The resulting shock for her mother had been swift and immediate. Soon, everyone knew that Lady Bernadette Crompton was confined to her bed. She suffered fits of hysterics that echoed about the halls of Crompton Manor like a death knell.
Friends they had known for years closed their doors to them, and invitations to balls and social occasions were rescinded almost overnight.
Clarissa, who had been enjoying a successful courtship with a promising young Lord, discovered that she had become a pariah by association. He cut all ties as though they had never known one another. Even Clarissa’s best friend, Charlotte Hayes, was forbidden from calling.
As the days drew on, Clarissa felt the cold sting of isolation grow ever sharper.
Her father retreated to his study. He would see and speak to no one but Clarissa. The servants were forbidden from disturbing him, and when she was finally permitted admittance, he was poring over maps of Italy, trying to discover where her sister might have gone.
Looking back on it, those had been the good days. To begin with, her father was determined to find Catherine, and she held out some hope. But after the first few weeks passed, his determination turned to rage.
For it was not only their social standing that was ruined. The Crompton fortunes were heavily tied to her father’s advantageous connections within the Ton, connections that were now shaken irrevocably—some beyond repair. Over time, their situation became increasingly difficult.
They still attended the balls to whom their invitations had not been revoked, but Clarissa had to endure the degradation of continuous, vicious glances and whispers behind her back. She felt bitterly betrayed by Charlotte. Her friend not only ignored her on such occasions but actually participated in the slander being spread about her. Catherine Crompton’s younger sister could not possibly be left untainted by such a scandal.
She did not have her dance card marked for the remainder of the season, and the doors of good society slowly closed about her.
Two months later, she stood at the top of the stairs looking down at her family home, feeling numb, as she often did thesedays. Catherine was gone, and the world was a very different place.
Clarissa watched Annabelle, their maid, walk slowly up the dark stairs, holding a tray of tea in her hands. Clarissa waited until the girl was almost upon her before stepping forward.
“I will take that, thank you.”
“Oh! Good morning, Miss Clarissa,” Annabelle said with an overly bright smile.
All the servants had been on tenterhooks for weeks. Clarissa had noticed the house was deathly quiet through the day, as though every member of their staff was tiptoeing about so as not to cause offence.
“Good morning, Annabelle,” Clarissa said, taking the tray from the maid’s hands and watching her brows raise in surprise. “You can go about your duties.”
The young girl nodded, bobbing a swift curtsy, before descending the steps again. Clarissa steeled herself, took a deep breath, and carried the tray into her mother’s room.
It was horribly gloomy inside. The heavy drapes were drawn day and night, a musty scent filling the air from the medicinal drafts the doctor had prescribed.
Clarissa walked across the room to the bed and placed the tea beside it. Her mother’s listless form barely stirred, and Clarissa sat on the bed to prepare the tea, waiting to see if she might speak today.
There was no response as she held a cup and saucer out. It hovered precariously in her fingers before she put it down with a sigh.
“How are you faring today, Mama?” she asked.
“Has Catherine been found?” The perpetual question.
“Papa is doing everything he can.”
“She will never be discovered,” came her mother’s croaking voice. “She will be killed at sea.”
Clarissa felt her throat tighten at the possibility that her sister was not only an outcast but in significant danger. She had not known Harrison well, and she could only hope that he was a good man and would care for Catherine as she deserved.
“Are you feeling any better?” she tried again.
Her mother’s trembling hand stretched out from the bed. She desperately clutched Clarissa’s fingers as those familiar green eyes looked up at her imploringly.
“Lord Warrington, has he called?”
Clarissa kept the blank mask on her face even as her heart beat faster. Lord Felix Warrington had been her suitor for much of the season. Indeed, she had been expecting an imminent proposal from him.
She had lied to her mother about him every day for the last two months. She had not wanted to be the cause of more pain. But she could not do it anymore.
“No, Mama. I do not believe he will be calling again.”
