To Dishonour A Duke

Chapter Nineteen

Clara and George shortly part ways with the promise of the ball lingering over their heads and the twisted face of Dante; a current concern. Clara stares, unseeing, as the grey of the streets blends into the dark green of the countryside and soon the carriage arrives at Chester Valley.  

She traipses up the stairs to her bedroom and collapses onto the soft blankets, her feet dangling over the edge. Her eyes follow the swirling pattern of the ceiling, and the soft curves and delicate flicks of the moulding ease her mind into a calm state and then to sleep. Her dreams are strangely vague with flashes of colour and bright flames dancing within her mind. There are no clear images and the last of the bright lights are instantly forgotten as Lucy rouses her around five o'clock.  

It takes a great effort for Clara to slip off the bed and shed her crumpled day clothes as her head feels heavy and her eyes flutter with restlessness.  Her heart is not in it as she selects a dress and dutiful holds her arms up for Lucy to dress her.  In tune with her promise, the dress is one of the more modest and simple dresses that Clara owns; a pale peach gown with a full skirt and a square neckline.  The ivory ruffles around the sleeves, neck and waist give a fairytale look and the delicate beading across the bodice glimmers in the candlelight. The first hint of grease appears in her hair as she brushes the waves out so she ties it up into an intricate bun at the nape of her neck and adds a peach ribbon around the base. She is expressionless as she applies a light layer of makeup, the simple colours enhancing the smoothness of her skin and the brightness of her lips and eyes. With her usual pearls hanging from her ears and around her neck, she pulls on a pair of net gloves and slips her feet into a pair of satin heels to finish the look. 

"You look very beautiful," Lucy assures as Clara walks away from the table to inspect her figure in the mirror. Clara makes a nondescript sound, her critical gaze running over every edge and bump of her body. An empty feeling fills her stomach as something tight latches onto her self-worth and self-loathing rises to her mind.  

"I think we should restrict the morning shortbread to every other day," She says, a hand on her stomach. 

Lucy's forehead creases with concern but she nods. "Very well, my lady. Is there anything else I can do for you?" 

Clara turns away from the mirror to face her. "Is the carriage ready?" 

"I believe so but I will go check for you." Lucy quickly tidies away the spare pins and rouge, picking up the worn clothes as she heads for the door.  

"You may retire after doing so." Clara instructs, "Thank you for your help." 

Lucy bobs a curtsy and leaves the room. An itching travels over Clara's skin as she applies a final layer of red to her lips, the mirror in the corner of her vision.  Unable to resist she walks back to stand in front of it, her fingers begging to smooth the creases and pull in the waistline. It is not that she thought herself plain or distasteful, only that she holds memories of being exquisite and full of confidence, never once studying her appearance with such critique or shame.  

"I have not seen that dress before," Jasper says, leaning in the doorway, a faint smile on his face. "Your brother would love to see you like this." 

Clara laughs softly, "You haven't seen half of my wardrobe, there are many dresses you and James have yet to see." 

"All I mean to say is that you look quite lovely." 

"Quite lovely..." She grimaces, looking down at the silk skirt.

"May I escort you to the carriage?" Jasper holds out his arm.  

"I suppose that would be acceptable." She takes his arm and allows him to lead her from the room and down the corridor. They take the steps in silence, but it is pleasant, a sense of warmth between them. Jasper walks her out of the front door and helps her into the carriage, assisting her to gather her layered dress and climb onto the seat.