The Wicked Lord Rasenby

by Marguerite Kaye

  It took a little effort to stop the flow of Lady Maria’s tears, and even more patience still to extract the cause of them from the garbled, inarticulate story recounted to her, accompanied as it was by sobs, apologies for being so silly, and countless accusations of villainy against some unknown figure who preyed on poor widow women. ‘Oh, Clarissa, I knew you would have advised me against it. I am sorry for being so foolish, but you were not here—what was I to do? With Amelia clamouring for a new dress, and that money-grabbing modiste Madame Clothilde refusing to provide it until we paid at least part of her last bill, I was at my wits’ end. I even tried to reach you at Constance’s, but your aunt refused to tell me where you were.’

  ‘You spoke to Aunt Constance?’ That Mama would do such a thing had not occurred to Clarissa when she had written the note from the inn to explain her absence. She had said that her aunt had need of her and explained no further, sure that Mama would not enquire.

  ‘Yes, I did, for you left me no choice. I needed to talk to you, and your note said you were staying with her. But Constance just said you were engaged on some errand and could not be disturbed and could she help instead. As if I would let myself be beholden to her. Nor would she understand—what knows that woman of the trials of being poor? So you see I had no one to turn to, and, oh, Clarissa, I wish you had not needed to be away at such an inopportune time for me.’

  Overcome by sobs once more, Lady Maria searched fruitlessly for her handkerchief amongst the plethora of shawls and wraps that lay strewn over the sofa on which they were seated. Clarissa wondered fleetingly why her aunt had not given her away. No doubt she had not wanted to alarm Mama, but she would demand answers from Clarissa, and she was not a woman who could be lied to. Dreadful as this prospect was, however, Mama’s needs were rather more pressing.

  Pouring a few drops of sal volatile into a glass, Clarissa helped Lady Maria to sit back and waited on the calming effect of the medication to take effect. ‘There, dearest, that’s better. Now tell me what happened after you spoke to Aunt Constance?’

  ‘Well, I know I promised you I wouldn’t borrow any more money, but I felt so bad leaving my problems to you, and then Mrs Barrington—you know, Chloe’s mama—said that she would fix it for me to borrow just a little more from the same nice man as before—the one who was dunning me. And I thought, you see, that my luck at the tables was simply bound to turn on account of it’s been so very bad until now. So I borrowed just enough for one more night at the tables, and I planned to use my winnings to pay it straight back and pay Madame Clothilde too, and then be able to buy Amelia her dress. It would have worked, I know it would have worked, if only I had not played faro, which is not my game as you know. Mrs Barrington said it would be a quicker way to win a bigger sum. But, oh, she was very wrong. And if I had but ignored her and stuck to my usual game of ombre we would not be in this situation. But I did, and there we have it. And really, it is all your fault for not being here to stop me, Clarrie dear. Now we are in such a fix, for soon this gentleman—though really he cannot be a gentleman to be treating me like this—will be dunning me for payment and if I cannot pay I cannot imagine what we will do and it is such a mess. But you will fix it, won’t you, Clarrie?’

  Clarissa’s head whirled at the attempt to sort out the salient points from this tangled tale. ‘Let me understand this, Mama. You borrowed more money from the man who was already dunning you after I told you, and you promised, not to?’

  ‘Yes, but it was all perfectly above board, for I signed a document when he gave me the money. Then this morning I received a letter from a different gentleman saying he had acquired my debt from the first gentleman and I do not understand it all, for I have no head for business.’

  ‘Mama, may I see the letter? And the one you signed?’

  ‘Oh, Clarrie, dearest Clarrie, do you think you’ll be able to make things right?’ Lady Maria said, clasping her hands.

  ‘I have no idea until I have sight of the letters. Does Amelia know about any of this?’

  ‘No, no, how could I burden the poor child with my worries when she is so taken up with her own plans.’

  That her mama had no qualms about burdening Clarissa with her worries did not surprise her elder daughter. With a worried frown, she read through the two documents Mama had retrieved from the desk. The first, the original loan, to be paid back at a rate of interest that made her brows rise in consternation, was signed by a Mr Dalton. This must be Mrs Barrington’s friend—a loan shark, no doubt. No doubt either that Mrs Barrington had been paid a healthy retainer for putting the business his way. Clarissa would have words with Mrs Barrington later. She looked forward to that.

  The second letter was from a lawyer acting on behalf of an unnamed client. The paper was heavy and expensive, the letter brief and to the point. The unnamed client had acquired Lady Maria’s debt by unspecified methods. The letter informed Clarissa’s mama that she had a new creditor and confirmed that for the present the agreed interest rate would stand, but the schedule of repayment had been reduced, so that the full amount became due not within six, but three months. Should this be unacceptable to Lady Maria, the writer would be pleased to put any alternative proposal to his client, but felt it prudent to advise her that an extension of the loan period was unlikely to be granted.

  A cold fear clutched at Clarissa as she re-read the epistle. Whoever the creditor turned out to be, Lady Maria could expect no sympathy from him. The plain fact was that they were now in debt to the tune of thousands of guineas to a complete stranger who was likely to be ruthless in extracting payment. They had no security. They had nothing left to sell, no means of raising the capital, never mind the outrageous amount of interest that was growing almost by the hour. Mama would be clapped in irons and taken to the Fleet prison. It did not bear thinking of. Reminding herself that panic never did anyone any good, Clarissa folded the letters carefully and tucked them into her reticule.

  ‘Well, dearest? Can it be fixed?’ Lady Maria’s voice was tremulous, her words pleading.

  ‘I need to think about it, Mama. For now, the best thing you can do is to put it from your mind and try for some rest. You look exhausted.’

  ‘Oh, Clarrie, it’s so good to have you back. You will make all well now, I know you will. I missed you, child. Tell me you won’t go off to live with Constance when I have sore need of you here.’

  ‘I won’t go and stay with Aunt Constance, Mama, you may put that thought out of your mind. Now, why don’t you try to rest for a while? Here, let me tuck this shawl around you. There, that’s better, is it not? Best to say nothing to Amelia about all of this, we don’t want her worried.’

  ‘Oh, no, no, Clarrie, I won’t say a thing. Except—what about her new dress?’

  ‘I’m afraid that will have to wait,’ Clarissa said drily. ‘It is hardly a priority in the grand scheme of things.’

  ‘Oh, but it might prove to be so, Clarrie. Only think, if she gets a new dress and Lord Rasenby sees her in it, he will like as not be so taken with her that he will propose, and then all of our troubles will be at an end. You would not want to spoil that for the want of a new dress now, would you dear?’

  ‘Mama, I beg of you, you must put all thoughts of Amelia marrying Lord Rasenby out of your head. It is simply not going to happen.’

  ‘But, Clarrie, Amelia assures me he is on the very brink of asking. She has seen him the last two nights at balls, and he has been most pressing.’

  ‘She saw Lord Rasenby last night?’

  ‘Yes, and the night before. He was most attentive, apparently, and would not leave her alone. Begged three whole dances and would not take her nay. So you see Clarissa, she simply must have a new dress.’

  The only thing Clarissa saw clearly was that Amelia had been lying to their mama. Well, she would not get off so lightly when Clarissa spoke to her, that was for sure. ‘Leave Amelia to me, Mama, think no more of it. But you must promise me one thing.’

  ‘Anything, dearest
, for you always know best, and I feel so much happier now. When you came in I was quite sunk in despair, what with the letter, and Amelia’s dress, and the cook demanding to know what was for dinner. I am very glad you are home; we don’t get by nearly so well without you.’

  ‘Well, Mama, and I am glad to be home too. But you must give me your solemn promise that you will not play cards with Mrs Barrington or any of her cronies again. And you must on no account, under any circumstances, borrow any more money.’

  ‘No, dearest, I won’t, I promise.’ Thus unburdened of all her cares, oblivious to the turmoil she had stirred up in her daughter’s mind, Lady Maria composed herself for sleep.

  Rest was not a luxury Clarissa could afford, much as she was in need of it. Thrusting thoughts of her mother’s debts to one side for the time being, she went in search of her sister. She did not have to look far. Amelia was waiting in her bedchamber, a vision in pale green printed calico.

  ‘I was sure I heard you come in. Mama has been in a tizzy about something, I’ve barely been able to get a word of sense out of her. I thought I should have to give her a James’s powder to calm her, she was so upset, and you know I can’t be doing with quacking her. I trust you’ve calmed her down?’

  Amelia’s breathtakingly selfish attitude made Clarissa grit her teeth in order to keep a clamp on her temper. She needed to find out what her sister had been up to. Upsetting her would only make her defensive, much as she yearned to give Amelia a sound slap about the cheeks. ‘Mama is sleeping now,’ she said merely, sitting down at her dressing table to remove the pins from her hair. Her head was thumping.

  ‘You look tired, Clarrie. Did Aunt Constance have you run ragged? When Mama tried to get her to send you back, she was quite rude. She told Mama that it was time she stood on her own two feet and stopped relying on you to resolve every petty domestic crisis. Mama was really quite upset.’

  ‘She’s not such an ogre, you know, our aunt. She just has different ideas from Mama, but we shouldn’t forget that she is the only one of Papa’s family who stands by us.’

  ‘Much good it does us. It’s all very well for you, she likes you, and you can talk for hours to her about boring politics and books and things. It’s different for me. I’m too pretty, for one thing, and she’s always so nit-picky, I really can’t abide it. You should do this, Amelia, or think about that, Amelia, or consider this, Amelia. What she really means is that I should be more like you. Well, I’m not like you.’

  A sharp pang of guilt shot through Clarissa as she thought bitterly of her behaviour over the past three days. ‘Maybe we are more alike than you realise,’ she said ironically. ‘Anyway, never mind Aunt Constance or Mama for the moment. Sit down and tell me about you. Have you seen much of Edward?’

  ‘Too much! He has become almost as tedious as Aunt Constance, prosing on and on about what I may do, and what I may not do. I’m fed up with Edward.’ With a flounce Amelia sat down on Clarissa’s bed, her rosebud mouth in a pout, and burst into sudden loud sobs. ‘Oh, Clarrie, I’m so unhappy. You can have no idea.’

  Clarissa eyed her in astonishment. ‘Calm down, Amelia, try not to talk until you are more composed. Let me get you a glass of water.’ Much to her relief, Amelia’s sobs quieted. She sat up, the threatened tantrum averted. ‘Now, tell me what’s bothering you. You’ll feel better when you’ve got it out in the open.’

  ‘It’s Edward. He’s—he’s—he wants to marry me.’

  Clarissa struggled to contain the mixture of relief and euphoria that swept over her at this much-hoped-for development. ‘Well now, that’s surely something to be very happy about.’

  ‘No, it’s not, Clarissa, for he has no money and no prospects, only his stupid job, and I won’t marry him and live without money, I can’t. He says that if we are happy it shouldn’t matter. He says that I don’t need new gowns and balls and parties and—and such, if I have him. He says that if we have each other, I won’t notice our modest means. But Clarrie, he’s wrong. I need money, but I don’t want to lose Edward, so I need to find a way to have both. But every time I suggest what seems to me a perfectly simple solution, he threatens to leave me and never see me again.’

  With a sinking heart, Clarissa posed the question. ‘And what is your simple solution, Amelia, that Edward is so set against?’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious. I’ll accept Lord Rasenby’s carte blanche, then he’ll be obliged to buy me lots of dresses and jewellery and a carriage and maybe even set me up in my own establishment. I’ll save every penny of the allowance he gives me, and then I can marry Edward.’

  Even for Amelia, this was breathtaking. Clarissa could find nothing to say, and sat staring at her sister in open-mouthed amazement.

  ‘Why are you looking like that? You look like Edward did. I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘Pleased?’

  ‘Yes, for I have quite given up my plan to trap Lord Rasenby into marriage, you know.’

  The smug satisfaction in Amelia’s voice was too much. Clarissa was tired and heartsore. Instead of the sanctuary of her own room, she had been greeted with her mother’s gambling debts and impending imprisonment. And now her sister was gaily recounting a plan to become the mistress of one man in order that she might marry another. That the man she intended to extract payment from was the man Clarissa was in love with was the final straw.

  ‘You thought I’d be pleased to hear that you’re proposing to sell yourself to Lord Rasenby in order to fund marriage to Edward?’

  ‘Well, I thought at least you’d be pleased that I’d given up my idea of tricking Kit Rasenby to the altar. And pleased to find that you’re right—I do love Edward after all. And I want to marry him.’

  ‘But you’re still willing to let another man take you to bed?’

  ‘Well, but it might not come to that.’ Amelia’s pout was back, her posture defensive.

  ‘You expect to persuade Lord Rasenby to take you as his mistress, to fork out a fantastic sum on kitting you out in style, setting you up in a house, and not expect anything in return?’

  ‘Well, I thought I could string him along for a while without having to—you know, without actually letting it come to that. There are ways, Clarissa, of keeping a man in suspense, without—’

  ‘Do tell me, Amelia, what are these ways, exactly?’

  Taken aback at the martial light in her sister’s eyes, and unused to having her bluff called quite so directly, Amelia faltered. ‘Well, I don’t know exactly, but I’m sure I could—at least I… You know, I don’t think we should be discussing this, Clarissa, Mama would be shocked.’

  ‘And you think it would shock her less if you told her what you intended? Don’t be ridiculous. You clearly haven’t thought this through, you’ve just got carried away with wanting to have your own way as usual. And so long as you get your own way, you don’t care who pays for it, whether it’s Edward, or Kit Rasenby, or Mama or me! You’re a selfish, stupid, inconsiderate little girl, and you don’t deserve Edward. In fact, if I were him I’d wash my hands of you. All I can think is that he must be so madly in love with you as to be beyond reason himself, for you are nothing more than a—a—trollop! Kit certainly deserves to be protected from the likes of you.’

  Amelia watched her normally placid sister’s outburst in astonishment. Clarrie didn’t seem at all concerned about poor Amelia. Didn’t seem to want to help her, hadn’t even put her first, as she always usually did. Had seemed more worried about Edward, in fact, not to mention Lord Rasenby. And—but that was it! ‘Why are you suddenly so concerned with protecting Kit Rasenby?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Clarissa replied defensively. ‘I don’t want anyone hurt by your stupid behaviour. I’m just as worried about poor Edward.’

  ‘No, you’re not. And now I come to think of it, I haven’t seen Kit Rasenby for a few days. No one knows where he’s been.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not what you told Mama, is it? You told her you’d been dancing with Kit—Lo
rd Rasenby—at two different parties.’

  Amelia waved her hand dismissively. ‘Well, what did you expect, I had to find an excuse for seeing Edward, and I didn’t want Mama to worry. And anyway, that’s not important right now. What I want to know is where was Lord Rasenby—or Kit, as you now seem to be calling him—over the last few days? The same few days, dearest sister, when you were also absent? I think there’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’

  Clarissa could not think of a reply, and only shook her head in silent rebuttal.

  ‘Goodness, I’m right, aren’t I?’ Amelia said gleefully. ‘There is something you’re not telling me. Look at you, you’re all red. You can’t lie to me, Clarissa, what’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing! Nothing’s going on, as you put it. I’m tired. I need to be on my own. Let’s leave this discussion until later.’

  ‘No, you don’t, Clarissa Warrington. I know you, you’re going to lie in here on your own and make up some clever story to tell me later. I’m not going to leave you on your own. Whatever was going on between Kit Rasenby and you, I’m going to find out right now, so you might as well tell me and get it over with.’

  Amelia’s eyes sparkled at the confusion on Clarissa’s face. She had never seen her normally unflappable sister so distressed. Leaping from the bed, all trace of her own upset vanished, she pulled Clarissa towards a chair and pushed her into it. ‘Talk, Clarrie. I won’t leave until you do.’

  ‘I—Amelia, if I do, you must promise not to say a word to anyone?’

  ‘Yes, yes, just go on.’

  ‘Very well. But no matter what you think of my behaviour, you must believe me, I meant it only for the best.’

  ‘Clarrie, will you just tell me what on earth you’ve been up to?’