CHAPTER 15

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the easel in Clara’s art room. The room, filled with the scent of oil paints and the comforting presence of unfinished canvases, was usually a haven for her creativity. Today, however, Clara’s focus eluded her as she attempted to capture the essence of Imogen on the canvas before her.

The portrait of Imogen, a vision of grace and elegance, seemed to mock Clara with its stillness. She dipped her brush into the palette, the vibrant colors calling out to her, but her mind was elsewhere. The rhythm of her strokes lacked the usual precision, and each stroke on the canvas betrayed a subtle distraction.

As the bristles danced across the canvas, Clara’s thoughts were entangled in a web of memories from the night before. The chess game with Christopher played on a loop in her mind, his laughter, the camaraderie, the subtle glances — they all echoed through her thoughts, disrupting the tranquility she usually found in her art.

“My, my, my, Clara. You do seem to find yourself distracted today.” The hint of amusement in Imogen’s tone caught Clara’s attention. “It is unusual for you to be so inattentive. Uncharacteristic, even. May I ask what has you so preoccupied when typically nothing will break your focus. That is why I remain so silent as you paint.”

With an emotional sigh, Clara let go of her paint brush and she took a seat with her friend. “There is no denying that my mind is not on the art work today, which is something that I am finding endlessly frustrating.”

“So what is on your mind?” Imogen asked gently.

“It is Christopher. I can not seem to get him out of my mind. I was increasingly captivated by him yesterday at his mother’s garden party. Elliot thought it best that I attend as his guest so that we could increase the rumours surrounding Christopher and me, which I believe did happen. But for me, that stopped being the point of talking to him so much. I simply wanted to be around him as much as possible.”

“Oh my.” Imogen held her hand to her chest. “I must admit, that this comes as a surprise.”

“It does to me also,” Clara replied with an intense heaviness to her words. “But as we took a stroll through his rose garden, I realised that we do not just have a lot in common, but that we seem to share so many fundamental values. As we played chess, I could not stop laughing. We were having so much fun, I was not concerned who was looking at us. I did not care, I was far too lost in his eyes.”

Imogen shot Clara a concerned look. “I might not have encouraged you to move forth with this ruse, had I known that the fake courtship might hurt you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It appears that your heart is already ardently engaged, which shall undoubtedly ensue in predicaments in the distant future. If you develop some real romantic feelings for Mr. Fitzhugh, then I am concerned with how it will affect you when the ruse comes to an end.”

Clara frowned. She knew that she was in a mess, but hearing Imogen say it aloud hurt. She felt an intense pain deep in her core because she knew that Imogen’s fears were justified. As Clara’s dearest friend, she knew that her friend only had her best interests at heart.

But how could she stop herself from feeling all these emotions around Christopher? Her heart seemed to have a mind of its own.

“I am just warning you to be careful,” Imogen continued while resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I will be here for you, no matter what happens. I am only concerned that you will come out of this worse off.”

Clara swallowed and nodded, but a strange pain had taken hold of her now. She was not sure how to proceed with this. Was it a good idea to keep on going with Christopher? Sure it would keep her away from Simon, but in the end, if she ended up heart broken then what was it all for?

“I will be careful,” Clara responded with a soft smile, hoping that her friend would believe her. “I will make sure that I keep my heart closed off until the right person comes along.”

Determination surged through Clara as she returned to her easel, determined to lose herself in the strokes of her brush and capture the essence of Imogen on canvas, no longer torn by distraction. She wanted to prove to her friend that she could do it.

But as the colors danced on the canvas, Clara continued to struggle with the storm raging inside of her. She did not know what to do next. Each stroke she made was a battle against the whirlwind of thoughts that raged through her mind.

Imogen’s delicate features, meant to be a testament to grace and poise, became a canvas for Clara’s inner turmoil. Her brush moved with a conflict of purpose, the strokes reflecting the ebb and flow of emotions that refused to be painted over. Clara yearned for the calm focus that usually accompanied her artistic endeavors, but the storm within demanded acknowledgment.

To make things even worse, there was a dinner party being held this evening by Simon’s parents, which meant she was going to have to confront him also. It was bad enough that she was going to have to talk to him, but knowing how much more she enjoyed chatting with Christopher was going to flow through her mind all night long… as were Imogen’s warnings.

Maybe she should not have gotten all caught up in Elliot’s plan. Much as it sounded like a good idea at the time when he first suggested it, the consequences were starting to creep up on her in a way that she did not like.

***

The opulent chandeliers cast a welcoming glow over the grand dining hall where Clara sat beside Simon at the dinner party hosted by his parents. The air was thick with the fragrance of gourmet dishes, and the soft hum of conversation enveloped the room. However, Clara could not escape the uneasy sensation that had settled within her, a disquiet that lingered despite the ornate surroundings.

Dressed in a floor length, midnight blue gown with delicate lace detailing along the bodice, Clara felt the weight of her discomfort like an invisible anchor. The dress, which often made her feel confident, now seemed to amplify her unease. The fabric clung to her form gracefully, but each movement felt awkward, a reminder of the storm of emotions still swirling within.

The delicate pearls adorning her neck was a restraint, the fine jewelry a stark contrast to the turbulence in her mind. Clara stole glances at Simon, who sat beside her in a perfectly tailored suit, engaging effortlessly in the social banter. His composure only heightened her own sense of discomfort, making her feel like an outsider in a world she had known her entire life.

I must make an effort, she told herself angrily. Her parents had warned her that she would be expected to behave appropriately, and she felt like she owed them that much.

At least so she could tell her parents that she had tried, when this all fell apart.

Drawing a breath, she turned to Simon, and pointed to a display of exquisite paintings adorning the walls. “Lord Caldwell, have you ever found solace in the strokes of a paint brush or the play of colors on canvas?” Clara ventured, her eyes reflecting the genuine curiosity that art often sparked within her. “Or are you merely an admirer of art?”

Simon’s gaze briefly shifted from the art work to her, a momentary flicker of interest in his eyes. “Art? Well, I appreciate the aesthetic value, I suppose,” he replied with a nonchalant smile. “But you know, Clara, what truly matters is the investment potential of these pieces. A wise investment can bring returns that art alone can not match.”

Clara felt a subtle disappointment settle in her chest, realizing that Simon had effortlessly redirected the conversation back to the realm of finance, just as he always did. Undeterred, she persisted, hoping to find common ground. “Yes, investments are important, but there is an indescribable beauty in art that goes beyond monetary value. The emotions it evokes, the stories it tells. Do you not find that magical?”

Simon chuckled, a dismissive glint in his eyes. “Lady Belmont, my dear, magic is a concept for dreamers. Practicality is what builds fortunes. Art is just another commodity in the market, and understanding its value is key.” He shot her a wink. “That is what I am best at.”

She sighed inwardly, her attempt to bridge the gap between their perspectives met with resistance. “But there is more to life than just wealth and practicality. Art has the power to move people, to inspire change and connect us on a deeper level.”

He waved a hand, brushing off her sentiment. “Sentimentality will never pay the bills, Clara. I prefer to focus on investments that yield tangible results.”

As the conversation veered further into the realm of finance with both their father’s joining in, Clara could not shake off the feeling of disconnect. The grand paintings on the walls seemed to mock her attempts at bridging the gap between their worlds. Simon’s fixation on monetary value overshadowed the beauty she saw in the strokes of an artist’s brush and the stories painted in vibrant hues. He knew that she loved art, but he did not even try to talk about it with her.

How did their parents think that this would work out when they were far too different? Was there no way to show them that this was a disaster waiting to happen?

No, because they were blinded by what they thought was right. It seemed that was all that mattered.

As the courses came and went, Clara mechanically lifted her fork and knife, feigning interest in the exquisite dishes laid before her. The conversation around her continued to buzz with elegance and charm, yet she felt like a discordant note in a symphony of refined interactions. Her parents, seated close to the head of the table, conversed animatedly with the other esteemed guests, unaware of the silent turmoil that raged within their daughter.

Either that, or they were not concerned about her feelings.

That was certainly how it felt when it came to the ride home, when her father started to talk about her as if she were not even there.

“It seems to me like Lord Caldwell will be formally proposing soon. He will be asking for our Clara’s hand in marriage, which is wonderful news…”

Clara could not hide her surprise. Was it not typical for a gentleman to formally court her before proposing? There had been a few visits to her home, and their paths had crossed at societal events, but that was it.

Knowing it would only anger him if she showed anything less than delighted gratitude at the apparently foregone conclusion of this match filled her with dread. Her plan with Christopher had not worked fast enough. What were they going to do?

If only Clara could speak with her duty obsessed parents about how she was feeling. If only they would take her concerns into consideration. But she already knew how they would respond, and it was not worth the drama. Her mother would never let it go, but she would also never hear her out.

Clara was going to have to find another way to make her plan work before this acceleration spiraled out of her control and her future ended up all planned out for her in a way that would leave her bored and miserable for the rest of her life.