“Music means what you take it to mean, darling,” she said. “If you don’t like the way a song sounds, try to hear it a different way.”
Clara nodded slowly, taking in the reassuring words of her friends. She didn’t think that any handful of words would ever make her comfortable with her situation. But it felt nice to have love and support, especially when she felt so cold and alone at home.
When tea was over, Hannah rose.
“I have already sorted our ribbons and beads,” she said, pointing across the room. “I have them all laid out over here on this table, and I encourage you to make as many little items as you would like. I have more supplies, should we need them.”
Clara glanced at the table, desperately willing her heart to lift. It was her favorite time of year, and she loved making things for the less fortunate people of the village. With no more words exchanged right then, the trio began working.
The vibrant materials, rich in hue and texture, provided a welcome distraction to Clara’s untamed thoughts. She tried to immerse herself in the task, letting the repetitive motions soothe her mind. The rhythmic snipping of the scissors, the soft rustle of the ribbons, and the comforting presence of Mary and Hannah acted as a balm to her frazzled nerves.
***
Upon her return to the manor that afternoon, Clara found her mother conversing with the family’s seamstress, Mrs. Caldwell. Before them, on a mannequin, was an exquisite gown, one that should have taken weeks, if not months. The fabric shimmered a deep blue, accented by intricate silver embroidery. Clara might have mistaken it for a dress meant for royalty, were it not for the fact that she knew exactly for what event the dress was intended.
“Clara, darling,” the countess said as she caught sight of her daughter. “Come and join us. I commissioned Mrs. Caldwell to make this dress for you as my betrothal gift to you. Please, come and tell us what you think of it.”
With a resigned sigh, Clara approached her mother and the seamstress. The beauty of the gown was undeniable, yet its implications were a terrible burden. Slipping into the dress, she marveled at how it fit her like a glove. Clearly, her mother had specified her measurements to the seamstress, and the woman had expertly complied. Normally, a dress that fit so well would fill Clara with delight. Now, she was only filled with dread.
“You look resplendent,” Harriet said, admiration evident in her eyes.
“It is incredible,” Clara said, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric. “Yet, the occasion it’s meant for fills me with trepidation.”
Harriet’s countenance softened and she took Clara’s hands into hers.
“I know, my darling,” she said. “I understand that all of this is very sudden and overwhelming. But life and love are mysterious forces. Give them time, and you might find a happiness that you never expected.”
Clara looked into her mother’s eyes, searching for the reassurance she desperately needed.
“Did you?” she dared to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her mother paused, pondering the question.
“Your father and I had our challenges,” she said. “Like yours, our marriage was one of convenience, not one born of passion. But over time, understanding and companionship grew, forging a bond stronger than we could have anticipated.”
Clara nodded silently, feeling less than inspired by her mother’s words. She had always wanted a marriage filled with love. She knew that her parents loved each other, and that they had always seemed very happy with one another. But who was to say that she could be guaranteed the same kind of luck? She reflected on her mother’s words, considering the swarm of intense emotions swirling within her.
“I will try,” she said, putting on a smile that was far more certain than she felt.
Harriet nodded, squeezing Clara’s hands reassuringly.
“That’s all I can ask,” she said.
Chapter Four
Julian leaned back against his seat in the parlor, closing his eyes as his mind battled with his new reality. The fabric of the high-backed chair, soft beneath his touch, transported him to days when his mother would sit with him, singing songs and helping him forget his troubles. He could hear her laughter, a gentle sound that was as melodic as the notes she sang. His fingers involuntarily grazed the velvet upholstery as he recalled the way she would put her hand on his and give him the most loving, reassuring smiles.
“Remember, my dearest Julian,”he could hear her say, the memory vivid and aching,“Life can be anything you wish. You only have to make it so. And no one can ever take that from you.”
He snorted, thinking back to his father’s decision to marry him off to Clara. It seemed that his mother had been wrong. There was one person who could take that freedom from him. It wasn’t his mother’s fault; there was no way she could have predicted that the duke would ever impose such a burden onto Julian. But he also knew, as he had told his father, that if she were still alive, she would never allow her husband to even suggest such a thing. Then again, if she was still alive, would his father even need to consider such an arrangement?
The parlor door creaked softly, shaking him from his reverie. Julian’s father entered, his eyes keenly studying his son’s face.
“Julian,” he said. “The final details have been settled between George and me. You are to be wed to Clara immediately after Christmastide.”
The statement hung in the air like a declaration of war, dispelling the comforting sanctuary of his mother’s memories. Suddenly, his fate seemed much more final than it had when he had left his father’s study. And just as suddenly, Julian found that he was not okay with that. His mind raced, processing the announcement. Although it was no surprise, it was still something he couldn’t imagine coming to pass.
“I do wish that I had some say in this matter, Father,” he said. “If you wish for me to marry, could I not at least have a chance to find my own bride?”