The Rebellious Twin (13 page)

“I understand, sir,” Capelle answered, “and may I say I am overwhelmed by your beneficence?” He rolled his eyes upward again. “I, personally, would accept your more than generous proposition, but there’s Lady Capelle’s feelings in the matter to consider. Alas, I suspect she will not take kindly to your offer. She feels Clarinda should be punished, and you must admit, it would not be much of a punishment if — “

“Shall we ask her?”

“Er … ahem … well…”

Robert grinned with confidence. “I shall win her over, sir. You can count on it.”

“But you just don’t know — “

“Let me handle it,” Robert interrupted with an assurance he did not feel. You’re in for it now, he informed himself. The worst part was, this uncomfortable situation was of his own doing, all caused by a saucy chit who could ride like the wind, who would not remove herself from his thoughts, who now had goaded him to the point where he was about to go out on a limb and quite possibly make a fool of himself.

Shortly after, having been summoned to the library, Lady Capelle swept in, looking her usual severe self in an unadorned morning dress of Devonshire brown and plain white cap. After she was seated, Robert repeated his offer.

“Let her keep riding Donegal? Absolutely not!” Lady Capelle set her lips in a thin, obdurate line. “Clarinda must be punished and that’s that.”

Lord Capelle argued, “But Lord Stormont is willing to pay a most handsome sum.”

“Absolutely not.”

Lord Capelle cast a helpless look at Robert. “I am afraid we cannot accept your offer.”

Capelle needed the money. Robert could see that he did from that disappointed look in his eye. Of course, persuading Lady Capelle to change her mind would not be easy, yet remembering her ladyship’s love of money, it was worth another try. “Lord Capelle, would you be so kind as to have your butler summon my coachman? Tell him, bring the bag.”

Soon, the coachman arrived carrying a large bag, obviously heavy. Robert took the bag, murmuring “Thank you, Thomas, you may go now.” He pulled the tie at the top of the bag, and in a swift, fell swoop, let the contents spill out with a loud clink, clank, and clatter upon the small table next to Lady Capelle. “My stars!” she exclaimed, her hand to her heart as she gazed at the gleaming mound of golden guineas that now covered the table.

“I shall need to count them,” Robert remarked casually. By twos he started shoving the coins into a separate pile. “Two, four, six — there’s way more than four hundred here, wouldn’t you say? Ten, twelve fourteen…”

By the time he reached four hundred, Lady Capelle was staring, near hypnotized. Robert saw her hand edge out slightly, then draw back. With great deliberation, he kept on. “Four hundred two, four hundred four — a marvelous Irish Hunter, I must have him — four hundred six, four hundred eight — ah, madam, you would be doing me a great favor if you would but take the entire amount — around five hundred guineas in all, I do believe.”

Lady Capelle had not taken her eyes off the growing pile of golden guineas. “The girl is extremely vexing,” she grumbled.

“I do understand,” said Robert, all sympathy.

“She has tried my patience since the day she was born.”

“You must have had the patience of a saint.”

“Indeed I did.”

Was she weakening? Robert wondered. He watched as, frowning, she cast a glance at her husband. “Were we not going to send her off to North Wales?”

“That’s entirely up to you, m’dear, but…” Capelle tugged at his lip, apparently in deep thought. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give the girl one more chance.”

“Well, I suppose…”

Out shot her ladyship’s hand, and this time — aha! — she scooped up a handful of coins saying, “All right, Clarinda may continue riding Donegal. But only with your express permission, Lord Stormont. I want it made crystal clear the horse does not belong to her anymore.”

Robert bowed low, careful to hide his glee. “You are more than kind.”

“You will never know how I’ve suffered with that girl.” After a moment, Lady Capelle’s expression softened and she gazed meaningfully at her guest. “She is so unlike her twin, whom you danced with last night. You do remember Rissa?” She sighed, and to Robert’s discomfort, rattled on. “Please understand my chagrin, m’lord. Clarinda has been a rebel since the day she was born, whereas Rissa has been my sweet angel, so even-tempered, so amiable, so kind. You should see her embroidery — positively exquisite! You should hear her play the piano. ‘Tis music straight from heaven, simply divine.”

How could he answer such nonsense? “Er … I am sure of it, madam.”

Although as unenthused as he could make it, his answer spurred the woman on to new heights. She smiled, fluttered her eyelids, and inquired, “Might you not stay for dinner tonight, Lord Stormont? I am sure dear Rissa would adore seeing you again. Bring along Lord Wentridge if you like.”

Robert thought fast. “I am deeply honored by your kind invitation. Unfortunately I have made other plans.”

“Then next week? We are having a dinner party next Friday night.”

Caught. He forced a smile. “We should be delighted.” At least the evening would not be entirely wasted if Clarinda would be at dinner, too.

When Stormont departed, Lord Capelle walked him out. “I shall have the papers drawn immediately,” he said. “Also, I shall tell Clarinda to ride Donegal over to Hollyridge first thing in the morning, if that will be satisfactory.”

They reached Graystone Hall’s grand hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, Robert saw someone coming down the stairs. Clarinda! To his chagrin, his heart quickened its beat. Smoothly he bowed and said pleasantly, “Good afternoon, Lady Clarinda.” He saw she was pale and unsmiling.

“So you recognize me again, sir,” she said in a voice devoid of enthusiasm.

“Uncanny!” Lord Capelle interjected. “My word, Stormont, you can tell my twins apart better than I. He addressed Clarinda. “I have sold Donegal, my dear, to — “

“Word travels fast, Papa. I have already heard.” Clarinda gazed at Robert, stony anger in her eyes. “Do not think for a moment, sir, that I am grateful. If you bought Donegal, fine, but if you expect I shall come and ride him, or even see him, you are much mistaken, because I never shall.”

“Clarinda!” barked her father, “that is most rude and unkind.”

“Quite all right, sir,” Robert assured Lord Capelle. He regarded Clarinda with appraising eyes. “Never is a long time. Perhaps you’ll change your mind. If you do, the invitation is open. You may come and ride Donegal any time.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “I think not, sir. In fact, I would rather die. Now if you will excuse me — “

Clarinda turned and retreated up the stairway, shoulders back, head held high.

“I must apologize — ” Capelle began, but Robert raised his hand.

“Let her go. It’s all right. Your daughter has lost the possession she loved most in all this world — family excepted, of course. I, too, would be distraught under the circumstances. I shall send my groom to fetch Donegal this afternoon, if that is satisfactory.”

Soon after, as she expected, Clarinda was called to the library to face her parents. “We were appalled at your behavior toward Lord Stormont,” Mama said.

Papa declared, “Stormont did you a favor. Why were you so rude?”

“Because … because…” Clarinda hardly knew herself. “I don’t care if he did me a favor. I only know I shall hate having to ask permission every time I want to ride my own horse.”

“He is not your own horse anymore,” Mama pointed out.

Papa observed her quietly for a moment. “I suspect you would feel the same toward anyone who bought Donegal, am I not right, my dear?”

“Does it matter how I feel?” Clarinda cried.

“I have had enough of this,” Mama exclaimed. “Listen carefully, daughter, I am going to tell you what your life will be from now on. Thanks to your father’s and my kindness, you shall not be sent to Grandfather Montagu’s, at least not for now. Instead, while Rissa has her London Season, you shall stay home, watch over Alexander, and tend to your embroidery. You shall never have another Season again, as far as I am concerned. Should you decide to marry Sufton, we will allow it. Otherwise, no men will be allowed to come courting, nor will you be allowed out to balls or any other social events. Have I made myself clear?

“I believe you have made yourself clear, Mama,” Clarinda replied, smiling to cover her nearly broken heart.

That evening, at dinner with Lucius and Sara Sophia, Robert recounted his visit to Lord Capelle.

“So you have yourself a new horse,” Lucius casually commented, before taking a bite of his Open Tart Syllabub.

Sara Sophia had been listening with intense interest. “Poor Clarinda,” she exclaimed, turning a stricken gaze to Lucius. “I fear you don’t understand what a tragedy this is. Clarinda must be broken hearted. If only there were something I could do, but there’s not. I feel so helpless.” She stood and pushed back her chair. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I shall retire early.” With a bare nod she left the room.

“It appears we’re not too popular with the ladies today,” said Lucius.

Thoughtfully, Robert took a sip of his Burgundy. “Not popular hardly describes Lady Clarinda’s animosity. It was bad enough when I announced I was removing Hollyridge’s horses. Now I’ve changed my mind, but to no avail. I’ve made a bad situation a thousand times worse by buying the young lady’s prized gelding.”

“But you were only trying to help,” Lucius declared indignantly. “If it weren’t for your kindness and generosity, she might never have seen her horse again. Only heaven knows what its fate might have been.” Lucius frowned and nodded emphatically. “Lady Clarinda should realize that and be properly grateful.”

“Ha!” Robert’s dark brows drew together. “The girl detests me. My own fault, of course. I should have foreseen she’d be distraught at losing her beloved horse in such a humiliating fashion. Of course, her parents are the ones to blame, but I suppose it’s only human nature that I’m the one she despises, despite my good intentions.”

“I doubt she despises you,” Lucius commented, none too convincingly.

Robert ignored his comment. “The worst of it is, my efforts were all for naught. I had thought she could come and ride Donegal, but she won’t.”

“She’ll come ‘round.”

“I doubt it. She said, and I quote, “If you bought Donegal, fine, but if you think I’ll come and ride him, or come see him, you are much mistaken, because I never shall.’” Robert took another generous sip of his Burgundy. “Does that sound like a woman likely to change her mind?”

“She will,” Lucius declared staunchly. “I’d wager twenty pounds on it.”

“She won’t.” Robert finish off his wine and signaled the footman for more. “Twenty pounds? Done. You’re going to lose, Lucius. Now let’s talk of something else.” He shrugged elaborately. “Actually, I’m not in the least concerned. Why should I give a groat what some silly little chit thinks of me?”

*

Oh, Jeffrey. Clarinda sat atop her coverlet, in her lap the book of poems Jeffrey had given her.

…Had we never lov’d sae kindly,

Had we never lov’d sae blindly!

Never met — or never parted,

We had ne’er been broken-hearted….

*

If only he had lived, was her anguished thought as she clutched the book tight to her bosom. He would never have been hers, yet even had he married Rissa, she would have felt comforted by his presence, especially now, during the most humiliating time of her life. Unexpectedly, thoughts of Lord Stormont crept into her head. How different Lord Stormont was from dear Jeffrey, who had been kind, sensitive and gentle, whereas Stormont…

There was no comparison. The man was rough, crude, and overbearing. Why she would waste one extra thought on him, she didn’t know. It was strange, though, how, when she did think of him, her pulse raced. There must be something wrong with me.

She closed her eyes and tried to picture the one time Jeffrey had kissed her. Just one precious kiss in the rose garden, his lips barely grazing hers, so sweet, so gentle. Somehow her vision of it was blurred today.

The door opened and Rissa burst in. Clarinda quickly tucked the book beneath a pillow.

As was her custom, Rissa plunked herself down on the foot of the bed. “Why so gloomy?” she asked. “It was just a horse. At least they’re not sending you to Wales.”

Clarinda thought to protest, but what was the use? Rissa would never understand how wretched she felt. “You are so right, dear sister.” She swung her feet to the floor and pulled on her shoes. I should be grateful for the little things, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, you should.” Rissa smiled triumphantly. “Guess what? The boring Lords Sufton have left for London.”

“Have they really?” Here, indeed, was good news.

“Yes!” Rissa giggled with delight. “Just imagine, all that money we could have had! Well, they’re gone, and good riddance. You didn’t want Larimore, whereas I shall happily relinquish Lawrence now that I have another prospect in mind.”

Thoughtfully Clarinda regarded her twin. “You think you have a chance with Lord Stormont?”

“Of course.” Rissa slid off the bed, half danced to the mirror, and turned this way and that, running her hands lovingly over the indentation of her tiny waistline and the smooth curve of her hips. “He and Lord Wentridge are coming to our dinner party next Friday night. What shall we wear?”

Clarinda wondered if she would even be allowed to go to dinner in her own house, but she supposed she would. “I really don’t care what we wear. You choose.”

A wary look crossed Rissa’s face. “You do remember what I said, don’t you?”

Clarinda looked away in disgust. “Stormont is all yours, Rissa. Only a few minutes ago I made it quite clear to Lord Stormont that I didn’t find his company agreeable.”

“Good.” Rissa looked relieved, then frowned. “But what about your horse? Won’t you want to visit Hollyridge Manor to see him?”

“I informed Lord Stormont I would never visit Donegal.”

But did I mean it? Clarinda asked herself after Rissa had left. Thinking of Donegal, her misery was so acute it was like a physical pain. It was awful, knowing her beloved Irish Hunter was only a mile from Graystone Hall and that, in a moment of pique, she had declared she would never see him again.