Seeing Double

Viscount Edward Ridgely held out his hand to receive the dainty, gloved fingers of the incomparable Lady Paulina Sinclair, as she stepped lightly from his phaeton, followed closely by her Aunt and chaperone, Lady Agatha Westcott. Her eyes immediately widened at the sights of Bartholomew Fair before her. 

‘Is it what you were expecting, Miss Fletcher?’ the Viscount asked, his lips curving with amusement at the look of wonderment on her pretty face. 

If Lady Sinclair suffered a pang of guilt at being referred to by her twin sister’s name, she didn’t show it. She smiled warmly up at him, and his heart performed the strange manoeuvre to which he was still becoming accustomed- the triple somersault with full twist that it performed each time this rare gem bestowed that smile upon him. 

‘Not in the least,’ Lady Sinclair replied, her eyes twinkling adorably. ‘It is quite something else entirely.’ 

If the enterprising Lady Sinclair was to succeed in her plan, it would be the greatest triumph imaginable for her twin sister, the shy but staggeringly beautiful Miss Rosalie Fletcher. If she were to fail, however, the scandal that would ensue…Lady Sinclair shook her head lightly, foisting the thought from her mind, then tightened the fetching pale lavender bonnet, set over her raven black ringlets, which framed her delicate features.

As the identical twin sister of the staggeringly beautiful Miss Fletcher, Lady Sinclair could thus be described the same way. But shy, she was not. Vivacious, rambunctious, irrepressible- all more apt terms for Lady Sinclair. So it was, then, that she had found little difficulty in securing a wealthy, titled husband in the countryside, without the need to even venture into London for a season. 

For her sister, however, attracting a suitor who was worthy of her birth and quality had proven more difficult. Not a single complaint could be made about Miss Fletcher’s deportment, nor disposition. She could never be accused of saying nor doing the wrong thing. Only of never saying anything at all. Miss Fletcher, when spoken to by a member of the opposite sex, was inclined to nod or shake her head accordingly, smile becomingly, colour ferociously and take the next opportunity offered to her to disappear. 

It was after watching such a routine play out at yet another country ball in Devon that Lady Sinclair had decided to take matters into her own hands. A well-connected Aunt in London was to be the conduit by which she would assist Miss Fletcher to make her entrance to society and secure a suitable match. As good fortune would have it, Aunt Agatha hadn’t seen either of the girls since they were in leading strings, and even then, she had never been able to tell them apart. Only those most closely acquainted with Paulina and Rosalie could distinguish one from the other- and usually only if observing them both at once. Then, their emerald green eyes provided the clue as to their true identify.  As Paulina’s eyes met those of another, they would twinkle becomingly, while Rosalie’s would, not unbecomingly, drop to inspect the tips of her toes. 

Lady Sinclair, already with child after a prolonged honeymoon period spent in the company of the dashing Earl of Devon, and suffering the effects of morning sickness to prove it, knew that the opportunity to so assist her sister would present only once, and for a limited time at that. Her dresses and carefully positioned muffs would only hide her condition for so long, nor would her adoring husband long permit her absence from his side. Lord Sinclair, of course, could not be admitted to Lady Sinclair’s confidence about her intentions in London. He was only to know that she was to travel there ahead of Miss Fletcher to prepare the residence for Miss Fletcher’s arrival, and to prepare Aunt Agatha to act as chaperone. 

Aunt Agatha, on the other hand, was to believe that it was, indeed, Miss Fletcher she was receiving ahead of time, and that Lady Sinclair would be the one to arrive later and relieve her of the duties of chaperone. 

‘Where shall we begin?’ Lady Sinclair asked her dashing consort.

‘I am at your service, Miss Fletcher. Do you wish to seek entertainment with the animal attractions, the vendors, or perhaps a ride on the overboats?’

Lady Sinclair eyed the precarious-looking contraption, hoisting fool-hardy patrons high into the air, and with a shudder, quickly dismissed the idea. ‘Nothing could coerce me to set foot in one of those,’ she said firmly. She tucked her hand into the crook of the Viscount’s arm, and steered him in the direction of the vendors, lined up in rows of tents and stalls, and swarming with people from all walks of life. ‘Perhaps a browse of the wares on offer first, to ease us into things. I might see something I may gift to my sister. She arrives today, you know, from the country.’ As they fell into step beside each other, Lady Sinclair gave the Viscount’s arm a discrete squeeze. ‘I’m so glad of your accompaniment today, my Lord. I was so looking forward to seeing the sights of the fair, but I must say, in hindsight, it doesn’t seem quite the thing for a lady of quality.’

‘I must admit, when you suggested the scheme, I had some reservations. But seeing your eyes light up, my dear Miss Fletcher, has filled me with satisfaction and I can’t regret agreeing to escort you here.’

The Viscount, when he had arrived for the start of the season three weeks prior, could never have imagined that he would now be in this position. Ready to shackle himself to the most beautiful debutante the season had offered up. He had resisted many a lure thrown out to him in his five and thirty years, but this one, he had taken up willingly. Undoubtedly a lady of quality, nothing but a proposal of marriage would do for Miss Fletcher. She had conducted herself throughout their courtship with the utmost of propriety- always chaperoned, and with infallible discretion. With the focus of every eligible bachelor in London upon her, she had not wavered in her genteel attentions towards the Viscount, and he believed her affections to be sufficiently engaged to make his suit attractive. Today was the day. It must be. The perfect betrothal ring, he had. He gave the pocket of his double-breasted tailcoat a pat to be sure. Yes, the perfect moment was all he required.

‘Lord Ridgley, oh, do look! Piglets!’ The Viscount felt himself pulled purposefully to his left, and was soon confronted by a pig pen, containing a variety of young swine, overseen by several fully grown swine, decidedly more human in appearance.

‘Would Miss like to see one up close?’ asked one of the swine, displaying a gap-toothed smile beneath his cap. 

‘Oh, yes!’ Lady Sinclair cried, clasping her hands together in anticipation. ‘They are simply the most darling things I’ve ever seen!’

The Viscount stifled a rejoinder with a quick clear of his throat, and then took a step back, as the human-like swine reached into the pen in an attempt to scoop out the nearest piglet- a petite fellow with an array of black splodges across his back and sides. The piglet let out a wild squeal, and his four little legs became a blur as he searched for traction in the mud beneath him. Miss Fletcher, who had not the forethought to take a step back as the Viscount had done, found herself with several splatters of mud down the front of her pale lavender walking dress. She gave a shocked exclamation, followed by a giggle, and stepped away to inspect the damage. 

‘Oh dear! Look at me. How foolish of me to stand so close. Of course, the poor darling would kick up a dust at being caught. Whatever shall I do?’ Lady Sinclair turned twinkling, enquiring eyes upon the Viscount, and his sudden cardiac arrhythmia returned.

‘Never mind, dear Miss Fletcher. Let us step aside and see what shall be done. I’m sure with my handkerchief the situation may be salvaged.’

Lady Sinclair slipped her arm back into the crook of the Viscount’s and allowed him to pull her aside, behind a nearby stall. Once out of the way of prying eyes, the Viscount took Lady Sinclair’s gloved hand in his. ‘Now, what is to be done?’ he asked, with a smile.

Lady Sinclair, suddenly aware of the absence of Lady Westcott, noticed a flutter in the pit of her stomach. It had not been her intention to be alone with the Viscount. She didn’t doubt his honour, or that a proposal was his intention. If she were not masquerading as her unmarried sister, she would feel little qualms about her current situation. However, Lady Sinclair was determined that the person to receive the Viscount’s proposal should be the one he was to indeed marry. A man of honour would be much less likely to cry off if he had at least proposed to the right twin. 

‘My Lord, we seem to have lost Aunt Agatha,’ Lady Sinclair said, searching fruitlessly over the shoulder of the Viscount.

‘We shall be not a moment setting your dress to rights, and then we shall find Aunt Agatha,’ the Viscount responded. ‘I notice, Miss Fletcher, that the young swine appears to have muddied your left glove, also. Allow me to remove it, so that I may clean it more easily.’ 

Lady Sinclair, clearly seeing the danger up ahead into which she was wading, could do little but hold her hand steady while the Viscount deftly pulled at each fingertip, releasing her glove, and sliding it from her hand. He laid it across his forearm, and then, as Lady Sinclair had predicted, turned his attention back to his real object. 

‘Miss Fletcher, I have been wishful of a moment alone with you to discuss-' The Viscount punctuated this pretty speech with a delicate kiss to the back of Lady Sinclair’s ungloved hand- ‘a matter most close to my heart.’

‘Lord Ridgley-' Lady Sinclair began, as her stomach began to churn in earnest.

‘Edward.’ The Viscount turned Lady Sinclair’s hand in his, offering his lips to the underside of her wrist.’

‘E-edward, please,’ Lady Sinclair stuttered, ‘It’s only that-' Lady Sinclair brought her gloved hand to her mouth in an effort to avoid the smell wafting over them that was quickly turning her insides upside down. ‘I don’t feel quite the thing. I think I may need to-' Lady Sinclair was relieved of the need to explain further, as she dry-retched into her hand, and the Viscount dropped her hand, and placed a protective arm around her shoulders. 

‘Miss Fletcher, I do apologise. I didn’t realise- I mean, I pray I’m not the cause-'

‘Oh, no!’ Lady Sinclair protested. ‘Not at all, my Lord, but do please take me home. I will feel better directly, once there, I am sure.’

‘Of course, my dear. I will restore you to Lady Westcott at once and take you home, and if it is not repugnant to you, I will call on you later.’

‘Oh, yes, please do, my Lord.’

***

Several hours later, Lady Sinclair, her nauseous episode happily a thing of the past, was closeted in her bedchamber with her newly arrived twin. 

‘Rosalie, it is wonderful to see you- and in such fine bloom! I just know you will make the Viscount so happy.’

‘Paulina, do you really think we should go ahead with this? That is, assuming the Viscount does propose, won’t he be upset to find that it is I, not you, to whom he is betrothed? He is bound to realise once he sees us together, don’t you think?’

Rosalie had taken some convincing to agree to Lady Paulina Sinclair’s plan. To allow her incorrigible twin to travel to London before her and debut as herself seemed like a plan fit only for the heroine of a romance novel, and not one to which a sensible girl should assent. Lady Sinclair, however, had always had her ways of winding Miss Fletcher around her finger. On this occasion, the only argument required was that if Miss Fletcher delayed her arrival in London long enough for Lady Sinclair to form an attachment for her on her behalf, Miss Fletcher would be spared the necessity of displaying her airs and graces to the ton herself. She could attend all the functions, wear all of the finery, and enjoy all of the gaiety as a happily betrothed woman. 

‘Perhaps, my dear, but it will take but not a moment longer for him to realise that he is much better off with you, than with I. You will be the most perfect Viscountess, Rosie. So demure, and sensible. As you well know, my beloved Lord Sinclair has the patience of a saint to put up with me the way he does.’ Lady Sinclair took to the task of arranging Miss Fletcher’s curls in just the way she herself had worn them earlier that morning. ‘Now, let us go over the events of this morning once more to ensure you have it right. We started at the vendors, and then I noticed the piglets. That is how my glove came to be dir-' Lady Sinclair’s face lit up in sudden inspiration. ‘Oh, of course! Rosie, you must wear my gloves from this morning! There is still a small stain, despite my best efforts to remove it. When the Viscount sees it, he will know at once that he has the right twin!’ 

Rosalie looked at her sister’s beaming smile and offered a weak smile in return. ‘The way you call me the ‘right twin’ seems so very… wrong, Paulina.’

‘Not at all my dear,’ Lady Sinclair replied, clasping Rosalie’s hands in both of hers and giving them a reassuring squeeze. ‘Today is the day. It must be. By the end of the day, you will be happily engaged to the most eligible bachelor in London, and I, Lady Sinclair, will be- well- Lady Sinclair once more!’ 

***

The Viscount paced the drawing room carpet of Lady Westcott’s residence, awaiting the arrival of Miss Fletcher. He had been confident of his suit until this morning, when Miss Fletcher had taken ill at the fair. He had thought his advances would not be unwelcome, as certain she must have been that they were to precede a declaration of his intentions. Never had his lips on a maiden’s skin caused a sudden attack of nausea. 

The Viscount looked around quickly, pausing in his stride, as the drawing room door creaked open, and the resplendent Miss Fletcher entered. Immediately upon meeting his eyes, hers fell to the floor, and her cheeks filled with colour. 

‘Miss Fletcher,’ the Viscount said with a bow. ‘I’m happy to see you looking well, and in fresh attire. Unparalleled in beauty, as always.’

‘Th-thank-you, my Lord,’ Miss Fletcher stammered, and failed to suppress a giggle.

‘What have I said to trigger your amusement, my dear?’ the Viscount asked with a smile.

‘N-nothing, my Lord. Only that I can assure you, there is one who is my parallel in beauty.’

The Viscount closed the space between them, and brought Miss Fletcher’s hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. ‘I will believe it only when I see it, Miss Fletcher. If it was at all possible, I would say you had become even more beautiful than when I last saw you this morning. Your sister has arrived, I deduce? I saw her travelling coach out the front as I pulled up.’

‘Y-yes, my Lord.’

‘I trust she travelled well?’

‘Y-yes, my Lord.’

The Viscount studied Miss Fletcher’s flustered countenance, concern knitting his brow. ‘Edward. Please, call me Edward.’ There was not a moment to waste. Miss Fletcher was clearly discomposed. He must know the answer, whichever way his cards were to fall. ‘Miss Fletcher, I have come here this afternoon with the desire of asking you if you will do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage. You must know that it was my intention to ask you this morning, before you became unwell’

‘M-my Lord-'

‘Edward.’

‘E-Edward. It would be my greatest honour to accept your offer, should you truly wish it.’ Miss Fletcher lifted her eyes briefly to the Viscount’s, before dropping them again, but a moment later, she found her gaze captured by the striking brown eyes of the Viscount, as he lifted her chin with his fingers, and his lips met hers in a crushing kiss. 

Somersaults? No. This was fireworks. The Viscount pulled away and held captive the sweet face between his hands. Why had he never noticed before how her emerald green eyes looked up at him with such innocence through those long, dark lashes? ‘Rosalie, I-I can’t even describe how it feels to finally- I mean, I couldn’t even imagine how-'

The Viscount couldn’t finish this riveting speech, before the doors to the drawing room were thrust open, and in entered a vision in dark purple, followed by Lady Wescott, in puce. The Viscount looked from his betrothed, to Lady Sinclair, with his mouth hanging slightly open. ‘You didn’t mention your sister was your twin, Miss Fletcher.’

‘D-did I not?’

‘I can assure you, Lord Ridgley, that my sister is the superior twin by far, in every way imaginable,’ Lady Sinclair declared, with a ravishing smile. The Viscount kissed the gloved fingers extended towards him and raised his eyes to meet the twinkle in Lady Sinclair’s. A tilt of the head was the only sign of recognition, before he turned back to the flushing Miss Fletcher. 

Taking her hand in his, and noting the small stain on her left glove, a slight smile on his lips, he summarised the situation succinctly. As Miss Fletcher’s eyes met his, and stayed there, he uttered, ‘Unparalleled, my love.’