Free Caprice: The Masqueraders Series - Book One by Laura Parker Page B

possession and the Ramsbury family arms.
    The fact that this paragon of manly virtues had returned home swathed in the garments of an Arab in no way mitigated the damage that would have been done had he recognized her. Just the thought of what could have resulted from mutual recognition set her head pounding afresh.
    “Which one should we accept?” Heloise fingered an invitation. “We don’t wish to seem eager.”
    “I am ill and refuse to consider any of them.”
    “Oh, perfect, dear! An illness after only the briefest of introductions. That will whet their appetites. What a clever girl you are.”
    “I don’t feel clever. I feel quite wretched.”
    “Well, we certainly won’t say that. We will say that owing to your recent arrival in London, you have yet to become accustomed to the noise and bustle of the city.”
    “I wish to go back to Surrey,” Clarissa said petulantly.
    “We will. But first we must capitalize on our advantage.”
    Clarissa sighed. “Oh, Aunt Heloise, do see reason. We mustn’t pursue the matter. We’ve had our little outing, as you call it, and by mercy’s grace we were not found out. There’ll be no more. And that’s an end to it.”
    Clarissa closed her eyes in the expectation of a barrage of objections from her aunt. Instead, only silence greeted the end of her speech. Finally, she opened her eyes. Her aunt stood at the foot of her bed with invitation in hand. Then she saw in amazement a teardrop fall from her aunt’s eye, drop onto the card, skim quickly across its engraved surface, and drop to the bed coverlet. Immediately a second fell, and then another.
    Sweeping aside the bedding, she slipped from the bed to hurry over and embrace her aunt. “Please, please don’t cry,” she said in a stricken voice. “I did not mean to upset you, dearest, truly I didn’t.” But the older woman’s slim shoulders still shook with the enormity of her unhappiness, and moments later Clarissa felt hot tears spill down her own cheeks in sympathy.
    “I—I only want—to see you—happy, dear,” Heloise gasped out between sobs. “And a little diversion in my life … before I am shut away to die. Is that so much to ask?”
    “No, no, of course not,” Clarissa replied, patting her aunt’s shoulder gently. “We must simply think the matter through. There are all manner of diversions to be had in London.”
    Heloise lifted her head. “None of them can repair the injury done me by Letticia Throckmorton. At this very minute she’s gloating about my exclusion from the patroness list at Almack’s.”
    “I doubt that,” Clarissa said comfortingly.
    “Do you? Do you, indeed?” Her once-tear-filled eyes turned bright with challenge. “I hadn’t meant to say a word, but since you will not believe me”—she rose to her feet—”come along.”
    Glad for this retreat from tears, Clarissa followed her across the hall and into her bedroom. Heloise marched directly over to her desk and pulled out a letter which she opened and handed to her niece. “This came yesterday. Read it. Read every line, though I can quote it by heart.”
    Clarissa took the letter, her brows lifting as she saw the poor script which she was being asked to decipher. “Dear Lady Arbott—why, she misspelled your name.”
    Heloise sighed. “The beginning is conventional. You may skip that.” She ran her finger down the page. “Yes, here is the part that speaks of you.”
    Clarissa’s attention quickened. “Me? What could she possibly say about me?”
    Heloise smiled serenely. “She extends her condolences—let’s see, how did she phrase it?—‘… upon the continued desertion by your ungrateful niece.’”
    “Ungrateful? Let me see that.” Clarissa bent her head to read the lines. “Why, she did pen those very words!”
    “And more,” Heloise assured her with a little nod. “She hopes I will not despair of your return, for ‘children can be so trying.’ She then reminds me that her own daughter,