Page 3 of A Lady's Propitious Match
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.”
