Page 89 of The Heiress's Daughter
“Burn them.”
Zoë sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”
A few days later, Clarissa was about to join Zoë in the garden when she met her guardian, Leo—now her brother-in-law—entering Lady Scattergood’s through the back door. “Leo,” she exclaimed in delight, “you’re back! When did you get back? Where’s Izzy?”
He grinned. “We arrived late last night. She’s in the garden, looking for you. I was just coming to pay my respects to Aunt Olive and inform her I’m home. I’m delighted to see you, Clarissa. You’re looking very well.”
“Thank you. Welcome home, Leo. Now I’ll just go out and find Izzy. I’ve so missed her.”
Clarissa made to pass him and hurry out to the garden, but he detained her with a hand on her arm. “My felicitations on your betrothal, Clarissa. I was so pleased to hear it. Race will make you an excellent husband.”
She blinked. “Oh, but we’re not really betrothed. It’s all a hum, a scheme to divert the ton from the nasty scandal Mr. Clayborn tried to cause.”
“Yes, I heard about that swine Clayborn. Filthy deception. But”—he gave her a close look—“that’s not how Race explained the betrothal to me. He called on me first thing this morning. How he knew we’d returned is beyond me. Still less why he felt he had to call on me at such an unseasonable hour—we might be back from the honeymoon but—”He broke off, his color slightly heightened. “I had to receive him in my dressing gown.”
Clarissa didn’t care about that. “What did he tell you?”
“He seems to be quite serious about marrying you. We briefly discussed settlements—of course the details will be thrashed out later with the legal chaps.”
Settlements?She felt suddenly light-headed. “No, he can’t be serious. He’s just pretending. He’s funning you, Leo.”
Leo shook his head. “He’s not. He’s in deadly earnest. He asked for my permission and I gave it. I’ve drafted the notice to send off to theGazette. I just wanted to show it to you first.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
“No! No, you cannot send it. It’s all a mistake, a terrible mistake.”
He frowned. “Are you unhappy about this betrothal, Clarissa?”
She shook her head frantically. “It’snota betrothal, it’s not real. It can’t be.”
“Don’t you want to marry Race? I understood from Izzy that you had feelings for him but if she’s mistaken and you’re being coerced into it because of that scandal with Clayborn—”
She burst into tears, turned and ran up the stairs to her bedchamber and flung herself down on the bed.
Izzy stepped out into the garden and breathed in the scent of flowers and greenery, tinged with a faint flavor of smoke. She couldn’t wait to see her sister. Oh, marriage was blissful, and she’d loved every moment of her honeymoon, but she’d missed Clarissa, missed sharing all her thoughts and feelings with her sister. Leo was a wonderful lover, but he wasn’t one for discussing emotions. She chuckled at the very idea.
They’d woken early, as usual, and had made slow,blissful love as a delicate rose and gold dawn broke over the London rooftops. It was her favorite way to wake up, to come to consciousness with Leo caressing her, and then that slow growth of intensity, of feeling…Oh, she had no words to describe it.
But oh, the glory that man had introduced her to. She shivered deliciously, remembering. They’d just begun to make love again when Matteo had knocked on the door, saying Lord Randall was downstairs asking to speak to Leo.
She chuckled again, recalling Leo’s irritation. He’d groaned, sworn, kissed her, rolled out of bed and shrugged into his gorgeously embroidered heavy silk dressing gown. Then he’d opened the door, looked back at her sitting up in bed in a welter of bedclothes, and marched back to give her a heated kiss that almost left her swooning. “Blast Race. It had better be important,” he’d muttered, and stomped off, leaving her to bathe and dress at her leisure.
She looked around. On a beautiful morning like this she was sure Clarissa would be out in her beloved garden. Perhaps the rose arbor. She headed toward it.
Rounding a corner in the path she almost collided with another young woman. “Oh, excuse m—” she began, and stared.
The girl stared back, green eyes wide as she examined Izzy from top to toe.
“Gawd! It’s true, then,” the girl exclaimed. “I suppose you’re Izzy.”
“And you must be Zoë. Oh my, Clarissa did tell me there was a strong resemblance—she wrote to me while I was away, you know—but I didn’t have any idea how much.” Izzy was stunned. It was almost like looking in a mirror.
“Me, too. I didn’t expect it to be so…” Zoë gestured vaguely.
They continued staring at each other. “I think your hair is a little lighter than mine, not quite as black.”
Zoë nodded. “And I’m not as tall as you.”
“How old are you?”
