Lady Elizabeth De Roch is in one word, affluent. She was a secret staircase into high society, appear with her and the world became yours to shape. Today she is rarely seen, preferring to stay inside and invite her friends over for tea, she stays away from balls and parties however she is still key in the running of society. In her younger years she was the most sought-after debutante, a belle of the ball, the one everyone wanted. Despite being beautiful and elegant it was her younger sister Emilia who married and Elizabeth never found the one for her. Elizabeth created a presence at balls that people at first feared but then grew to admire and recreate. Eliza's father's mother Emilia turned out to be an incompetent mother and Elizabeth took over in the raising of him. When he met Eliza's mother, his aunt cut off most communication, thinking she was unsuitable and crass. Eliza has only met her great aunt a few times and in those times Elizabeth always expressed her disappointment in his offspring, particularly with Eliza.

Eliza wraps a fluffy towel around her damp body, immediately when she was inside the house her great aunt called for a hot bath and burnt the clothes she arrived in. The room is a small closet room with cream wallpaper and a small single bed with floral sheets and small pillows, a tiny wardrobe with a mirror and a chair with a knitted cover, the bath is set up but the window so you can see into the street. A white nightgown is laid upon the soft chair in the spare room, the material is softer than most and more expensive than her old wardrobe. She pulls the gown on and sits on a puff in front of the mirror, she plaits her wet hair to the right side on her neck. In front of the door, there is a pair of slippers that fit snugly on her feet, feeling safe now, Eliza can breathe steadily and she has stopped shaking. Her face in the mirror is still white, she pinches her cheeks to get a bit of colour into them. She shuts the door on the room and walks down three flights of stairs lined with lights and paintings. On the first floor, she knocks on the painted door to the main living room.

"Enter."

Eliza twists the handle and pushes the door open, the room is ornately furnished with red velvet curtains and gold tassels, oak bookcases line the walls and portraits of old ancestors hang inexpensive frames. The furniture matches the wallpaper and vases of flowers sit upon neat side tables, the room is worth more than most entire houses in London. Elizabeth sits in a high backed armchair with gold and red detailing, she is drowning in shining jewels and high-end silk, her hair is coiled up and pinned with lace and diamonds, in her hand is a black walking stick with a blood red garnet set in the top.

"Come here, Eliza." Lady De Roch orders softly holding a hand out from her chair, she beckons her forward. Eliza walks forward and takes hold of her great aunt's hand, she curtsies slightly and is led to the sofa next to the chair.

"I am disappointed in you, niece," She says sternly, "You are too wild."

"I know aunt but...." Eliza begins.

Lady De Roch raises her hands to silence her protest. Her face is tight and angry.

"Do you want to tell me what occurred?" She asks. "What caused you to appear in the way you did?"

"I apologise, I didn't mean to impose on you," Eliza says softly.

"What happened Eliza?" Her aunt repeats sternly.

"I..." She is lost for words, how to explain what happened and not cause her aunt to become more enraged.

"Does it have anything to do with your recent engagement which no one sort to inform me of?" Elizabeth De Roch questions.

"We got into a tiff..."

"You lost your temper and stormed away in an unfamiliar place, got lost and attacked." She fills in with a frustrated glare.

"I didn't get attacked..." Eliza disagrees defensively.

"Your hand." Her aunt bites.

Eliza looks down at her scarred hand and winces, the warm water from the bath has made the skin irritated and pink. She hides the wound under her skirt, the alley flashes through her mind and the fear she felt resurfaces but she pushes it away quickly.

"It's nothing."

"You are too impulsive, I always told your father." Lady De Roch shakes her head and points her stick at her.

"I know you did, aunt." Eliza sighs having heard this too many times. Elizabeth pats her hair and sniffs.

"But what I cannot fathom why Harrington did not find you after you had your tantrum."

"He didn't," Eliza says

"I don't understand." Her aunt leans forward.

"I left the carriage, he didn't follow," Eliza says.

"He left you? In the middle of London? You could have been murdered! Like your poor father." Her aunt covers her mouth in horror and splutters. "He is a ruin of a man, not fit to be called a man!"

"Aunt please, It was hardly his fault," Eliza says.

"Don't interrupt me." She snaps. Eliza bites her tongue and looks away from her.

"I am in shock, I am utterly astonished at his antics." Elizabeth continues. "He has no standings as a man."

"He knew better than to run after me," Eliza admits. "He was in his right to leave me behind."

"No respectable man leaves his fiance in the middle of London, unaccompanied."

Eliza groans silently and her body feels defeated.

"I am sorry but can we discuss this in tomorrow morning?" She requests.

"Of course, I have Mathews put you in the spare room where you washed." Her aunt says, "Breakfast is at 8, I expect you dressed and present."

"Of course, thank you."

Eliza curtsies and kisses her aunt's hand, she leaves the room and shuts the door behind her. She trails up the stairs, despite the early hour she feels tired and drained, her headaches and her hand throbs slightly. The bath has been removed from the room, she pulls back the cover on the small bed, she kicks the slippers off and climbs inside. She leans her head on the pillow and for the first time since her sister's death she cries herself to sleep.