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Chapter 7
Just a Dinner Party
“Dearest Glenys: I was overjoyed to read your letter. I still cannot believe what has gone on, myself! I do hope we can continue our friendship, if only by correspondence for the moment. If Miss Sophia gives you any trouble for writing during work hours, just tell her your good friend the Duke’s sister gives you permission. Of course, if Mrs Fitzroy says anything, you had best not mention my name at all!
“Please do give my regards to Mr Boyd and the rest of the staff. If you would tell them I have not forgotten their kindness during my employ at the Fitzroy household…”
“No, that’s not right,” Clara said to herself, scratching out this last sentence. “Mr Boyd will certainly remember how hatefully he behaved towards me, and I do not want my letter to come as a threat…”
Clara looked around her solar as she considered what else to include in her letter. The day had grown quite warm, and the sunlight that flooded through the tall windows bathed the room in a beautiful yellow light. Her scarlet canary, as usual, brightened her spirits but was quite useless with letters.
What does a nobleman’s daughter say in her correspondence to a friend who is still a maid? she asked herself. Are we even still allowed to remain friends if we cannot visit one another during work hours? Is this a problem any other lady ever encounters?
She was rescued from this minor dilemma by a familiar gentle knock at the door. “Come in, Françoise,” Clara called, setting her pen down beside the inkwell.
But as the door opened, it was not her maid who entered but her half-brother, dressed in a smart if too-large black suit and intricately tied cravat. “Your Grace,” she said, rising from her chair and giving a curtsy.
“Good afternoon, Miss Clara,” he said in his usual distracted tone. His eyes roamed about the room as they stood there in silence for a moment.
Is he expecting me to engage him in proper conversation? Clara thought with a gulp. As if I know what to speak about to a Duke…or a brother, for that matter!
Though her interactions with the Duke had been cordial enough, she had had few opportunities to interact with him absent his guardian, and she was still convinced that he did not care much about her one way or the other.
“Oh!” said Christopher as he caught sight of the canary. “This is where Pomodoro was taken to!”
“Pomodoro?”
Christopher nodded, a boyish look of glee gracing his awkward adolescent features. “Father brought him back for me from a trip to the Continent when I was a boy. I said he was the colour of a tomato, and Father taught me the Italian word for it, and…”
He trailed off, blushing as he stepped away from the birdcage. “Well. That is, I’m just glad someone is taking care of him. He used to be in my room before I had to move to…before I was named Duke, you understand.”
Clara frowned, unsure how to proceed with this encounter. “Perhaps we could have him moved to your new chambers? Surely the Duke St. George can decorate his room however he likes!”
But Christopher only shook his head angrily. “It would not be appropriate for a grown man, let alone a Duke.”
Clara felt her heart melt, consumed with a feeling of sympathy for the young man. How is it in the week I have been here I have not once considered how terribly difficult this time must be for the poor boy! Losing a father, thrust into a position beyond his understanding…
Suddenly it seemed quite obvious how much she had in common with Christopher.
“I did not even know he had a name, Your Grace,” she said gently, approaching the cage to admire the bird’s acrobatic hops between the gilded bars. “He is a handsome fellow, isn’t he?”
Christopher nodded, giving her a bashful smile. “He likes a nice spray of millet, I found. Makes him sing for ages. Cook should be able to get you some.”
She flashed her most pleasant smile at the Duke. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am most pleased to know that. And of course, you may come visit him any time you like.”
Clearing his throat, the Duke began to pace about the room nervously. In a more formal tone than before, he said into the air between them, “I…er, hope you have been feeling more at home here, Miss Clara?”
“Oh, yes, Your Grace, thank you,” she answered honestly. “I have very much appreciated getting to learn more about the household, about the family and Father—er, His Grace the late Duke, that is.”
Christopher looked to her sharply. “Indeed? What have you learned of him, then?”
She paused to choose her words carefully. “I have learned that His Grace was a very kind man. Beloved by his family and his staff, and from what I can tell of such things, he was an excellent Duke.”
Clara felt her heart twist as these words appeared to be painful to Christopher’s ears, judging by the ferocity with which he bit his lower lip upon hearing them.
“I…wish I could have known him as you did,” she added, hoping she was not running wildly out of line now. “I do not think anyone could wish for a better father.”
With a curt nod, the emotion drained from Christopher’s face in a heartbeat. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. Then, with another clearing of his throat, he resumed his pacing and changed the subject abruptly.
