Page 50 of A Lady's Propitious Match
CHAPTER 22
Something was wrong with Clara.
Christopher was not sure what had her so troubled, but he knew that she was not enjoying the evening. She seemed distracted, upset, and like she did not want to be at this soiree.
He had noticed this when she as dancing with Lord Caldwell. She was silent, barely even looking at him, but Christopher assumed that was because he bored her.
He was not expecting to get the same treatment from Clara as they danced too, but it was like she could not even see him.
There was no connection at all, which was incredibly unusual.
So, watching her make excuses to run out of the ballroom had him even more conflicted and confused. Where was she going? Why did she have such a profound sadness in her eyes? A melancholy surrounding her?
A frown furrowed Christopher’s brow as he questioned whether he had unknowingly caused Clara distress. The enigma of her emotions left him unsettled, and a seed of worry took root in his chest. Had their clandestine connection become too heavy a burden for Clara to bear?
If she did not wish to continue on with their ruse because it was causing her too many issues, then all she needed to do was talk to him. She never needed to run away from him.
Christopher was actually a little upset that she did not seem to want to confide in him. Were they not close enough for that? He thought that they had built up a genuine bond.
Compelled to ensure she was alright, no matter what was going on, Christopher felt an urgency building up within him. An instinct that demanded immediate action.
Ignoring the lively conversations and enchanting music that echoed through the grand ballroom, Christopher navigated the sea of elegantly dressed guests with determined strides. He had to find Clara, to make sure she was safe and well.
The crowded expanse seemed to part ways for him, as if recognizing the gravity of his mission. All aside from one person. The one person who grabbed hold of his shoulders and stopped him in his tracks before he could complete his mission.
Startled, Christopher turned to see his mother, a woman of grace and authority, her eyes reflecting a mix of urgency and concern. “Christopher,” she implored, her voice carrying a weight that demanded attention. “There is something of great importance that we must discuss immediately. You must come with me a moment.”
The glint in his mother’s eyes betrayed her intentions, and Christopher could not shake the feeling that she was gearing up for another round of relentless matchmaking. Especially as her gaze kept darting towards the Deveraux family.
Christopher’s frustration mounted. It was as if she believed she could orchestrate his heart as easily as she did the elaborate social gatherings that adorned their lives. Tonight, however, he had reached his limit. He could not bear to speak with Henrietta or her parents. He did not have the heart to be polite and to act in the way that was expected of him. He had something else on his mind, and there was no way he could not be distracted.
“Mother, not now,” he interrupted tersely, his frustration seeping in to his words. “I do not have time for this. There is another matter that requires my immediate attention. Please, whatever you are concerned about, let us talk about it in the morning.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion, and Christopher seized the opportunity to make his escape. He shook his head in defiance of her agenda and turned away, leaving his mother standing there with unanswered questions lingering in the air
Right now, he had a more pressing matter to attend to. Something that demanded his attention more urgently than the orchestrated dance of courtship. As he walked away, heading in the same direction that he had seen Clara almost run only moments before, he could not help but wonder if, just for once, his mother would allow him to navigate the currents of his own heart.If only she could see into his heart, so she could know just how he truly felt.
Perchance, she would grant him respite.
The grand ballroom with its swirling melodies and dazzling lights faded away as Christopher stepped into the cool embrace of the night. The urgent rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the revelry echoed through the expansive gardens, where shadows danced beneath the moon’s silver glow.
His eyes, filled with a mixture of worry and determination, scanned the dimly lit pathways and secluded corners. The night held secrets, and he felt an invisible force guiding him through the labyrinth of emotions. He had to find her, had to be the solace she needed in this moment of profound despair.
A distant silhouette finally caught his attention. A slender form amid the fragrant rose arbor, nestled in a small alcove. Clara. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, shoulders trembling with muffled sobs. The air thickened with unspoken pain, and the distance between them suddenly felt like an insurmountable chasm.
As he approached, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, retrieving a finely embroidered handkerchief. The delicate fabric felt cool against his finger tips, a small token of comfort he hoped would offer solace in the face of her distress.
Christopher’s heart sank at the sight of Clara’s tear streaked cheeks and wild, pained eyes. He approached her with a silent urgency, an unspoken vow to be her pillar of support in this moment of profound distress. Without uttering a word, he extended his handkerchief, a small gesture intended to offer solace.
Clara’s trembling hands reached out to accept the delicate fabric, and their eyes met in a shared moment. One where he felt far more connected to her than he had on the dance floor. But it was not enough. He was still quite sure that there was something else happening.
The moonlight revealed the vulnerability etched into her features, and Christopher’s chest tightened with an empatheticache. He yearned to shield her from the world’s cruelty, to be the refuge she sought in the midst of the storm.
As she wiped away her tears, Clara took a shuddering breath, her voice fragile and filled with sorrow. “Christopher,” she began, her words quivering with the weight of a revelation she could no longer bear alone, “my father has given my hand in marriage to Lord Caldwell, without my permission, without me even knowing until it was too late. It is to be announced in the banns in the morning. I am not sure if there is any hope, I can not escape. I fear I am trapped without a solution now.”
The gravity of her words hung in the air, a heavy pall that cast a shadow over the tranquil garden. Christopher’s eyes widened with shock, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Lord Simon Caldwell, the very name echoed in the recesses of his mind, a bitter taste staining the sweetness of the night.
A surge of emotions — anger, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of injustice — clashed within him. He struggled to find the right words, his throat constricted by the injustice of Clara’s fate. How could her father decree such a union without considering her feelings, her desires?
