting an apprehensive glance at the master of the house.

So, indeed, did Clare, uttering hastily, ‘Oh, hush, Pippa! Now, I
will
play step-aunt.'

‘
I should think so,' put in Lord St Merryn with an indulgent laugh. ‘Quite enough of that sort of talk. You young girls today!'

‘
It is not that,' Clare said quickly in a lowered tone, and leaning across to Kitty added, ‘Sir Rupert knows nothing about Pippa's condition.'

‘
What's that? What's that?' demanded his lordship, turning his sightless gaze back in Clare's direction. ‘Secrets from your husband, ma'am? Won't do, y'know.'

‘
Oh no,' Clare said, looking with some relief to where Rupert, having drawn Justin, who was on his right, into his own conversation with Mrs Dearham, was obviously too involved to pay attention to her end of the table.

‘
You will have to tell him, Clare,' Pippa uttered tensely. ‘If you don't, I shall have to.'

‘
Yes, I will do so presently.'

‘
Do so at once,' insisted the Earl. ‘Can't keep that sort of information from a fellow, now can you?'

Clare and Pippa gazed first at him, astonished that he had evidently grasped the import of their conversation, and then at Kitty, who grimaced in silence, shrugging.

‘
Oh drat,' Clare uttered softly. Inspiration seized her, and she gave a choke of laughter. ‘The thing is, Lord St Merryn, I am not sure if poor Rupert is quite ready for the news that he is to become a great-uncle.'

He laughed, and she decided they were safe. But in fact she was not sure of anything where Rupert was concerned, she thought, as she glanced round the table to check that everyone had finished and then gave the signal for the ladies to rise.

As she led the way through from the informal family dining-room, where these particular guests could be accommodated in preference to the huge old hall, Clare murmured to Kitty, ‘Will your father be all right on his own?'

‘
Oh yes, Cousin Rupert will manage him perfectly,' Kitty said unconcernedly, laughing. ‘I am off duty for the time.'

Miss Flimwell excused herself from joining the ladies for the moment, whispering to Clare that she must confer with the cook. For to Clare's relief, it was she, rather than the inexperienced new mistress of the house, who still ran the domestic arrangements. Clare followed Blanche Dearham into the drawing-room, with its old-fashioned furnishings that quite suited the Manor, recalling how anxious Rupert had been, in those first few weeks, that his new young wife should feel at home. It was at her insistence that no drastic alterations had been made in the home he obviously loved.

‘
This was the original abode of the Wolverleys,' he had told her. ‘Will's grandfather was only Viscount Ashendon then. But some time after he died, my grandfather—the younger brother—who was knighted by Queen Anne—'

‘
This one?' Clare interrupted with interest, gazing at a portrait which much resembled her husband. ‘For what?'

‘
For diplomatic services to his country. Don't ask me what they were, for I don't know. It was all conducted in the greatest secrecy. In any event, he bought the Manor from his nephew—Will's father—who was given the Earldom of St Merryn after the battle of Dettingen.'

‘
Where is his portrait?' Clare asked, wandering on down the gallery.