To Dishonour A Duke

Chapter Five

Clara shudders as she waits, the crisp autumn air fluttering under her cloak to nip at her skin with its icy breath. She tugs the material closer to her body, and yearns for a bed, despite the anxiety running through her body. Straining her ears, she hears no sound from within the house, and a slight fear enters her mind. She had expected the lack of activity, and that she would surely be waking most people from their slumber, but she had thought there would be at least one-night owl to answer her call.

She raises her fist to knock again but a dull orange glow scurries past one of the windows and then there is the rattling of many locks and knobs. Dropping her arm, she plasters on a charming smile, showing off her white teeth, and waits for the door to open. Her smile slips as she comes face to face with a haggard-looking butler, dark bags under his ratlike eyes and his pinched face twisted into an expression of fury.

"Do you know what time it is?" He demands before she can speak, his livid gaze looking her up and down in downright disgust.

Struck mute for a moment, Clara stares at him blankly and then tries not to smile as she spots a pair of fluffy slippers peaking out from under the rumpled trousers of his uniform.

He follows her line of sight and bares his teeth, shuffling his feet. "Well?!"

Catching sight of a gold pendulum swinging back and forth in the hallway behind him, she leans to the left to gain a better view of a stunning grandfather clock. "A little after three."

"A little after three," he repeats, half whispering, half yelling, "Has the queen died!?"

"The queen?" Clara frowns, perplexed, "Not to my knowledge...."

"Then get off my front step!" The butler moves to slam the door but she is quicker and sticks one foot over the threshold, wincing as it connects with the wood. Steam seems to be pouring from his ears, and his face morphs with fury as she places a firm hand on the door and cranes her neck to look inside.

"Forgive my impertinence, but is at Jasper home?" She offers him an apologetic look but she might as well have cursed his name.

He puffs himself up to his full height in an attempt to appear threatening. "Duke Harrington is asleep in his bed! As we all should be at this time. Goodnight!" He throws his weight behind the door trying to close it but only succeeds in crushing Clara's toes.

She winces. "You have never been a baker have you?"

He gapes at her.

She waves a hand. "Never mind that, would you be so gracious as to notify his grace of my arrival?"

"Are you ill?" He cries, "You need to leave immediately, or I will summon the gardener and his shotgun to assist you off these grounds! Get out of here! Go!"

"There is no need for that." A deep voice booms, despite being plagued by sleep, and then a second source of light floods the hallway as Jasper Harrington steps into view carrying a candelabra. A thick dressing gown is tied over his pyjamas, his dark hair is touselled and he wears an irritated expression that is damped by sleep. His eyes grow wide when he sees Clara and a curse floods from his mouth, now wide awake and alert.

"Good morning..." she says weakly, shrinking away as he wrenches the door open and towers over her with a look of utter fury.

"Clara Wren Eaton...." He pronounces every word with care, his teeth gritted together as he works to control his anger. "You had better have a good explanation or I will flay you alive."

"Give me five minutes and a glass of scotch and I will." Clara attempts to jest but his growl cuts her off and she drops her gaze to the floor, a slight redness to her cheeks.