Page 37 of The Heiress's Daughter
“But why not? It’s not the fashionable hour—there won’t be many people around—and a walk will do you a worldof good. And don’t call me ‘Miss Clarissa.’ I’m your sister, and you arenota servant. It’s just Clarissa.”
“I ain’t convinced I am your half sister.” Zoë lifted a shoulder. “Maybe I’ll change my mind when I meet this Izzy you talk about, that everyone says I look like, or when you get some real proof, but until then…”
“But a walk in the park—”
“Will cause talk and your reputation will be in danger again.”
Clarissa frowned. “Again?”
“Betty told me all about it—what you done for Miss Izzy in bringing her out with you into society. It was terrible risky, she said, but now Miss Izzy is married to a lord so it’s all all right. But if people see me with you—”
“They will just think that you are Izzy’s and my younger sister. Which you are, I’m convinced. And it’s Izzy for you, not Miss Izzy. And ‘did for,’ not ‘done for.’ ”
Zoë gave her a skeptical look. “A younger sister they’ve never heard of before?”
Clarissa shrugged. “Why not? You are young; it will be several years before you make your come-out. For all anyone knows you were living back at Studley Park Manor, our former home. Or away at school.”
Zoë snorted. “Atschool? Yes, because I’m sooo well educated.”
Clarissa pursed her lips. It was true. Zoë was barely literate. She could read, but not well, though reading magazines and newspapers aloud to Lady Scattergood was improving her skills. And though her handwriting was decorative, her spelling and grammar were atrocious. Her mother had done her best to teach her, but not only was she French and unschooled in English, her own education had stopped at the age of eleven when she’d had to flee from the violence of the Revolution. And of course, they could barely afford food, let alone school or a governess.
“Very well then,” Clarissa persisted. “We will walk inthe garden at the back of the house. It’s quite private—only the residents of the houses that enclose it have access. We hardly ever see anyone there—mostly we see Lady Tarrant and her children. Lady Tarrant is a good friend and a very kind lady. She doesn’t go out in society much these days, and in any case, she can be trusted with your story. The little girls, of course, are too young to care.”
Zoë considered that, then grudgingly nodded. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. Now come along, you’ve been cooped up in the house for too long. Fresh air and a walk will do you good. Fetch your pelisse—the breeze is quite brisk.”
“You mean fetch Izzy’s pelisse,” Zoë corrected her as she hurried away.
Clarissa sighed. She knew the root cause of Zoë’s reluctance to embrace her new identity—and Izzy’s clothes. It was insecurity. She was certain Clarissa had made a mistake, that she’d be found to be no relation at all and would be sent back to the orphanage. Her anxiety was understandable.
But even if she turned out to be no relation—though Clarissa did not believe it—Clarissa had no intention of casting her off. She’d come to like the girl for herself.
Trust would come with time.
Clarissa penned a swift note to Lady Tarrant, warning her she’d be bringing her shy half sister into the garden, and asking her for understanding—she’d explain later. She gave the note to Jeremiah, Lady Scattergood’s young footman-in-training and asked him to race it around to Lady Tarrant.
A few minutes later, she and Zoë exited the back door and entered Bellaire Gardens, the large private garden after which the estate had been named.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Zoë exclaimed, looking around. “And the air smells almost like”—she sniffed deeply—“like perfume. You’d never know we was in London.”
Clarissa smiled, pleased by her reaction. The garden was her favorite place in the world, now that her former homewas lost to her. “At this time of year the roses are at their best, and almost all of them smell wonderful. Whoever planned this garden planted for perfume, as well as beauty.”
They explored, taking their time. Clarissa showed Zoë the summerhouse and where the key was hidden. As they strolled, she identified various plants for Zoë, at first a little hesitantly—Izzy liked the garden but had little interest in plant names or varieties of roses, but Zoë seemed quite interested, and asked lots of questions. Or perhaps she was just being polite.
They could hear the sound of children’s laughter and, with Zoë’s cautious acceptance, meandered slowly toward the big plane tree where Lord and Lady Tarrant’s little girls liked to play.
But before they reached the tree a sharp voice exclaimed, “Izzy Studley, what on earth are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on your honeym—” The speaker broke off as Zoë and Clarissa turned toward her.
Clarissa sighed. Of all the times for their nosy neighbor, Milly, to come into the garden. Around the same age as Izzy and Clarissa, she was also making her come-out, but had been a thorn in their sides from the very beginning.
“Good morning, Milly,” Clarissa said.
Milly ignored her. She came closer, staring at Zoë with a perplexed expression. “I thought you were Izzy, sent home in disgrace when Lord Salcott realized the mistake he made, but you’re not Izzy, are you? Though you’re wearing her clothes, I see—I recognize that pelisse. Who on earth are you?”
Zoë opened her mouth to speak, but Clarissa touched her arm and said quickly, “As I said, good morning, Milly. Since you ask, let me introduce my sis—”
“Cousine,” Zoë said quickly.
