Clarice Sinclair, the Duchess of Clayton, stood stiffly at attention in the ornate Gold Drawing Room of her late husband’s palatial Mayfair mansion. Her black bombazine dress scratched her skin and stretched tight across her bosom, making her shift uncomfortably every few minutes as she wished desperately for this endless day to be over. Though dusk had just fallen, it had been dark and dreary since dawn, exactly as the duke would have wanted.