CHAPTER 20

The brisk wind of Hyde Park did little to dispel the cloud of tension that hung over Christopher as he guided his horse back towards home. The invigorating ride, which usually served as a balm for his restless thoughts, had done little to ease the growing turmoil within him. An unspoken premonition lingered in the air, and as he approached the familiar facade of his home, an ominous weight settled on his shoulders.

Entering the parlor, Christopher was met with a scene that mirrored the storm brewing within him. Graham was there, sat with an air of authority, a stern expression etched across his face. Their mother sat close beside Graham, trying to show a united front.

Christopher already knew that this was not going to go well for him.

He wanted to leave this room immediately, he was not ready for this conversation, but he took a seat anyway because he knew that was what was expected of him. There was no avoiding it.

“Christopher,” Graham began, his tone carrying an air of finality, “I am here to talk to you, because you do not seem to be listening to our mother. With Father no longer here, it has fallen to me to talk with you.”

Christopher stifled a snort of laughter. It was going to be incredibly difficult to keep a straight face through this. “About what?”

“I think you know by now that it is well past time you got serious about your future.”

Christopher raised an eyebrow, a sense of iciness settling in. Who was Graham to talk to him about his life? “What do you mean? I am continuing my art teaching business here, that has already been discussed, and I will not change my mind.”

Graham sighed, exchanging a meaningful glance with their mother before continuing. “You have been indulging in this... ill fated dalliance with Lady Belmont for far too long. It is time to put an end to it and focus on a respectable courtship that befits your station.”

Christopher’s heart sank, the implications of Graham’s words weaving a tapestry of dread. Leonora, no longer able to maintain her silence, spoke with a commanding tone. “I agree, as you know, and because of that I have informed the Devereux family that you will not be taking Lady Belmont on any more outings. That you will instead focus your attentions on Miss Henrietta.”

Christopher’s mind raced, grappling with the sudden turn of events. “Cease? Mother, I have never courted Miss Henrietta. Why would I abruptly cease seeing Lady Belmont after one mere outing to the theater?”

Leonora’s gaze hardened, her disapproval palpable. “An outing that has caused a scandal in the sheets. Everyone is talking about it, and passing their own judgements. Our family does not need that. It is time that you consider your responsibilities, Christopher. Miss Henrietta is an appropriate match, one that will secure our family’s standing. You will formally court her, and I have already made the necessary arrangements. I do not want you to argue with me. I have tried to leave you to make your own choices, but you have failed. It is time for me and your brother to intervene now.”

The parlor walls seemed to close in on Christopher as the weight of his family’s expectations settled over him like a suffocating shroud. The air, once filled with the scent of freedom after his exhilarating ride, now reeked of stifling tradition and the suffocating grip of societal norms. The echo of Graham’s declaration and Leonora’s directive reverberated in his mind, igniting a fire storm of emotions that had long smoldered beneath the surface.

Anger, raw and unbridled, surged within Christopher, a torrential force threatening to consume the carefully constructed facades of familial duty. His thoughts, like a tempest, swirled around the memories of his last painful argument with his late father — the bitter clash over his artistic pursuits, the unyielding resistance to his passions.

The image of his father’s disapproving gaze, the same gaze that now seemed to linger in Graham’s stern expression, fueled the flames of resentment that had long simmered beneath the surface. Christopher’s jaw clenched, and the weight of a life time of expectations bore down on him.

In the midst of this tempest, Clara’s face emerged in his mind. Her free spirit, the belief she held in his artistic pursuits, the way her eyes sparkled with understanding — it had become a beacon of change in his life. The encounter at the theater, the stolen glances and shared laughter, had ignited something in Christopher’s soul, a transformation that stirred his perspectives and unraveled the shackles that bound him.

“No more,” Christopher whispered to himself, a quiet vow that echoed through the caverns of his soul. The realization struck him with a force akin to revelation — he would no longer tolerate being told how to live. Clara’s influence, the courage she unknowingly instilled in him, became a catalyst for rebellion against the predetermined path his family sought to impose.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” his mother snapped. “No more what?”

“No more telling me what to do. I will not court Miss Henrietta when she is not the one that I want. I have always told you that is not what I want.

The air in the parlor crackled with tension as Christopher squared off against Graham, the weight of generations of family expectations bearing down on them like an oppressive force. Graham, with an air of condescension, dismissed Christopher’s refusal to court Miss Henrietta with a derisive comment.

“Christopher, you could never secure an earl’s daughter,” Graham remarked, his tone laden with disdain. “Stop making a fool of yourself. Miss Henrietta is a suitable match, one that befits our family’s standing. Be reasonable for once.”

The words, like a series of calculated blows, struck at the heart of Christopher’s defiance. The anger that had simmered beneath the surface erupted, transforming into a fierce resolve. The echoes of Graham’s words collided with the memories of his late father’s disapproval, creating a crescendo of frustration that reverberated through Christopher’s being.

Fury burned in Christopher’s eyes as he finally, and decisively, snapped. “I am finished living according to everyone else’s expectations and orders. My father disapproved of my choices, and now both my mother and you condemn rather than support me. It is not right. No one should be forced to live like this.”

Graham, taken aback by the force of Christopher’s outburst, struggled to find words to counter. The air in the room crackled with tension as the two brothers stood locked in a battle of wills, each representing a different vision for Christopher’s future.

With a defiant gaze, Christopher turned away before his brother could think of a retort, leaving the parlor and the weight of family expectations behind. The echoes of his declaration lingered in the air, a testament to the breaking of chains that had bound him for far too long.

The seething anger propelled Christopher through the hallways of his family home, each step echoing the tumultuous storm within him. The parlor confrontation had been a breaking point, and the weight of years of familial expectations and suffocating traditions spurred him forward with a determination to break free.

Upon reaching his bedchambers, he wasted no time. His hands moved with a fierce urgency, swiftly gathering his belongings. Garments, personal mementos, and the sketches that bore witness to his artistic aspirations were carefully stowed away.

He had left once before, for his travels across Europe, but something about this felt far more final. He could not listen to his mother and brother for another second.

With his belongings packed and slung over his shoulder, Christopher descended the stair case, his steps firm and resolute. The gravity of his decision hung in the air like an unspoken proclamation.

As he reached the threshold of departure, his mother appeared in the foyer. Her eyes, filled with distress and pleading, locked on to his. “Christopher, please, reconsider. This path you are choosing — it leads to ruin. You have to accept that it will affect all of us. Not just you.”

His retort came with a forceful clarity, a declaration of independence that left no room for compromise. “Mother, I have never seen matters more clearly. This is the best decision, for me, for you, for everyone. You will soon see that.”

His voice, tinged with the weight of finality, resounded through the cavernous halls. With his belongings in tow, Christopher stepped into the unknown, the echo of his footsteps marking the beginning of a journey that would redefine the course of his life. The door closed behind him, shutting out the stifling expectations of the past, and as he ventured into the night, the cool breeze carried with it the promise of newfound freedom and self-determination.

***

Christopher’s steps echoed through the quiet streets of London as he navigated the familiar path to his Aunt Abigail’s residence. The weight of his belongings seemed inconsequential compared to the burden he had shed at long last.

This was something he should have done a long time ago.

He reached the familiar door step and, with a mixture of apprehension and relief, raised his hand to knock. The door swung open, revealing Aunt Abigail, her warm eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected visitor.

“Christopher?” she exclaimed, concern etching her features. “What brings you here, my dear?”

He took a deep breath, the cool night air providing a welcome contrast to the stifling emotions he had left behind. “Aunt Abigail, I have had a fallout with Mother and Graham. I need a place to stay until I can find my own.”

Aunt Abigail’s gaze softened with understanding, and she opened the door wider, inviting him in. “Come in, dear. You’re always welcome here for as long as you like.”

As Christopher entered the familiar interior, the scent of Aunt Abigail’s home enveloped him like a comforting embrace. The warm glow of lamp light and the familiar creak of wooden floor boards carried a sense of sanctuary that he had longed for.

They took a seat and Abigail had drinks poured for them, before it was time for him to talk.

“Aunt Abigail, I fear I have made a mistake.”

“Does it have anything to do with the scandal sheets?”

He nodded, sick of hearing about the paper today. “Yes, things have gotten very complicated. It all started as a ploy to thwart Mother’s relentless matchmaking schemes,” Christopher began, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and regret. “She was determined to see me wed to Miss Henrietta Devereux, as you know, but I had other plans for my life — plans that involved pursuing my passion for art.”

Aunt Abigail nodded encouragingly, her kind eyes urging him to continue. “I know.”

“I needed a way to divert Mother’s attention, to create a smoke screen that would allow me the freedom to choose my own path,” he explained, tracing the intricate patterns on the arm rest of the well worn chair. “That is when the idea of a false courtship with Clara emerged.”

“So, that was a plan?” Aunt Abigail looked confused. “I thought I spotted a real spark between the two of you.”

“Well, Clara agreed to play along, understanding the predicament I was in,” he continued, the admission accompanied by a heavy sigh. “And she found herself in a similar position, with her family wanting her to marry a duke that she did not like. We thought we could navigate the charade with ease, never anticipating the twists and turns it would take. It was meant to be a game, Aunt Abigail, a ruse to gain my freedom. Our freedom.”

Aunt Abigail listened with a sympathetic ear, her wise eyes reflecting understanding. The weight of unspoken emotions filled the room, and as Christopher reached the crescendo of his story, the admission hung in the air.

“But in the midst of all of that, I have fallen in love with her, Aunt Abigail,” he confessed, the words carrying a vulnerability that resonated through the quiet room. “I did not mean to, but it has happened. We share values and interests. I have never met anyone like her before.”

Aunt Abigail, ever the compassionate confidante, nodded with a knowing smile. “Love has a way of weaving its own tapestry, my dear. The heart often chooses its own path, regardless of the circumstances.”

Christopher sighed, the weight of his revelation lifting, if only slightly. “But it was all a ruse. I never intended for it to become this... complicated.”

Aunt Abigail’s gaze held a gentle intensity as she responded, “Sometimes, the most beautiful things emerge from the most unexpected places. It seems to me that you’ve stumbled upon a truth you had not anticipated, but that you now must embrace.”

The gravity of her words settled over Christopher, and a sense of clarity emerged from the emotional tumult. “What should I do, Aunt Abigail? I fear the consequences of revealing my true feelings, especially after the fallout with Mother and Graham.”

Aunt Abigail leaned forward, her voice a comforting whisper. “My dear, the biggest mistake would be not declaring your true feelings while you have the chance. Life is too short for regrets, and love is a force that should not be underestimated. Speak your heart, Christopher, and let the pieces fall where they may.”

It was the same advice as Elliot, and again Christopher found himself far more drawn to that because it led to happiness. Both Clara and he deserved happiness, right?

“I am holding a Spring Ball very soon. Perhaps that would be a good time for you to be open.”

This announcement sent ripples of anticipation through Christopher’s thoughts. The prospect of facing Clara in the midst of the grand event, surrounded by the opulence of a ballroom, felt like a symbolic stage for the revelation that had been brewing within him.

“A spring ball, Aunt Abigail?” Christopher questioned, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “Do you truly think that is right?”

“Yes, my dear,” Aunt Abigail replied with a twinkle in her eye. “The timing seems fortuitous, especially with the Belmonts in attendance. A ballroom, adorned in the blossoms of spring, offers an enchanting backdrop for truths to unfold. It all sounds rather romantic, do you not think?”

A meaningful silence hung in the air as Aunt Abigail’s gaze held Christopher’s. The unspoken understanding between them resonated like a shared secret, a dance of truths waiting to be unveiled.

“You have an opportunity, my dear, to lay bare your heart to Clara,” Aunt Abigail continued, her voice gentle yet firm. “Bravely embrace the moment, and let the cards fall where they may. Love, after all, is a dance of risks and rewards.”

Christopher took a deep breath, the weight of the decision settling within him. With a grateful nod to Aunt Abigail, he began to envision the upcoming ball not just as a lavish event of social decorum but as a stage for a profound revelation.

It was scary, but something that he needed to do. Aunt Abigail had made that utterly clear and he knew that she was right.