A Fraudulent Betrothal Read online

  ‘Was he not in love with her?’

  ‘Of course not. It is a marriage of convenience on his part, though no doubt he made sure he could both like and admire her. He needs an heir and therefore a wife. Marianne was the current beauty, hailed everywhere as a nonpareil. Surely a man such as he would take nothing less, especially when he discovered her nature was as sweet as her face.’

  ‘What if he tried to make love to me?’ Clarissa’s face ran red when she imagined the scene.

  ‘Pooh.’ Her aunt scoffed at her fears. ‘If you truly love your sister then you must dismiss his pretensions on that score or kiss him back. He’s a handsome man with some little experience from all that’s been said. It shouldn’t be such an arduous task after all.’

  Clarissa wasn’t so sure as her aunt, but she had begun to realize she might be her sister’s only hope for future happiness. Marianne of all people would have no wish to lose her place in society, and at Leighton’s side she would be at the very head of it. She would do all in her power to retain that dream for her sister.

  Her head began to spin. The devil take her sister. Where was Marianne? Why had she left Aunt Eleanor’s protection? There seemed no answer to these questions, which only raised them higher in Clarissa’s mind.

  Was she lost? That didn’t fit, not if she’d packed her own portmanteau and left a note with her maid. Clarissa made a note to get hold of that missive. It was all very well for Aunt Eleanor, who’d known Marianne for no more than a couple of months, to declare it wasn’t a forgery, but she knew her sister’s handwriting better than anyone.

  In hiding? Where? All those whom Marianne knew in the metropolis were of their rank, and surely none of her society friends would offer her shelter when they knew she was in the care of the Markhams. It wasn’t as though they were monsters. And what was she hiding from? Clarissa’s mind was more surely set on that detail. Lord Leighton was easily cast as the villain who’d frightened her away.

  Kidnapped? No, she couldn’t have been, or there would been a ransom note by now, unless she was to be sold in some sleazy eastern bazaar, a fate the heroine of one lurid novel they’d read in secret had suffered. In any case there was a note, a note that purported to herald her return, unless Marianne had been forced to write it. The sisters had once read a novel in which that very thing had happened. The hero had intervened in a later chapter, of course, but there would be no hero for Marianne to fall back on.

  Leighton too, Clarissa reasoned, must be high on the list of suspects. He was just the sort of arrogant villain as the most dramatic of novels portrayed, the very man who would prey on the virtue of innocent young girls. Nevertheless, she determined bravely, I’ll find Marianne if I have to search every building in the capital.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she declared out loud for the benefit of her aunts.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Markham Household

  Fortunately Constance and Clarissa lived at no great distance from London and, with an early start and a fortunate wind, Aunt Eleanor’s coach ate up the miles. They stopped at noon for a nuncheon of thin sliced cold beef and freshly baked bread, served with a light wine which Eleanor declared to be particularly good for travelling on, despite her thinly veiled suspicion of rural coaching houses and the cleanliness of their kitchens.

  A change of horses soon saw them trotting briskly towards the capital again and, freshly provisioned, Aunt Eleanor deigned to answer some of Clarissa’s most urgent questions. The servants, surely Marianne would know them all, despite Aunt Eleanor’s pleas to the contrary. At the very least her own maid and those commonly seen about the house would know her. Markham himself even. Clarissa shivered in dreadful fear that she would seize on an innocent visitor to the house and immediately expose her own deception by warmly greeting him as her uncle. Her friends! Aunt Eleanor’s descriptions of these were sketchy at best and concerned more with their family and connections than the interests they had in common, and what else they might reasonably be expected to talk about.

  She hadn’t even raised the subject of Leighton, and Clarissa’s spirits, which hadn’t been buoyant to start with, began to sink further with every mile passed, despite the spate of amusing on-dits with which Aunt Eleanor attempted to regale her. In the end, all the girl felt she could hope for was not to be caught impersonating her sister within the first few minutes of arrival. Eleanor had no such worries on her mind: Clarissa was so much like Marianne, no one could possibly guess at their deception.

  The vast urban sprawl of the metropolis began to intrude on them following the last change of horses at High Barnet and the long run across the common. This was a notorious haunt of highwaymen, and left Aunt Eleanor jittery, for by then, although it was still far from dark, the sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky. Villages began to come and go with ever increasing rapidity until they reached Islington, where the boundaries between one group of houses and the next became so blurred as to be barely discernible.

  Clarissa’s nose, attuned to the fresher pastures of the countryside, began to wrinkle in distaste when they passed through the poorer suburbs. Ramshackle jumbles of houses, many of them no better than byres, lined the narrow streets, with filth-strewn and noisome alleyways burrowing deep into their depths, their interiors too dark for the girl to even distinguish. The richer quarters of the merchant set’s fine houses, walled around, formed almost a separate enclave in the midst of the foul smells and rotting odour of the poorer streets. The traffic, too, began to increase. So many wagons and carts of all kinds of trade, drawn by a positive miscellany of animals, and occasionally interspersed by the stylish equipage of the gentry, many of whom lifted their hats politely towards their own vehicle. Clarissa began to feel quite overcome by all the bustle and noise.

  Then, finally, the capital began to show its more fashionable side. The streets were much broader, sometimes even paved; the houses somehow grander, even those barely larger than the simple cottages in her own village. Clarissa, at the last, shook off her blue mood and began to thrill to the thought of living in the midst of such fashionable society.

  The Markhams’ own London residence was situated at the heart of an elegant crescent, its pale stucco façade staring out over the wide expanse of manicured parkland that adjoined the opposite side of the street. The imposing door swung open almost as soon as both ladies had alighted from their vehicle and Clarissa stared up at the huge and magnificently dressed individual waiting at the head of the steps. Although unused to quite such magnificently attired servants, she decided it could only be the Markhams’ butler, and strode up the steps to greet him.

  ‘Downing,’ she began, her heart leaping into her throat at the chance she was taking. ‘How nice to see you again.’

  ‘Miss Marianne.’ Downing, for it was indeed the butler she addressed, inclined his head politely, as though his own consequence was scarcely less than hers. ‘I trust your health is fully restored, miss, and may I assure you that the entire household are pleased to see you back where you belong.’ He turned ponderously and addressed a lad dressed as a footman. ‘Edward,’ he admonished him with a quick wave of his hand.

  Edward evidently understood his superior better than Miss Meredew for he scuttled down the steps to offer an arm to Eleanor, though Clarissa could scarcely believe her aunt needed his aid to ascend the steps.

  ‘Uncle John.’ A tall, fashionably dressed man appeared at the top of a wide staircase and she ran up to greet him with a kiss on one cheek as she was persuaded Marianne would have done.

  ‘Marianne.’ John Markham looked startled, as well he might in the circumstances. With secrecy at the forefront of her mind, Eleanor hadn’t thought to warn her husband that Marianne was still missing and Clarissa was to play her part. Neither could he have guessed at the startling resemblance between the two sisters, when even his spouse had not known it.

  ‘Where is Sophie? I must change from these clothes.’ Clarissa had learned enough of Marianne’s maid to know that the gir
l was in her confidence and would surely be her sister’s first port of call, more especially when she’d been cooped up in a carriage for the best part of the day. In Clarissa’s case, since it was patently obvious Markham knew nothing of their deception, a retreat to the privacy of her own room was even more imperative, when it would present Eleanor with the chance to update her husband.

  ‘I had hoped to talk to you before dinner, Marianne.’

  Clarissa could see the storm clouds gathering on her uncle’s face, and realized he intended to read the girl he supposed to be her sibling a well-deserved scold for running away.

  ‘Please, Uncle,’ she pleaded. ‘I will explain everything, but first let me wash away the grime of the road.’

  Markham nodded, his face softening under the coaxing glance offered by his niece. ‘Very well, puss. Go up to your room. Edward will send Sophie to attend you on the instant.’

  Fortunately Aunt Eleanor had coached her well in the disposition of the house, and Clarissa set off up a further flight of stairs with her confidence restored. Evidently she’d fooled everyone so far and acted just as she ought. Sophie, from all she’d been told, knew her sister better and might be more difficult to deal with, but if she stuck to her aunt’s story of a terrible sickness, then she hoped to thwart her maid’s suspicions too. Any misgivings the girl had would have to remain just that, for Clarissa knew she was like enough in looks to Marianne to fool even the closest of servants.

  ‘Miss Marianne?’

  Clarissa stared at the pretty young girl who was standing quietly near the top of the stairway. Her eyes were wide as saucers and she looked as though she’d seen a ghost.

  ‘Miss Marianne?’ The girl tried again louder. Then, with a squeal of delight, launched herself headlong at Clarissa.

  ‘Sophie.’ Clarissa regarded the lass charging towards her with amusement until some sixth sense urged her to hold out her arms. Sophie, for such she most evidently was, flung herself into the embrace, and straight away began to pull her along the corridor.

  ‘Oh Miss Marianne, I hardly thought to see you again so soon.’

  ‘Please, Sophie,’ Clarissa gasped. ‘Not so fast, I’m still recovering my strength. Why I hardly recognize my own chamber.’ That was no lie, for, despite Eleanor’s description of the house, she’d been ill prepared for the number of doors opening off the corridor.

  ‘Don’t fun with me, Miss Marianne, there’s no one else within hearing.’ The girl threw open a door and ushered her in. ‘How came you with Mrs Markham?’

  ‘She brought me here in her carriage. Oh, it is heaven to be back.’

  ‘So I should think when I consider what you must have endured. How is the patient?’

  ‘I am well now, Sophie, and so glad to see you. Aunt Constance is dreadfully set in her ways, but that isn’t such a bad thing when you’re suffering.’ Clarissa wiped her hand theatrically across her brow and hoped Aunt Constance would forgive her misrepresentations. She knew just how Marianne would have behaved in such circumstances.

  ‘You’ve never worn that gown in public?’ Sophie stared suspiciously at Clarissa’s dress when she slipped out of her pelisse.

  ‘I have.’ The girl stared down at her clothing; perfectly respectable, but as she suddenly realized, not so dashing as Marianne would ordinarily wear at home, let alone in Town. She attempted to recover herself in the other’s eyes, which were already clouding with suspicion. ‘Aunt Constance would have me dress so. Help me out of it immediately.’

  ‘I’ll have a bath prepared for you.’ Sophie pulled on a bell rope before she helped Clarissa to remove her gown. ‘Here.’ There was a polite rap on the door as the maid handed her a delightfully embroidered wrap, which she shrugged herself into while Sophie went to instruct someone on the other side of the door.

  ‘Come through to the bedroom,’ Sophie continued, leading her mistress through to the inner sanctum, ‘and I’ll dress your hair.’

  ‘No.’ Clarissa made the decision on the instant. ‘Uncle John will wish to see me first.’ Sophie’s manner had changed and she realized the maid had become suspicious of her. But of what? And why? She shook her head wearily, she had no idea. Was it something she’d said? Or something she’d left unsaid? Or merely the way she was dressed? If only she knew how far the girl was in Marianne’s confidence she might have rectified the omission. ‘Have hot water made ready and I’ll bathe as soon as I return,’ she decided at last.

  The next few days saw Clarissa settle comfortably into the household. For the most part it was a pleasurable existence, and if it hadn’t been for her sister’s continued absence, she would have enjoyed herself immensely. As it was, she found herself constantly searching for clues to Marianne’s whereabouts, though she soon discovered how difficult it was to make enquiries about the movement of the very person she herself was impersonating.

  Markham had nearly suffered an apoplexy when he heard the truth of the deception, but Eleanor soon brought him to see how necessary such a contrivance was, especially when he could see for himself how alike the two girls were. He huffed and puffed, but eventually owned that Clarissa would very likely pass as her sister. Then, to her immense relief, he tutored her for much of the following morning on the people she would be most likely to meet, especially her particular friends, whom he categorized as a particularly harum-scarum set. He also showed her the note Marianne had left.

  The writing, though hurriedly scrawled, undoubtedly belonged to her sister, but the brief communication, as Aunt Eleanor had implied, did little to encourage her. ‘My dearest Aunt Eleanor,’ she began to read aloud as though that would provide a further clue. ‘I must leave your protection for the present, but you are not to worry unduly since I am comfortably situated and will return as soon as I am able. My fondest love, Marianne.’ There was no sign the missive had been written under duress, but no sign it hadn’t either.

  Eleanor took her part too, cancelling engagements under the pretext of Marianne’s continued rehabilitation. ‘We’ll reintroduce you gradually into society,’ she told Clarissa. ‘Colonel Rodney, a close friend of your uncle, has seen fit to hold a select party for his daughters. Marianne knew them only slightly, for they are not yet fully out and much younger than the most of your friends.’ She corrected herself, slightly self-consciously. ‘Marianne’s friends.’ Then went on to warn the girl. ‘It is a select occasion, but it is only fair to tell you that Emily, Marianne’s closest companion, will attend also. If you can convince her of your authenticity, your role will be established.’

  Sophie, also, continued to minister to her, unfailingly polite, but to the girl’s overwrought senses suspicious also. Following her first ecstatic greeting, the maid did not display any further hint of affection above the norm, nor were any shared secrets let out, though Clarissa dug as deeply as she dared. For all their sakes, and especially Marianne’s ambitions, she could not reveal her identity to the girl just because she was suspicious. There was no more than a forlorn hope the maid might know of her sister’s whereabouts, but by all accounts the girl was devoted to Marianne and would surely have come forward herself if she suspected her mistress was in any trouble. No, let the girl hold her suspicions; she could have no inkling of the real truth.

  Clarissa wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t been excited by the impending visit to Colonel Rodney’s. It was, after all, her first engagement in London, and though the party might seem tame, considering the age of the host’s daughters, to one more used to the entertainments in the capital, she herself was in raptures. The fly in the ointment seemed likely to take the shape of Marianne’s closest confident, Emily Paymount, and with a forthrightness typical of the girl, she insisted on meeting her supposed friend alone prior to the engagement. Better to be discovered in the deception in the privacy of the Markhams’ home, than in the full glare of society. A sentiment that Markham concurred with fully.

  Emily made the dreaded visit with her mother on the afternoon of the day preceding the Rodn
eys’ gathering. At first the two girls sat close by the older women, uttering no more than the most common-place of greetings. Both visitors asked politely after Marianne’s health, but it wasn’t long before Mrs Paymount was discussing the latest scandalous on-dit to affect the ton with her hostess and, while their elders were gossiping, Clarissa was able to draw her sister’s friend towards a cosy seat in the window, out of earshot.

  ‘La, Marianne,’ Emily began with an arch smile, ‘I’m so pleased to see you well. Life has been so dreary these past few weeks without you in Town. You were always up to the latest rigs and tricks.’ And then in an abrupt volte-face, ‘What do you think to my new morning gown?’ It was to be presumed that Marianne’s thoughts were of no particular consequence for the girl continued without a trace of a pause, ‘I shall wear the lilac to the Rodneys’ party, of course. You remember the gown I mean, I modelled it last time I saw you.’ She simpered knowingly. ‘It’s cut delightfully low and will fetch the most admiring glances.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Clarissa’s reply was so brief as to be insipid and Emily stared solicitously at her friend.

  ‘Marianne,’ she murmured, with some concern, ‘I never thought to see you in the mopes. Are you sure you’ll be recovered enough to attend the Rodneys’ affair? There is very little chance of it proving to be a squeeze.’ The girl began to stare at Clarissa with more solicitude than she’d shown previously.

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m looking forward to attending.’ There was more animation in Clarissa’s reply this time, enough for Emily to be satisfied at any rate. ‘Fanny and Jane are such delightful girls, I hear.’

  ‘As to that, I couldn’t say,’ returned Marianne’s friend in slightly bored accents. ‘I barely know them. Fanny will be out later this year, I understand, but Jane is still in the schoolroom. Their mother is such a dowd too; I dare say they’ll turn out to be prim and proper, just like her. The party will no doubt prove insipid; there’s no more than a handful invited.’ Emily had returned to her air of world-weary sophistication, no doubt all the rage in fashionable circles.