Chapter 6

C larissa settled gingerly on a cerulean-striped Chippendale chair in Lady Helmsley’s morning room. “I apologize for arriving at your home uninvited,” she said as she opened the buckles on her valise. “I assure you, I have only come due to the greatest necessity. This letter will explain more.” She passed Sir Henry’s missive to the countess.

Lady Helmsley pulled a pair of spectacles out of her pocket and began to read. Her eyes went wide almost immediately.

“Gracious me,” she said when she was finished, peeling off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. “Surely the assassin cannot think to murder him at Christmastime!”

Clarissa thought that someone so deranged as to want to murder someone at all would probably pay little heed to the festive season, but she nodded sympathetically. “It is my hope that the threat has remained in London, and there will be no incidents to mar your house party. But we must take every precaution.”

“You’re right, of course.” A footman appeared with the tea tray the countess had requested. “Bring that over here, Richard,” she instructed.

Once the tea tray was arrayed on a side table, Lady Helmsley gestured for Clarissa to help herself. “Go on, child. You must be famished.”

Clarissa was, and she helped herself to a pastry dripping with peach preserves. It was so good, and she was so hungry, she had to force herself to nibble it daintily instead of devouring the whole thing in three bites.

Once Lady Helmsley had prepared them each a cup of tea, she leaned back in her seat. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the notion of such a delicate young lady working for the Home Office!”

Clarissa chuckled. “I fear I am not so young and not at all delicate.”

The countess waved this off. “You seem young to me. Wait until you’re my age. You’ll understand.”

“As to my employment with the Home Office, I must ask you to keep that confidential. I would not ask you to keep a secret from your husband. But if you could not tell anyone else, and if you could impress upon his lordship the importance of keeping this information to himself, I would appreciate it most sincerely.”

“Of course, dear. Of course.”

“There is one more thing. Sir Henry told me he would be sending at least one additional agent to watch over Mr. Baxter. This person is unknown to me. Should someone approach you with a similar letter of introduction, I would appreciate it if you could point them out to me so we can coordinate.”

“I most certainly will. And I will tell Toddington to make up a bedchamber for you. Has your trunk been brought in?”

Clarissa cringed. “I fear I departed in such haste, I had to leave my trunk behind. The plan was that my associate would send it on the following day. But with the sudden turn the weather took, I worry it might not arrive for some time.”

“Don’t fret, child. You’re of a size with my Emily. Believe me, she has enough gowns for both of you. I will tell her you were separated from your luggage, and we are working to get it back.”

Clarissa felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes. The countess was being so kind.

After years of being made to feel like a pariah, despised by all good society and mocked behind her back at every turn, she had almost forgotten that there were still good people in the world.

The countess was peering at her with concern. “Is everything all right, child?”

“Yes, I—” Clarissa drew in a shaky breath, rubbing at her eye. “You’re being so tremendously kind about all of this. I appreciate it more than I can say.”

Lady Helmsley was studying her. “The world has not been overly kind to you these past few years.”

Clarissa gave a weak smile. “That is something of an understatement.”

The countess tilted her head, seeming to weigh her words. “I know that the papers printed all manner of awful things about you two years ago. But many people did not believe those articles, dear.”

“Everyone I’ve met in the intervening years seems to have believed them,” Clarissa said, unable to keep the woefulness from her voice.

“I will not ply you with false reassurances by claiming no one listened to those lies. But everyone who knows Rupert understood at once that the letter was a fabrication. I have been saying for years that those rumors were a bunch of rot. I know that Lord Helmsley has been doing the same. I can see why you might have believed yourself to be friendless. But you aren’t, and the truth is, you never were.”

Clarissa nodded tightly, suddenly having trouble forming words.

“Rupert will also be staying through the holidays,” Lady Helmsley noted. “But that will be all right, won’t it? Now that you know he didn’t write that letter, things will not be awkward between the two of you, I hope.”

Clarissa paused. The truth was, she was still struggling to untangle her confused feelings about Rupert Dupree. He insisted that he was innocent, and Lady Helmsley seemed sincere in her conviction that he was telling the truth.

But Clarissa found it difficult to sweep two years of cursing his name aside in one day. Rupert Dupree was the man who had ruined her life and the man who had most probably saved it last night when he prevented her from freezing to death. He was the village idiot, and one of the kindest, most agreeable people she had ever met.

He claimed he was innocent, and part of her wanted to believe him. But was that just a convenient excuse?

Clarissa didn’t know what to think anymore. She was confused—an uncomfortable state for someone who prided herself on being incisive.

Lady Helmsley was awaiting a response. “It is hard for me,” Clarissa finally said. “If you could only know what the last two years have been like…” Her voice cracked, and she trailed off.

Lady Helmsley leaned forward, pressing her hands. “My dear child!”

Clarissa surprised herself by saying, “The worst part was not that my own reputation had been ruined. But they dragged my sisters’ names through the mud as well.”

Lady Helmsley was stroking the back of her hands with her thumbs. “I am sure it must have been terribly distressing.”

Clarissa swallowed. “But I can admit that Mr. Dupree is not the monster I was expecting. I am… open to the possibility that he is innocent in all of this, something I could never imagine saying before today. And I promise that I will not be the cause of any unpleasantness to mar your house party.”

Lady Helmsley squeezed her hands again before sitting back. “Considering all you have been through I think that is more than reasonable. Come,” she said, rising from her seat, “I’m sure you are weary from your journey. I’ll have a footman show you to your room.”

After thanking Lady Helmsley again, Clarissa followed a footman up the stairs. She felt relieved to have made it inside the house party.

But now the real challenge—protecting Oliver Baxter from his would-be assassin—would commence.

As Clarissa shut the door to her rooms behind her, she wondered if she would prove equal to it.

The soft light of a winter afternoon streamed through the windows when Clarissa awoke several hours later. Someone had set out a wrapper and a pair of slippers for her, and she hurried to put them on. Even with a fire roaring in the grate, the room was chilled—unsurprising for December in Yorkshire.

She started as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The wrapper was a soft pink, the same shade as peonies. After two years of wearing nothing but brown, taupe, and walnut, she was unaccustomed to seeing herself in such a bright color.

Clarissa had started wearing her signature dirt-colored dresses, as her sisters called them, in the aftermath of her jilting. She’d been receiving quite enough attention, thank you very much, and anything that made her stand out was something she desired to avoid.

But now, her brown wardrobe was a key to her success as a spy. She literally blended into the castle’s wood-paneled walls! It was amazing how little attention people paid to a woman thought of as dowdy, and Clarissa had overheard all variety of secrets over the years.

She was counting on doing it again this week.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” Clarissa called, assuming it might be a maid.

It proved to be three maids, along with a smiling young lady with dark hair and dimples. “You must be Miss Weatherby! Did I awaken you? I hope I didn’t awaken you. But it will be time to dress for dinner soon, so I thought I ought to bring over a few gowns. I’m Emily, by the by.”

Clarissa curtseyed. “Lady Emily, it is a pleasure. I cannot thank you enough for lending me a few gowns until my wardrobe catches up with me.”

Lady Emily seized her hand. “It is the least I could do! I cannot imagine your distress, for your wardrobe to be goodness knows where. It is a tragedy of the first order!”

Clarissa hadn’t given the matter much thought. To be sure, now that she was sister-in-law to a duke, she had a wardrobe of new dresses cut in the most fashionable styles, if not the most fashionable colors.

But Clarissa had never been one to pay much mind to her wardrobe. Still, she didn’t want to be disagreeable, so she replied, “Oh, er… Yes. Yes, indeed.”

Lady Emily gestured for the maids, who each bore a heavy armful of dresses, to lay their burdens out on the bed.

That was when Clarissa noticed the problem.

There were gowns of pink and yellow and blue. Celadon green and orange sorbet. Vivid reds and brilliant purples.

But there wasn’t a trace of brown to be seen.

“What do you think about this one?” Lady Emily asked, pulling out a gown of bright fuchsia silk adorned with crystals . It was all Clarissa could do not to gasp in horror.

“Oh! It’s lovely,” Clarissa said. And it was. Her youngest sister, Pippa, would have looked wonderful in it. “But I don’t usually wear such bright colors.”

Lady Emily took this in stride. “Oh. All right, then.” She sifted through one of the piles. “I have just the thing—this one is a bit more demure.”

The gown she held out was of emerald-green velvet with a daring neckline. While the color was an improvement over the pink, Clarissa had a feeling it would draw even more stares.

Peering at the stack of dresses, Clarissa asked, “You wouldn’t have anything in a nice shade of brown?”

“Brown? Gracious, no!” Lady Emily shook her head so hard, you would have thought Clarissa had asked if she had a burlap sack she could borrow. “I don’t have anything like that ! Brown is for spinsters and dowagers.”

Clarissa chuckled awkwardly. “Which is why I wear it. I am five and twenty. Very firmly on the shelf.”

Lady Emily gifted her with a glowing smile. “Not after I’m through with you! We’re going to make you the belle of the ball. Just you wait, Miss Clarissa!”

The belle of the ball ? Clarissa felt slightly ill. She had to blend into the wallpaper! “Oh, that’s all right. I honestly don’t want to be the belle of the ball.”

“Don’t be so modest.” Putting her hands on Clarissa’s shoulders, Lady Emily propelled her with surprising force to the cheval mirror. “Leave everything to me!”

Clarissa’s sputtering protests were bowled over by a tidal wave of benevolence. Lady Emily was determined to show her that she could be beautiful, but how to explain that she did not want to be beautiful?

As bright dress after bright dress was held up to her in the mirror, Clarissa began to panic. “If not brown, do you have something in black or grey? Perhaps a nice olive—”

“ I have it !” Lady Emily cried, digging through one of the piles of gowns on the bed. When she spun around, she clutched a gown of bright, cherry-red silk.

Clarissa took an involuntary step back—the way most people did when confronted by a large, hairy spider.

“I daresay that this one will flatter you to perfection ,” Lady Emily said, bearing down on her with a look of absolute assurance.

“I don’t… I couldn’t possibly…” Clarissa spluttered.

Lady Emily held the horrific garment up before her. All three maids oohed in appreciation.

“That’s the one, all right,” the petite maid with brown curls said.

“Red really is your color, if you don’t mind my saying so, miss.” the plump one with blonde hair agreed.

It happened that Clarissa did mind her saying so. Brown was her color. Brown ! But her stammered protests were summarily ignored. In the space of three minutes, Clarissa found herself stuffed into a fresh shift, stays, and petticoat, then thrust into the red silk gown.

She stared in horror at the sight that greeted her in the mirror. Not only did the color make her stand out like one of Mr. Newsham’s fire engines, but the neckline was a good three inches lower than what Clarissa typically wore. Worst of all, the red silk hugged her every curve.

She looked… pretty . Dear God, this would not do, this would not do at all! She looked like Cinderella after the fairy godmother had done her work, when she needed to look like the before version.

“I have a wonderful idea!” Lady Emily exclaimed. Clarissa could see herself in the mirror, and her eyes had taken on a wild quality, like a fox cornered by a pack of dogs.

Lady Emily did not seem to have noticed, for she was happily sweeping Clarissa’s hair back into a chignon. “What if we do something like this, with a few pieces to frame her face, and then pin a little cluster of holly just behind her ear?”

The three maids squealed in delight. “That will look right smart.”

“It will be perfect for Christmas!”

The third maid seized a brush from the dressing table. “Here,” she said, pushing Clarissa down onto the padded stool, “If one of you will fetch some holly, I’ll get started on it.”

Clarissa blinked at herself in the mirror, dazed and horrified, and wondered what on earth she was going to do now.