To Dishonour A Duke

Chapter Seven

Standing on the top step of Fairfield Street, Clara clutches her hands behind her back and braces herself for the hurricane she has just summoned by knocking on the polished wood of the front door. Opened by a butler, it swings open promptly but before the poor man can greet her, his mistress's voice echoes throughout the house and floods onto the street, loud and cutting.

"Who dares to disturb me in my old age?" Elizabeth De Roch yells, appearing in the doorway in a flurry of dark silk skirts, a thick cloud of potent perfume following her as she walks, her stick tapping impatiently on the tiled floor. "Jenkins, who....ah!" She trails off, her eyes widening in recognition, a calculating expression crossing her face.

Clara sinks into a dutiful curtsey, her head lowered and arms poised politely at her sides. "Lady Elizabeth."

Tall and imposing, with passionately piercing eyes, Elizabeth De Roch holds herself with great importance, her mere presence a gift to those around her. Her wit and sharp mind are not matched by any woman and while age has faded her beauty, she bears a timeless elegance and is gifted with the utmost refinement. Her terrifying stare has been known to reduce men to quivering boys, and she boasts a lavish lifestyle despite the lack of a husband or father to care for her. Nevertheless, bright diamonds dangle from her neck and solid gold rings decorate her wisened fingers.

"Clara Wren Eaton...my, my..." Elizabeth places both hands on the top of her stick and shakes her head, a few grey wisps escaping from her loose bun to curl around her face.

Clara rises elegantly and offers her a small smile. "It has been a long time and yet time has not changed you since we last met..."

"Some might say not long enough." Elizabeth's quick tongue cuts her off, her narrowing eyes scrutinising the younger girl. "You have come alone? Where is your mother?" She leans forward and scans up and down the quiet street.

"She is....unavailable at this time."

Elizabeth immediately relaxes, her hunched shoulders dropping. "Thank god, It is no secret I cannot stand her."

"Something we share in common at present."

"Oh? All is not well in the Eaton Household?"

Clara arches an eyebrow, her grip tightening on her cloak.

"Naturally, aside from the obvious." Elizabeth waves her hand, "But your brother's name has died from people's lips, we have had a murder and a grand wedding to distract us from his scandal, and I must say I thoroughly enjoyed both."

"So I heard."

"Hmmm." Elizabeth steps back, "You had better come inside then." She flaps her hands at the butler. "Let her in for goodness' sake and bring us some tea to the Eastern parlour. The sun should be bathing that room by now."

Jenkins presses into the door to allow Clara to enter, then he helps her to remove her cloak, folding it over his arm. "I believe the cook has just placed some scones in the oven, would the ladies be partial to one of them with their tea?" He looks between her and his mistress, his nose twitching slightly.

"What else do you suggest we do with them?" Elizabeth barks, "Let them grow stale and throw them to the birds?"

Jenkins blanches, unsure how to respond so Clara interjects with a disarming smile. "Scones sound delightful, Jenkins, and perhaps some fresh cream and jam if cook has it."

Relieved, he inclines his head to her. "A pot of blackcurrant jam was made just yesterday, I shall bring it all up as soon as it is ready." Then he bounds off in the direction of the servant's stairwell and the kitchen.