Caprice: The Masqueraders Series - Book One Read Online Free PDF Page B

as no more than the influence of their birthright. The remaining defects—and there will be dozens—will be laid at your doorstep as examples of your incompetence.”
    “ ’Tis plain you see very little credit to my abilities,” Clarissa said shortly. “What else is left a widow?”
    “Marriage!” Heloise answered promptly, only to smile as she saw the famous Holton obstinacy enter Clarissa’s expression. “A man is exactly what you need. And not just any man. You need a Holton.”
    Clarissa shook her head slightly. She had forgotten the strange twists and turns her aunt’s mind was likely to follow. “There are no more Holtons, Aunt, not even a Highland connection.”
    “Are there not?” Heloise’s eyes grew round, but having once pounced on an idea, she could not easily be dissuaded from it. “Too bad, it would certainly simplify our search.”
    She lifted her eyes to the dazzling man in the portrait above the mantel. Quite unexpectedly her eyes misted over. “Dear Quentin, it was the one regret of my life that I could not give him sons. He deserved them. If ever there was a man, that was Quentin.” She dabbed at the tears with a lace handkerchief drawn from her sleeve. “Find a man the equal of my Quentin, and not even the lack of sons will dim your memories.”
    Clarissa gazed up at the portrait. Her earliest memories of her uncle Quentin were of a mostly absent personage of whom every other member of the family went in awe. A fearless traveler to exotic ports, he spent only a few short weeks of every year in England. When he was in residence, Dolick Hall came to life as never before. Peacocks strolled the lawns and parrots could be found winging their way through the chestnut trees. The roar of a lion, the fleet-footedness of ostriches, the chatter of monkeys, even the lumbering stride of an elephant had at one time or another all been witnessed in the parkland. The more unwieldy animals eventually found their way to the London menagerie, for Quentin Holton was never satisfied long with that which he possessed. Only in the matter of his wife did he seem constant. But even love could not sate his wanderlust.
    “You will not credit it, but I thought I saw Uncle Quentin in Plymouth.” Her aunt’s startled exclamation brought Clarissa’s attention back to the present. “Forgive me. I meant only that I saw someone who reminded me of him.”
    Heloise nodded briefly, pressing her lips together as she mopped the spilled sherry from her lap. “Tell me about him, dear.”
    Clarissa felt herself blush. “There’s little to tell. He wore the Arabic garments Uncle Quentin often preferred.”
    A secret smile eased the pinched pleats of Heloise’s mouth. “Quentin always did enjoy dressing up. I still possess the harem gowns he brought me. But what has that to do with your gentleman?”
    “He was not a gentleman,” Clarissa replied crisply. Now that she had brought the subject up, she was eager to be done with it. “He seemed rather the inspiration for Lord Byron’s pagan corsair.”
    “A very remarkable gentleman, our Lord Byron,” Lady Heloise responded. “Society never can abide an individual who thumbs his nose at them and still manages to live happily. But we stray, dear. Describe your pirate.”
    Perhaps it was the reference to Lord Byron’s new work that colored her memory, but in searching for an appropriate description of the stranger, Clarissa found herself reciting lines from that most recently published work.
    “‘… Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt, / From all affection and from all contempt …’”
    “My, my,” Heloise murmured. Her quick eyes did not miss the flicker of color that darted in and out of Clarissa’s cheek. “Do you know what makes a good marriage, Clarie? Electrification!” Clarissa’s mystified expression made her smile. “All Holtons possess it, Quentin in abundant proportions. The moment he stepped into my dressing room all those years ago, I