Amelia had no further interest in Mrs Siddons. ‘Yes, well, Rasenby came to our box particularly to see me. And he spoke to no one else. Chloe said he had eyes only for me all night.’
‘You mean he was eyeing you from the pit?’ Clarissa’s tone was dry. Gentlemen did not eye respectable ladies from the pit. The type of ladies eyed from the pit were not likely to be those offered matrimony.
‘And then, today,’ Amelia continued blithely, ‘when he stopped to talk with us in the park, he asked most particularly if I would be at the Jessops’ ball tonight. So, of course, I know he has intentions.’
‘Amelia, you know what those intentions are likely to be? You do know of the Earl of Rasenby’s reputation?’
A toss of golden curls and yet another pout were the response.
‘Amelia, I’m serious.’ Clarissa might have spurned most of the invitations she received, but no one could be unaware of the reputation of the Earl of Rasenby. He was a hardened gamester and an incurable womaniser. He was enormously rich and famously handsome, although Clarissa was sceptical about this—in her view, the rich were invariably good looking. Lord Rasenby’s mistresses were notoriously beautiful and expensive, and, despite endless lures and traps, he remained determinedly unattached. Quite the perfect Gothic villain, now she thought of it.
‘For Heaven’s sake, Clarrie, do you think I’m stupid? Of course I know of his reputation. Better than you, I expect, since you’re such a prude no one would dare tell you the plain truth. But I know he likes me. A lot! I just know!’
Nothing more could be gained from Amelia, and Clarissa went to bed extremely worried. Her sister was both young and naïve, and could all too easily fall victim to the likes of Rasenby. The company Amelia was keeping, never mind her lack of dowry, was likely to ensure that any offer would be strictly dishonourable.
And if Amelia was offered a carte blanche by someone as rich as Rasenby, she would take it. Clarissa turned restlessly in her bed. It was so hard to be genteelly poor, she could understand the temptation. To a girl like Amelia, the choice between a brief career swathed in furs and silks and showered in diamonds, or a safe marriage with a no more than adequate income was an all too easy one. But life as Kit Rasenby’s mistress would be very short-lived. Amelia’s charms were those of novelty and freshness, not likely to entertain so jaded a palate as Rasenby’s for long. And who would have Amelia then? There was only one way to go, and that was down. Amelia must marry soon, preferably to someone who would take her firmly in hand. But such a person was likely to be too staid and too poor for Amelia. Even supposing she did meet this paragon, would she even look at him, when dazzled by Rasenby’s wealth?
If Amelia was ruined, Clarissa would be ruined by association. Even finding a post as governess, something to which she was daily trying to resign herself, would be difficult. At twenty-four, Clarissa had set her sights on self-sufficiency as the only way to give her some element of the freedom she craved. Aunt Constance’s offer of a home was tempting, but Clarissa knew in her heart that it would mean tying herself to another obligation, even assuming Mama was settled with Amelia.
Clarissa had always been the sensible one. Beside her sister’s vivaciousness and dazzling looks, which had been apparent from a very early age, she felt plain. Her green eyes and dark auburn curls were no match for Amelia’s milkmaid perfection. She had settled compliantly into the role of carer. When Amelia tore her dress, Clarrie stitched it. When Amelia fought with her friends, Clarrie played the peacemaker. And as she grew older, when Amelia wanted to attend parties and make her début, Clarrie scrimped and saved to provide her with the dresses and hats and all the other bits and pieces that she needed.
For years now, Lady Maria’s hopes had been pinned on Amelia making a match that would save them from poverty. Having no wish to become a burden on Amelia’s future household, and having no desire to find herself a suitable match, Clarissa had started, discreetly, looking around for a genteel position. Surrendering her own chance of matrimony was no sacrifice, for she had never met a man who had caused her heart to flutter. In fact, she had never met a man she had found interesting enough to want to get to know better in any way.
Clarissa’s pragmatic front concealed a deep romanticism that the practical side of her despised, but which she was unable to ignore. She longed for passion, love, ardour—despite trying to convince herself that they didn’t really exist! She dreamed of someone who would love her for herself, value her for what she was, not for her looks or her lineage—which was good, even if Papa’s family did refuse to own them—or even her dowry. Someone to pledge himself to her for always. Happy ever after was hardly in vogue though. Clarrie’s dreams were out of kilter with the ways of the real world. Marriage vows were taken very lightly these days—once an heir had been delivered—with affection provided by a lover rather than a husband. Clarissa couldn’t help but find such attitudes abhorrent, even if it did mean being mocked for her prudishness.
Reconciling these two sides of her nature, the practical and romantic, was difficult. Even when embroiled in reading one of the Gothic romances she adored, Clarissa found herself thinking that her own good sense would be of a lot more use in assisting the hero than the tears and fainting fits of the heroines. But resourcefulness was not a quality valued in a female, real or imaginary, nor was it much sought after in a wife. Since it seemed unlikely, in any event, that she would ever be given the opportunity to play the heroine, Clarissa had resigned herself to becoming a governess, a role which would certainly require all her resourcefulness. On that determined note, she finally fell asleep.
At breakfast the next morning, Amelia was all yawns and coy giggles. ‘Oh, Mama, we had such fun, and my new dress was much admired.’ This, with a sly look at Clarissa.
Clarissa was in no mood for Amelia’s games, having woken this morning resolved to remove her sister from the clutches of the Earl of Rasenby. By force, if necessary. ‘I can well imagine that you were admired in that dress, Amelia, for it left little to the imagination.’ Her jibe was, however, low enough to avoid being heard by Lady Maria, now deep in this morning’s post.
Amelia, predictably, pouted, and ignored her.
‘And did your beau turn up, then?’
‘Can you doubt it? He can’t keep away, I told you. He didn’t leave my side all night, and everyone noticed.’
‘Amelia, that’s not necessarily a good thing. Everyone will be talking about you being so singled out. In fact, it seems to me that by making you so conspicuous, it is less likely that the Earl of Rasenby’s intentions are honourable. What can Mrs Barrington have been thinking, to allow it? She cannot be a suitable escort. I must speak to Mama.’
‘Clarissa, if you do any such thing, I swear, I will make you pay.’ Cornflower-blue eyes bright with intent locked on to emerald-green. ‘I don’t care what you think of Mrs Barrington, she’s all I’ve got, since you and your precious, snooty Aunt Constance are so determined not to escort me. And our dear mama won’t move beyond her drawing room, unless there’s a card table to tempt her.’
Seeing her sister’s stricken look, Amelia relented. No sense in getting Clarissa all worked up and on her high horse. ‘You know I wouldn’t do anything silly. Mrs Barrington is perfectly respectable, I promise you. And besides, for the next couple of days, I won’t be seeing Rasenby. You’re right, it won’t do to grant him too much attention, I have to keep him keen.’ And in any case, Clarrie didn’t need to know that a certain Edward was really a far more attractive companion than Kit Rasenby. Kit Rasenby was rich and powerful, but he didn’t cause her heart to flutter the way Edward did. In fact, Amelia was finding herself quite distracted by Edward, whose youthful good looks appealed so much more to her than Rasenby’s striking countenance, which could be rather intimidating. Rasenby’s wealth was losing a little of its attraction—but she was determined to give it every chance to succeed. Edward would always be there, of that she was already sure.
‘Amelia, you must kn
ow that the Earl of Rasenby won’t offer marriage. His reputation, his feelings about the state of matrimony, they are all against you. And even if he did intend to marry, it wouldn’t be to the penniless daughter of a cast-out younger son. It would be to someone with influence and money. Amelia, are you listening at all?’
‘Lord, Clarrie, you know nothing.’ Abandoning her attempt to soft-soap her sister, Amelia’s voice hardened. ‘You’re right—perhaps Rasenby’s intentions aren’t marriage.’ Well, in fact Amelia knew they weren’t, for he had already intimated his offer of a carte blanche. She had put him off, unwilling to take so irrevocable a step just yet. ‘But he’s wild about me, I know. And with a bit of luck, marriage it will be, whether he wants to or nay.’
‘What do you mean? What have you done?’
‘Why nothing, sister dear, as yet. I don’t have to. I merely have to click my fingers and he comes running. And if I click and he runs into a—well, shall we say, compromising situation?—then that’s his misfortune. And best for me, too.’
‘Amelia! The Earl of Rasenby is highly unlikely to fall for that. Why there must have been countless such traps set for him over the years, and never a whiff of him anywhere near wed. Please, I beg of you, stay away from him.’
‘Well, I won’t. At least, yes, I will, for a couple of days. Just to keep him on tenterhooks.’ Amelia slanted another glance at Clarrie’s face. Her sister really was such a prude.
‘Do you love him? Is that it?’ Clarissa was struggling to come to terms with this new, hard Amelia. She had always been determined to have her own way, but she had never before been so openly scheming. If Clarissa had known that her sister was trying desperately to suppress her feelings for Edward Brompton, she would have been less concerned.
‘Life isn’t one of your romances, you know. Love is such an outmoded emotion when it comes to marriage. I can stomach him well enough to bed him, if that’s what you mean. And, of course, his money makes him more attractive than he would be under other circumstances. After all, he’s quite old.’
‘Old? You talk about him as if he’s in his dotage. Why, he can’t be more than five and thirty. And if you loved him, his age would mean nothing. Now tell me straight, do you love him?’
‘Clarrie, I tell you straight, I do not.’ Amelia was enjoying shocking her sister. ‘Love, I will save for my beaux after we are wed. It’s what everyone does. Rasenby will no doubt carry on with his lightskirts, so why should I not do the same? I shall take great pleasure, though, in ousting that supercilious Charlotte du Pres from her position as his mistress. And I suppose I’ll need to provide an heir first.’ Realising she’d gone a bit too far, Amelia patted Clarrie’s hand in a conciliatory way. ‘I’m not a little girl any more. I can look after myself. And I know what I’m doing, I promise.’ No need to let Clarrie know that the carte blanche would still be considered if her other plan failed. One way or another, she’d get her hands on a large part of Rasenby’s wealth. But for now, she wanted to think only of the thrill of meeting Edward again. ‘Let us find out what Mama has found so distracting that she has paid no heed at all to our conversation.’
Lady Maria was certainly absorbed in her post, one letter in particular holding her attention. There were plenty of others, but they were all bills. Bills that she had no means of paying. Those relating to the house and to Amelia’s dresses she would hand over to Clarissa to deal with. But they were insignificant compared to her mounting gambling debts—and of these, Clarissa must be allowed no inkling. She returned again to the note from the owner of the discreet gaming house she had been frequenting of late. The sum that she owed frightened her. The letter was subtly threatening.
‘Mama, what is it that you find so interesting in that letter? Clarrie and I have been plotting away, and you haven’t even looked up.’
At this, Lady Maria gave a nervous start. ‘What? Oh, nothing, nothing. No indeed, nothing for you girls to worry about.’ Her slightly protuberant blue eyes blinked out at her daughters. Nervously, she licked her lips, and produced a somewhat ragged smile. ‘Now, dears, what is it you were plotting?’
‘Silly Mama, only what I would wear to the theatre tonight. For I’m going out with Chloe you know, and her mama, to the new farce. Chloe’s brother and that nice Mr Brompton are escorting us.’
‘Will they be calling for you here, dearest?’ Lady Maria had just remembered a hint from Mrs Barrington, that there were means of paying a lady’s debts that she could help—discreetly—with. ‘Then I’d like a word with her myself. Just to thank her for her attentions to you, Amelia dear. She’s been so good taking you out to parties when my health won’t hold up.’
Lady Maria gathered together her post. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I have one of my heads. Clarrie, do give my regards to your Aunt Constance, I know you’ll do all that is right.’ And with that, she left for the sanctity of her bedchamber with its carefully drawn blinds, and the ministering of her dear, faithful maid.
‘Are you going to see Aunt Constance, then? Rather you than me, I can’t abide her sermonising. I’m off for a walk in the park with Chloe.’ Looking back at her sister, still seated at the table, Amelia laughed once more. ‘Clarrie do stop looking so serious. I know what I’m doing, and that should be enough for you. You should get out more yourself, you know. Even at your age, your looks are more than passable, as long as you don’t stand too close to me. I could find you someone suitable.’
‘Thank you, Amelia,’ Clarissa responded drily, ‘but I’m quite content as I am.’
The visit to her aunt only confirmed Clarissa’s worst fears. Lady Constance Denby lived semi-retired from society, but this didn’t stop her keeping close tabs on the latest on dits, and today one of them concerned Amelia.
‘Well, my dear, I am sorry to have to tell you that your sister is raising a few eyebrows.’
They were settled in Lady Constance’s breakfast room, taking morning coffee. Clarissa loved this room, with its beautifully polished rosewood tables, the cabinets crammed with her aunt’s collection of delicate porcelain. The loud ticking of the clock on the mantel, and the scent from the apple wood burning in the hearth were deeply comforting.
Her aunt had been widowed very young—before Clarissa ever remembered an uncle—and, despite numerous offers, had never married again. Her beloved husband had been a rising star in the House of Lords, and Constance had remained faithful to his memory in retaining her widowed status, as well as her avid interest in current affairs. Lady Constance was a beautiful woman, with a little of Clarissa’s colouring, although the vivid auburn of her hair had faded now, and was confined beneath her habitual widow’s cap. She had been formidable, too, in her brief time as a political hostess, although that, also, had been given up upon the occasion of her husband’s death. Having shared something so special, she had told Clarissa once, even for so brief a time, had been enough.
Tact, and a natural reticence, prevented Lady Constance, over the years, from being too critical of Clarissa’s mother and sister. She was all too aware of how badly her own family had treated them when James, her dear brother, had died. She found Maria tedious, and Amelia wilful, but she was very fond of Clarissa, and hated not being able to do more for her than provide this sanctuary whenever her niece paid her a call.
And today the talk would be upsetting—but that couldn’t be helped. ‘I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Letitia Marlborough, Kit Rasenby’s sister, is one of my friends. A flighty thing before she was married and produced that brood of hers, but still, I’ve known her for ever, and keep on good terms with her.’ Lady Constance waited, but Clarissa had no comment to make.
‘Well, Letitia has it on the best of authority that your sister is Kit Rasenby’s latest flirt. In fact, she believes he intends to set her up as his mistress.’
Lady Constance sipped her coffee, and considered Clarissa’s reaction. No surprise there, only worry. So, there was truth in it. Well, she needed to warn Clarissa in plain langua
ge. Amelia was heading for a fall, and Lady Constance could only do her best to ensure that Clarissa was not to be tainted by association. Amelia would go to the bad, she was sure of it. But Clarissa deserved better.
‘I take it that this comes as no surprise to you, Clarissa dear? Has Amelia mentioned Lord Rasenby then?’
‘She has, Aunt. As a—an admirer.’
Lady Constance gave a bark of laughter at this. ‘Is that what she called him? Your sister, my dear, seems determined to take the road to ruin. And if you don’t take me up on my offer to come and live here, she’ll take you with her.’
‘Aunt, please, let us not discuss this again at present. I am overwhelmed at the generosity of your offer, indeed I am. But until Amelia is settled, and my mama with her, I can’t desert them.’ Green eyes pleaded for sympathy. ‘Aunt Constance, you do understand, don’t you?’
Clarissa was so very much like her papa when she looked up, that Lady Constance caught her breath for a second. Those huge eyes set in her heart-shaped face were all feminine, but the appeal, and the colouring, they were so like James. If only he had been of a stronger constitution—and a stronger character—then perhaps they wouldn’t be in this mess. But to have eloped with Maria, a mere nobody, when he should have made a good match! Well, it was done now, and James long dead. All she could do was protect his child from some of the harshness of the world.
But to do that, she had to save her from her sister and her mama. Lady Constance patted Clarissa’s hand reassuringly. She was four and twenty, but had seen so little of the world. ‘Of course I understand, my dear, you must know that you will always find a home here, no matter what.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Constance, that means a lot to me.’
‘But to return to the subject of Amelia, as unfortunately we must, I have to tell you, Clarissa, that I am very concerned.’ Lady Constance was brisk now. Straight talking was required, although she was loath to do it. ‘The Earl of Rasenby’s reputation is extremely bad, you know.’
The Wicked Lord Rasenby Page 2