CHAPTER 16

The following day found Christopher nestled in the sunny parlor, a sketch pad resting on his lap, and the soft hum of daylight filtering through the lace curtains. The gentle warmth of the sun created an inviting atmosphere, coaxing him into a realm where time seemed to stand still.

His pencil glided over the paper with a purpose, as he endeavored to capture Clara’s likeness from the well spring of his memory.

Faces were intricate puzzles, each line and curve holding the essence of an individual. Christopher had made it his personal challenge to master the art of drawing faces from memory, a task that had proven elusive until this moment. Today, however, the elusive muse took form on the page as he lost himself in the creative dance between mind and hand.

He found it easy to capture her essence. Her piercing green eyes filled with emotion, the delicate curve of her smile, and the way her hair cascaded in soft waves. It all unfolded on the paper with an almost ethereal quality. Christopher’s determination had paid off, and he marveled at how he could bring forth her graceful likeness from the depths of his recollection.

Just as he leaned back, satisfied with what he had created, his mother unexpectedly entered the room. Not wanting to be caught, Christopher tried to slip his sketch book out of sight, but there was no way to hide anything from his mother and her hawk like eyes.

“What is that?” She leaned forwards and caught sight of the image emerging on the page. Christopher’s pulse raced as he waited for her to react. Her lips twisted into a thin line before she spat her words out. “What do you think you are doing? Are you trying to court Lady Clara Belmont? Because I have heard the whispers…”

Christopher parted his lips, but his mother’s stern glare stopped any words from coming out. He had known that this was coming eventually, but it was still unnerving.

“Oh, Christopher, what on earth are you playing at?” Leonora took a seat in front of him. “I understand that it is hard for you. That you must have difficulties being the second son with modest means and social rank.”

“Alright, I do not think we need to have this conversation…”

Christopher tried to rise to his feet, to leave this conversation because he did not wish to have, but Leonora had other ideas. She was not going to allow her son to avoid this.

“Christopher, you have no business interfering with an earl’s daughter.” Those words stung, as if his mother had pierced his heart with a dagger. “She will surely make an eminent match. You are much better suited to Miss Henrietta Devereux. She is perfect for you. She is a great match with grace and poise. And she is interested in you, she is always asking me questions about you and showing an interest. You should not be straying away. If your eyes wander, then Miss Devereux will find herself in the arms of another man, and where will that leave you? Full of regret because you could not behave yourself properly.”

“Miss Henrietta and I have nothing to talk about…”

Leonora snorted with impatience. “Christopher, I have done what I can to find a suitable match for you. It has not been the easiest thing for me, but I have done it. You are ruining things by turning your eyes towards a woman who can never be yours. The tongues wagging at my garden party could have become unacceptable. You must keep away from that woman from now on or you will lose your one chance at happiness. I do not know how else I can make this clear to you. You must see this from my perspective. You are making a fool of yourself.”

An iciness filled Christopher’s veins. His mother had no idea that everything was a ruse, so her words felt extremely cruel. Especially as he did not want to hear it because he really did have a stirring of emotions for Clara.

Just because she was the daughter of an earl, did not mean they could not share things. Perhaps she was more suited to a man of title because of how she was born, but that did not mean that was what she wanted. She had made it very clear to Christopher that she had no interest in Lord Caldwell, despite his title.

But just a few short words from his mother’s sharp tongue had him doubting everything. He could feel his temper flare, and knew that he needed to escape this moment with her right away.

“I have plans with Elliot,” he said in a tone that he hoped was calm. “I must leave.”

“Heed my warnings, Christopher. I do not want you to lose what you could have. I do not want you to live a life filled with regrets because of one foolish choice.”

That was exactly what Christopher wanted. For his mother to forget about Henrietta, and for her to move on with another gentleman as well. Perhaps all of this should have been good news, but a nasty unpleasant feeling swirled in the pit of his stomach.

Perhaps he had been getting too attached to Clara, and his mother had simply reminded him that a ruse was all this could be. There was no way an earl would allow his daughter to marry someone as lowly as him.

A second son, an artist, a man without the sort of provisions needed to give his daughter exactly what she deserved.

Frustration coursed through him. He held his fists tightly by his sides so that he did not react in a way that would only make his mother more suspicious than she already was. He stormed out the house and headed towards Elliot’s place because he really did need someone to talk to about all of this. Someone who could understand everything that was happening.

***

The tension from the confrontation still clung to Christopher like a heavy cloak, urging him to seek release. He found himself in the fencing room, the cool steel of a foil in his hand, ready to engage in the physicality of a match with Elliott. The rhythmic clinks of blades colliding echoed through the room as they began to spar, each movement a cathartic release for the pent up frustration.

Elliott, always perceptive, broke the silence. “Christopher, I have been wondering where you would like this courtship to go next with Clara. Because tongues have been wagging and the gossip has been spreading, which is perfect. But you do not want it to go too far. You do not want to put off any other prospective romances. For you or my cousin.”

The foils clashed again, the metallic ring resonating in the room. Christopher let out a measured breath before responding, “We can not end things yet. My mother’s relentless matchmaking schemes have not subsided. She is not yet convinced by Clara and me which means she is still very fixated on Miss Devereux.”

Elliott’s brow furrowed, his focus momentarily wavering in their match. “You have discussed an end point with Clara though, have you not? Because I am sure she will want to know when she can avoid all the gossip.”

A sharp movement, and Christopher parried Elliott’s thrust with precision. “This gossip is what we need. I am sure Clara is benefiting from it too. Have things with Lord Caldwell been called off? If not, we must continue for her as well as me.”

But was that the real reason Christopher wanted things to continue? He could not answer that out loud, but internally, he could feel the romantic feelings continuing to bloom within him. He was determined to keep seeing Clara, even if everything stood against them, including their stratified societal positions.

“Oh my.” Elliot stopped fighting for a moment to stare at Christopher. In that moment, Christopher felt like Elliot could see everything. Even the parts of him that he did not want to let out. “I see what is happening now. I can not believe that I missed it.” Elliot shook his head ever so slightly. “I should have seen this coming, but I was so involved with helping the plan work that I did not predict this.”

Christopher bristled. “What are you talking about?”

“You are falling for Clara in earnest. I can see it in your eyes. Perhaps you did not expect it either, but it has happened nonetheless.”

Elliot declared this as fact, without any need for question. Even as Christopher tried to brush off the suggestion, he would not let it drop.

“Christopher, it is fine. You know, I might not have seen this coming, but it actually makes a lot of sense. You do have a lot in common and you look wonderful together.” Elliot smiled widely. “I would support it, it you wished to pursue Clara legitimately.”

“You would?” Perhaps Christopher should not have asked this, but he could not help himself. The words seemed to simply fall out of his mouth.

“I would. You know, Clara is a wonderful woman, and I truly believe that she is worthy of real love. Love with a man who appreciates her free spirit and her creativity. Everything that her family has undervalued all this time. I can see that you do.”

“I can not believe you are saying this. It is very surprising to me that you feel this way.”

Elliot offered him a one shouldered shrug. “Well, I can not speak for my cousin. I do not know exactly how she is feeling herself. But I did recognise a special rapport between you at the party. If I had to make a guess, I would assume that she is feeling the same way about you. If there is something there, then I believe it is worth fighting for.”

“I can not deny that there is something intriguing about Clara,” Christopher admitted. “I am drawn to her because we share so much.”

Christopher ran a nervous hand through his hair as Elliot gleamed. “Then why not pursue it? I do not mean to suggest that you should cast off all prudence, but if there is a chance for genuine connection, would it not be worth exploring? Clara deserves to be seen for who she truly is, not just as a prop. A wife and mother to heirs, which is how I believe Lord Caldwell sees her. He has not shown any real interest in her, he is only concerned with her title. Just as her parents are only concerned with his title. It is a silly charade.”

Christopher nodded, a newfound determination settling within him. The fencing room, once a battle ground for frustration, became a space where a different kind of battle unfolded — one of self discovery and the possibility of genuine connection.

As they resumed their sparring, Christopher’s mind whirred with thoughts of Clara, and a flicker of hope ignited within him, challenging the boundaries he had set for himself. If Elliot was telling him that there might be something worth fighting for there, then who was he to disagree with that?

This was not the way that either of them thought their plan would end, but surely it would be a happy ending for both of them. They wanted to marry someone that they loved, not someone chosen for them. If that was one another, then why not?

As long as Clara did feel the same way about him of course, and if she could overcome his lowly status. She had not shown any concern with titles in the time that they had spent together, she seemed far more interested in him as a person, but only time would tell.

Well, time and the bravery that it would take him to finally ask her how she felt, of course. If he ever found that braveness…

***

The grandeur of the Belmont’s’ mansion greeted Christopher as he arrived later in the evening to collect Clara for their much anticipated theatre outing. The opulent facade stood as a testament to the family’s wealth and prestige, the front hall a magnificent prelude to the splendors within. Intimidating splendors, if Christopher was honest with himself.

The butler was awaiting his arrival, clearly expecting him, and invited him inside.

The imposing double doors swung open with a hushed elegance, revealing a vast front hall adorned with marble floors and intricately carved wooden paneling. A crystal chandelier hung from the lofty ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the space. Tall, arched windows decorated with sumptuous drapes allowed the soft moonlight to filter in, creating a play of shadows that danced across the walls.

Christopher, dressed in a well tailored suit that complemented the sophistication of the Belmont’s’ residence, waited cheerfully amidst this lavish setting. The rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock echoed through the hall, emphasizing the anticipation that hung in the air. A small table nearby boasted an arrangement of fresh flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the faint scent of polished wood.

He glanced at his pocket watch, noting that he was right on time. A sense of excitement and curiosity swirled within him. Christopher had grown accustomed to these moments of waiting, yet tonight felt different. The prospect of an evening at the theatre with Clara, unburdened by the weight of societal expectations, brought a genuine smile to his face.

But the grandeur of the Belmont’s’ mansion seemed to lose its luster as Christopher waited in the front hall for Clara. The air, once filled with anticipation, now crackled with an unspoken tension. The echo of footsteps on the marble floor signaled Clara’s approach, and Christopher turned, his heart quickening at the sight of her descending the ornate staircase.

Before the joy of their evening could fully bloom, the atmosphere darkened as Reginald Belmont, Clara’s formidable father, stepped forward instead of her, his countenance etched with a stern resolve. Christopher’s cheerfulness waned, replaced by a wary acknowledgment of the storm brewing in the eyes of the patriarch.

“Mr. Fitzhugh,” Lord Reginal Belmont’s voice boomed through the hall, cutting through the ambient sounds of their surroundings. “We need to have a conversation.”

Christopher swallowed hard, sensing the weight of Lord Belmont’s disapproval. He straightened his posture, meeting the older man’s gaze with a nod. “Of course, Lord Belmont. I am at your disposal.”

Lord Belmont wasted no time, his words a stinging rebuke. “You have no business courting my daughter, sir. I am sure you know that already, so I do not understand why you are here.” His cheeks shone red with rage. “Whatever notions you harbour are ill conceived and utterly unacceptable.”

“I would never wish to offend…” Christopher’s attempts at a composed response were met with an unyielding continuation, stripping the air out of his lungs. He was not expecting to be met with quite so much resistance.

“I will permit tonight’s outing for etiquette sake, but make no mistake, Mr. Fitzhugh,” Reginald declared, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “You are skating on thin ice. If you persist in pursuing my daughter beyond this evening, I will not hesitate to challenge you to a duel. I want you to understand quite how serious I am about this.”

The air hung heavy with the gravity of the threat, and Christopher felt the weight of the patriarch’s scrutiny. The man did not mention Lord Simon Caldwell, but Christopher could feel his presence clinging to the air. There was no way a duke to be would receive such an unwelcome greeting from Lord Belmont.

Just as Christopher was about to respond, not that he was sure what to say in this moment, footsteps silenced them both.

The delicate cadence of her movements seemed to weave a melody, momentarily distracting from the weighty conversation that had just transpired. For a fleeting moment, the world narrowed to the vision of her, and Christopher’s troubled thoughts found solace in the sheer elegance of her presence.

Clara, a vision of grace, wore an ensemble that befitted the occasion — a gown of deep sage green adorned with delicate silver embroidery that shimmered like stars. The fitted bodice accentuated her slender frame, and the gown cascaded into a flowing skirt that swirled with every step, leaving an ethereal trail behind her. The neck line, modest yet alluring, framed the graceful curve of her neck.

Her green eyes sparkled with a subtle hint of excitement, framed by a touch of kohl that added a mysterious allure. Clara’s hair, usually restrained in a simple bun, now flowed in loose waves, framing her face like a cascade of dark silk.

Christopher, momentarily forgetting the weight of Lord Belmont’s warning, found himself captivated by the sight before him. Clara’s attire, a masterpiece in itself, highlighted not just her physical beauty but also the free spirit and creativity that defined her essence. In that moment, the shadows of societal expectations and impending duels faded into the background, leaving only the enchanting presence of Lady Clara Belmont.

“Mr. Fitzhugh,” she greeted with a genuine smile, unaware of the tumultuous under currents that had shaped the evening. “Shall we proceed to the theatre?”

Christopher, grappling with the unease of the situation, masked his inner turmoil with a forced smile and a nod. He was not sure if he could form more words in front of Lord Belmont. He did not wish to make more of a fool of himself.

His mother’s words had now been echoed by Clara’s father, which made Elliot’s acceptance feel like something which could never come to fruition.

As they prepared to depart, the ornate doors of the Belmont mansion opened, unveiling the night ahead — a theatre outing that, unbeknownst to Clara, carried with it the weight of unspoken challenges and the shadow of a duel that lingered in the corridors of power and privilege.