The Rebellious Twin by Shirley Kennedy Page A

debacle.
    Soon, abiding by her mother’s request, Clarinda dutifully began a graceful sweep down the main staircase in synchronized step with her sister, their fans held at precisely the same angle. As for the smiles, Mama should be grateful she could manage a tiny upward curve of her lips, let alone match Rissa’s dazzling effort. Below, she could see arriving guests milling about the main entry hall, most of them looking upward to watch The Grand Entrance of the Twins. I shall be so glad when this is over. She was half way down the stairs when one particular pair of dark brown, nearly black eyes caught her attention — the eyes of Robert, Lord Stormont.
    He was standing in a casual stance looking up at her in a manner both sharp and assessing. He briefly nodded and half smiled. She started to nod back, but then wondered whom was he nodding at — her or Rissa? In fact, how did he know which twin he was smiling at? And further, was his nod one of recognition or was he simply smiling at the freakish, ridiculous spectacle of two adult human beings striving to look exactly alike? She decided not to grant him a smile after all, but instead, turned her attention to the Lords Sufton who stood at the bottom of the staircase looking up at them. Both were identically attired in dark, double-breasted frock coats, breeches, dark stockings, and soft leather pumps. She was continually astounded they always dressed alike, even though they weren’t compelled to. Good grief, even their cravats were tied exactly the same!
    Rissa nudged her. “Which is which?” she whispered from behind her fan.
    Clarinda raised her own fan. “That’s Lawrence to the left, Larimore to the right.”
    “How can you tell?”
    “Easy. Larimore’s the balder of the two.” Both twins had rapidly receding hairlines.
    They reached the grand hallway, spectacular with its vaulted ceiling and high fanned windows. Rissa greeted Lawrence while Clarinda, turning on determined charm, murmured, “Good evening, Lord Sufton, how dashing you look tonight.” What a lie. Both Lawrence and Larimore looked as bland as potato pudding with their small eyes of a nondescript color, undistinguished noses, and weak chins.
    Larimore awarded her a deep bow. “You look dashing yourself, Lady uh, uh…”
    “Clarinda.”
    “Ah, yes, Clarinda! I declare, you two are alike as — “
    “And how was your journey from London, Lord Sufton?” This, indeed, was going to be a terrible night.
    “Splendid weather,” he answered, “‘twas a sunny day.”
    “Do tell. I had heard it might rain.”
    “Might rain? Oh, yes, yes, come to think of it, there were a few rain clouds in sight.”
    “Well, happily it did not rain, sir.” How could she marry this milksop of a man? She would be doomed to boredom the rest of her life.
    The orchestra struck up a tune. “Might we dance, Lady Clarinda?” asked Larimore, regarding her with puppy dog eyes. “I hope I can have all your dances. I hope … well, uh, uh, I might have something important to ask you before the night is over.”
    “Do tell, Lord Sufton.” Ah, no, no, no! The end of the world was coming. How could she possibly say yes? But if she didn’t…
    What a pity Donegal would never appreciate the sacrifice she was about to make.
    *
    Well into the evening, Clarinda took a respite from her tedious dancing with Larimore and came to stand with Rissa and Mama.
    “Well, has he asked yet?” inquired Mama.
    “No.”
    “Hinted?”
    “Perhaps. He — “
    “Good evening, Lady Clarinda.”
    Lord Stormont His tall presence had loomed in front of her so unexpectedly that for a moment she was speechless. “Good evening, sir,” she said, recovering quickly. Remembering her manners, she performed introductions. Stormont had met both her parents in London on more than one occasion, but never Rissa, to whom he bowed briefly. Rissa, appearing instantly taken with him, started prattling her usual inanities, but he soon turned back to