Page 28 of Snowbound with the Scoundrel
“A few.I know French, Spanish, High German, Russian—”
“Russian!”Lady Emily cried, clasping her hands.
The marchioness’s expression was smug.“I knew she had the making of a diplomat’s wife.”She placed her hand on Lady Emily’s shoulder, guiding her toward the door.“We shall put Mr.Bainbridge’s name at the top of the list.”
“Please,” Clarissa called, “don’t get carried”—she watched as they strode through the door, heads bent together, not heeding a word she said—“away.”
Attempting a self-deprecating laugh, Clarissa turned to Miss Cuthbert.“Oh, dear.I suppose that ship has already sailed.”
She found Miss Cuthbert’s pretty face creased into a scowl.
“Is anything the matter?”Clarissa asked, puzzled.
Miss Cuthbert’s voice was snide.“How nice for you, Miss Weatherby, to have so materially improved your station in life.”She snatched the pot of marmalade and began smearing it on her toast, using enough force that she tore a hole in the bread.“Perhaps we do not understand each other as well as I had hoped.”
Clarissa bit back a sharp retort.Just what she needed—the sort of “friend” who resented you your good fortune.
Still, she was working on turning over a new leaf.Her new job for the Home Office required her to blend in, which meant being agreeable.
Clarissa, therefore, answered in a gentle tone.“I remember very well what it felt like to be the most ridiculed woman in all of Britain.Although my fortunes have changed for the better, I hope you do not think me unsympathetic.”
“Oh.”Miss Cuthbert glanced up, her eyes rueful.“My apologies, Miss Weatherby.I must own that I am jealous.I had a suitor once, but he could not afford to marry a woman without a dowry.I fancy that if I had been in possession of a respectable portion, my life might look very different from what it is today.”
“Perhaps your beau might be able to earn his fortune and marry you someday.”
Miss Cuthbert looked down at her plate.“Alas, that will never happen.He needed the capital a well-dowered wife would bring in order to make a start in his career.So, he married someone else.”
“Oh.I am so sorry.”
Miss Cuthbert glanced up, giving Clarissa a smile that did not reach her eyes.“As am I, Miss Weatherby.As am I.”
The conversation moved on.By the end of breakfast, Clarissa still did not know quite what to make of her new acquaintance.
Chapter13
Rupert spent the next four days doing his best imitation of Oliver Baxter’s shadow.
Rupert wasn’t much for stalking, but Baxter was, so Rupert borrowed one of Lord Helmsley’s guns and put on a cheerful face as he wandered through the snow pretending to look for deer.
The good news was that there were no additional attempts on Baxter’s life.It was enough to make Rupert wonder if he hadn’t dreamed the whole thing up.
But the bad news was, Rupert couldn’t seem to find so much as a minute to confer with Clarissa Weatherby.He needed to let her know that they were partners, but he needed to do it in private, and private conversations with Clarissa were suddenly hard to come by.Now that word was out that she was something of an heiress, the party guests who were of the single male persuasion were buzzing around her like flies.
Richard Garroway was particularly persistent.He was on the list of suspects Sir Henry had discussed with Rupert, so he assumed Clarissa was also aware of him.Rupert had noticed him flirting with her during their first dinner at Helmsley Castle, the one where Clarissa had worn that stunner of a red dress.But now that he knew she was plump in the pocket, he seemed to be pursuing her seriously.
Rupert wanted to protest thathehad wanted to marry Clarissa Weatherby long before she was wealthy and well-dressed.But it didn’t matter.She hadn’t wanted to marry him then and she gave no sign of wanting anything to do with him now.
He was here to do a job, and he meant to do it well.His work for the Home Office had given him direction at the lowest moment of his life.
At the time he had been recruited by Sir Henry, his Aunt Imogen had been dead for two months, and Clarissa had just rejected their proposed union.He’d been on the road back to London and had stopped at an inn in Olney for the night.He had been alone, adrift, and feeling rather lousy about himself.
He had been sitting at one of the long tables in the common room of the Bull Hotel, attempting to drown his sorrows in a dozen or so pints, when a familiar face strode into the room.It was Godfrey Marsden, who’d been a couple of years ahead of him at school.
Rupert would normally have stood and offered a greeting, even though Godfrey wasn’t what you would call an old chum.He hadn’t been friends with Rupert’s brother, but he seemed to share Francis’s opinion that Rupert was worthless.Still, as a general rule, Rupert tried to do the right thing and observe the social niceties.But on that particular night, he was feeling so low that he couldn’t bear the prospect of a conversation with a man who would more than likely sneer at him.
And so, Rupert did something he’d never done before—he gave an exaggerated yawn, stretched out across the table, and pretended to fall asleep.
It was a good thing Rupert had feigned sleep because Godfrey sat right next to him!After a few minutes, he felt someone prod him in the shoulder.
