A Fraudulent Betrothal Read online

  A Fraudulent Betrothal

  Natasha Andersen

  To Anna

  For her support and encouragement

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE: Twins

  CHAPTER TWO: Marianne’s Letters

  CHAPTER THREE: Aunt Eleanor

  CHAPTER FOUR: The Markham Household

  CHAPTER FIVE: Lord Leighton

  CHAPTER SIX: A Select Assembly

  CHAPTER SEVEN: A Pleasure Trip

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Clarissa Turns Detective

  CHAPTER NINE: A Groom’s Tale

  CHAPTER TEN: Lost in the Capital

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Sophie’s Escape

  CHAPTER TWELVE: Leighton Declares Himself

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A Secret is Unearthed

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: At Chatsbury’s Masque

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: The Search for Marianne

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Found and Lost

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Clarissa Imprisoned

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Explanations Due

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: A Solution is Expounded

  CHAPTER TWENTY: A Scoundrel is Put to Flight

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Betrothals

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Lover’s Ball

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  Twins

  Constance stood silently by the window, gazing out on to the rose garden in still repose while the lazy haze of late afternoon light filtered through the hot sunshine of yet another brilliant summer day. Her wide, blue eyes, no longer so sure in their sight as in her youth, narrowed to follow the path of the two remarkably handsome young women trailing back to the house after a sunny afternoon spent working in the grounds. She sighed quietly to herself; Clarissa and Marianne had been left in her charge since babies, but, all too soon now, they would have to leave her for a wider world. She glanced with rheumy eyes towards the letter she still held in her hand and sighed again. She’d had her nieces to herself for twenty years; more time than she could ever have hoped for considering their beauty and talents, talents she herself had taken a hand in nurturing. But now they were both of them full grown women, ready to fly the nest.

  One of the pair waved gaily towards her and she raised her hand in return, smiling at the self-evident difference in the twins, who, to all other intents and purposes, couldn’t be told apart by anyone who didn’t know them as well as Constance. As a point of fact, as she well knew, even she could be fooled if they desired it. Constance recalled all the times they’d tricked her and smiled, all of a sudden appearing far younger than her matronly apparel suggested.

  As she watched them the soft light of the evening sun seemed to add its own lustre to guinea-gold locks surmounting a pair of identical, even-featured, flawlessly skinned faces, each with a gloriously sunny smile in place as they continued to exchange their bantering asides. Constance was still too far off to spot the colour of their eyes, but she knew they were green; vivid, sparkling orbs that held thrall over most of the eligible young men in the near neighbourhood, not to mention the admiration of several others who weren’t quite so eligible. Marianne’s could fleck fiercely with grey when her temper rose, but her more equable and charitable sister, Clarissa, never deemed it necessary to display such unevenness of spirit.

  La! In every way they looked the same. In height, face and figure, there was none who could separate them, and few enough of the local women who didn’t feel a pang of jealousy when their proudly held, slimly drawn figures stepped out on to the ballroom floor at the local assemblies. But, Constance told herself gaily, there’s no doubting which is which today.

  And so it was. Clarissa’s gown was old, well past its best and dowdy to a degree her twin sister would never tolerate for a moment. Its colour was a nondescript shade of brown, and it had, moreover, been overlaid with a soil-stained overall that might once have been described as white by a more charitable onlooker.

  ‘I don’t know how you can bear to wear that gown,’ Marianne quizzed her. She raised her eyes to her sister’s head and shuddered, ‘and that old bonnet must have been long out of fashion when Aunt Constance was a young girl.’

  ‘My hat may no longer be in the first flush of youth,’ Clarissa conceded the point when she lifted a hand to its wide poke, ‘but it’s perfect for keeping the sun off my face while I’m at work.’ Their voices matched to the very last inflection, just as their face and form.

  ‘I don’t know why you do,’ replied Marianne with a stifled yawn. She eyed the flower-laden trug in her sister’s arms with some amusement. ‘Jarvis would have picked those blooms for you.’

  ‘I enjoy working in the garden,’ Clarissa returned calmly, ‘and, as for the flowers, you know how Aunt Constance adores them.’

  ‘Aunt Constance!’ Marianne flung a baleful glance at the window where their aunt waited. She, too, dearly loved the woman who had looked after them both ever since she could remember, but nevertheless allowed that her aunt was old-fashioned and depressingly set in her ways. She flung her head back, allowing the pale pastel pinks of the painted silk scarf that held fast her wide brimmed straw chip hat to float on the air behind her.

  Marianne hadn’t enjoyed herself pottering about the garden like her more industrious sister. She’d taken a handful of the latest fashion plates down to the wide lawns and lounged in a comfortable seat while she pretended to examine them. In truth, she’d spent far more time in day-dreaming than in perusal of the fashions depicted. Her own preferences, were she ever allowed them, would lean more towards living the fashionable life than poring over illustrations, however exquisitely drawn.

  ‘I’m sure Aunt Constance wouldn’t have withheld her consent to our making up a party to the assembly rooms without good reason.’ Clarissa knew exactly what ills Marianne had placed at their aunt’s door. There was a grand ball due to be held in nearby St Neots that very week, but, to the dismay of both young girls, their aunt had vetoed the plan.

  ‘Everyone we know will be there.’ Marianne’s voice rose in righteous indignation. ‘Only dowds like us will miss it.’

  Clarissa laughed out loud, charming her sister down from the boughs on the instant. ‘Dowds indeed!’ She stared long and hard at Marianne’s modishly cut gown, a gay confection in the palest of pinks, and adorned with a plethora of bows and lace in the same sweet colour.

  Marianne was abashed for no more than a moment. ‘I still declare it’s too much for us to miss such an event,’ she offered up in complaint. Then, realizing she would make no headway against her sister’s continued good humour, she stamped her feet in mock dismay and added a disconcerting rider, ‘You’re much too virtuous; surely the perfect match for our good rector.’

  ‘Doctor Pym?’ Clarissa failed to rise to the bait, though her sister had offered it many a time before.

  ‘You know very well he’s smitten with you, Clarissa,’Marianne twitted her sister at the rector’s ardour. ‘Mark my words, he’ll make you an offer before the winter is through.’

  ‘Oh, I do hope not,’ Clarissa murmured. She found the young cleric an admirable young man, but far too intense for her sensibilities, though she’d never been known to snub him in the manner Marianne sometimes did.

  ‘Don’t be such a goose,’ Marianne told her mirthfully. ‘Every woman must wish to be married, and you two will deal very well together.’ Her face fell when a sudden terrible thought struck her. ‘I hope he doesn’t mistake us and make his offer to me instead.’ She recovered with a grin. ‘I’ll roast him if he does.’

  Clarissa joined in her laughter, though in truth, she was more than a little wary that the good rector might indeed propose a
union between the two of them.

  ‘While you’re engaged in good works with your husband, perhaps I’ll be able to undertake a London season at long last.’ Marianne’s lips curved into a euphoric smile and a far-away look entered her eyes. ‘I’d enjoy that more than anything, even if you wouldn’t care to undertake such pleasurable and nonproductive pastimes.’

  ‘Oh, but I’d like it too,’ confided Clarissa, looking more wistful than her twin had ever seen her.

  ‘No!’ Marianne’s eyes were set wide on her sister’s face. ‘You’ve always disapproved of such a selfish existence as the fashionable ton enjoy. You know you have.’

  ‘True enough,’ agreed Clarissa, choosing her words carefully, ‘but I can enjoy a measure of that life without indulging in its self-centred extremes. Besides, I should prefer to expand my horizon beyond country life before I’m wed.’

  ‘To your virtuous rector,’ Marianne baited her. They’d almost reached the rambling outline of the house and, when her gaze fell on her aunt once more, a curious glint lit up her eyes.

  ‘I do believe Aunt Constance is holding a letter in her hands,’ she told her sister, instantly relegating the subject of Clarissa’s admirer to the back of her mind.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed that girl equably. ‘The mail was delivered not more than an hour since.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so at once?’ Marianne clapped her hands together and gathered up her skirts to scamper in unladylike haste towards the door.

  ‘It was addressed to Aunt Constance herself,’ laughed Clarissa, hardly surprised that her impulsive twin should be so excited by such an event. ‘I doubt if it’s anything to do with us.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ returned her twin excitedly. ‘Aunt Constance hardly ever receives a letter on her own account. Besides, she’s waiting for us to join her.’

  That their Aunt Constance, who had devoted her entire life to the twins’ welfare, would often find herself waiting for the pair of them didn’t occupy a significant part in Marianne’s thoughts. Her aunt was awaiting them with a letter in her hand, and that event alone was enough to cause Marianne to expect a momentous happening, however often she’d been disappointed in the past.

  She was to be thwarted again, however, for without giving any indication as to whether or not the contents of her letter affected her young wards, Aunt Constance sent them straight upstairs to dress for dinner. They kept country hours in Bedfordshire and would dine unfashionably early to their town cousins’ eyes.

  It wasn’t until they were sitting quietly in the parlour digesting their dinner that Marianne’s curiosity concerning the letter’s contents was satisfied. Aunt Constance had given no sign of having the missive to hand during the meal, and even Marianne’s impatience had balked at alluding directly to its existence without her aunt’s permission. None the less she’d attempted to swing conversation that way on more than one occasion, only to be thwarted by an aunt who’d had more than a little experience of her niece’s encroaching ways.

  ‘I have a letter here,’ Aunt Constance confessed at last, drawing the very article from a capacious pocket sewn into her gown. She paused a moment in search of her spectacles, then perched them precariously on her nose. ‘It’s from my sister, Eleanor.’

  ‘Eleanor?’ Marianne couldn’t help the exclamation escaping her lips, and even the gentle Clarissa looked startled. Both girls knew of Aunt Eleanor’s existence, though neither of them had ever met the lady, nor did they remember the last time she’d communicated with their guardian, if ever she had.

  ‘As you know,’ – Aunt Constance disregarded Marianne’s ill-mannered outburst – ‘your Aunt Eleanor made a good marriage to Mr Markham and moved to London while you were still quite young.’ She didn’t specify how young, but both Marianne and Clarissa realized they could have been little more than babies.

  ‘I believe her entertainments are quite out of the common way,’ continued their aunt, ‘and that she enters enthusiastically into the life of the ton.’ She paused to bestow a gentle smile on her charges. ‘Which brings me to the contents of her epistle.’

  ‘As you know, she has never been blessed with children herself, and though she’s not been actively involved in your upbringing, I thought it fit to write to her regarding your circumstances.’ She glanced up again and caught sight of two expectant faces. Rapt attention indeed, but she’d have to blight the hopes of one, at least. ‘In short, she’s agreed to sponsor one of you for the season in London.’

  ‘One of us?’ Marianne stared aghast at her aunt. ‘Why can’t she sponsor the pair of us? You know how well we deal together. Taking both of us would place no additional burden on her.’

  ‘She’s very specific, I’m afraid.’ Constance balanced her spectacles on her nose and read verbatim from the letter in her hands: ‘If that one takes, and there’s no reason why she shouldn’t unless she lacks the proper address, she may be married within the year and able to sponsor her sister herself.’ She allowed her eyes to dwell on the pair. ‘You must remember that your Aunt Eleanor has no experience of daughters, nor indeed of any children. Both of you arriving together might very well prove too much of a responsibility for her to bear.’

  ‘I should like to go.’ Marianne spoke the words more to her sister than Aunt Constance, but it was that lady who answered.

  ‘Clarissa is the elder by several minutes,’ she reminded her niece gently. ‘It should be her chance by right.’

  ‘Please.’

  Clarissa stared wide eyed at the tears already sparkling in her sister’s eyes and capitulated. She had an idea she was being manipulated, but she loved her sister too much and, after all was said and done, her sibling wanted the position more than she.

  ‘Marianne may go in my stead,’ she told her aunt wistfully.

  ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you.’ Marianne threw her arms about her sister and tried to draw her into a dance of unashamed joy. Clarissa hung back, however, abashing even the lively Marianne, who suddenly understood how much it would have meant to her sister too. She hung her head for a moment, but was unable to restrain her joy for long.

  ‘I’ll make a brilliant marriage at once,’ she vowed, ‘and bring you out in such style that royalty themselves wouldn’t be too high a touch for you.’

  ‘Thank you, no,’ declared Clarissa, laying her own disappointment to one side in the joy of her sister’s good fortune. ‘They’re all fat old men and much too dissolute for my taste.’

  ‘What about money?’ Marianne began to tot up the cost of the clothes she would need and felt quite faint at the sums involved.

  ‘Your father had his faults,’ Aunt Constance told her with fine understatement, ‘but that of penury cannot be laid at his door. The both of you may depend upon a respectable dowry to take into your marriage, and there are, in addition, adequate funds available for launching you into society.’ She paused, making some calculations of her own. ‘If we’re careful, a few new purchases supplemented by prudent refurbishing of your best gowns will allow you to face society without fear of disgrace.’

  ‘I have some savings set by, too,’ Clarissa offered generously. ‘Not enough to pay for new gowns, but ample for the purchase of a few folderols.’

  ‘Thank you, Clarissa.’ Aunt Constance’s melting smile was more than adequate recompense for the girl. ‘You’re a most generous soul.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’ Marianne showed signs of throwing herself on Clarissa’s neck again, until Aunt Constance silenced them with a peremptory gesture.

  ‘Please, girls,’ she chided them. ‘I have something further to tell you that won’t wait.’ She watched them anxiously while they settled down politely to listen. ‘I should have made the whole known to you before, but the events leading up to this tale were as painful to me as they may prove to you, and the time never seemed right. Now you’re on the brink of entering polite society, you’ll have to know the truth of the matter.’ She stared directly at Marianne. ‘Especially you, my dear, though
it impinges directly on both your lives.’ She paused as though she didn’t know how to start, then haltingly began to relate the painful tale.

  ‘You may wonder,’ she began, ‘why it is that Eleanor, who is after all, both my sister and your aunt, never took a great deal of notice of our situation….’

  ‘London is a long way off, Aunt.’ Clarissa sensed her aunt’s unease when that woman’s voice trailed off. ‘I doubt if Papa encouraged her to enquire after us either. He never had a good word to speak of Aunt Eleanor that I heard.’

  ‘The story began with your parents’ marriage.’ Aunt Constance ignored Clarissa’s interjection, although she knew it to be prompted by the best of motives. ‘It was a union doomed from the start, though it may not have seemed that way to them during the first throes of love. Even when he was young, your father’s character was serious to the point of asceticism, and he was moreover, a scholar, while your mother was the very opposite. She loved to dance, to sing, to hold and attend parties. Indeed, she thought and spoke of little else.’

  As might be expected, Constance held the rapt attention of both her nieces. Their mother had passed away while they were still in swaddling clothes, and was rarely, if ever, mentioned.

  ‘At first, your father was merely amused by her liveliness,’ Constance continued. ‘For a time, he even joined in her sport on occasions, a constant source of amazement to those of us who knew him well.’ She shook her head wearily. ‘It couldn’t last for ever. Your father tired rapidly of the constant social round and began to tax your mother that she partook of such vulgar entertainment. On her part, she took no notice of his pleas, thwarting his every attempt to bring her to heel. Their heated arguments left Eleanor and I quaking sometimes, for his temper was never slow, but your mother, tiny as she was, stood up to him. She never showed any fear of his threats, even laughed in his face.’

  ‘Did he kill her, then?’ Marianne’s eyes shone like saucers in her face at these revelations about her parents.