A bundle of anticipation tangles in Clara's stomach as the driver announces that their destination is in sight. Her finger furiously fiddles with her ring and her foot begins to bounce as the top end of Fairfield Street trundles past them until the carriage draws to a stop. As though sensing her nerves, George sends her a reassuring smile and offers his hand.
"Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Clara replies, accepting his hand.
Together, they step out onto the street and are greeted by numerous candles lining the steps up to the house. They flicker and dance in the darkness, illuminating the ivy that is woven between the railing, bright purple flowers blooming from the vines. In front of the door stands a man, his pressed uniform crisp and fresh, a gloved hand on the door handle and a serious expression on his face. He scrutinises them for a moment as they approach, arm in arm, but as they reach the top step he steps to the side and opens the door, allowing them to pass with a low bow. Across the threshold, the tinkling of music reaches their ears, the light melody swelling and abating. Multiple vases of lilies line the way to the ballroom, their delicate scent filling the air, mixed with the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen.
"I may have purposely arrived a little late." George murmurs as they walk through the quiet hallway. "For the dramatic effect and all."
"Oh, I know." Clara pats his elbow, walking with slow and deliberate steps. Her heart begins to thud against her ribs as they round the corner, the staircase to the ballroom in sight through an open door. George catches her as she falters, most of the colour draining from her face.
"Clara?" He peers down at her with concern.
"It's been a while." She whispers, transfixed by the faces of friends and foes, mixed below on the dancefloor, drinking and laughing, completely oblivious. Glasses of champagne and whiskey are clutched in their hands, jewels gleaming around the necks of the women, beautiful dresses of many colours spread across the room while the men joke and jest, their hungry eyes darting from girl to girl. With London's richest and most powerful jumbled together, every conversation is a test and an opportunity to prove your worth. One mistake could ostracise you from society forever.
"It has been a while." George agrees, "But you are who you have always been and there is nothing they can say that will ever take that away."
She turns to regard him with suspicion. "That was awfully nice of you. I was expecting disparagement to motivate me into action."
He shrugs. "It is not completely selfless, I need you, but doubting oneself can be utterly crippling and I do not wish to see you suffer that for no reason. What use would it be to beat you when you are down?"
"That is..." Clara pauses to find the right word, "...very just of you."
He beams and extends his arm, the other folded behind his back. "Now, may I have the honour?"
Smiling down at her, she has to appreciate the richness of his looks and the bright twinkle of his eyes, it distracts her from her leading thoughts. "I'd be delighted." She goes to expect his arm but then stops and steps back. "Oh, one moment please." She undoes the bow under her chin and sweeps off her cloak, baring her shoulders to the air. George's eyes grow wide as she balls up the material and drops it into the drawer of the nearest table.
"What is the matter?" She asks, adjusting the neckline of her dress. "I'll remember it before I leave."
"I...." He shakes his head, admiration shining in his stare. She flashes him a cheeky smile, resting her arm on top of his and together they walk to the open double doors. Clara schools her expression and holds her head up high, her frame, rigid. Her grip on her partner tightens but he doesn't seem to mind, and she counts her steps, timing them to perfection.
The butler notices the late guests and snaps to attention, bowing and spreading out his arm to invite them down the stairs. He rises as they draw level with him and George offers him an easy grin but the man's eyes have become locked on Clara, disbelief evident. George coughs quietly and snaps the man back into his role, blushing at being caught.
"Shall I announce you?" He croaks, fiddling with his collar.
"If you could." George straightens up, "Sir George Cavendish, and I am sure I do not need to introduce you to my companion." He gives her a wink, which she has to resist the urge to roll her eyes at.
"Of course." The butler steps to the edge of the staircase and clears his throat, the spluttering sound grasping most of the attention of the guests. "Sir George Cavendish, escorting the beautiful, Lady Clara Eaton."
A complete hush falls across the ballroom as every head whips around to stare at the new arrivals. The orchestra falls into a quiet moan as the silence descends, whispers beginning to stir in the corners of the room. Clara allows George to steer her forward and she grips his arm tighter, holding her skirt up as they take the stairs at a slow pace, aware that they hold every eye. Next to her, she feels him drink up the attention, unable to conceal his pride and satisfaction, however, she remains numb as the guests part at the bottom of the staircase, allowing them to pass through. Eyes still follow them as they walk to the edge of the room, but music strikes up and conversation returns to normal.
Letting out a gasping breath of relief, Clara turns to address George but before she can utter a word a pointed cough sounds behind them.
"Well, isn't this the most tremendous surprise?"
She cringes as the horrible grating voice of Kitty Rochford reaches her ears. George notices her squirm next to him, but she doesn't answer his questioning look, instead forcing her face into the politest smile she can offer and then gracefully turning around to address the other woman.
"Quite." Clara's gaze travels over Kitty and her companions, narrowing as Kitty's snobbish face twists with amusement.
"Alone are you?" Kitty looks around, faking sympathy. Tonight, her dirty blonde hair has been knotted into a slick bun at the back of her head and the rich plum dress she wears highlights her slim waist and narrow arms. She pouts, her thin lips curling up. "Though it is unfair for us to be surprised considering the state of your brother."
Her two companions snicker behind their hands, but they fall silent as Clara turns a steely glare on them. Their eyes fall to the floor, as she looks at their leader, tilting her head. "Alone? Are your eyes failing you as well as your mind?" She pats George's arm fondly, "George Cavendish was so very kind as to accompany me tonight."
Kitty sneers, keeping her attention on Clara. "But no mother, or brother in sight? Are you the only one left standing?"
"I assure you, the other members of my family are quite well." Clara flexes her free hand but keeps the pleasant expression in place. "Though I will inform them of your concern."
"That's quite amusing actually, as Beatrice heard something rather alarming recently, didn't you Bea?" Kitty gives the brunette a pointed look and seizes her arm, dragging her forward.
"Yes, my mother heard that your mother married a naval man after only three weeks of knowing him." Beatrice squeaks, her tiny stature allowing everyone to tower over her.
Kitty pretends to be shocked. "From a duchess to a.... sea wife? Are you sure your mother is well in the head?" She shakes her head, reaching for Clara's hand, "And that makes you what exactly? Not a lady that is for sure. A fisherman perhaps? Or a sailor's bastard."
"I would wonder whether it is your place to say." George interrupts, angling his body between her and his partner. "And whether this is the place to say. Tonight is for dancing and merriment, no?"
"Are you inclined, sir?" Kitty bats her pale eyelashes in his direction, her curved eyebrows rising.
"Not with the woman who has put this murderous intent into my companion," He replies pleasantly, "But I thank you."
"Oh, we were just having fun." Kitty protests, waving away his concern, "You know how old friends can be, always poking fun. My girls can look after her while we dance if you are concerned she will be abandoned by everyone else."
"That is the least of my worries, I assure you." George avoids her outstretched hand.
"Still a leech I see." Clara comments.
"Still a whore I see." Kitty retorts, her spiteful gaze running over Clara's dress.
Clara stiffens as the three girls giggle. Detaching herself from George, she walks up toe to toe with Kitty, who is missing a few inches to look her straight in the eyes.
"What are you doing?" Kitty tries to back away but Clara grabs her elbow and holds her on the spot.
"I think I need to make something clear to you," Clara states, her nails digging into Kitty's skin. "Yes, my mother has remarried. His name is Sir Hugh Abbington, and yes, he was in the Navy, he is a Commodore, and part of the reason your father isn't whoring you out to the French." The girls gasp, but Clara ignores their outrage. "However, this does not change my status, as I am still the sister of the Duke of Devonshire, and above you in every way that will ever matter. You can insult me and my family all you like, Kitty, but it will not change the fact that you are nothing more than a gold digger with a slightly symmetrical face, and enough lack of sense to entice a poor gentleman into a fuck behind the greenhouse." She leans in closer so that they are almost nose to nose, "Do not forget, I know you. I know who you have crossed and who wishes you ill."
Clara releases her and steps back, satisfied by the terrified looks on the girls' faces.
"But I....but you cannot speak to me...." Kitty splutters, smoothing out her hair.
"I've been away for several months, you had your chance to step up and claim my place but as far as I can tell you have made no effort at all to better yourself, and that is no one's fault but your own."
"Things are different." Beatrice says, striking up a sense of courage, "Times are changing, and the town has seen that your family is not as perfect as you have pretended to be."
"So?" Clara looks at her expectantly.
Beatrice falters, looking away, and Kitty jumps in. "You cannot hold onto the crown forever. You will age and you will make mistakes, and you will have to relinquish all this power you believe you hold."
Clara considers with an added ounce of respect and nods. "You are correct, however, even as the crown slips away from me, it will not go to any of you, and I may age and make mistakes, but my triumphs will not be forgotten, and my name will be remembered even after I am dust." She gestures around. "I would enjoy this if I was you, it will never last."
Kitty, Beatrice and the other girl are silent, shuffling their feet and fiddling with their jewellery. Finally, Kitty raises her head, a vicious smile on her face. "At least my family isn't running around the countryside sleeping with servants, fishmen and Spanish whores, because that is all people are talking about. You are a disgrace, Clara."
"Ladies, I believe we have reached an impasse." George ducks between them, his movement graceful and smooth as he sweeps an arm around Clara's waist and pulls her away before she can scratch Kitty's eyes out. "We shall bid you goodnight."
"Goodnight indeed," Clara grumbles, tugging against his hold but without real intent to escape back to the vicious ladies glaring daggers at her as they walk away.
"They are hardly pleasant at all." George comments, "How does our society produce such vultures?"
"In abundance." She says, stealing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter before flattening herself against a pillar. She closes her eyes, the cold marble cooling her flushed skin as the alcohol tickles her throat as she drinks deeply.
"Well, I think we handled that quite well."
Her eyes snap open. "We?"
"I would like to claim 30% of the credit," George says, pleasantly.
"I'll give you 18."
"Done."
They share a small smile but George's drops immediately as he spies something over her shoulder.
"What is it?" Clara turns in the same direction.
"Uhh...nothing....it's no one." He grabs her shoulders and prevents her from turning around.
She looks affronted but then her expression becomes understanding and she sighs. "It's her isn't it?"
"I don't know who you mean." He mutters, looking anywhere but at her.
"Evelyn."
"I apologise, Clara," George says in a rush, "They do not normally attend balls or any social occasions. I did not think they would be here."
"That is quite alright." She says, peeling his hands off her and handing him her empty glass. "But I may duck out of here for a moment. I have no wish to confront another reminder of my fall from grace."
"She's not..." He shakes his head, "Of course. Find me when you are feeling better."
Clara smiles gratefully and then turns away and skirts down the side of the ballroom, heading for the glass doors that lead out into the garden. She is only a few steps from escaping the clouds of coughing perfume when a sharp hand coils itself around her forearm.
"And where you running to?" Elizabeth De Roch demands, having broken off her conversation with the french ambassador to apprehend her. "Don't you know it is polite to thank your host upon arrival?"
Shooting an apologetic look towards the foreign official with his mouth open, Clara unpeels the older woman's fingers off her arm. "My apologies, I was seeking fresh air is all. It is a beautiful dance and I am humbled to be invited."
"You are avoiding the many eyes of my guests I don't doubt." Elizabeth hums, "It was your choice to announce your return in such a manner so you must suffer the consequences that follow."
"But Elizabeth..." Clara tries to protest but her words are drowned out by a thick flow of french from the ambassador's mouth. He bounces forward and takes her hand, kissing her knuckles.
"C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Lady Clara, votre marraine me parlait de votre éducation inhabituelle et des scandales qui ont suivi."
"Was she indeed?" Clara struggles to understand but she catches the main message, "Some people just cannot resist a story."
"Corriger! En fait, mon ami, Fra Gorder, m'a dit que les Anglais ont un penchant particulier pour le scandale bien qu'ils se considèrent comme les plus raffinés. Amusant, non?"
"Hilarious," Elizabeth says in the dryest voice.
"Are you enjoying England so far then, sir?" Clara asks, entertained by the constant energy of such a portly man. She particularly enjoyed the flutter of his moustache when he speaks the letter t.
"Appelez-moi Anne-César!"
She bows her head, "Anne-Cesar, how are you loving London?"
"It is rather cool, and it rains." His companion steps in, a light accent attached to his words, "We are looking forward to leaving."
"Oh really? Is it not a preference to be in a slightly damp country as opposed to one on the edge of a financial crash without a monarch or any resemblance to a figurehead?" Elizabeth keeps her tone light but the flash of triumph is unmistakable.
Both Frenchmen bristle and exchange dower looks.
"Anne!" A cry of delight breaks the tension between them and the party swivels around to see a flash of white blonde hair as a girl throws her arms around the ambassador. His face morphs into one of shock and then joy as he catches her and squeezes her tight. They break off and began talking in rapid french, their words fading into the next.
Elizabeth coughs pointedly and the girl stops talking, flashing an apologetic smile in her direction. With elegance, she slips to the side and curtsies to the host, her light pink skirts crinkling as she sinks low.
"My apologies, Lady Elizabeth, my excitement ran away with me."
"Now that is obvious." Elizabeth tuts, "Explain yourself, Miss Wright."
Evelyn pushes a lock of curly white blonde hair behind her ear and the corners of her heart-shaped mouth lift. "Anne-César tutored my brother for a time a while ago, he became a part of our family but when he returned to France when we were forced to move to the countryside. We heard nothing after the death of King Louis and feared the worst, so you can imagine my surprise to see him here tonight."
"It is a wonder you didn't faint with delight." Clara didn't mean for the cutting words to escape her mouth, but every gaze falls on her and she has to resist the temptation to fidget.
"Quite...." Elizabeth covers the tense silence by rapping her stick on the floor. "Now where is your partner in crime, Miss Wright? While I am sure I did not invite him, I have no doubt he is here."
A blush steals over her cheeks and she bows her head. "Duke Blackmoore is currently hiding between the orchestra and your doormen. He sends his deepest apologies for the intrusion."
"I am sure he does." Elizabeth grumbles, "Well go fetch him. If a man is to crash my dance then at least he must have the gull to face me head-on. Cowards are not welcome in my home."
"At once." Evelyn bows her head.
"Clara, accompany her." Elizabeth orders, using her stick to push Clara towards the other girl, leaving her no room to argue. "See that they do not hide or run."
Evelyn raises her eyebrows but does not protest as Clara steps to her side and the two begin to stroll towards the musicians. Clara is content to stay in silence but Everlyn breaks it
"So...a great deal of time has passed."
"Time does tend to do that." Clara comments, not looking at her.
Evelyn chuckles. "You have always charmed with your wit, Lady Clara. I actually...."
"I do not mean to offend, Miss Wright," Clara interrupts, stopping by the raised platform that the musicians are on. "But I have little interest in repeating history, nor in entertaining a friendship that can never happen."
Evelyn stops walking and looks ashamed. "You are right to be wary, I was quite vicious as a young girl."
"Merciless, some might say."
"Merciless? I suppose I deserve that." She sighs, "But I would like you to know that I have changed my ways. Four years in the country taught me more than I can express, and I see the errors of my ways."
"With all due respect, I do not care what you want to me know," Clara states, "Clarissa told me you had changed, and that may be true, but that doesn't excuse you from what you did to people."
"I know it doesn't, and I am deeply sorry that I ever felt like I had to hurt my fellow debutantes to stay on top but that was the past, and I would very much like to keep it there."
"You forget, Everlyn, I am you," Clara says, irritated by the simpering act, "I know everything you did and said to be who you were. Including the things that no one else knows about, the things that no one else blames you for."
"Evelyn?" A man pops out from behind the oboe and hesitantly walks over to her. Shock crosses his face when Clara turns around to face him. "Clara?"
"Nathaniel. What an unexpected surprise." Clara smiles briefly, "I was just speaking to your....to Evelyn here, we were reminiscing."
"You two are acquainted?" All polite pretence has dropped from Evelyn's face and she is glowering as she looks between Duke Blackmoore and Clara.
"We previously ran in similar circles," Clara explains, careful to keep her distance from him.
"And our mothers are friends," Blackmoore adds. "We have known each other since birth."
"It is nice to see you again," Clara says to him. "And looking more put together than this afternoon."
"The same could be said for you." He says.
"This afternoon?" Evelyn turns an accusatory eye on him. He shuffles on the spot, his mouth opening and closing but no words escape. "Blackmoore...." She warns.
"I am not a threat to you." Clara declares, "I have no interest in you or your life, so do not take it out of him, another innocent."
"Clara." Blackmoore tries to speak, but she curtsies shallowly.
"Excuse me." Swift, she spins on her heel and walks away. A sense of regret twists in her stomach but she ignores it, spotting George's face hovering by a pillar. He sees her coming and opens his mouth but she doesn't give him time to talk as she steals his hand and pulls him into the middle of the dancers.
"What are you doing?" He whispers as she places his hand on her waist and locks the other with hers.
"We are dancing," Clara mutters, placing her free hand on his shoulder.
"But why?" He lets her lead the steps as the music strikes a higher chord.
"Because it's a shield." She replies, "Now put on your best performance."
Her conflicting emotions fade away as she concentrates on the steps, counting in her head, making each movement graceful and precise as they waltz around the room. She is surprised by how elegant her partner dances, he leads her confidently and moves with catlike grace despite his reluctance.
"Why do you not like her?" He asks, looking down at her as they pass Evelyn standing with Blackmoore.
"She broke my brother's heart," Clara answers honestly, unable to look up.
"James?"
She shakes her head. "Edgar."
"Ah." He breathes out a sigh, "They do say a man will try to outrun heartbreak to the edge of the world."
She lets out a dry chuckle. "He is giving it his best go."
They remain on the dancefloor for the next four songs, and they dance around the floor until their feet hurt and their breath is short. They clap as the orchestra finishes the song with an extended crescendo and then George escorts Clara from the floor to a seat at the edge of the crowd. They sit down in comfortable silence, drink and smile politely as guests give them strange looks as they pass by. They fall into a natural conversation, chatting about the insignificance of life, content with each other's company. As the clock strikes ten, guests begin to leave, leaving George and Clara to sit and watch the highest members of society stumble around, intoxicated and irate.
"Clara!" Kitty wobbles over to them, followed by Beatrice, and an older woman, who is unmistakably Kitty's mother. They both have the same straight hair and narrow features, bone sticking through their curves. "Clara Eaton, you will show me respect!"
Clara rises to greet the three women, "Lady Rochford, Kitty, Beatrice." She nods to each of them.
"Kitty is unhappy." Lady Rochford hiccups, the stench of stale wine wafting from her.
"I am dismayed to hear that," Clara speaks delicately.
"You were rude to her." Beatrice accuses, her eyes sliding in and out of focus.
"Perhaps this is not the time for this conversation," George suggests, standing up and offering his arms to Kitty and her mother. "May I have the honour of escorting you to your carriage?"
Lady Rochford blushes and melts onto him, beaming. They begin to walk towards the staircase but Kitty darts around him and points at Clara. "You are a vile and heinous person and I curse your return. If you were smart, you would return to the countryside with your whore of a mother and stay there until you die!"
"Kitty!" Lady Rochford covers her mouth in shock.
"She is a whore!" Kitty shouts, her words seizing everyone's attention. "You said so yourself, mother, her whole family are whores and bastards with witchcraft and trickery to keep them on top!"
"Forgive me." Clara inclines her head and walks away, but Kitty remains hot on her heels.