4

Clare carried her empty tray back to the kitchen. The heat from the stoves and ovens started to make her body perspire and her face flush. All the kitchen staff wheezed about the counters, but her orders had been sent out, so Clare headed for a cooler area to sit down.

Against the walk-in freezer, she found a fold-up chair and settled on it for a little break. She gently massaged her right arm. The muscle had gone sore and stiff. Her feet were in a semi-state of cramping. It had been three hours now that she had stood on those tight wedge pumps, another two hours walking around at her retailing job at the mall.

"Hey, Clare, are you alright?" called out Trevor, the restaurant manager.

"Yes, I'm fine, sorry."

"That's okay. You can go home early today if you're not well," he said, eyeing her with concerns.

"No, really, I need this shift," she said and got back on her feet and headed towards the kitchen. Trevor strode over to catch up with her.

"How about I drive you home after work?" he offered. Trevor was always kind to her, more so than other female staff. He had an Audi and lived in a highrise apartment. Trevor was also a nephew of the restaurant's owner. Everyone, including Clare, knew that Trevor fancied her. It would be so easy to accept his affection. It meant stability and comfortable life. Clare had imagined the two of them being together as lovers, strolling along the beach with their little children running around and maybe a charming poodle, but she couldn't imagine herself falling in love with him. It was no different than living a lie.

"No, I'm good. I already promised to go with Christina and do some grocery shopping, sorry," she lied.

"I see," he said. "Let me know if you need anything though."

She managed a smile at him before turning back to her work. Another hour to go before she could drop on her warm bed and repeat her day when the next sunrise came.

Clare returned home with a leftover casserole from the restaurant. The head chef was kind enough to leave some for each waitress as a thank-you for today's work. She put it down on the table with a fresh pot of tea. Sitting down, she refilled her cup. Clare looked around the kitchen, appreciating the sight of orderliness again. A moment later, her father came in. David Leighton hadn't left the house ever since that drunken night. He was embarrassed and depressed about the whole situation. Her mother had gone out to see some friends, but Clare knew that her true agenda was to seek some bits of financial help.

"I got you food, Dad," Clare said. "Have you eaten?"

"I can't thank you enough for everything you've done, honey," he said. "I'm so sorry I have been a useless idiot."

"Oh, Dad," she said and came to embrace him. After a while, they pulled away and sat down on the table. Clare had reheated the casserole before serving it to him.

"I'm thinking of moving to Alaska to find a job," he said, much to her surprise. "I know a friend there who manages this construction firm. He might be able to offer me something."

"But Dad, is there any other way?" Clare asked.

"I don't know, darling," her father sighed. "We probably have to move or we will end up homeless."

The door squeaked open. Her mother had returned. By the look of her long dry face, it was no doubt that there was no answer to their prayers.

Clare got up and went to bring another plate for her.

"Mom, come and have dinner," she said.

"I'm not hungry, honey, please go on, I'm fine," she said with a wave of her tired hand.

"Jenny, how..." her father began but didn't finish the sentence.

"I tried to call some of my old friends, but no luck," was all her mother said.

"It's alright," said David Leighton. He pulled his wife to him, and they both sat huddling together in silence. Clare watched them with a heavy heart. She wished that she could do something, anything that would help them get out of this deep dark hole.

~*~

The chauffeur slowed the car to a crawl at the arch entrance of Green Garden. A red carpet had been laid on the ground for the invited guests. There were reporters on one side of the fence, waiting to capture the best angle. Black-suited bodyguards stood erected with their earpieces, monitoring the crowd.

"Violet?" Florence asked. "Are you ready?"

Violet looked at her friend with a bored expression.

"I am ready. Why did you ask?"

"I have to make sure you're alright as it's been a while since you have been out of the castle."

"I'm fine. There's no need to worry."

Violet waited for the car door to open before she stepped out. The paparazzi immediately attacked the Duchess with their camera flashes. Four of her bodyguards who had accompanied their car came to usher her and Lady Florence inside.

There were people lingering around the entrance, greeting and showing off their finest jewelry and designer's outfits. They came from noble families, although there was some young money emerging from the fortune of stock markets and whatnot.

Green Garden was filled with a delightful odor of roses, and when the night breeze stirred amidst the oak trees, there came the heavy scent of the lilac and the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering hedges.

Violet Wintour didn't fail to turn heads when she walked through the courtyard. Her body spoke of strength and economy of motion. All eyes glued to her.

Indeed, she was certainly wonderfully mesmerizing, with her finely-curved scarlet lips, her piercing blue eyes, her flowing gold hair, and the well-tailored clothes to match her personality. But there was something in her face that made one felt that she had kept herself unveiled from the world for a very long time, and which was basically true. It was her first public appearance in a formal social gathering after all.

The two were humbly welcomed by the prince's son, Lord Frederick, a tall and handsome bachelor fresh out of Oxford. He was going to work as his father's secretary, but would rather prefer to go backpacking around the world if he could choose.

"A great pleasure to have you, Your Grace," he said to Violet with a shy smile before turning to Florence. He took her hand and kissed it. "My heart is pleased to see you again, my lady."

"Don't be so formal, Freddie," Florence said. "We just met a couple of weeks ago."

"Of course, we did, but that's never enough time to spend with you, isn't it?" the young lord said with a wink.

Violet cleared her throat. "Where is your father so I can get out of this stupid third-wheel?"

The prince's son blinked in terror.

"My apologies, Your Grace, I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

Florence gave her friend a tight smile.

"Don't be silly, we're just messing around."

"My father is waiting for you in the garden," Lord Frederick said to the Duchess. "Please follow me."

As they were walking behind him, Florence leaned into Violet's ear and whispered, "Freddie is your kind by the way. You're so terrible at detecting this, I swear."

Prince Sebastian was reclining in his luxurious couch inside a turret-shaped gazebo surrounded by lavender bushes. It was a charming set-up with its high canvas roof, Persian rugs, and sheer curtains. On a tiny satinwood table laid a myriad of desserts and tea sets.

The prince's son led them straight to his father.

"All these descendants of the long deposed monarchies are just the Eurotrash of today," the prince was talking animatedly to a bunch of guests around him. "These social parasites are the French, the German, and the Russian royals trying to worm their ways into the modern world, hoping they may be their nations' rulers of tomorrow. Give me a break!"

The prince was a genial yet somewhat rough-mannered old man, whom the outside world revered because of his political stand and net worth. Everyone wanted to be in his good graces. Violet's father had been one of his close friends since their youth. But she hadn't seen him much except on a few rare occasions when she visited home from school. All she knew about him was through word of mouth. He had five large houses but preferred to live in a small county residence in Green Garden.

"Father," Lord Frederick called for his attention. "Duchess Violet Wintour has arrived."

"Ah! A pleasant surprise!" Prince Sebastian stood up to welcome her. He looked older and fatter than Violet had remembered. His hairline was also receding farther back. She bowed to him while Florence did a curtsy. He invited them to sit down. The other guests took it as a cue to leave and mingle somewhere else.

"I thought you wouldn't show up at all," said the prince. "It's been a long time since we met at the funeral. I hope you're holding the forte alright?"

"More than alright, Your Highness," Violet said with a small smile.

"Good to hear that," said the prince. "I was worried that the world wasn't ready for a glorious duchess like yourself yet."

"Well, I'm here, and it appears that the world didn't end after all," Violet replied, which made the old man laugh whole-heartedly. Certainly few people had ever fascinated him so much as Violet Wintour. She dressed boldly and charmingly, and she also spoke the same way.

"My lady, may I interest you in meeting with my new furbaby?" Lord Frederick whispered to Florence.

"Oh!" her eyes went wide in excitement. "Yes, of course! Where?"

"She's a corgi, so adorable. Come, I'll show you."

Then they excused themselves and left the gazebo. Prince Sebastian waved his butler away and served her a cup of tea himself.

"I don't mean to pry, my dear," his voice dropped, "but I heard rumors that your uncle is laying claim to the castle, is it true? I hope not."

"I surely can't deny that, but everything is under control now," Violet said after a sip of her warm tea.

"Well, how are you doing that?" Prince Sebastian said, raising his bushy brow. "Your father told me before he died that he wished for you to be married. He was quite adamant about it, too."

Violet maintained her smile.

"And I will definitely honor his last wish, Your Highness," she said politely but mysteriously. The old man looked at her and narrowed his eyes. Then he leaned forward as if to share a secret.

"My son might not be a fair match to you, but he is a gentleman, well-educated, and obedient," he said in a match-making voice. "I hope you will consider going to dinner with him one of these days?"

It was Violet's turn to laugh.

"Doesn't everyone already know that I'm not into gentlemen?"

The prince leaned back in his seat, looking slightly crestfallen and embarrassed.

"Well, simply a suggestion in case you change your mind," he said.

"I'm sure Lord Frederick is a fine man, but I think he's more interested in corgis than he is in me," said the young Duchess. "Besides I already have someone else in mind."