To Dishonour A Duke

Chapter Six

The long journey and restless evening take their toll upon Clara and she sleeps soundly through the remainder of the morning, only to be gracelessly awoken by a bright stream of sunlight pouring through the open window as a maid jerks the curtains apart. Groaning, she rolls onto her stomach and buries her head into the middle of the pillow, ignoring the scurrying sounds of the servant as she moves around the room. Try as she might, the sound of china and a cheery song from the unwelcome intruder prevents her from dozing and she is forced to admit she will be unable to sleep in. Irritable, she sits up and stretches. 

"Good morning, Lady Clara." The maid places a tray on the table under the window and curtsies politely before turning back to lay out the tray, the scent of crisp shortbread wafting from one of the plates. "May I offer you tea, biscuits?" 

"I am content, thank you." Clara says, eyes widening at the heavily laden tray, "I thought breakfast was to be served downstairs." 

"It is, but the mistress likes to wake to tea, and she has become partial to something sweet in the morning, so this is provided to all. " The girl explains, "Can I not offer you a simple cup of tea? It is imported from India, and is of the finest quality." 

"Very well," Clara says, and then she notices the empty chair. "Where is my dress? I placed it there last night." 

"The duke ordered it be washed and ironed before being returned to you." The girl says, pouring the fragrant tea into a delicate cup, the leaves catching in the strainer. "Hargreaves has fetched your clothes from town. You shall find them in your wardrobe along with your shoes and a few accessories. He sends his apologies as he could not take the entirety of your wardrobe but it would not fit in the largest of carriages." 

"My dresses?" Clara bounds out of bed and rips open the wardrobe almost fainting in delight to see her old gowns again. Crammed into the oak piece, an array of bright colours are bursting from the inside, gowns of silk, taffeta, velvet, velour and lace all twinkle in the morning light. She runs a hand across the sleeves, beaming, each dress sparking a new wave of delight. Attached to every gown is a memory, a feeling that cannot be captured, happiness trapped forever in a simple item of cloth.

"You are satisfied, my lady?" 

"Satisfied?" Clara takes out a purple silk gown with a beaded bodice and turns to face the maid, the full skirt swishing with her. "I am ecstatic. Oh, how I have missed these clothes." She runs her fingers across the intricate design, the weight of the expensive material feeling right in her hands.  

'"The duke will be pleased." The maid comments, placing the cup and saucer on the vanity table. She brushes her hands on a stark white apron and smiles warmly. "Breakfast will be in half an hour, but should you need me please ring the bell." 

"Wait, what is your name?" Clara stops her before she can leave the room. 

The maid looks uneasy but answers. "Lucy, my lady." 

Clara carefully lays her dress on the bed and picks up the cup. "Thank you for the tea, Lucy." 

"You are welcome, my lady." Lucy smiles and then she shuts the door.  

Alone, Clara takes a tentative sip of her steaming beverage but is surprised as a wonderful burst of rich herbs and fragrant spices explodes in her mouth. This tea is quite the change from her normal cup. Placing the tea down, she turns back to her wardrobe, calculation upon her face, her fingers tapping restlessly on her hips. Clara was taught from an early age that the power of appearance is not limited to attraction, that the way you look can directly influence the way someone perceives and treats you. It can be the difference between being seen as a child or an adult, a whore or a lady. Thus, when picking an outfit, you must decide how you wish to be seen.