Page 1 of The Heiress's Daughter
Prologue
Studley Park Manor
Hampshire, England
1806
“Don’t wiggle around like that, child,” Nanny said. “You want to look nice on your birthday, don’t you? The more you wriggle the longer it will take.”
Clarissa Studley did her best to keep still, but it was very hard. It was her birthday.
“Mama said that now I’m seven I’m a young lady.”
“Well, behave like one, and let me finish this hair,” Nanny said severely, unwinding another long rag and setting it aside.
Clarissa’s hair was a trial, Nanny often said. It was plain brown and straight, and a little bit bushy, and if she wanted any hint of a curl, she had to sleep with rags, which wasn’t very comfortable, but was necessary if she wanted ringlets. And ringlets were essential if she wanted to look pretty, Mama said.
And today of all days, Clarissa wanted to look pretty.
Mama had ordered her a new dress, pink and white, to match Mama’s new dress—also pink and white—Clarissa’s favorite colors. The only difference was that Clarissa’s dress had shiny pink satin bows sewn around the hem.
Mama had also bought her a pair of new shoes, whitekidskin slippers with a cluster of tiny pink velvet roses on each toe. Clarissa loved them, but she hadn’t been allowed to wear them yet. “Not until your birthday,” Nanny had told her. “And never outside.”
“There, that’s it, you can move now,” Nanny announced when she had fastened the last pink satin bow in Clarissa’s hair. There were three, and they matched those on her dress exactly. “Don’t you look nice?”
Clarissa gazed at her reflection in the looking glass, twirling happily this way and that, watching the bows dance as she moved. She felt like a princess.
“Your mama wants to see you downstairs,” Nanny told her, and then added, “She has a surprise for you.”
“What kind of a surprise?” Clarissa asked eagerly. She already knew Mama had ordered a special dinner, with all Clarissa’s favorite food—wonderful smells had been coming from the kitchen all the previous day—and there was a splendid pink and white cake with her name iced in an elegant script. And tiny icing rosebuds.
And now, another surprise.
Nanny laughed. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it? Now run along—no, walk, don’t run. You’re a young lady now.”
Clarissa walked carefully downstairs. The new shoes were a little tight, but she didn’t mind. They would stretch, Nanny said. She was a growing girl.
She had just reached the landing when she heard the sound of carriage wheels out front. Who could that be? They didn’t get many visitors. Was this Mama’s surprise?
“I won’t be long,” a man’s voice said.
“Papa!” she shrieked happily, and ran down the remaining stairs. Papa hardly ever visited, but here he was, on her birthday. He must be Mama’s surprise.
Papa handed his hat to Maddox, the butler, just as Clarissa bounded down the last step and rushed to greet him. “Oh, Papa, Papa, you came!” He made no move to embrace her—Papa never embraced people—so she hugged him around the legs.
“What the devil! Get your sticky hands off me.” He bent and pried her fingers open and pushed her back. “And look, you’ve crushed my trousers, you wretched brat.”
“My hands aren’t sticky, Papa, truly they’re not. I just washed them. I’m sorry about the wrinkles.” She tried to smooth them out but he shoved her roughly away and raised his voice.
“Will somebody remove this brat?” And then to her he said, “Get to the nursery, child, where you belong.”
“But it’s my birthday, Papa.”
Ignoring her, he strode to the room they called “Papa’s office” even though he hardly ever used it. Clarissa followed, saying uncertainly, “I thought you’d come to celebrate it.”
He searched through some papers in one of the desk drawers. “Celebrate what?” he said impatiently.
“My birthday. I’m seven.”
