To Dishonour A Duke

Chapter Nineteen

"Have a nice time." He says, a hand on the open door, "And don't think about the rest of them." 

He goes to shut the door but Clara sticks her hand out to stop it. "What do you mean the rest of them? What are you talking about?" 

"I simply want you to have fun, and not worry." 

"Worry about what?" 

Jasper's complexion is turning pale and he takes a small step back. "Whoever it is you are worried about."

"Please explain." 

"Clara, you have hidden in the house for the last week." He sighs, "You have never been so reclusive, so I presumed something must have happened with a member of the ton, and I am not so delusional to the rumours that travel." 

"I can handle myself." 

"I don't doubt that, but people can be harsh, and they can tear down every inch that makes you you. James would never want that to happen to you, and neither do I." 

"They can try their hardest, but I promise you, I will never let them win. I will hide and I will hold my tongue but I have a plan so that they will be the ones that are torn to the ground, not us. Never us." 

Jasper inhales sharply, and his tone clipped. "Very well. I am glad to hear it."

 He shuts the door and steps away as the carriage pulls away.  Clara waves through the window and then settles into the velvet, her hands clammy in her lap. She crosses her ankles to prevent her feet from bouncing and fiddles with her ring, twiddling it through the net gloves. The path the vehicle takes follows the outer wall of the city, travelling north around London to the east suburbanran outskirts. 

Stirwell Manor, the home of the late Dowager Duchess of Richmond, now in the hands of her eldest son and his wife, comes into view; a stunning estate of sandstone and large windows, with two stone staircases leading to the front door. Two butlers stand by the open doors welcoming people in, flowers guiding the guests down the hallway towards the ballroom at the back of the house. Clara's carriage joins to the short line on the gravel driveway and when the driver stops in front of the middle of the house she slips out with help from a servant. Taking a minute to admire the grandeur of the house, other guests walk past her, casting odd looks as she turns her head, enjoying the sight of the tall windows and carved features. 

Picking up her skirt she glides up the stairs, flashing a brilliant smile at the butlers as she passes into the house. It gives her satisfaction to hear their little intakes of breath, a startling blush growing on one of the men's faces as the other continues to watch her walk down the corridor. The ballroom is intricately designed with Greek murals painted onto the ceiling and gold crowning running throughout, the same gold as the statues and candle fixtures that don the walls. Floor-length windows are spread across the right side of the room, offering a delightful view of the extensive grounds and garden. Multiple candelabras bathe the room in a warm light that makes the copious amount of gold fixtures sparkle and flood the guests in a golden glow. 

Despite the obvious capacity of the room, the gathering is one of the most intimate Clara has ever seen in London.  She recognises most of the faces, all gentle souls, but it is the lack of the usual headaches that causes her to feel uncomfortable. She edges around the room, avoiding the eyes of those brave enough to attempt to greet her. An orchestra plays in front of a grand fireplace, and their soft melodies have attracted the majority of the crowd, who sway as they sip their drinks. 

Clara hunts for a strawberry-coloured head within that excited gathering but George is nowhere to be seen.  Uselessly, she turns in a small circle, searching for him but she spots Clarissa and Daniel on the approach and pauses. The Duke and Duchess are dressed in finely made clothes, Clarissa's pale blue dress layered with gold thread, a heavy diamond hanging around her throat and a small bejewelled headpiece pinned into her dark hair.  Daniel is wearing a dark coat over a white shirt, his pressed trousers perfectly contouring the hard lines of his body. A flash of black slips out from behind them and Clara's blood runs ice cold.