A Fraudulent Betrothal Read online

  Did he share the same little intimacies with Marianne as he’d shared with her? She felt a jolt of disappointment; he must, it was only her foolishness that made it seem she was special. It was Marianne he loved, not her dowdy sister, Clarissa. It was Marianne he was betrothed to.

  The violence of her feelings chafed on her nerves, and caused her to throw caution to the winds. Sophie was dressing her hair and she attempted to question her maid, determined to make some headway in tracking down her sister before her own heart was drawn any further into danger.

  ‘Sophie.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Clarissa hesitated, finding once more how hard it was to ask for clues to her own whereabouts.

  ‘Did I ever speak to you about Stephen?’ She instinctively felt the shadowy figure of Stephen figured in the mystery of Marianne’s disappearance.

  ‘Stephen, ma’am?’ The maid’s answering tone was blank. Deliberately so, Clarissa decided.

  ‘Of no matter. Emily told me he’s rejoined his regiment anyway.’ She looked up at Sophie’s expression, but it was schooled into the same indifference it always held. Clarissa decided, not for the first time, that she’d given something away the first day they’d met.

  ‘I expect so, ma’am.’

  It was too bad of the girl. Did she know something of Marianne’s disappearance? They’d been thick as thieves, or so Aunt Eleanor believed. She cursed inwardly, realizing she could never ask the direct questions she’d like to without giving the game away completely.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A Select Assembly

  Clarissa wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t been excited by the thought of her first London party, but there was a touch of anxiety too, when she sat in her petticoats, nervously adjusting the tilt of her head while Sophie dressed her hair. It was evening, time to prepare for the night ahead, and though she’d often attended private parties and assemblies in her own locality, she knew that none of these could come close to the magnificence of the event she’d been promised by her aunt. Her enthusiastic description of the lavish refreshments and entertainments likely to be on offer, seemed to deny rather than enhance the supposed exclusivity of the event.

  Sophie, too, seemed a different girl, much more particular in her attentions and laughing with her mistress in exactly the manner Clarissa had expected of a maidservant who’d been her sister’s confidante, while she exclaimed gleefully over the beautiful dress her charge was to wear for the first time that evening. Aunt Eleanor had bought the article for Marianne only a day or two before that young woman had disappeared and she hadn’t even had the chance to display it to her friends.

  Not that Clarissa’s excitement over her first London engagement was wholly unalloyed; she’d have to meet and greet a multitude of people who knew Marianne well, and although her aunt had undertaken to remain at her side throughout the evening, the girl was well aware that might prove impossible. Of course, she already had a friend in Emily, and Lord Leighton, too. Surely if those two accepted her as Marianne, then it would take a bold individual to cavil at the suggestion she was her sister. The girl shook her head ruefully and allowed she was close to confusing herself with her identity, let alone anyone else.

  Her chosen raiment was not quite to her liking. Marianne, she knew, was by far the more vivacious of the pair of them, and while most certainly not fast, easily drawn into wearing more daring fashions. Like her sister who’d chosen it, Clarissa was overwhelmed by the simple beauty of the dress, and, of course, she could hardly refuse to wear such an expensive gift from her patroness. Nevertheless she had to admit to qualms about its neckline, which, to her mind, was cut too low for a girl in her first season. When consulted, Aunt Eleanor had laughingly dismissed her fears as quite ridiculous when Marianne was well known to be close to an engagement with Leighton, and added an alarming rider that her sister had complained it was by far too modest.

  Too late for recriminations though, when her maid was drawing her to her feet and turning her around to judge the effect she’d achieved.

  ‘La, you’re so pretty, miss. Lord Leighton is like to be jealous of the attention you’ll receive.’ Her lovely little face was lit up with such joy for her mistress that Clarissa could easily forget her suspicions that the girl might have realized she was a changeling.

  At last she was dressed and ready for the off. A pale sarsnet petticoat, full flounce around the hem; high plain body of white jaconard muslin with long full sleeve, confined at the wrist and trimmed with lace, adorned with the most exquisite and skilfully wrought white embroidery; ribbed stockings to match, with lace clocks that might be seen in the swirl of the dance; last of all the matching shoes of pale queen silk. Even Clarissa gave a gasp when she finally got to see herself in the mirror and had to admit that the low square neckline, though more revealing than she’d ever choose herself, suited the garment perfectly.

  ‘Shall I damp your petticoats, miss?’

  The maid’s question gave Clarissa pause. She was playing a part for her sister, and had to consider if, after several weeks of London society and the inevitable sophistication it gave, Marianne would have resorted to such scandalous tricks as damping her petticoats the better to display her figure.

  ‘No, thank you, Sophie.’ Of course, Marianne would have refused such a request. She had too much good sense, and besides, her figure was graceful enough without any such enhancement to draw attention to it. Clarissa blushed, realizing she was complimenting herself also, for in form as well as face, they were completely alike. In any case Leighton would be there. Clarissa had no intention of drawing his eye any more than was necessary, and neither did she think he would approve of such tricks, though when she advanced this reasoning to her maid, the girl returned a saucy answer.

  ‘He wouldn’t mind, miss. Not if half I’ve heard about him is true. Why, Lady Darcross is said to do it all the time.’

  ‘Lady Darcross?’ From all Clarissa had learned of Lady Darcross, despite being in Town for little more than a week, damping her petticoats was the least of her sins. Though what that lady had to do with her was too much to imagine, and following her immediate exclamation, she confined herself to the question of Lord Leighton. ‘He would not expect to find such behaviour in his betrothed, Sophie,’ she declared.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ agreed the maid, in an immediate volte face. ‘I expect you’re right.’ Then she went on to complain so bitterly that Clarissa wondered if she’d fallen into the same trap herself. ‘All the gentlemen are the same, young or old. It don’t matter what a cake they make of themselves, just so long as you don’t try to deal with them in the same coin.’

  She wondered, too, at the change in her maid. Perhaps she’d been won over at last, and had forgotten any suspicions she might have had. Indeed, she could have found no proof, of that much Clarissa was certain. With some encouragement, Sophie might be persuaded to open up. If Marianne had left of her own free will, and that seemed likely from all the clues they’d turned up so far, then someone must have seen her go. Perhaps the maid had packed for her, was even in her confidence, or if not, then at least could have noticed clothing missing. Marianne, whatever her reasons for vacating the Markhams’ house, would never have left herself with an insufficient wardrobe.

  There was no time this evening, the party was almost upon her, but perhaps she could quiz the girl later.

  The Rodneys’ party delighted Clarissa. Despite the exclusivity of its company, to an inexperienced girl it appeared to be all that a full-blown ball should be. If the crushed ranks of society attending didn’t constitute a squeeze, then how many guests would have to be invited to accomplish such a feat?

  Out on the wide square that fronted the Rodneys’ mansion, liveried staff were busily attempting to make some sort of order amongst the serried ranks of carriages from which the guests descended on their hosts. Such lively imbroglios amongst the drivers and footmen jockeying for position were diverting enough in themselves, but when at last she a
nd Aunt Eleanor descended to join the constant throng queuing into the house, Clarissa was able to admire at length the wonderfully attired gentry awaiting entry. She was also aware, and not entirely immune from, the admiring glances sent her own way. Many, also, appeared to recognize her, waving and nodding in a way that she instantly made an attempt to emulate.

  ‘Keep close,’ she warned her aunt. ‘Everyone seems to know me.’ Or know Marianne, she corrected herself silently, suddenly realizing how exposed she was in her role.

  In the event, she and her aunt were separated the moment they’d passed the line. Colonel Rodney was a tall, bluff man, who looked every inch the regimental commander: a tall, thickset man with a bluff, honest manner whom Clarissa thought quite charming. His wife was just as open, and paid Clarissa a very generous compliment on her appearance, especially since it was her own daughters she would naturally want to shine.

  ‘My dear,’ she went on, ‘you have such pretty manners too. Just the sort of girl I would wish Fanny to take up with.’

  Fanny turned out to be her eldest, next in line and painfully shy at her first attempt as a hostess. Clarissa already knew she was due to be presented within a month or two, Emily’s gossip had seen to that. But despite her friend’s reservations, Clarissa couldn’t see anything dowdy in either Fanny or her mother. Both were beautifully turned out, and though their gowns might be termed modest, they didn’t in the least lack style.

  Clarissa had already spotted Emily with a group of other girls of a similar age trying to catch her attention. They were evidently Marianne’s special cronies and no good would come of any attempt to avoid them. Nor could she even think of it when she was playing the vivacious role her sister would have been the first to applaud.

  ‘Please feel free to join us once your duties here are finished,’ she offered, smiling brightly at Fanny, who blushed and thanked her with a profusion that spoke volumes of her nervousness.

  Jane was the younger sister, though she was nearly as tall as her sibling, and more voluble. Plainly she didn’t suffer from her elder sister’s shyness. Not that she didn’t have her own charm, excited by the occasion no doubt, but too well mannered to be thought of as pert.

  ‘Only guess, Marianne.’ Emily took hold of Clarissa’s arm as soon as she could, and led her off into the midst of a chattering crowd of young misses, around which a gaggle of eligible young men was already gathering to press their claims for the dances ahead. ‘Chatsbury tells me Leighton has been busy engaging a yacht for our expedition on the river.’

  Clarissa could only guess who Chatsbury was, but took note of the name. If he knew of Leighton’s plans then he was presumably a particular crony of the viscount and it would be as well to know of his existence.

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ she replied warmly, if a trifle vacantly. Well, it was wonderful, she told herself, and she would be excited when the time came. A yacht on the river! But she couldn’t even think of the future when the present was so perilously close.

  With Marianne’s friends around her, her heart was in her throat for fear of exposing her role, though she soon found those fears groundless. She’d heard enough society gossip from Emily to join in light-hearted discussions on the latest news, and since that and the prevailing fashions were the chief subjects of conversation, she had no doubt of her ability to carry through her deception. She was soon in command of all their names and, in addition, most of the passers-by also, from the greetings to which she listened with an ardent dedication. Her card was rapidly filling as well, and she was soon aware of just how much in vogue her sister had been. Every young person in the room seemed to make it his or her business to speak to her.

  Fanny joined them when her duties as hostess allowed, and Clarissa reintroduced the girls to her, adding a short monologue on each, with only one mistake.

  ‘Marianne,’ cried out one young maiden, ‘you know I’m first cousin to Fanny and my father was in Colonel Rodney’s regiment forever. We’ve played together since she was out of leading strings.’

  ‘I didn’t like to miss you out,’ Clarissa returned unblushingly. ‘I dare say several of you know Fanny and she you, but this is her first dance as an adult and it’s important to be a success. I remember my first ball. A proper fool I felt, knowing no one, and wondering how to behave. I swear I should have run off if I could have found the door through the crowd.’

  ‘Not you,’ Emily laughed, and threw her arm around Clarissa’s waist. ‘You would only have run off with the most handsome man in the room.’ She broke off and stared at the figure fast approaching the mirthful group.

  ‘Leighton,’ Clarissa breathed the word through lips that barely opened. She was suddenly aware that her heart was hammering and an idiot smile was forming on her face.

  ‘Marianne.’ He ignored the throng around her, scattering them like chaff in the wind, while he took charge of her hand and raised it to his lips.

  ‘Richard.’ She tried to play down the pleasure rippling through her, ashamed of her behaviour in greeting her sister’s future husband with such fervour, but she just couldn’t stop herself reacting to his presence. I have to appear complaisant for the sake of my role, she tried to convince herself, but she knew that reasoning was pure humbug. She liked this man too much.

  ‘I hope you’ve saved a dance for me?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Clarissa saved her blushes by staring intently at the card in her hands. ‘One only,’ she offered shyly.

  ‘Then I’ll take it,’ he murmured, slipping one finger under her chin to tip up her face, ‘and this one also.’

  Dimly Clarissa was aware that a set was forming and a gangly youth was attempting to claim her attention.

  ‘Oh no, I’m afraid—’

  Leighton had all the address of a man who’d been on the Town for years on his side. ‘My dear boy,’ he began, ‘I’m so sorry to cut you out, but I’m sure you’ll understand. Marianne and I have been parted for so long and have much to discuss before our betrothal.’

  The lad was left with nothing to do but bow politely towards the pair.

  ‘Richard,’ Clarissa blushingly told off her partner while they made their way to the dance floor. ‘You are the most unprincipled of men.’

  ‘I know,’ he admitted, but failed to show any significant remorse for his actions, merely twirling her on to the floor for the start of the first country dance.

  ‘Are you going to serve all my partners so badly?’ she managed to get out before the music started.

  ‘No,’ he admitted, once the steps of the dance permitted. ‘I already have another dance secured, and until we are formally betrothed it would be lacking in delicacy to take you to the floor more than twice in a night.’ The dance separated them for a moment more. ‘You would no doubt be categorized as fast at once,’ he went on with a smile that lanced through her heart when they came together again. ‘I shall, however, expect you to favour me with your presence once the refreshments are available.’

  Clarissa nodded her head in agreement. ‘No doubt Emily will lend us countenance,’ she teased, thankful that in deference to Fanny and Jane’s youth, the waltz was not to be played that evening. She was in a flutter enough without being twirled around the floor in his arms!

  Lord Leighton was not a man to be denied, however. When the time came to convey refreshments to his lady, he made sure that Emily was diverted elsewhere, cutting out Clarissa from her friends with a grace and charm that made her blush.

  Aunt Eleanor caught sight of the pair by the doors that led into the garden, and attempted to intercept them, but the young viscount was too quick for her.

  ‘The colonel tells me his orangery is the envy of all London,’ he told Clarissa, luring her over the threshold and into the ornamental garden. ‘I believe we’ll find it through the rose arch.’

  Clarissa raised her eyes and thought of refusing, but there was a sparkle in his that gave her pause. Damn you, Marianne, she complained silently. I’m doing this for you. And blushed
for her lies, because at a baser level she knew she’d follow him anywhere. Seeing her hesitation, Leighton raised his glass in salute and pointed out the way with a mocking smile lighting up his face.

  ‘You are a connoisseur of orangeries, sir?’ Clarissa fought back, knowing very well he’d spotted her indecision. But not, she considered, with a knowing smile of her own, the reasons for her reluctance.

  ‘There are succession houses at several of my properties,’ he said, tempering his interest, and tucking her hand neatly under his arm. ‘I dare say there is something of the sort at my London house, too, though I cannot claim an intimate knowledge of it.’

  ‘Then the rose garden may be a better place to start, my lord.’ She waved her hand around to indicate they were already there, but deliberately denied herself the use of his given name. That would have been too dangerous for her already wavering sensibilities. ‘We are quite alone here.’ She smiled up at him bewitchingly. ‘I assume you wish to speak with me in private and I must soon return or risk being thought less than virtuous.’

  The look Leighton graced her with told Clarissa that he did indeed want to get her alone. For more than speech too, if she were any judge. Not that such a young, inexperienced girl as she was any judge, though she was seasoned enough to see he had to master his feelings before he spoke.

  ‘You must forgive me for being so unlover-like in the past, my dear,’ he began. ‘I beg your indulgence, but I am here to change all that. I cannot think why I never paid you much attention before.’

  ‘Perhaps you were too busy with Lady Darcross.’ Clarissa drew a bow at random and saw she’d scored a direct hit. ‘Oh,’ she gasped, utterly distraught. ‘Is she one of your flirts?’

  ‘She is in the past.’ Leighton’s angry scowl suddenly gave way to a careless laugh. ‘Lady Darcross is not a suitable subject for conversation between us, nor should anyone have been foolish enough to tell you about my amours.’