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The gentleman who was called “Mr Morton” bowed to her from where he stood. “It is a pleasure, Miss Clara,” he said in a deep voice. Head still spinning, she curtsied again dumbly.
Then Clara spied Mr Morton tapping the boy on the back of his shoulder. With a start, the boy—the young Duke, Christopher St. George Clara assumed—looked in her direction with as steely a gaze as a child could muster and spoke in a clear, loud voice, “Thank you for coming, Miss Clara. We are most pleased to have you here among our family, and…”
He paused, scrunching up his face in concentration. Clara felt a twinge of sympathy as young Christopher seemed to grow frustrated with himself, mouthing words as he looked at the ground in thought. Glancing up to Mr Morton, he asked in a loud whisper, “What was it, Edward?”
The young gentleman leaned down and covered his mouth to whisper into the Duke’s ear. Then Mr Morton straightened and gave Clara a knowing smile.
“And…look forward to welcoming you into the St. George household, as the late Duke wished,” the Duke completed. He winced, a sour expression coming to his face as he slumped back in his chair. Christopher looked up to Mr Morton for affirmation and received a small smile and pat on the shoulder in response.
What a curious boy, Clara thought as she gave a closer look to the young Duke. He seems far too serious for his age, that much is certain.
Unsure of just what to say to this display, Clara curtsied once more, as politely and silently as she had a thousand times in her role as a maid. Her eyes were lowered in deference, so she did not see if her wordless answer was thought of as satisfactory by any of the room’s occupants, but her ear detected an exchange by the fireside. A sound of sniffing, then of women stifling laughter.
Clara’s eyes shot to the two women, who now had their eyes fixed directly on her, the pale skin on their faces pulled taut.
I have seen that expression before, she thought as her heart began to hammer harder than ever in her chest. That is the look a highborn lady gives when she sees something they consider to be foul or beneath their dignity. How they look at a bit of rubbish on the street. Not so different from the ruffian on the street who tries to bluff you into being afraid of him.
A familiar sense of indignation began to rise in her chest. They will not see me cower. I have as much right to be here as they do. With this thought, she stood straighter, lifting her head to look directly at the glaring young women.
With a harrumph that Clara had by now become thoroughly familiar with, Mr Finch stepped forward once more. “Pursuant to our previous discourse, Miss Clara will be residing here at the St. George estate in accordance with your father’s wishes.”
“What of our wishes?” the taller, brown-haired woman audibly whispered behind a half-raised fan. Her blonde sister gave a toothy giggle in response.
“During the duration of her indefinite stay here,” Mr Finch continued with only a barely-visible twitch of his moustache, “she is entitled to all privileges accorded to a woman of her birth. I hope for His Grace’s sake you will make her welcome here on the property.
“Oh, we will,” laughed the blonde woman in a voice that knew neither mirth nor kindness.
“Yes,” said Mr Morton as he shot a deathly glance to the sisters. “Yes, we will.”
Mr Finch turned to Clara. “If you are ready, Miss Clara, your maid will have prepared your room for you. I would be gratified to escort you.”
Clara nodded without looking at him, instead letting her eyes roam from one curious face to the next. Giving as sweet a smile as she could muster and putting the dirty old dress she was wearing out of her mind, she gave a wide smile to her new family. “I am very pleased to be here in my father’s home with you. I am sure we shall be the best of friends before long.”
Only one way to deal with these sorts, she thought, remembering how she had gotten past a hundred more intimidating thugs in her short life.
“Dear sisters,” she said, turning her smile to the women in the corner, who shrank back in an expected mix of fear and revulsion. “I am so happy to know you both. I can just tell you are the most kind and friendly sisters a young woman could ever ask for.”
Remembering her manners, she turned to Christopher, who eyed her warily, and gave another curtsy. “Your Grace,” Clara said, then turned to follow Mr Finch out the open door.
“Did you hear that?” twittered a voice from behind her. Clara resisted the urge to turn and look, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she nervously followed the maid and Mr Finch out into the corridor.
“Yes. How horrid!” another high-pitched voice answered.
As the door was closed behind her, Clara faintly heard one of the voices say, “Don’t worry. We’ll get rid of her for good before she embarrasses us.”
