CHAPTER 21

“So, what do you think about pink flowers?” her mother asked as Clara picked at her breakfast. “I always think they look perfect for weddings. And I have been thinking about where we should purchase your wedding gown…”

Clara gritted her teeth together as rage soared through her. How was all of this happening out of her control? Why was she not allowed a say for who she married?

Her plan with Christopher had spun out of control. They had worked really hard to get tongues wagging about their feelings for one another, whilst also trying their hardest not to ruin any reputation, but it had not worked.

Her father had agreed to a proposal for Lord Caldwell anyway, which was truly gutting.

“Clara, what do you think? You seem to be ignoring me.”

Clara knew that she was not giving her mother the right responses she wanted, but how on earth was she supposed to get excited about a wedding she did not even want?

“Sorry, Mother, I just…”

“What flowers would you like, Clara? I would like to have your input. I don’t want to have to make all the decisions for you. I am sure that Lord Caldwell would appreciate it if you made some of the choices. He is very excited about the wedding.”

Clara stared down at her untouched breakfast, her appetite drowned by the torrent of emotions raging within her. The mention of flowers and wedding gowns felt like a cruel reminder of the impending fate she seemed powerless to escape.

“Mother, you know it is not the easiest for me to get excited, because…”

But her mother did not want to give her the time and space to be honest, which Clara already knew was going to happen, so she was not sure why she bothered.

Lady Belmont’s face registered a mix of surprise and disapproval. “Clara, do not be foolish. Lord Caldwell is an excellent match. Your father and I have made this decision for the benefit of our family. You know that. I do not wish for you to keep being difficult.”

“But what about my happiness? What about love?” Clara retorted, her voice betraying the tumult of emotions within her.

Her mother sighed, frustration evident in her expression. “You are being unreasonable, Clara. Marriages are not built on love alone. They are alliances, unions that secure our standing in society. They always have been, and that is the way they always will be. This has already been decided, so I do not know why we are having this conversation. There is nothing to be gained from it. Your father has made this decision. All we can do is make the best of it.”

Clara rose from her seat, unable to continue this conversation with her mother. It was only breaking her heart even more. “I do not have an appetite. I am going to my bedchambers.”

But before Clara could go anywhere, the butler entered the room with the announcement that Lady Imogen Chambers had come to visit.

This was perfect for Clara, great news. She so desperately needed someone to talk to. Especially as Lady Abigail Ashford was holding her Spring Soiree this evening.

“Imogen, should we take a walk in the gardens?” Clara snapped rapidly, taking her friend outside before her mother could intervene. “Come on, let us get out of earshot.”

“Oh my! What is happening, Clara? I do not think I have ever seen you look so stressed.”

“It is my parents,” Clara finally responded once they were out of earshot. “I can not believe what they have done to me. They have ruined absolutely everything…”

Imogen furrowed her eye brows. “What do you mean?”

“My father has accepted a proposal to Lord Caldwell without my permission. Without my knowledge. I did not even know that it was going to happen.”

Imogen gasped in horror. “But your plan…”

“My plan has failed. Learning that there was something between Christopher and me has only made things worse because as you can see, my father did this just to keep me away from him.” Clara hung her head low, trying not to let tears fall. She was worried that if she started weeping, she might never stop. “I do not know what I can do.”

“You sound heart broken, Clara. Is that simply because you do not wish to be wed to Lord Caldwell, or is there something more to it?”

It was almost as if Imogen could see right through her. Because of that, Clara did not see any point in hiding her feelings any longer. “Imogen, I did not mean to fall in love with anyone. It was always the idea that Christopher and I would court to distract our parents and to turn them away from the people that they had their eyes on, but instead…”

“Instead your heart ended up on the line, and you are in pain. I understand that, dear Clara, I did see feelings brewing between you. I think everyone could see it.”

A single tear dripped down Clara’s cheek as she nodded. Imogen had warned her not to get hurt, but it had happened anyway. She had been a fool and profoundly fallen in love with Christopher. She could not deny it any longer.

“We have connected, Imogen. On a deep soul level. But there is nothing that I can do about it. My engagement to Lord Caldwell will be announced in the morning when the banns are placed, and there is nothing I can do about it. There is no way I can stop it, which is breaking my heart the most. Everything is out of my control.”

Imogen fell into silence, which Clara understood. She could be supported by her friend, but there was nothing that Imogen could say. There were no easy answers for such a tangled mess. There was no way that Clara could extract herself from this mess. She was stuck.

***

The grandeur of Lady Abigail Ashford’s Spring Soiree unfolded before Clara as she stepped into the opulent ballroom, adorned with cascading blossoms and sparkling chandeliers that cast a radiant glow. The air buzzed with lively conversation, laughter, and the enchanting melodies of the orchestra.

Clara, accompanied by her parents, wore a gown that mirrored the regality expected of a bride to be. The dress, a sea of cream colored silk, draped elegantly around her figure, adorned with delicate lace and intricate embroidery drawing all eyes her way. Not that Clara wanted to be looked at, especially when all of her desires were being betrayed.

As Lady Ashford greeted the Belmonts, Clara was struggling with a heavy weight pressing down on her chest. She was not going to be able to enjoy anything about this evening. Not when she knew exactly what was coming in the morning.

Clara tried to be polite. She answered questions when she was asked, and she wore a smile that masked the pain within, but she was not sure that she was passing it off well. Her parents were beaming and excited, but her mother kept shooting her pained looks.

Pained looks which only subsided when she caught sight of Lord Caldwell. “Ah look, Clara,” she hissed. “It is time for your first dance. Time for everyone in this room to see that you are linked to a lord, not a gentleman without a title.”

Clara just about resisted the urge to roll her eyes. How transparent her mother was, it was so clear that she was so embarrassed by the fact that Christopher was not born with a title, that she did not wish to even be associated with him at all. She did not care one bit about how Clara felt. She was not interested in her falling in love.

“Lady Belmont, might I say you are looking rather ravishing today,” Simon announced in an over the top voice, trying to get the attention of everyone around them. It was very clear. “I would love the honour of sharing this first dance with you.”

As he extended his hand to Clara, of course she had to take it. She could not disagree without looking rude. Especially as they were now betrothed to be married.

It was utterly infuriating. Clare did not like it one bit.

Once in the middle of the dance floor, under the eyes of many watching members of the ton, their dance began, the rhythm of the music guiding their steps. Simon’s conversation, however, lacked the enchanting cadence that usually accompanied a dance. Instead, it was a monologue, a self centered symphony that echoed in Clara’s ears like a dissonant melody.

“…tonight has been quite the night of networking for me, Lady Belmont. I have made some great bonds with people, which I believe will help me with my business moving forwards…”

Clara nodded politely, her eyes drifting to the swirling patterns on the ballroom floor as she struggled to feign interest in Simon’s words. The shallowness of his discourse grated against her, a stark contrast to the genuine connection she had shared with Christopher.

“And of course,” Simon continued, blissfully unaware of Clara’s inner turmoil, “a marriage such as ours will undoubtedly elevate both our families. The union of the Caldwells and the Belmonts. A match made in heaven.”

Clara managed a tight lipped smile as she glanced over Simon’s shoulder. But it was the sight of him which stripped the air from her lungs completely.

There, across the room, stood Christopher. Devastatingly handsome in the dim glow of the ballroom. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of anguish through Clara. The contrast between Simon’s self centered conversation and Christopher’s silent presence was stark, a visual representation of the choice she felt had been stripped from her.

Christopher’s eyes, pools of longing and understanding, met Clara’s for a fleeting moment. The connection between them, though restrained by the societal constraints that surrounded them, spoke volumes.

For a heartbeat, the world ceased to exist around them. Clara’s breath caught in her throat as she absorbed the unspoken plea in Christopher’s eyes. A plea that mirrored her own internal struggle. All she wanted was to be in his arms, and to stay there forever.

How was she supposed to do this? How was she supposed to survive a marriage with Lord Caldwell when she knew that Christopher was out in the world? It was agony. It was almost a relief as the song came to an end, so Clara could have a moment alone.

At least, that was what she thought was going to happen.

But Christopher had other ideas. He approached her before she even reached the corner of the dance floor with his hand out stretched, aching for a moment of her time.

Much as Clara wanted to refuse because she was drowning in agony, she knew that she could not. Not without causing a scene and without Christopher wanting to know what was happening… would it hurt him to learn that she could not be his? In a fa?ade or otherwise?

The quadrille unfolded before Clara, the choreography of the dance meticulously guiding her steps. The soft strains of the music embraced the ballroom, each note a whisper of the emotion that lay beneath the surface. As the dance progressed, Clara found herself reluctantly placed in Christopher’s proximity, their hands meeting in a proper yet tormented embrace.

This was not like dancing with Simon, not at all. Every nerve in Clara’s body thrummed with conflicting sensations. The touch, though restrained by societal norms, sent a jolt of thrill and torture through her. As they moved through the graceful patterns of the quadrille, the air between them crackled with the unspoken, a language of shared glances and charged proximity.

Silence enveloped them, and Clara fought the urge to break it with words that could never capture the magnitude of what she felt. There was no way to really express how she truly felt inside, and how torturous this all was.

A profound grief settled within Clara as she realized the weight of the impending separation. After tonight, the gentleman whose touch ignited a symphony of emotions within her would become a distant memory. A forbidden connection severed by the expectations of society.

Eventually, before either of them could say a word, the final notes of the quadrille lingered in the air, a poignant melody that marked the conclusion of a dance and the impending conclusion of a clandestine connection. With immense effort, Clara executed a polite curtsey, the weight of powerful emotions threatening to rupture her tenuous composure in full view of the observing crowd.

“Thank you very much for the dance, Christopher,” she said in almost a whisper. “But I must excuse myself from the dance floor now. I need… a moment…”

There was a crack in her voice.

The emotion was getting the better of her.

She could not avoid that.

So, without meeting Christopher’s eyes again and letting him know what was happening to her, Clara navigated through the elegant throng of guests. Every step felt like a heartbeat, a rhythmic echo of the unbearable farewell that loomed ahead. Her heart, heavy with the impending separation, yearned to imprint every detail of this last dance with Christopher.

Blindly, Clara slipped away from the ballroom, a lone figure seeking refuge in the corridors of Lady Ashford’s estate. The echo of her footsteps reverberated in the empty hallways, a solitary cadence that mirrored the solitude she anticipated in the days that lay ahead.

Unchaperoned, Clara sought a temporary haven. A secluded alcove by the gardens where she could release the flood gates of emotion in solitude. The walls seemed to bear witness to the silent struggles within her, offering a sanctuary for a heart weighed down by the conflicting forces of love and duty.

Once hidden away from the rest of the world for just a moment, Clara allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. The echoes of a sob, long suppressed, escaped into the empty space, a testament to the intensity of the heartache that threatened to engulf her. In the solitude of that moment, Clara clung to the remnants of a dance that had become the canvas of her forbidden emotions.

The dance that she knew she would cling onto for the rest of her life. Especially during the days that she found herself lonely, or even worse listening to Simon bore her with the details of his life and work. Details he truly seemed to think that she was utterly intrigued by, even if he did not show any interest in her life.

None at all.

Clara was grieving. Grieving for the loss of a life she never got the chance to have. Grieving for the marriage of love that she could have had, given half the chance.

It was the worst feeling that Clara had ever experienced in her life, and she knew that it was going to utterly consume her.