Page 53 of A Lady's Propitious Match
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 ofscandalous 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.
