The Rebellious Twin (5 page)

Agatha said, “He is one of those men all the ladies notice when he walks into a room.” She lowered her voice as if to impart a delicious confidence. “Who knows how many high-ranking ladies he’s charmed into his bed?”

“Agatha!” Lady Lynbury was so jolted her tea splashed into her saucer.

But Agatha evinced no shame. “Tis true! The man positively radiates masculinity, if you know what I mean.”

Clarinda couldn’t resist. “No, do tell us what you mean, Agatha.”

“Clarinda!” Mama gave her a warning look.

Uh-oh. Watch out, Clarinda told herself. Think of Donegal next time you want to open your mouth.

At that moment a pale, wan Rissa appeared in the doorway, dressed exactly like Clarinda in a white lawn tea gown with short scallop-shaped sleeves edged in ruffled lace, and a lace-trimmed scalloped edging at the hemline. The gown had a lavender sash that matched the rose at her bosom and her satin scarf, draped artfully over her shoulders.

The ladies burst into warm greetings as Rissa, affecting a martyred expression, crossed the room and collapsed artistically next to Clarinda on the striped floral settee. “Do forgive me, I’ve had such a frightful headache,” she said in her sweet, tinkling voice, “but I could not resist coming down to see you.”

Lady Lynbury said, “We were sorry to hear of your recent … er … horrifying experience. How upsetting for you.”

“You are too kind, Lady Lynbury,” murmured Rissa, placing a hand over her heart. “I was not thinking of myself, but only how I might help poor Lord Westerlynn. Such a sad, regrettable, terrible loss.”

From across, Agatha, who had been staring, declared, “Why you’re twins! And as alike as two peas in a pod!”

Clarinda gritted her teeth.

Rissa blithely replied, “Yes we are, aren’t we? When we were little, even Mama could not tell us apart. She still can’t.”

“Except for your necklaces,” Mama agreed. “Show us your necklaces, girls. Do you see? On Rissa’s there’s an “R” intertwined among the gold filigree of the pendant. Clarinda owns the same necklace, only with a filigreed “C.” They have worn their necklaces constantly since they were little, so that people could tell them apart.” She flashed an annoyed glance at Clarinda. “Where is your necklace?”

Two peas in a pod again. How she hated this! Clarinda’s first impulse was to refuse to say, but she thought of Donegal, and how she might lose him. She pulled out the gold chain she’d tucked beneath her dress. “Mine has a C on it,” she said affably, running her finger over the delicate filigree.

“It must be marvelous fun, being a twin,” said Agatha. “You must be inseparable.”

Radiating affection, Rissa took Clarinda’s hand, covering it with her own. “My dear twin and I cannot bear to be parted.”

“But what happens when you marry?” asked Agatha.

“How perceptive you are!” Rissa chimed. “But we have the perfect solution. Have you ever heard of twins marrying twins?”

“You don’t mean” — Agatha’s eyes went wide — “the Sufton twins?”

“Yes,” crowed Rissa triumphantly. “The Sufton twins, who as you know, bring ten thousand pounds a year, if they bring one, and live at Bolton Hall when they’re not in London. It’s not official yet, but don’t be surprised if I marry Lawrence, whereas Clarinda shall marry Larimore.” Her mouth twisted into a satisfied grin. “Then we shall all live blissfully at Bolton Hall the rest of our lives.”

Mama beamed approval. “The Lords Sufton are coming from London for our ball next Friday night, and to stay the weekend. Don’t be surprised what announcements may come of it.” She slanted a meaningful glance at Clarinda. “Isn’t that right, Clarinda?”

Clarinda’s heart sank. How she hated to be reminded. What was left of her freedom might be coming to an end sooner than she thought.

Robert and Lucius were dining at Whites when the venerable Sir Godfrey Wynne, leaning heavily on his cane, stopped by their table.

“Have you heard about old Westerlynn? The poor fellow popped off yesterday. Heard his heart gave out.” Sir Godfrey cocked his head. “I say, Stormont, wasn’t it you who won Westerlynn’s estate the other night? Good timing, eh?”

Never one to reveal his emotions, Robert concealed his shock as he lay down his fork and quietly said, “‘Twas I, Sir Godfrey. Where did it happen?”

“They say he was on his way to his estate, but never made it. Breathed his last breath in that old oak coach of his on Lord Capelle’s doorstep.” Sir Godfrey mumbled, “More’s the pity,” as he hobbled away.

“Sorry,” Lucius ventured.

“So am I,” Robert replied, “Westerlynn had his eccentricities, but he wasn’t a bad sort.” Damme! I should never have let myself be talked into that game of whist.

“It was not your fault.”

Lucius possessed an uncanny knack of reading his mind — sometimes too uncanny. Robert heaved a sigh and briefly shut his eyes. He didn’t feel like talking.

“Damnation, Robert, the man was eighty if he was a day.”

Robert slowly shook his head from side to side. “Give up, Lucius. It damn well was my fault.”

“But he badgered you, remember? Insisted that you play. You’re wrong to feel guilty.”

“Never fear, Lucius, guilt’s a useless emotion. I feel responsible, though.”

“Look at the bright side. Hollyridge Manor is yours now.”

“I suppose it is, but I don’t take any pleasure in it.” Robert abruptly stood, throwing down his napkin. “What’s done is done. Now it appears I have a huge estate on my hands.”

“You had best go see it for yourself. Then you can dispose of it, or whatever you wish to do.”

“I suppose I must go see the place. Where is it?

“On the upper Thames, near Maidenhead in Berkshire. Did you know it borders Capelle’s estate?” When Robert looked puzzled, Lucius explained, “Lord Capelle, the one with the beautiful blonde twins. One of them was betrothed to Jeffrey, Lord Lansdale. Surely you remember.” Lucius raised an eyebrow when Robert shook his head. “You see what you miss when you bury yourself in the country?”

“‘Tis a miracle I survive that far from London,” Robert answered with a grin. “But I do recall Lord Lansdale. Weak-spined, as I recall. Writes abominable poetry. In the navy, is he not?”

“Good going, Robert. Your weak-spined Lord Lansdale died a hero at Trafalgar, practically at Nelson’s feet.”

Robert grimaced. “I feel like a dolt.”

“No harm done. Actually you’re right. Only a noble death could have changed Jeffrey from a tiresome fool into a hero.” Mercifully Lucius changed the subject. “Old Westerlynn was famous for his stables. As I recall, upwards to twenty horses at last count.”

Robert brightened. “Horses?”

“Prime horseflesh for the most part, judging from what I’ve heard.”

“I shall immediately make arrangements to travel to Hollyridge Manor. Shall you come along?”

Lucius’s eyes brightened. “But of course. The London romps have become quite boring. I should like to try my luck with some of those rosy-cheeked country girls.”

Suddenly Robert’s head was full of plans. He would quickly dispose of Hollyridge Manor, and then….

How difficult would it be to transport a number of horses from Hollyridge Manor to Oakley House? He would soon find out.

*

“Rissa, we have to talk.”

It was the day after Mama’s ‘at home’ and Clarinda had just settled herself on the chaise in Rissa’s bed chamber. Knowing Rissa’s penchant for avoiding serious discourse, Clarinda was determined that for once her sister would hear her out, not cleverly change the subject as she usually did when the topic took on any depth.

Rissa was seated at her dressing table, twining her hair atop her head in a new coiffeur. “What do you think?” she asked, twisting around, “should I pull my hair back or cover my ears? Should I — ?”

“You can cut it all off for all I care,” answered Clarinda. That should get her attention.

“Why sister!” Rissa’s lower lip protruded in a pout. “My, my, aren’t we testy today!”

“I have something to say to you, Rissa, and you are going to hear me out.”

Rissa turned to gaze at herself in her mirror again and took up her comb. “Go ahead if you must,” she said lightly, “I am all ears.”

“Do you remember how close we were when we were little children?”

“Of course. I can remember looking in the mirror and thinking I was you.”

Clarinda nodded agreeably. “I used to wake up in the morning and when I saw you in your bed I would wonder, how do I know I am me?”

“I loved being a twin,” Rissa said brightly, “and I still do. I love dressing alike, and all the attention we receive. Do you remember all those pranks we played when we were little? Me pretending to be you, and you pretending to be me?” She giggled. “No one could tell us apart and they still can’t, except for Estelle and Alexander.”

“I am sick of it,” Clarinda said, not joining in her sister’s laughter.

“Whatever do you mean?” Rissa put down her comb. Puzzled, she turned in her chair and asked, “Are we not still inseparable?”

“That’s what I came to talk to you about.” Clarinda paused. She and Rissa had truly been as one when they were children. Yet, her relationship with her twin had not been all that wonderful. She could remember how Rissa invariably grew angry when she didn’t receive attention first, and how everything had to be exactly equal. If it wasn’t, Rissa would throw herself on the floor and kick and scream. When they were older, Rissa still managed nearly always to get her way. She had discovered that a tear or two rolling from her big blue eyes could work wonders, accompanied, of course, by a feigned sweetness which Clarinda could see right through. Nobody else could, though. Mama — Papa — nanny — the governess — praised Rissa for her sweet disposition. Whereas she, Clarinda, was the obstinate, rebellious twin who was always getting into trouble. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want for us to be inseparable anymore. I want to be my own person I don’t want to dress like you or act like you.”

Rissa’s eyes grew wide. “Why, sister, I am astounded. Don’t you love me any more? How could you be so cruel?”

“I do love you,” Clarinda earnestly declared. “How could I not? You are my twin, my other self. But it’s just that” — this would be so hard to explain, but she would have to try — “we’re twenty now, not children anymore, and I want to lead my own life and not feel half of a whole.”

“But are we not going to marry the Suftons?” Rissa’s brows drew together in a frown. “Aren’t we going to live together in Bolton Hall for the rest of our lives?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Rissa’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, how hurtful! Surely you can’t mean what you’re saying.”

Until recently, Clarinda would have succumbed to Rissa’s supposed distress and backed down. Now, perhaps because she had matured, Clarinda saw her sister through new eyes, and though she loved her sister still, she was wise to Rissa’s tricks and devious ways. They no longer affected her. They shouldn’t have before, except she was too young and trusting to understand such duplicity. Now she could see that over the years her twin had manipulated and controlled her in many ways. Maybe Mama and Papa were still fooled, but not me anymore.

“Listen carefully, Rissa. Mama and Papa may insist that I marry Larimore, but I don’t want you talking about it anymore, do you understand? And I don’t want you saying how we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together because it is my fervent hope that we do not.”

Not to Clarinda’s surprise, Rissa’s pout disappeared, replaced by an expression of indignation. Fists clenched, she stood abruptly and declared, “Mama shall hear of this.”

“Fine. Tattle if you must. As things stand now, I shall probably be forced to capitulate and marry Larimore. I’m only telling you — begging you, please don’t help his cause. And please, stop telling Mama we must dress alike.”

“You never knew what was best for you,” Rissa declared. Her voice had lowered. She didn’t sound sweet anymore. “You don’t fool me. I know why you’re saying these terrible things.”

“Why?” asked Clarinda, guessing she already knew.

“It’s Jeffrey, isn’t it? That’s why you’re doing this — you’re jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” asked Clarinda. This was just like Rissa — never taking criticism, always attacking back.

“Admit it! You loved Jeffrey and it killed you when he decided he loved me.”

“Jeffrey is dead. Don’t you think your accusation is a touch beside the point?” What was the use? Clarinda wondered. Arguing with her twin was like trying to capture the wind. “Whether I loved Jeffrey or not doesn’t matter. All I want is to be left alone.”

“It is absolutely ridiculous that you don’t want to be a twin anymore.” Rissa’s demeanor had turned hostile.

How frustrating! Why did her sister always twist what she said? “Rissa, I don’t want to fight. I want things to be good between us.”

“Admit you loved Jeffrey!”

As usual, Rissa would hear only what she wanted to hear. So why should I hide the truth? “All right, Rissa, if you must hear it — I did love Jeffrey. I loved him for the poetry he wrote, and his gentleness, and the dreamy look in his eye. I shall love him until the day I die, but he was yours, not mine, and I would never have — ” Clarinda stopped abruptly. She had been about to say that she would never have thought twice about Jeffrey if he hadn’t first paid attention to her, not Rissa. Later, for reasons unknown, he had dropped her and began courting Rissa. How hurt she had been! But nothing would be gained from voicing that particular recollection. “Rissa, You must know that I did not, in any way, even consider stealing Jeffrey from you. When he died, I was grateful I hadn’t tried. My conscience was clear, thank goodness. I so admired your courage. You hardly cried, and I was so proud of you, knowing the deep grief you must have felt inside.”

“I suppose I was brave, wasn’t I?” Rissa turned sweet again and smiled. “Come to your senses, Clarinda. We are twins, never to be parted no matter what you say.”

“You will never understand.” Clarinda wondered why she had even bothered. She got up off the bed to leave.

“Before you go” — Rissa cocked her head to one side — “I have a question about Sara Sophia.”