CHAPTER 19

There was a thunder in the air.

Clara could feel it the moment she stepped forth into the breakfast room.

She had been soaring in the clouds all night long, ever since she returned home from the theater, and her dreams had been flooded with images of the man who made her heart flutter, so being brought back down to earth with a thump was very unwelcome.

Her father was wearing the sort of thunderous expression which made Clara’s stomach flip flop. She actually started to tremble, especially when she caught her mother’s unimpressed thin lipped expression. Her feet barely touched the floor as she took a seat.

There was a wonderful looking spread of breakfast in front of her, but Clara’s appetite had been whipped away. She swallowed hard, darting her eyes between the both of them, waiting for someone to speak.

The anticipation was killing her. She hated every moment of this.

“What is this?” All of a sudden, Clara jumped as her mother snapped while tossing the scandal sheet her way. “I cannot believe that this is what we have woken up to.”

“What… what is it?”

Clara did not even want to pick up the paper. She was far too afraid to see it. She already had a horrible feeling that she might be featured from her very public outing the night before, but she was not ready to confirm that.

Just because this was what Christopher and she had been working towards, the consequences of it were hard to handle.

“Go on,” her mother snapped once more insistently. “Read it. The article on the left.”

With a trembling hand, Clara picked up the paper and forced her eyes to see the words. Although clearly her brain was not ready to take them in because she had to re-read a few times.

This time, as she skimmed the biting gossip column, the words on the page seemed to morph into venomous serpents, striking at the reputation she had carefully cultivated.

The Belmont Heiress and the untitled Fitzhugh.

Clara winced at the head line, her name entwined with that of Christopher in a negative way. Painting him as a social climber who only cared about her father’s title. That was such an unfair assessment of him written by someone who had clearly never spoken a word to him.

If the writer had, they would know that he was so much more than that. Christopher was a wonderful ambitious man who had a lot going for him. Just because he was the second son, did not mean a thing.

All Clara wanted to do was defend him to the world.

But she could not do that. She had to keep reading…

Lady Clara Belmont, once the epitome of propriety, now spotted in the company of a man of questionable standing. Is she trading her noble heritage for the allure of untitled affections?

Clara clutched onto her stomach as her eyes continued to read. She did not want to know anymore, but she also had to see what the whole city was reading about her.

Could this be the scandal of the season? Lady Clara Belmont, known for her grace and decorum, seemingly flouting societal norms in the pursuit of forbidden love.

The room felt suffocating as Clara continued to read, the tendrils of gossip tightening around her like a constricting vine. Her connection with Christopher, born out of genuine moments and a shared understanding, now distorted into a narrative that threatened to tarnish her standing in society.

“Clara, have you lost all sense of reason?” her mother exclaimed, fanning herself theatrically. “You are throwing away your prospects of becoming a duchess by indulging in these silly flirtations with an inappropriate gentleman, and now everyone knows it. It has been printed in the scandal sheets for all to see.”

Clara’s heart sunk. But there was no point in her trying to say a thing because her father had his opinion to let her understand as well.

“Clara, my daughter, do you comprehend the gravity of your actions?” Clara’s father’s voice thundered through the room, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “Consorting with this undeserving second son is not only reckless but a flagrant disregard for the reputation and future of our family. I was not happy with your outing to the theater, and I am even more unimpressed by the fact that so many members of the ton have seen you.”

“I did not…”

“You did not think!” her father exploded once more, interrupting her argument. Not that Clara had a lot to say to defend herself.

“Is this your way of ruining any chance to secure a strong match with Lord Simon Caldwell?” Her father’s accusation hung in the air, a heavy weight pressing upon Clara’s shoulders. The prospect of securing a favorable match had always been a part of her family’s aspirations, and now, it seemed, she was jeopardizing it all. “Because your mother and I have worked hard to secure that connection for you. I recently let you know that he was considering proposing, but now I do not think that is likely to happen at all.”

Clara’s mother, ever the dramatist, fanned herself more vigorously. “Clara, you must end things immediately with Mr. Fitzhugh. This flirtation, whatever it is, ends now! If you ever want a chance to redeem yourself in Lord Caldwell’s eyes then you must stop this before it destroys you. Do you want to end up a spinster? As the daughter of an earl, it is unheard of.”

Clara felt the weight of their expectations, the suffocating sense of duty, and the stark realization that her ruse was going to really affect all of her family. So much so that there might not be any coming back from this.”

She steeled herself, knowing that the storm unleashed in the breakfast room was only the beginning of the challenges she would face in navigating the treacherous waters of societal expectations and familial aspirations.

She wanted away from Simon, but she did not want to lose her family in the process.

***

Alone in the sanctuary of her bedchamber, Clara crumbled beneath the weight of her family’s expectations and the harsh demands of societal norms. The sobs that wracked her body seemed to echo the tumult in her heart, a heartbreaking crescendo of emotions that threatened to engulf her.

The prospect of ending things with Christopher, a man she had come to care for deeply, pierced her soul with a pain that cut to the core. Her vision blurred through a veil of tears as she recalled the shared laughter, stolen glances, and the genuine connection that had grown between them.

She could not be alone with these thoughts. She could not stomach the way that they made her feel. Since there was no one in the house that she could talk to right now, she knew that she had to leave.

Right now, she needed the advice of her beloved sister. Sophia had tried to speak with her when they were at her home for dinner, but Clara had been unable to be honest.

Now though, she could travel alone and have her sister listen to her.

Spontaneously, and because she did not wish to spend the whole day crying in her bed chambers, Clara left in a hurry. It felt like no time at all before the rhythmic tap of her gloved fingers against the wooden door echoed the anxious beat of her heart.

The butler took one look at her tear stained face and asked no questions. He immediately invited her inside and took her to the drawing room where her sister was already seated.

“Oh my,” Sophia exclaimed the moment she set eyes on her sister. “Clara, what has happened? We need some tea immediately, could you arrange that for me please?”

As soon as the butler left, Clara embraced Sophia hard, finding it more challenging than she thought she would to actually get the words out.

“Come on, take a seat with me,” Sophia insisted. “Let us talk.”

With a heavy heart and a myriad of questions swirling within, Clara found herself on the precipice of vulnerability. Where did she begin? What question was most important to her?

“Sophia,” Clara began, her voice carrying a tremor of uncertainty, “how did you cope? How did you find the strength to embrace a marriage devoid of affection, based on status and alliance? I have always wondered that.”

Sophia’s eyes, filled with a mixture of understanding and empathy, met Clara’s gaze with a depth that spoke of shared struggles. The question lingered in the air, a delicate thread connecting the present to Sophia’s past.

Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Sophia leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “It was not easy, Clara. In the beginning, the prospect of a marriage arranged for status and alliance felt like a weight on my shoulders. James and I were strangers, brought together by circumstances beyond our control.”

“Yes, I remember,” Clara whispered, wishing that she had paid more attention to what was happening when Sophia was courting. But it felt like something that was a million miles away from her at the time. She was not thinking.

Sophia took a sip of tea, the porcelain cup cradled in her hands. “But with time, I learned to see beyond the societal expectations. James, despite the constraints of our arrangement, has proven to be a good gentleman at heart. He has shown kindness, understanding, and a genuine desire to make our marriage work.”

Sophia’s words held a quiet strength, a testament to the resilience that had defined her journey. Clara listened intently, sensing the unspoken complexities beneath Sophia’s composed exterior.

“As we navigated the challenges of life together,” Sophia continued, “something unexpected happened. Care blossomed, and over time, I found a deeper connection with James. It may not have started with the fervor of love, but it grew into something meaningful as we built our relationship, brick by brick.”

Clara’s heart absorbed Sophia’s story, the realization that love, in its many forms, could bloom even in the most unlikely of circumstances. She tried to consider Simon in that way, but it was overwhelming. She just could not see it.

“But that is not what you came here to discuss, is it?” Sophia asked. “Not really. I believe you have something else to talk about. I can see it in your eyes. Just so you know, I have seen the scandal sheets this morning, so I know you are suffering drama. Is it about Mr. Fitzhugh?”

Clara could not hold back any longer. “Yes, it is.”

The delicate ticking of the clock in Sophia’s drawing room seemed to underscore the weight of Clara’s worries. As tears welled in her eyes, Clara took a steadying breath, the vulnerability emanating out of her.

“Sophia, I have real feelings for Mr. Fitzhugh. More than I could ever feel for Lord Caldwell. I know he has not got the title that our parents want for us, but I can not help how I feel.”

Sophia’s eyes, pools of understanding, widened slightly at Clara’s revelation. “Oh, Clara… that is a very challenging predicament that you find yourself in. I am sure that our parents are not at all impressed. I can only imagine what you have gone through.”

“Sophia, what am I to do?” Clara whispered, her voice laden with uncertainty.

Sophia held Clara at arm’s length, her gaze unwavering. “You are not alone, Clara. Regardless of how turbulent events may become, I will stand by you. Love, in all its forms, is a journey filled with challenges. And I believe, with time, the truth of your heart will find a way to shine through.”

The reassurance in Sophia’s words, the unwavering support of a sister who understood the complexities of love and societal expectations, offered Clara a life line in the storm. She might have a lot to deal with moving forwards, but at least she would always have support from those who meant the most to her… whatever she decided…

***

As Clara stepped across the threshold of the Belmont mansion, a heavy sense of foreboding settled upon her. The familiar grandeur of the entry hall seemed transformed, each elegant fixture and ornate decoration now cast in the shadows of an impending storm. Clara took a deep breath, bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited.

Her father appeared in the hallway like a looming figure head, like he had been waiting for her. His stern expression sending bolts of iciness all the way through her.

Clara steeled herself, ready to face the consequences of her feelings for Christopher, but nothing could have prepared her for the words that followed.

“Clara,” her father intoned, his voice carrying the weight of finality, “Lord Simon Caldwell came calling while you were out this afternoon.”

“He did?” Clara gasped, wanting to clutch her chest that was now aching.

“He has formally asked for your hand in marriage,” her father continued with a smirk playing on his lips, which scared Clara more than anything else. “And I have accepted on your behalf.”

The words hung in the air, a sentence of fate delivered with an icy resolve. Clara’s heart sank as the reality of her father’s proclamation unfolded. Lord Caldwell, a man chosen for his status and connections, was to be her future husband—a resolution deemed perfect by her father to sever the inappropriate ties with Christopher.

Her parents really had never listened to her wants and desires, which was made terribly obvious right now. They did not want her to be happy, just ‘appropriate’ in the eyes of society.

“The reading of the banns is set to take place in two days’ time,” Clara’s father continued, as if the mere scheduling of the announcement held no significance. “This union shall put an end to the whispers surrounding your inappropriate dalliances with Mr. Fitzhugh once and for all. Thank goodness. This really is a blessing considering the events of this morning.”

The ground beneath Clara seemed to shift, and the air felt thick with despair. The world she had known, a world where she believed her heart could carve its own path, crumbled before her. The fate her father had decreed appeared wretchedly sealed, a future chosen for her without regard for the desires of her heart.

Her father’s blessing, bestowed so readily, felt like a cage closing in. Clara’s gaze searched for a glimmer of understanding in her father’s eyes, but all she found was the unyielding resolve of a man who believed he knew what was best for his daughter.

“I… I see,” she finally declared, because what else could she say? It was an accomplished agreement. There was nothing else. “Well, I have a headache, so I think I must rest.”

The tears were coming again, and she did not want to let them fall in front of her father.

The journey to her chambers felt like an eternity, each step heavier than the last. Clara’s facade of composure wavered with every measured breath, and the weight of her impending union with Lord Caldwell bore down on her like an insurmountable burden.

Once behind the closed door, Clara’s stoic demeanor crumbled. The facade that had shielded her from the prying eyes of her family shattered, and gut wrenching sobs wracked her body. She collapsed onto her bed, the softness of the linens offering little solace for the storm raging within.

Trying to accept that it was over once and for all was like dealing with a grief that she truly was not ready for. One that she did not think she could ever overcome.