The Rebellious Twin (2 page)

“Indeed not,” confirmed Papa.

“Then … I shall consider Lord Sufton.”

“I have already invited both Lord Suftons to our ball next Friday,” said Mama. Triumphantly she addressed Papa. “I can see it now, m’lord, a double wedding with identical brides, identical grooms, identical gowns, identical bridal bouquets, identical rings, identical — “

“I think I shall go see how Alexander is doing,” cried Clarinda. Despairing, she hurried from the room.

*

After her frantic escape from the library, Clarinda fled upstairs to her little brother’s bed chamber. She was worried. Alexander had been ill a week now. He had always been a sickly child, and now, at age seven, still suffered from constant bouts of asthma, flu and fever. “So how is the heir apparent to Graystone Hall doing?” she asked brightly as she entered the room.

“I’m fine but Mama won’t let me up,” Alexander replied sullenly from his sick bed.

“That’s because you’re still sick.”

“It’s not fair!”

Clarinda sat on Alexander’s bed and placed her cool hand on her brother’s flushed forehead. What a handsome child he was, she thought, with his fair skin, blue eyes, and hair as golden as hers and Rissa’s.

“By the way, Captain’s fine,” she said, referring to Alexander’s Shetland pony. “We shall go out riding soon, you, I, Donegal, and Captain, just as soon as you’re better.”

Alexander pouted. “It had better be soon.”

I hope so, Clarinda thought later as she left Alexander’s room. He was such a fine little boy — bright, cheerful and content, when he wasn’t sick. Mama and Papa doted on their one and only son. What a tragedy it would be if … no, she wouldn’t even consider such a horrible thought.

Soon Clarinda was headed down the path to the stoned-walled stables. Troubled though she was, she never failed to appreciate the breathtaking view of Graystone Hall’s formal gardens, and the lush, rolling green lawns that grew from the rise of the stately manor house to the wooded banks of the upper Thames.

“Back again, Miss Clarinda?” inquired Morris, the chief groom, who was rubbing down Jupiter, her father’s prized coal black stallion. “Why, you was just here less than an hour ago.”

“I wanted to check on Donegal.”

“Shall I get your saddle?”

“No, I’ll pick up his bridle. I shall walk him down the river path a little.”

“Yes mum.” The faint smile that flitted across Morris’s face told her she hadn’t fooled him.

She stepped inside the stable, took down a bridle from its peg on the wall, and in the dim light found Donegal’s stall. The gelding softly whinnied as Clarinda slipped her arms around his neck and buried her head in the sleek chestnut mane. “Ah, Donegal,” she whispered, “do you know what trouble we’re in? Do you know I shall be forced to marry Lord Sufton, and all because of you? But you’re worth it,” she added as she slipped the bit into her gelding’s mouth. From the next stall came a soft whinny. “We’ll go for a ride tomorrow, Dublin,” she called. Poor Dublin. He was Rissa’s, and Rissa hated horses and never rode him. If it weren’t for Clarinda and the stableboys, he would get no exercise at all.

Clarinda led Donegal outside and away from the stables, along the riding path that led to the river. When they reached the heavy growth of tall trees that shielded her from the house, she gripped the horse’s back and easily sprang on. Legs astride, tucking in her full riding skirt, she nudged Donegal into a trot, then canter, then full gallop.

“Faster, Donegal!”

The horse plunged forward and fairly flew along the tree-lined path that bordered the river, Clarinda leaning far forward, her head not far from resting between the animal’s ears, hair flying in the wind. Her painful thoughts vanished as they skimmed the trail at a furious pace, she responding to the gelding’s rippling muscles as he galloped, entirely attuned to the rhythmic shift from side to side. Soon the vast estate of Hollyridge Manor came into view. Clarinda slowed Donegal to a trot, enjoying, as she always did, that first glimpse of the ancient, largely Elizabethan manor built of irregular ragstone, brick and timber, all of varying ages, molded by years. It was a rambling sort of mansion, essentially romantic, with Tudor windows and countless chimneys of diverse designs. It lay in its own secluded hollow amidst tall trees, close to the river, only a mile from the much more modern Graystone Hall.

Her sad thoughts returned. Foolish girl, she thought. No matter how fast the pace, she could never leave the distressing events of the day behind.

Marry Lord Sufton — no! Be like Rissa — no!

Approaching the cobblestone courtyard in front of the stables and coach house, Clarinda was happy to see Sara Sophia was there, brushing Sham, a magnificent Arabian stallion. She and Sara Sophia had been friends since as far back as she could remember, despite Mama’s carping. “We are members of the ton,” Mama loved to say, “whereas Sara Sophia … well, nobody knows now, do they?”

Sara Sophia was neither fish nor fowl. Though not of the nobility, she was well-educated, mainly because Lord Westerlynn had seen to it she had a tutor when she was growing up. She was never invited to the countryside’s more prestigious social events, yet neither was she treated like a servant. She took her meals in the dining room and had a bed chamber on the family floor, not the servants’ quarters.

Nothing was known of where she came from, other than she and her mother, Louise, had arrived at Hollyridge Manor under mysterious circumstances when Sara Sophia was but three or four years old. Louise never ventured out. When she died of some unknown illness only months after their arrival, she was buried quietly, with none but Lord Westerlynn and a few servants in attendance. Clarinda wondered if Mama was right about the on-dit concerning Lord Westerlynn being Sara Sophia’s father. No one would put such a scandal beyond the old rascal, but if he was responsible, he kept it to himself.

“Good morning, Sara Sophia.” Clarinda slid easily from her horse and announced, “I am in deep trouble.”

“Again?” Sara Sophia smiled, seeming not the least surprised. She stopped brushing sham and straightened up. Seeing the anxiety on Clarinda’s face, she immediately grew serious. “You look terrible. What’s wrong?”

Clarinda related the events of her day. “…so if I am to keep Donegal I must seriously consider marrying Larimore. Mama says, ‘whether it suits your selfish pleasure or not’, which means I’ll live to regret it if I don’t. Not only that, I must make myself be more like my dear twin Rissa, who, as we all know, is the epitome of perfection, whereas I” — a wry smile played at the corners of her mouth — “am the disgrace of the family.”

Sara Sophia smiled. “Indeed, you are, you naughty girl. Everyone knows you are difficult, wild, rebellious, and — “

“And I ride not sidesaddle,” Clarinda interjected. “That’s from Mama. She must have found out.”

“Uh-oh.” Sara Sophia quickly sobered. “That is serious, Clarinda. If they catch you riding astride you’re done for.”

“That’s not all.”

“There’s more?”

This was going to be painful. Clarinda hated to hurt her friend, but she wasn’t one to waffle. Besides, Sara Sophia might be delicate, but she was tough underneath. It would be by far the best approach to just tell her the blunt truth. “I am not supposed to see you anymore.”

If Sara Sophia was wounded, she showed no signs of it, and instead laughed. “I was expecting it. In fact, I’m surprised your parents didn’t take action long before now.”

“They probably would have if they’d noticed.”

“And not stayed in London so much of the time.” In deep thought, Sara Sophia began to brush the horse again. “They’re right, you know. You should have nothing to do with me. We are in two different worlds, you and I, and nothing alike.”

In looks, that was so true, thought Clarinda. She was tall for a girl, and well-filled-out, whereas Sara Sophia was so small she looked as if a spring breeze could whisk her away. She had blue eyes and blonde curls, whereas Sara Sophia’s hair was brown and her eyes were large, brown, and luminous, lending a subtle beauty to her otherwise plain face. And whereas she was ordinarily happy and out-going, except for days like today, Sara Sophia possessed a solemn serenity and quiet humour which was always well contained.

As for living in two different worlds, Clarinda could not argue with the truth. What they did share was a love of horses. Sara Sophia practically lived at the stables. Despite her slight form, she busied herself rubbing down the horses, feeding — washing — brushing them, cleaning out the stalls — all work a lady must never do, Clarinda had been informed by her disapproving mother.

Up to now, Clarinda had ignored Mama. Sara Sophia was her dearest friend, and she didn’t care what people thought. In fact, she, herself, had helped Sara Sophia with the horses many a time. It was her great pleasure to do so. Thoughtfully, Clarinda took up a brush and started working Sham’s other flank. “I’ve never asked, but I’m wondering. Lord Westerlynn is getting up in years. If you don’t marry, what will happen to you when he dies?”

“Nothing good I’m afraid,” Sara Sophia replied.

“But surely Lord Westerlynn has arranged for your care in his will?”

Sara Sophia shook her head. “I doubt it. Contrary to opinion, I doubt he’s my father. I wasn’t born here, nor, I suspect, anywhere in England. I have this vague memory of my mother crying a lot, and us being on some kind of ship when I was very little.”

“But who inherits Hollyridge Manor?”

“There’s a nephew. I doubt he’d allow me to stay, not that I’d want to. I was thinking, when the time comes, I shall leave here and find a position as a governess.”

“God’s blood!” cried Clarinda, then swiftly looked around. She was not beyond using an oath now and then, but only out of earshot of her parents or those who might tattle. “How could you give up the horses?”

“It would kill me, but what choice would I have?”

How unfair! Horses were as much Sara Sophia’s life as they were hers. Practically from dawn to dusk Sara Sophia could be found in the stables, or out riding Sham, her favorite horse, even though it really wasn’t hers.

Clarinda asked, “Do you think the nephew will keep all the horses?”

“Probably not.”

“Then surely he would sell them to good homes.”

“The thoroughbreds he would, and of course Sham.

“But what about old Bottom, and Nicker?” Clarinda shook her head in dismay, thinking of the two retired carriage horses. They had seen better days, but that didn’t matter. She and Sara Sophia loved them just the same as the others. “Would they just be sold for slaughter, do you suppose?”

“I fear they would.”

Clarinda threw the brush down. Putting her hands on her hips, she stared up at the sky and declared, “Life is so deucedly unfair.”

“Are you just finding that out?” asked Sara Sophia. “The worst of it is, since we’re only women, we would have nothing to say about it. It’s men who rule the world. Even you, rich and titled though you are, must do what some man tells you. And not just now, all your life. First your father, then your husband. As for me” — her gentle smile was tinged with sadness — “I shall never marry.”

“But of course you will,” Clarinda began, but Sara Sophia firmly shook her head.

“What man would have me? I have no dowry. Worse, I have no standing. You know what the purveyors of gossip whisper about my parentage.” She set her chin in a stubborn line. “But that’s all right. I expect nothing from this world. I should be grateful just to be alive.”

“I wish I were a man so I could set things straight.”

“Well, you’re not a man, and you never will be, so make the best of it.” Sara Sophia laughed ironically. “Face it, everything you’ll ever want in this world must be obtained from a man, mostly using your womanly wiles.”

“I suppose I should act just like Rissa,” said Clarinda in disgust.

Sara Sophia nodded her agreement. “You’re too rebellious. You would get much further in this world fluttering your eyelids and playing coy behind your fan.”

“And I should marry Lord Sufton,” Clarinda added bitterly. “But how could I stand it? What could be more boring than a man who agrees with everything you say?”

“This is not a perfect world.”

“But why can’t I do what I want to do?” Clarinda cried.

Sara Sophia stopped brushing. Across the stallion’s back she looked directly into her friend’s eyes. “So tell me, if you could plan the rest of your life — have it just the way you wanted — what would it be?”

Without hesitation Clarinda declared, “I wish we could run off, just you, I, and Alexander. We would bring Donegal for me, Sham for you, Captain for Alexander, and Dublin for extra because Rissa doesn’t ride him anyway. We would buy a farm somewhere far from here with lots of green fields for the horses. We would have loads of friends from all classes, not just the ton, and breed horses the rest of our lives.” She paused, intent on brushing Sham so furiously the horse turned its head and gave her the eye. With a wry little laugh, she continued, “Oh, I know how childish that sounds. In real life, one cannot run off, can one?” Her voice a rising crescendo of frustration, she continued, “One has to do what her parents tell her to do and be miserable!”

Sara Sophia ignored Clarinda’s despair and remarked, “You said ‘just you and I and Alexander’. But surely some day you will fall in love and marry and have children.”

“No! I shall never love again. You’re the only one who knows how my heart was broken.”

“But Jeffrey’s dead, and you’re young, and … and…” At a loss for words, Sara Sophia stumbled and stopped.

Clarinda’s laugh was hollow. “I know what you’re going to say — that Jeffrey wasn’t mine, he was Rissa’s. And you’d be right, only” — a flash of despair ripped through her — “we can’t help whom we fall in love with. I shall love my dreamy-eyed poet until the day I die. In my heart, no one can replace Jeffrey.”

Impulsively Sara Sophia came around Sham and hugged Clarinda. In her sweet, serene voice, she said, “You can never know for certain what the future holds.”

“I have a fairly good idea,” Clarinda replied grimly. “I have a twin who’s so perfect I must strive to be just like her. I have parents who want me to marry the most boring man in the world. You think I have a chance for happiness? I think not.”