The Rebellious Twin (25 page)

No you did not see him first, Clarinda wanted to say, but stopped herself. She wasn’t concerned with Rissa’s childish logic but rather with the shocking demand Rissa had just made. Surely she couldn’t be serious. “Rissa, might I ask how long you have known about this proof that Sara Sophia is a countess?”

Rissa thought a moment, obviously mulling over how much she should reveal. “I have known for a while,” she finally answered cautiously, “actually since Lord Westerlynn died in our driveway.”

“Ah, so he told you something?”

Another long pause. “Yes. And he gave me something.”

“What?”

“Make that promise and I shall tell you.”

Clarinda shut her eyes for a moment in disbelief. “But I cannot!” she cried. “Lord Stormont wants to marry me, not you. I love him too, desperately.” She took a moment to calm herself. “We know about your visit to Lady Lynbury’s, claiming you were me. I think it’s despicable and so does Robert. Can’t you see? Even if I reject his offer, do you think he would ever want to marry you?”

“Of course I do.” Rissa’s tears had vanished. She was confident again. “I just need a little time, that’s all. Once he knows you won’t marry him, he will naturally turn to me.” She smiled brightly. “What’s the difference? Don’t we look exactly alike?”

Clarinda felt sick inside. “Rissa, you simply cannot ask that I give up Lord Stormont. I love him. I plan to say yes when he comes calling tomorrow.”

“Fine,” said Rissa. A tensing of her jaw revealed her deep frustration. “Then we shall forget about Sara Sophia. She shall live in misery the rest of her life, and all because of you.”

“That’s not fair!” Clarinda felt the impulse to grab her sister’s shoulders and shake her, a fate she well deserved, and worse. But she knew such a tactic would get her nowhere. “I need time to think,” she said.

“Take all the time you want. Just make up your mind before you tell Robert you’ll marry him. That would indeed be a tragedy because then I shall burn a certain paper and Sara Sophia will never, never know who she really is. I shall leave you now — give you time to think.”

After Rissa left, Clarinda curled up on her bed, a compact bundle of misery. She had faced dilemmas in the past, but they paled in comparison to this horrendous decision she faced now. On the one hand, she recalled that blissful moment this morning when Stormont proposed. After all that misery, it was wonderful to think that with Stormont by her side, she could live the rest of her life happy and content, and never ask for anything more.

On the other hand…

Oh, Sara Sophia, how can I let you down?

If their positions were reversed, would Sara Sophia make the same sacrifice for her? The answer came loud and clear: of course she would. Sara Sophia would not think twice. She was, and always would be, a loving, caring, generous friend. No question, she deserved the same treatment in return. Clarinda groaned aloud, awash in misery. Much as she loved Lord Stormont, she would lose all honor if she did not help her friend. I could never live with myself, she thought dismally.

But perhaps a compromise? Yes, at least she could set a time limit, although the very thought of staying away from Stormont for any length of time was almost more than she could bear. At least there was one incontrovertible fact in her favor. Even if she stayed away from him a hundred years, Stormont would never, ever love Rissa, no matter what she tried.

At least I don’t think so.

Clarinda found her sister in her bed chamber, as usual preening before her mirror. “Three months, Rissa,” she said.

Tugging at a curl, Rissa addressed her sister’s reflection in the mirror. “What do you mean, three months?”

“I mean I promise I’ll stay completely away from Lord Stormont for three months, during which time you can flirt with him and ply your womanly charms all you please.”

“A year,” Rissa flung back.

“Six months. Really, Rissa, be reasonable. If you can’t land him in six months, then you can’t land him at all.”

Rissa took some time to consider. “All right, then, six months. She turned to face Clarinda. “But you must not tell him any of this, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Nor anyone.”

“Of course.”

“Stay right there.” Rissa left the room and shortly returned with their father’s bible. “Take it and swear.”

“It really is not necessary — “

“Swear!”

Sighing with resignation, Clarinda took the bible in her hands and swore that tomorrow she would reject Robert’s proposal.

“And you must stay away from him and make him think you don’t like him anymore.”

Clarinda felt sick again. Six months was a lifetime. In six months Robert could find someone else. But what could she do? “All right. I swear I shall stay completely away from Lord Stormont for six months, and … and…” oh, how hard it was to get the words out! “…make him think I don’t like him anymore.”

For the first time in her life, Clarinda felt dizzy and faint. Her knees went weak and she had to sit down.

After a moment, she gathered her strength and asked, “Now will you kindly tell me the truth about Sara Sophia?”

“I can hardly believe this.”

With increasing astonishment, Clarinda read Rissa’s labored translation of the letter from Louise Marie de Clarmonte. Reading it was difficult. Not only were the pages scratched and splotchy, they were covered with Rissa’s childlike, near unintelligible scrawl. Nevertheless, Clarinda struggled until she had read and understood each and every word. The moving tale of a woman caught in the Reign of Terror of the French Revolution touched her deeply. “The poor woman,” Clarinda whispered as she let the last of the pages drop to her lap. “How horrible that must have been, standing in that jeering crowd at the place de la Liberte, watching all those poor souls being led to the guillotine, and then seeing your own husband … I cannot bear to think of it.”

Rissa shrugged. “At least it’s quick, having your head chopped off.”

“Yes, but — ” Clarinda closed her mouth. Rissa was simply too shallow to understand. “Do you still have the original letter?”

“It’s here.” Rissa drew several pages of parchment from the bottom of her sewing box.

Clarinda took them carefully, almost reverently, in her hands. A lump formed in her throat as she studied the graceful, perfectly formed letters in French, written all those years ago. “Just imagine how awful it must have been for her to lose her home, her husband, everything she owned, as well as her whole way of life.”

“Terrible, I’m sure.” Rissa frowned with impatience. “Now that I’ve told you, what will you do?”

“I hadn’t thought.” Louise Marie de Clarmonte’s poignant story had kept Clarinda so engrossed she had been just barely aware of the momentous changes this letter would bring to the life of Sara Sophia. Now, as realization took hold, she was suddenly bursting with excitement. “Rissa, this is wonderful news. And the paintings? You know where they are?”

Rissa reached into her sewing box again and withdrew the two old, rusted keys. “Do you remember the old gatehouse at Hollyridge, and the doors that were always locked?”

“That’s were the paintings are?”

“I’ve seen them. I find it hard to believe they would be worth anything.”

Clarinda chose to ignore her sister’s ignorant remark. Rissa knew nothing of art and had never tried to learn. “It’s like a fairy tale come true, isn’t it?” she exclaimed. “Not only is Sara Sophia a countess, she’s rich.”

“I suppose now she’ll be the darling of the ton,” Rissa remarked without enthusiasm.

“Sara Sophia won’t care about the ton. What she’ll care about is that now she can marry Lord Wentridge.”

Rissa scowled. “You still haven’t answered my question. How will you tell Sara Sophia? What will you do with the paintings? What of Lord Wentridge?”

In deep thought, Clarinda bit her lip. “There’s so much to think about. First, Sara Sophia must be told, of course.”

“And how do you propose to do that, send her a letter?”

Clarinda thought a moment. “What I would really like to do is order Timmons to ready one of the coaches immediately. Then I would journey at top speed to Rondale Hall and tell Sara Sophia to her face who she really is. Can you imagine her reaction when she hears the news? She could leave that dreadful position immediately. She could return to Hollyridge Manor — I am sure Lord Stormont would allow her to stay. She could ride Sham again. And soon Lord Wentridge would arrive from London and ask for her hand.” A cry of relief broke from her lips. “I feel so excited, just thinking about it.”

“You had best curb your enthusiasm,” Rissa answered sourly. “In the first place, have you forgotten you’re restricted to home? Mama and Papa would never allow you to take such a journey alone, especially now.

“I know.” Clarinda’s joy fell flat. “Do you realize we are twenty years old, yet we cannot do as we please? At times like this I feel so restricted. I hate being treated like an inferior being. Sometimes I wish I were a man.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Rissa looked genuinely bewildered. “Women truly are inferior. God made us that way. Thanks goodness, we have men in our lives to guide us, or I don’t know what we’d do.”

“I would know,” Clarinda answered ruefully, deciding to say no more. She had argued with Rissa before about women’s place in the world, to no avail. “But you’re right. We must rely on a man to help us — I should think Lord Stormont.”

Rissa scowled. “Remember your promise. There’s no need to go rushing off to tell Stormont. Let us wait until his visit tomorrow. Then we’ll tell him the news.”

Clarinda’s euphoria vanished in an instant. “But of course,” she replied, swallowing the despair in her throat. “Then Papa must be told.”

“He returns from London tomorrow afternoon.”

“I hate to wait that long.”

“You have no choice.”

Clarinda was suddenly struck by a startling realization. “Rissa, you’ve known all this since the day Lord Westerlynn died. That was months ago.”

“I suppose.”

“Why did you keep the letter and the key a secret?”

Rissa bristled. “I really don’t have to answer that. Suffice to say, Sara Sophia was no friend of mine. Why should I go out of my way to help her?”

Clarinda was stunned. Such an act of omission was so calloused, so totally without feeling, even for her selfish sister. She stared at Rissa with reproachful eyes. “Do you realize what you’ve done? How could you have kept silent, knowing Sara Sophia had to leave the only home she’d ever known to go off and be a governess? You knew she and Lord Wentridge had fallen in love, and that this” — Clarinda shook the letter practically under her sister’s nose — “would have made all the difference in the world.”

Rissa’s chin jutted defiantly. “I don’t have to explain to you.”

“Not to me, perhaps, but how will you explain your delay to Papa?”

For a moment, Rissa was taken aback. “I’ll think of something,” she replied sullenly. Her face brightened. “I shall tell Papa it was you who were with Lord Westerlynn when he died.”

“No you won’t.” Clarinda could not conceal her scorn. “Everyone knows it was you. If you recall, you made everyone aware of how marvelously brave you were that day, rushing to Westerlynn’s aid. You were such a heroine.”

“It won’t matter.” A mocking smile crossed Rissa’s face. “I was in such a state of shock I forgot about the letter and the keys. Papa will believe me, and you know Mama will. They believe everything I say.”

Clarinda let out a ragged sigh, knowing Rissa was right. “It’s pointless to argue.”

“Indeed it is,” Rissa answered smugly. “I almost burned the letter and threw the keys away. You should be grateful I saved them. You should be glad I have told you about Sara Sophia and just be happy for her good news.”

Clarinda thought of Stormont and felt the gall rising in her throat. “Yes, but at what a price.”

“You agreed to it.” Rissa sniffed disdainfully. “I have nothing to fear, my dear, honorable sister. I know you. You swore on the bible. You would rather die than go back on your word.”

She’s right, Clarinda thought disconsolately. She had been so excited about Sara Sophia, she had ignored her own sorrow, but now it all came flooding back. Tomorrow Robert would come calling, wanting his answer, and she, doing the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life, would have to say no.

*

Clarinda spent the next morning alternating between feelings of joy for Sara Sophia, and despair for herself. She tried not to think of Lord Stormont, but that was impossible. The day dragged until finally, in mid-afternoon, Papa returned from London. Soon Clarinda, with Rissa close behind, hastened to the grand salon where Papa and Mama were settling themselves for tea. “This is rather unexpected,” Papa remarked. “‘Tis not often I see you girls together any more. To what do I owe this honor?” His business affairs in London must have gone well, Clarinda noted. He was smiling.

Mama remarked, “All day I have sensed something was afoot, m’lord, but neither one would tell me.”

Clarinda sank to the settee and eagerly began, “I have wonderful news…”

She proceeded to relate the story of Sara Sophia. She had even brought the keys with her to show, as well as the original letter in French and Rissa’s translation.

When she finished, Mama, clearly thunderstruck by the announcement, exclaimed, “‘Pon my soul, a countess!” She fingered the keys and glanced over the letter. “Sara Sophia is a countess,” she repeated several times, as if she still could not believe such a tale.

“Not just any countess,” Clarinda emphasized, “but a French countess in her own right, and wealthy.”

“But we must have her back immediately,” Mama said. “I shall take her under my wing. We shall do the London Season. I shall order her an entire new wardrobe, do something with her hair. You did say she has wealth hidden away?”

Clarinda nodded. “Some paintings — “

“I am thrilled!” Mama’s joy appeared to know no bounds. “Just wait until I tell Lady Lynbury. Imagine all the gossip in London when our young French countess appears from out of nowhere.” Mama’s head bobbed up and down with knowing emphasis. “I always thought there was something special about that girl.”