A Fraudulent Betrothal Read online

  Her clothing muddy and dirt stained, Clarissa hauled herself to her feet, wincing when the man began to beat the poor girl, who could do no more than wail piteously while attempting to dodge his blows.

  ‘Cease that at once, sir,’ she demanded imperiously, and bravely stepped in to stop the beating.

  ‘You filthy doxy,’ the man began, looking her up and down with disdain. ‘Leave us alone, or I’ll let you have a taste of the whip, too.’ He stepped forward and raised his crop threateningly.

  Clarissa stood proud, giving him the pause, but before it could be seen whether he’d carry out his threat or not, a curricle, hauled by no less than four steaming horses, skidded to a halt and a tall rangy figure leapt out.

  ‘Richard!’ Clarissa stared at the apparition in amazement, watching open mouthed while he plucked the crop from her opponent’s nerveless fingers.

  ‘Damn you, sir,’ that worthy told him, swiftly recovering from the surprise of his arrival. And attempted a right cross that would have taken Leighton’s head off if it had landed.

  Lord Leighton had boxed at Cribb’s Parlour for as long as he’d been on the Town, so it was no surprise to him that he should slip the punch and return it with interest. A punishing left hook under the short ribs staggered the man and brought him up short, followed by a right to the point of the chin that finished the business. Clarissa was left bemused when her erstwhile attacker dropped to the ground as though pole-axed.

  ‘Come, Marianne,’ – Leighton took her hand and drew her back – ‘and tell me’ – his brows rose with pardonable inquisitiveness – ‘why should such a man seek to attack you?’

  ‘Not me, Richard.’ Clarissa was beginning to gather her scattered wits. ‘He was chasing her.’ She pointed out the girl he’d been whipping, but who was now standing guard over the man’s prone figure with a feral snarl on her face.

  ‘Ah. A domestic tiff, I presume.’ In the aftermath of the action, Leighton had regained his sang-froid with remarkable speed. He indicated the curricle with a wave of his hand and Clarissa recognized his matched bays.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ She leaned on the support of his hand and hauled herself on to the sporting carriage with relief.

  ‘Let them go, lad.’ Leighton had leapt up beside her and spoken to his tiger. Only it wasn’t his tiger, and Clarissa felt a sense of foreboding. The lad holding the horses was none other than Tom, whom she thought to have left at the house. How much of her story had he divulged to Leighton?

  The journey home was short, but fraught with embarrassment. Lord Leighton not unnaturally wanted an explanation, but before she would venture to give one, she had a question of her own.

  ‘How did you find me, Richard?’

  ‘Tom was lucky enough to find me at home.’

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘I have yet to find the bottom of matters, but apparently he was following in your footsteps when you found yourself lost in the back streets. He in turn lost you, and realizing I was the closest of any who might protect you, came to knock me up. We’ve been searching for a couple of hours. You might start by telling me why your groom should be following you.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Clarissa quavered, miserably aware that her answer was unsatisfactory. Damn the lad, she hadn’t asked him to follow her. Then immediately she regretted her uncharitable thoughts. She’d still be lost, and probably have been beaten into the bargain, if he hadn’t thought to protect her.

  ‘Not good enough, Marianne.’

  Leighton’s voice sounded severe and Clarissa shivered when she looked up into his face. It was a tight mask that told of the anger bubbling beneath. This wasn’t the moment to tell the truth, not when it could spell the end of Marianne’s career in society. Neither could she bear to see the hurt in her beloved’s face when he learned how thoroughly they’d deceived him. He’d be angry too, but that she could bear; she knew she deserved it.

  ‘I believed my maidservant was acting dishonestly,’ she temporized. ‘I had no proof of the matter, but I saw her make off with some clothing and straight away made the decision to follow after her.’ Clarissa prayed Tom had said nothing to the contrary. ‘Young Tom must have seen me leave the house and thought it sufficiently odd in me to follow.’ She paused and risked a peek at Leighton’s face, aware that he didn’t believe a word of her story. ‘It was very good of him to do so.’

  ‘Good indeed. I see you managed to find the time to change your clothes, too. I presume the gown you’re wearing, hideous as it is, would be more appropriate to such an adventure.’

  ‘I was about to address some minor task in the garden.’ Clarissa could have sunk into the ground. Of all the people to find her in her rags, he was the last she would have chosen. Then she immediately amended her thoughts; he’d done her a great service in finding her.

  ‘Don’t try my patience, Marianne.’ She could see that Leighton had put the lid on his anger, but it still showed in his speech. ‘Your conduct in disappearing so abruptly from society caused a lot of careless talk, but, more importantly, left me worried that our betrothal wasn’t to your taste. Our meetings since your return suggested I’d been mistaken, and when you returned my kisses at Richmond, I told myself no one could have faked such emotion.’

  Clarissa’s face flared at his reminder of her foolishness. How dare he fling her passionate response back at her? Hadn’t he been the one to kiss her? Then the truth struck home: he still had the power to make her long for his embrace, to desire the searing sensation of his kisses. If only he would take her in his arms right away. Her blushes consumed her, and she hung her head in shame.

  ‘I’m sorry, Richard,’ she told him a small voice. ‘I can’t tell you why I was following Sophie.’ She laid a hand on his arm, a plea for his forgiveness. ‘Not now, not ever! But please believe me, it is not for the sake of some thoughtless whim. I love you.’

  The truth was in her eyes and Leighton felt his heart melt. ‘I won’t press you for an explanation now, my dear,’ he advised her gently, ‘but I won’t stand for such secrecy after we’re married, and so I warn you.’

  ‘There’ll be no need for concern once our vows have been exchanged,’ she reassured him.

  ‘Thank you.’ Leighton enclosed her hand in his and tooled the open carriage up the Markhams’ street with a very pretty piece of one handed driving.

  ‘Will you come in, Richard?’ Clarissa made the polite request. ‘I believe Mr Markham has returned from his visit. Indeed, both my aunt and uncle would be pleased to see you.’

  ‘No, thank you, Marianne. I have a pleasant little party of my own planned for tonight. I should, however, be pleased to pass on an invitation from my sister to visit her tomorrow afternoon.’ He paused, before announcing gravely. ‘I shall be there myself.’

  ‘I should love to.’ Clarissa could see the simple joy she felt in the invitation had been communicated to him and felt a moment of apprehension. Should she be torturing herself by accepting? Torturing him, perhaps? She already felt she loved his sister too, but what use was that when both he and his sister would soon be related to Marianne, and not herself? On the other hand she knew she had to accept if she were to continue in her role, but how, oh how she wished it was really her he was inviting, and not her sister.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sophie’s Escape

  ‘Good morning, miss.’ Sophie slowly peeled back the curtains at the window when her mistress began to stir.

  Clarissa stared at her maid in amazement. Following the events of the previous day she hadn’t ever expected to see the girl again, let alone find her going about her allotted tasks as though nothing had happened.

  ‘Sophie?’ She began to question her own senses, shaking her head and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

  ‘Yes, miss.’ The girl turned wide, innocent eyes on her. ‘Are you planning to go out this morning?’

  ‘Yes, Sophie. I’m engaged to visit Lady Burnett.’ Clarissa retreated into the common-place while she considere
d the matter, beginning to wonder if the girl had spotted her at all the previous afternoon. Could it have been mere coincidence that she’d been lured into the murky depths of the city stews? Her maidservant had seemed at home in the narrow alleyways. Perhaps she was visiting her family just as she had promised.

  ‘While you’re washing, I’ll set out your morning gown, miss. The one with the pale-blue stripe.’

  ‘Thank you, Sophie.’ Clarissa flung her legs out of bed and strode across to the dressing-table where she splashed a generous measure of steaming water from a jug into the simple porcelain basin. All her instincts were screaming that Sophie was playing the scene far too casually to be entirely innocent. That being so, had she deliberately led her mistress into a dangerous situation? Or had she just been desperate to lose her? Either way, it implied the maidservant had something to hide and, to Clarissa’s way of thinking, whatever it was would explain her sister’s disappearance.

  She considered her next move carefully. For Marianne’s sake as much as her own, she couldn’t risk society, even her particular friends, discovering her deception, but neither could she afford to continue to deceive Richard much longer. She’d already decided she wouldn’t allow herself to be betrothed to him in place of her sister. It wouldn’t be fair to entrap him if Marianne failed to return in time for the grand ball her uncle and aunt had arranged in their honour. And that ball was scheduled for less than a fortnight hence. The mystery must be solved before that date, or she would confess all and sink herself beyond reproach, a painful outcome she was determined to avoid.

  ‘Sophie.’ She decided on the direct approach, hoping to catch her maidservant on the hop. ‘Where is Marianne?’

  ‘Marianne, miss?’ Sophie stared at Clarissa as though she was mad, but there’d been a moment of indecision in her voice that revealed the truth to her mistress. The girl was lying.

  ‘I’m not Marianne, as you very well know,’ Clarissa explained. ‘Your mistress went missing weeks ago, when she was in your company.’ That last piece of information was an inspired guess flung at random, but failed to win any appreciable response from the girl.

  ‘No, miss, I don’t know, really I don’t.’ Sophie’s eyes stared wide at her accuser, round as saucers. ‘My mistress gone missing, when you’re here? Why, you’re funning with me, aren’t you miss?’ The maidservant made a passable attempt at a giggle, but Clarissa didn’t allow herself to be fooled by such a display of spurious innocence.

  ‘You knew me for an impostor the very first day we met. How? Aren’t we enough alike to pass muster?’

  Sophie compressed her lips and stared back in silence. There was no point in dissemblance, only dumb insolence would do.

  ‘What did I say that made you suspicious?’ Clarissa knew her resemblance to her twin was remarkable and that she could even give a passable impression of Marianne’s more volatile personality. Yet the maid had found her out within a minute of meeting her.

  Sophie continued to stare at her with a sulky expression. ‘I don’t know what you mean, miss. I ain’t never been suspicious. Not of you.’ She edged towards the door. ‘Mr Downing told me to get back down to the kitchen soon as you’re dressed. He don’t like to be kept waiting.’

  Clarissa made a sudden dive for the bedroom door and barred her maid’s exit. For a moment they stared, eyeball to eyeball, until eventually the maidservant looked away. Moving deliberately, Clarissa carefully turned the key in the lock and removed it.

  ‘I’m not yet dressed.’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Where’s my sister? What have you done with her?’ Clarissa resisted an overwhelming urge to slap the girl.

  ‘Your sister, miss? Ain’t she with your aunt? Your other aunt, I mean, the one what lives in the country, not Mrs Markham.’ Sophie had set herself to reply in the negative, and Clarissa knew a moment of panic until she saw the fear reflected in the girl’s eyes.

  ‘You know better than that. I also believe you know where Marianne is to be found.’

  ‘Well, if you ain’t Miss Marianne, miss, then who are you?’ The maid’s voice turned ragged, as though she, too, was at the end of her tether.

  ‘Sophie, please help me.’ Clarissa, who was becoming desperate, tried her hardest to ingratiate herself with the girl. ‘I only want to find Marianne. Not harm her. She’s my sister, and I’m so worried for her safety. Please tell me she’s not imprisoned, or lying hurt.’

  ‘No need for you to worry, miss.’ Sophie sounded sympathetic for an instant, but once she realized the complicity her words implied, began to wish she’d bitten off her tongue.

  ‘What I mean is,’ she continued, ‘I never realized you weren’t Marianne. How could I have? You’re so alike. Mind you, I thought it proper strange when she disappeared so suddenly. I never did believe in the stories the master and mistress put out about her illness.’ She made a plausible attempt at innocence, and endeavoured to end on a note of pert jocularity. ‘La, my own mistress packed off to the country without a word said to me.’

  ‘If you failed to realize I was playing a part, how come you led me such a dance yesterday?’ Clarissa knew she’d scored a direct hit with the question. Sophie had started perceptibly.

  ‘I’d taken some of Marianne’s—’ She stared at her mistress fearfully. ‘Taken some of your clothes.’ Her voice picked up in confidence as her story unfolded. ‘I stole them, miss, to my shame. I thought you’d discovered me and were giving chase.’

  ‘You were taking the clothes to Marianne.’

  ‘No, miss. Indeed not. I needed the money. Honest. My mother’s proper ill and we don’t have enough money to pay for her doctoring what with Dad being laid off at the docks.’

  ‘There’s no need to lie to me, Sophie. We’re both on the same side, Marianne’s side. I know how much you love my sister. I do too. But she must return to her own world. Please. At least tell me whether she’s in good health. She isn’t hurt, is she? Or held captive?’

  ‘No, miss, really. She’s in fine health. Never better.’ Sophie suddenly broke down under Clarissa’s eloquence. ‘But she don’t want to come back here, leastways not yet.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, miss.’ The girl began to sob and Clarissa fought to hold her baser instincts in check. Shaking the girl until her teeth rattled might relieve her feelings, but it would ultimately get her nowhere.

  ‘Sophie, you must. You really must.’ She kept her voice calm while she pleaded her case.

  ‘No, miss.’ Sophie’s face had assumed an expression of stubborn sulkiness and Clarissa decided reinforcements were needed.

  ‘I’ll fetch Mr Markham,’ she threatened. ‘He’ll know what to do with you. If you try to hide her whereabouts from him, it’ll be Bow Street and an interview with the Runners for you.’

  Clarissa shrank from putting this threat into operation, but the maidservant remained adamant in her refusal to speak, leaving her no option but to summon the Markhams to her aid. She turned the key in the lock, slipped out of the room and carefully relocked the door.

  Mr Markham would undoubtedly be busy in his study at this hour, but Clarissa had no intention of seeking him out. She was wearing no more than a thin night rail, and had no wish to be discovered by one of the male servants in such a skimpy costume, nor by her uncle either. Mrs Markham’s quarters were only a couple of doors down the corridor and, unlike her busy husband, her aunt would still be lying abed.

  ‘Aunt Eleanor.’ Clarissa didn’t scruple to break in on her aunt whom she found propped up on her pillows poring over her correspondence. ‘Sophie has admitted all.’ She began her explanation without ceremony and with scant regard for her aunt’s sensibilities. ‘I believe she knows exactly where Marianne is situated, but I can’t make her tell me.’

  ‘Clarissa!’ Eleanor stared transfixed at the picture of her niece’s skimpy wardrobe, while she considered how she should react.

  ‘Only come quick, Aunt. Never mind your dress.
I don’t dare leave Sophie for too long. She’ll only recover herself and deny everything.’ Clarissa looked as though she’d rush back to her room without her aunt, and indeed, dismayed by Aunt Eleanor’s dithering she’d almost arrived at a decision to seek out her uncle despite her state of dishabille.

  ‘Wait, I’ll come with you,’ Aunt Eleanor decided at last, ringing for her maid and starting from the bed. ‘Where’s your robe, child?’ she complained. ‘You can’t roam these corridors with no more clothes than a veritable hoyden would wear.’

  ‘I don’t have time to waste on fripperies, Aunt,’ her niece replied, with scant ceremony. ‘We must tackle Sophie together before she recovers her nerve. You’re the mistress in this house, and I’m convinced you need apply very little pressure for her to break down completely. Send your dresser to fetch Mr Markham too. If we two can’t frighten her into disclosing Marianne’s whereabouts, then I dare say he’ll know what to do.’

  Clarissa ignored the faint protests her aunt was uttering and raced back down the corridor to unlock her room once more. She stared around the apartment nonplussed. Sophie was no longer there.

  Mr Markham arrived at much the same time as his wife, only to find Clarissa staring disconsolately through the open window.

  ‘No sign of her,’ she corroborated miserably. ‘I should have guessed she’d flee at the first opportunity.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Leighton Declares Himself