CHAPTER 23

The moon lit garden bore witness to a revelation that left Clara’s heart suspended in a state of uncertainty. Christopher’s impassioned plea hung in the air, his words echoing with the promise of escape, of a love that defied the chains of societal expectations. Staring at him in stunned silence, Clara grappled with the tumultuous emotions that surged within.

His eyes bore in to hers, searching for a glimmer of agreement, a shared resolve to challenge the constraints that sought to tear them apart. The wedding that would ruin any chance at love for the rest of their lives.

In that moment, the possibility of eloping with Christopher unfurled before her like a forbidden dream. The world, once familiar, now seemed drenched in the intoxicating allure of rebellion. Since no one would listen to her desire to marry for love, and her parents kept insisting that she wed for a title, perhaps this was the sort of action she needed to take.

To protect herself, and to live out the life that she so desperately wanted.

But she was afraid. There was no denying that she was scared. She had never done anything to defy her family before and certainly not something so huge that it would affect the Belmont name entirely for years to come.

So she was undeniably torn.

The scent of the night blossoms mingled with the uncertainty that clouded Clara’s thoughts. Christopher’s declaration had stirred a tempest within her, tempting possibilities warring with ingrained propriety. Her mind raced, grappling with the weight of consequences that loomed on the horizon.

Could she truly abandon the life she had known — the family ties, the social standing — to grasp at fleeting happiness with Christopher? The very idea both exhilarated and terrified her in equal measures. The tendrils of tradition, of societal expectations, clung to her conscience, whispering warnings of the ruin that awaited those who dared defy the established order.

Christopher’s eyes were pools of intensity, awaiting her response with bated breath. She could feel just how badly he needed her to answer. But she could not find the words. Not yet anyway. Clara’s conflicted gaze flickered between him and the shadows that concealed the life she was expected to lead.

“I… I…” She tried to answer, but still could not yet find the words. Still she was torn.

Duty or love?

Her parents and reputation or a life of happiness?

It was not an easy decision, much as she wished it was.

Might she dare to seize this profound chance, even if it meant being cast out from the only world she had ever known? The answer lingered in the night air, as Clara grappled with the precipice of a decision that could redefine the course of her existence.

She could not decide forever.

She needed to come up with some kind of answer. Especially because she did not wish to leave Christopher hanging, wondering why she was not enthusiastically jumping on the idea.

It was not that she did not feel the same way, it was simply that she was scared.

But before she could get any words out, a sharp gasping sound flew through the air, alerting both Christopher and Clara to the fact that they were no longer alone.

It was Lady Susan Caldwell.

Simon’s mother.

And she was looking right at them.

To make things worse, Lady Caldwell was accompanied by a circle of gossips, and their sounds of disapproval echoed through the night.

Clara’s heart skipped a beat as the shadowy rendezvous that had held the promise of freedom and choice was abruptly exposed to the harsh light of judgment. Mortification gripped her as disapproving glares intensified, casting a spot light on their clandestine meeting.

A rush of heat climbed Clara’s neck as the circle of gossips clucked their tongues, reveling in the scandal that unfolded before their eyes.

In that moment, all Clara wanted to do was to grab hold of Christopher’s hand and to start running right now, all the way to Gretna Green before anyone could capture them. But she was not going to get a chance to do so.

Someone had already alerted Clara’s parents as to what was happening. How they had managed to do so this fast was a miracle. But once the ton started to gossip about something, words could travel fast.

Ice cold fear gripped Clara’s heart, a paralyzing force that tightened its grip as her parents approached with deliberate steps. Their expressions, thoroughly unimpressed, bore the weight of disapproval that hung in the air like a suffocating fog. Clara’s breath caught in her throat, and she exchanged a fleeting glance with Christopher, their shared uncertainty echoing in the tense silence.

As her parents closed the distance, Clara’s mind raced, trying to anticipate the magnitude of the storm about to crash down upon her. The life she had known, the world she had inhabited, now stood on the precipice of irrevocable change.

In that harrowing moment, Clara could not fathom what lay ahead. The life she had carefully navigated, the privileges and expectations that came with her family name, threatened to unravel before her very eyes. The icy fear that gripped her extended beyond the immediate judgment; it was the fear of the unknown, the uncertainty of what would be left in the wake of this profound upheaval.

Clara sucked in a sharp breath and she tried to hold her head up high. This might be the time that she needed to finally make her parents understand that this was what she wanted. That she had never wanted to be forced into a union with Lord Caldwell, and that they should have listened to her in the first place, to save them all humiliation.

But the words did not come. Her father’s intense stare was too overwhelming for her. She was cowardly, and far too afraid to say a thing.

The same could not be said for her father. He had a lot to say, and he was not going to let his opinion go unheard.

“What on earth is happening here?”

The world around Clara seemed to warp and distort as her father forcefully pulled her away from Christopher’s side. A numbness settled over her, a surreal detachment from the unfolding reality.

“I can not believe you have ruined our night like this.”

Her father’s grip on her arm was firm, each step he took away from Christopher felt like an anchor dragging her deeper into the abyss of despair. Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythmic drumming of terror as the scandalized whispers and the sharp gasps of the gathered onlookers filled the night air.

Christopher’s eyes bore in to Clara’s with a desperate intensity, a silent plea that resonated in the depths of her soul. The space that widened between them felt like an insurmountable chasm, a physical manifestation of the shattered connection that had promised a different, liberated future.

Reginald’s voice, a thunderous boom in the night, cut through the haze of Clara’s shock. “That scoundrel!” he declared with outraged authority, his words echoing with the weight of a father’s protective fury as he turned the blame around on to Christopher, and far away from Clara. “I challenge him to a duel for compromising my daughter!”

Agony seared through Clara as the words hung in the air. The world seemed to contract around her, the impending duel a chilling prospect that threatened to consume all she held dear.

Blinking back scalding tears, Clara felt as though she were trapped in a nightmarish dance. The tension in the air of the ballroom was palpable as her father and she made their way through the crowded space, each face in the room a potential witness to their family’s unraveling.

The gazes of the assembled guests bore in to Clara, their eyes carrying a mix of curiosity, judgment, and perhaps a tinge of scandalous delight. Malicious whispers surged around her like a venomous current, carrying with them the weight of vile speculation. Clara cringed at the realization that the news was spreading like wildfire, fueled by the insatiable appetite for scandal that seemed to thrive in the shadowed corners of society.

Tensions tightened around her like a vise as she caught fragments of the hushed conversations. Her family name intertwined with the scandal that had unfolded in the moon lit garden. The respectable veneer they had meticulously maintained now threatened to crumble, tarnished by the stain of unfounded rumors and societal gossip all because she had wanted one pure moment with the man that she truly loved. The man she already wished that she had run away with.

That ending would have been much preferable to this.

Her father maintained a stoic facade, his face etched with determination and a hint of anguish. Clara, however, felt a wave of vulnerability washing over her. The tears she had blinked back now threatened to spill over, leaving a trail of unspoken despair in her wake.

The crowded ballroom seemed to close in on Clara as she navigated the sea of faces, each glance laden with judgment and gossip. Her heart sank even further when the arrogant figure of Lord Caldwell materialized from the shadows. A malicious smirk played on his lips as he emerged, his tone carrying an insufferable arrogance that cut through the air.

“Naturally,” Simon declared in carrying tones, his voice intentionally loud for all to hear, “given the shocking circumstances, it is with great regret that I must publicly call off our formal betrothal this instant. I can not continue after what has happened.”

A wave of mortification washed over Clara as Simon shook his head disparagingly. The weight of his words hung in the air like a guillotine, severing the last threads of her reputation. Doing exactly what her parents feared he would, destroying her completely.

He knew that he would have plenty of women wanting to be his wife, so for Simon none of this really mattered. It was her who was destroyed.

And her family too.

She felt the avid stares of onlookers intensify as her parents, bearing the heavy burden of their daughter’s perceived transgressions, hustled her away from the unfolding spectacle. The swirling whispers followed them like a ghostly trail, echoing the descent of her once pristine reputation in to smoldering ruins.

Avoiding eye contact, Clara’s gaze remained fixed on the ground as she was ushered outside. The cool night air offered little solace against the scorching heat of shame that clung to her. Each step felt like a march toward the inevitable — a life forever altered by the choices and events that had spun out of control.

Now she did not have the offer of a betrothal to a duke, even if that was something she did not want, and she no longer had Christopher. Not now that her father had demanded a duel with him.

A strong sense of hopelessness overcame Clara as she tried to process the disastrous night. She had not been looking forward to this soiree, but she certainly did not think that it would end in such a tragic way.

Now, as the daughter of an earl, she really was going to wind up a lonely spinster. Since her parents were so unhappy with her and the way that everything had panned out, there was no way that they would leave her to a life of art either.

Whatever happened next, she was sure that she would be miserable, dreaming of Gretna Green and what could have been if she had only been brave enough to follow through with Christopher’s plan.

What was he thinking now?

Was he still at the ball receiving stares from the crowd?

How would he handle that?

Chances were, Christopher would resume the life that he had before, the one which made him happy. Teaching art in Europe, never worrying about what happened in London again.

While she would be absolutely broken. Lost and alone forever.