To Dishonour A Duke

Chapter Eight

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Elizabeth asks as they enter the dining room on the ground floor. This vast, open space held a grand table carved from darkened oak, with seats laid out for at least twenty people.  A pristine white tablecloth covers the surface with two places set for dinner. 

"Yes," Clara answers, casting a critical eye over the line of maids and manservants that bow and curtsey as they pass. Their uniforms are as starched and pressed as the tablecloth, with not a speck of dust to be seen. Their obedience and respect for their mistress are evident as they keep their expressions soft and their eyes lowered. 

"But you do not sound satisfied?" Elizabeth takes the seat at the head of the table and Clara sits to her direct left.  

"There was not as much information as I wished for," Clara says, laying a napkin on her lap, "Nothing to aid me with my plans."

"Oh indeed?" Elizabeth looks thoughtful as she gestures over Jenkins. "I couldn't help but notice you had looked at a book on the Wellesley family. Red or white?"

Jenkins presents two crystal jugs of wine to Clara, who blinks in surprise, distracted. "It's midday...." She says slowly.  

"Of course you are right." Elizabeth shakes her head and flicks her hand to the butler. "White it is."

Jenkins pours them each a large glass of white wine and places it down in front of them. Elizabeth immediately seizes hers and takes a delicate sip, holding it by the stem with precise elegance. Clara copies her, enjoying the crisp taste of the wine upon her tongue. Placing down the glass, she fixes Elizabeth with a curious stare, "Why do you speak about the Wellesleys? Were you ever acquainted?"  

"There was a time when I would have called us friends." Elizabeth speaks carefully, a withdrawn look entering her eyes, "But then we fell into an argument and we never spoke again. As I flourished, he fell into the background and was forgotten, which is no less than he deserved. Nowadays I imagine there are few that will acknowledge his mere existence."

"His name is on the tongue of influential people these days," Clara tells her. 

Elizabeth freezes, her head jutting up. "Whom do you speak of?"

"The Lenoirs, the Cavendish brothers."

"Ah, the young and foolish." Elizabeth shakes her head, "They do not know his past or his talent for tricks. I hope  they have their wits about them, that man has a serpent tongue."

Clara leans forward and lowers her voice. "He is offering contracts, deals, and partnerships, with the guarantee of a healthy profit. Not all of it is strictly legal from what I have heard but most of it appears to be perfectly legitimate."

"The only thing that man can guarantee you is a headache." Elizabeth says with bitterness, "But I suppose that is what can happen when you disappear for twelve years. Most who suffered by his hand or remember his true nature are dead or have retired to the countryside." Darkness shadows her face and she studies Clara intently, "You haven't...?" 

Clara grips her glass tighter. "Not me." 

"Who?"

"My father."

"Ah." Elizabeth lowers her wine, "Now that does surprise me."

"Why?" Clara sat up straighter.  

"Because it was your father who made him disappear." Elizabeth explains, "We were friends, the three of us. While I have no tolerance for the weak, what Jacob lacked in strength,  his mind made up for in brilliance, and Killian trusted him, and so did I. He had a talent that he could use to benefit others, and it gave him courage." Her expression turns forlorn, "But that courage mutated into arrogance and he started to take too much from those that trusted him."