CHAPTER 1

The sun light streamed in through the crack in her curtains, dragging Clara from the restful sleep that she had been enjoying, and that she was not yet ready to be disturbed from. She had been deep in a dream that mimicked the lovely romance novel that she had been reading, one where the hero simply swept the heroine off her feet and gave her the life that she desired, and more love than she ever could have hoped for too.

It was the sort of love that she could only dream of.

The sort of love she had spent her whole life wishing for, only it seemed quite unattainable in real life. The men in London did not seem to match the heroes in her books…

“Ah, good morning, milady.”

Before a moroseness could settle over Clara as she was dragged from the dream and into real life, her lady’s maid, Ruth, came to help her dress for the day.

“Do I have anything planned today?” Clara asked with a yawn as she rose to her feet.

Since her family had returned to London for the start of the social Season two weeks ago, Clara’s days had centered around High Society events to launch her second Season. Another whirlwind of balls and dances, of talking to people she barely knew in the hope that she would be able to dance with the right man who might seem good enough to court.

It was all so stifling. So exhausting. Clara much preferred her time in the countryside where she did not have so many expectations weighing down on her.

“You do not have anything on your calendar today, milady.”

Relief flooded through Clara. That meant she had a free day to spend as she chose. She already knew that she would spend the afternoon visiting her best friend, Lady Imogen Chambers, so she could gossip freely and get some advice from the one person she knew would pass no judgement on her, but until then there was only one room she wanted to be in…

“Wait, milady, where are you going?”

She halted, remembering that she was still in her night gown. The excitement to get into her sanctuary almost overtook her completely. She nearly ran right through the house in her night time clothing, which would have been very awkward and embarrassing if she had been caught out by anyone.

“Ah yes, I should dress,” Clara giggled. “But I am going to my art room, so I do not want to wear anything which I can not mess up.”

She had stained one of her most expensive dresses when she was younger, her mother’s favorite, because she could not stop herself from painting, even when she was about to go to a dinner with a family she could not even recall.

Clara had been in so much trouble and she’d had the rules of how she was expected to behave, drilled into her from that moment. It was not a mistake that she would make again.

In her wardrobe, she located the pale blue slip dress which already had paint splatters on it, and she eagerly got dressed with little help from the maid. She only paused for long enough to have her long chestnut colored hair brushed and tied into a braid down her back so it would not be affected by her work.

When she painted, she liked to lose herself in the moment. She felt most at home with vibrant colors on her paint brush and a blank canvas in front of her. She did not want to waste time thinking about her hair when she had a creative idea flooding her.

Once she was finally set free, she scurried through the halls to get to her painting room as quickly as she could. The last thing that Clara wanted now was to get caught by her mother with another luncheon idea or another rule about proper etiquette that she should know.

She let out a breath of relief once she was inside her room, with the door closed behind her, and she took a step closer to the canvas that she was currently working on. It was a piece that reflected the glorious light which shone in to the room, sometimes in streams if the sun was at the right angle in the sky. It was also a reflection of how Clara felt when she was in this room alone, not constrained by anyone or anything.

Clara knew that if she was left alone with her canvas forever, without having to dance at balls or talk to gentlemen who thought their business and current finances were the height of excitement, then she would be happy.

She would be content to just create all day every day without a care in the world.

She allowed a smile to cross her face as she grabbed her paint brush, and she began to add to her creation. She knew that her family did not necessarily understand her desire to paint all the time, but at least they allowed it to happen. After the incident with the dress, she had worried for a while that she might not be able to enjoy her hobby any longer.

But it seemed like everyone understood how her head would simply explode if she were not permitted to fulfil her artistic needs, so she had not been halted.

All the worries that rested on her shoulders simply melted away into nothingness as her brush glided along the canvas. The smile on her face grew wider, the bubble of happiness erupted in her stomach, and nothing else mattered. In here, she could just be, she did not need to worry about balls and dances, of how she looked and if she was behaving properly.

There truly was no better sanctuary in the world than this room. Clara did not intend to leave until she was finally feeling satisfied.

***

As the carriage pulled up outside of Imogen’s home, Clara’s excitement levels grew. Lunch had been challenging, she had struggled under the weight of her mother’s comments about the Marquess of Carldale, Simon Caldwell, whom her parents seemed to favor as a match despite Clara finding him dull and boorish.

She tried to shake off the awkwardness of lunch as the footman greeted her, and took her inside to see her friend, who was furiously trying to correct her cross stitch.

“Ah, Clara, you are here.” Imogen tossed her hobby to one side eagerly the moment that she spotted her friend. “It is so good to see you. I was just starting to get truly fed up with this project that is simply not going my way at all.”

Clara smiled and took her seat in the drawing room. It was not long before they had been served with tea and cakes. Not that Clara had an appetite anymore. the lunch with her mother had truly taken it out of her.

“So, how are you doing, Clara?”

Clara sighed. “I am struggling very much, Imogen. The expectations are really starting to weigh down on me this season.”

Imogen frowned. “Is this because of Lord Caldwell?”

“Yes. My mother insists that he truly is the best match for me. She wants us to be engaged by next month, and thinks that I need to put more effort into him, to encourage his attachment. She wants me to spend more time on him than on my art.” Clara laughed mirthlessly, recalling the way her mother called it a ‘silly hobby’.. “She does not seem to understand that I can not stand him. He has nothing interesting to say at all. The fact that he does not understand art at all is utterly devastating. How am I supposed to make any conversation with a man who does not appreciate creativity?”

Even though Imogen was not as excited by art as Clara was, she still understood her friend’s need to create, more than anyone else. “So, what does he like to talk about?”

Clara huffed with irritation. “He is extremely interested in the most wealthy men in London to the point I would say that he is obsessed with how they run their businesses and spend their money. To speak candidly, I possess no inclination whatsoever towards such a matter. Most people are born into money, are they not? All they have to do is make sure that they do not gamble the money away and ruin their family name. That is not interesting to me.”

“Men and their money,” Imogen laughed. “Sometimes I wonder if anything is quite as important to them. Even their wives and family. It is madness. I have never been able to understand it, but we are to simply accept it is the way they are.”

That little joke made Clara’s heart sink further. She did not wish to be an ignored wife, sat at home with the children while she had no idea where her husband was.

She wanted love, she wanted to be cared for, to have the sort of love that she had only read about in books. When she tried to tell her mother this, she was dismissed for being silly and romanticizing everything in her mind.

Perhaps to others, real life was not like that, but to her…

“He might not be quite so bad, if you give him a chance,” Imogen offered, clearly trying to make her friend feel better about the uncomfortable situation that she found herself in. “He might not be so dull during courtship…”

Her words trailed off as she spotted the expression on Clara’s face. Clara already knew she would not get along with Simon, ever. There was nothing underneath the surface of that man. She could not even bear to imagine being forced to spend more time with him.

“Well, maybe your parents will start to see how boring he is, and they will change their mind about him. Have they even spent any time talking to him?”

Clara shook her head. “They are more concerned with his title and status. They think he will be able to provide me with the sort of life I need.” She threw her hands in the air in frustration. “As if I only need a giant empty home to live in. As if I do not wish for more.”

“Oh, your home will never be totally empty,” Imogen teased. “Because I will always be there to visit you. In fact, I might not bother to get married at all. I may decide to come and live with you forever. I can watch you paint all day, every day, it shall be delightful.”

Clara could not help herself. She burst out laughing at her friend’s outlandish suggestion. Her friend’s parents had high hopes for her future husband also. There was no way that she would be permitted to simply come and live with her, as tempting as it sounded.

They talked for a little while longer about the upcoming balls and what each one was likely to be like. Clara wanted to get into the spirit of things, she wished that she could be as enthused as Imogen, but there was a dark cloud hanging over her head.

She would always have this while societal expectations pressed down on her. How could she feel free and happy, when the constraints of others would never leave her side?

Clara might have spent all morning painting vibrant and exciting works, but she knew that once she could retreat to her art room again, she would return to a painting she had managed to put aside for a while. A melancholy landscape, in which her heart felt trapped in a cage. The landscape in which she feared living in.

The landscape that she was sure she would be living in if she was forced to marry the Marquess of Carldale, Simon Caldwell.