To Dishonour A Duke

Chapter Sixteen

George stays true to his word and is waiting by his carriage before the clock strikes 10. He greets Clara with a sharp nod and silently climbs inside without waiting to help her. Clambering in after, she immediately notices the change in demeanour and the tension that hangs in the air.  He barely speaks a word for the entire journey into town and keeps his head turned away from her even as she tries to entice him into conversation. After several failed attempts, the knife in Clara's bag seems a little too tempting for her liking, although which of them she would use it on, is unsure. 

"Silent and moody does not suit you." She says as they cross the river, the blue sparkling in the early morning sun. 

"And bitter and petty does not suit you." He retorts, throwing a judgemental glare in her direction. 

She stiffens. "I wasn't aware I was either of those things." 

"Well, you were last night." His words possess a finality to them, and his whole body is positioned away from her, but Clara does not relent. She shuffles across the velvet and forces him to look at her.  

"George, I am not trying to hurt anyone with my plans." She insists, "Kitty is inconsequential but I will admit that she hurt me. I was not trying to send her to the tower or ruin her reputation, but it felt good to put her in her place, and I will not apologise for that." 

"You mean beneath you?" He says harshly. 

"You heard what she said, in front of all those people. How could I just walk away?" 

"She was wrong to speak to you the way she did. She spoke to you out of fear and insecurity, she lashed out, But you, however, you enjoyed that moment you had over her. You relished in it." 

Clara recoils as though stung, his angry glare infecting her. "And you do not like that?" 

"My brother is the same, and Clarissa in a sense, but they live a darker life. I thought that you...that your life..." He trails off, shaking his head.  

She scoffs. "You thought that my beautiful life was all light and brightness." 

"You think me naive?" 

"No." Her voice softens, "My life is too drenched in riches and pearls to be seen as anything else. It's too pretty and perfect." 

George looks as though he wants to say more but it is Clara's turn to shift away, and she moves back to her side to gaze out of the window; the elegant buildings of Belgravia racing by. Sucked back into an uncomfortable silence, the rumbling of the carriage is the only sound to distract them. 

34 Old Bond Street is located in the area of Westminster,  a few streets behind the walls of Buckingham Palace, with St James's Park to the east. The streets are bustling with activity, the dressmakers, fancy bakeries, banks and jewellers attracting the most wealthy clientele. Women pause to observe the window displays, their eyes lighting up at the new silks and velvets brought in from India and Spain, while the men puff on their cigars, discussing their financial business in booming tones. Servants and shop workers run after their customers, attending to their every need as they try to earn their coins for the day. 

Stepping out of the carriage on the corner of the road, Clara smiles as a wave of familiarity and comfort hits, the scene before her, a reminder of who she is, and what she is fighting for. Her lightness is ruined as George follows her onto the street. 

"They are all so empty-headed." He glowers, glaring at the lords and ladies as they amuse themselves with sparkling ribbons and investment checks. She hums in reply and places her parasol on her shoulder, shielding her face from the sun. He gives her a strange look, questioning the need for such a bulky accessory.