Page 38 of A Lady's Propitious Match
CHAPTER 17
Clara loved her sage green dress. She felt beautiful tonight, and was so grateful to Ruth for all the help she had given her to look her best. Never had she been so thrilled to go to the theatre. She could not wait for a sparkling exciting evening with Christopher.
People would talk. This would certainly amp up their plan. Her parents would have to accept that she was not going to marry Simon, sooner rather than later.
As Clara descended the grand staircase, the soft rustle of her gown accompanied the uneasy atmosphere that hung in the front hall. The delicate embroidery shimmered in the glow of the chandelier, but her keen senses detected an undercurrent of tension. Her sparkling green eyes flickered between Christopher and her father and she felt a knot tighten in her stomach.
Her father, usually an embodiment of stern composure, seemed more rigid than ever. His gaze met hers briefly, a silent communication passing between father and daughter. Clara’s intuition, finely tuned to the nuances of her family dynamics, sensed that something had transpired in her absence. Unspoken words lingered in the air, casting shadows over the evening’s plans.
She desperately hoped that her father had not said something to upset Christopher. She knew that her family were not happy with the events of the evening, but she had made her choice, and she had told them that she would stick to it.
They could not argue. Not when etiquette came in to it.
She darted her eyes towards Christopher. Dressed in a tailored suit that accentuated his strong frame, he wore a strained expression that did not go unnoticed. His eyes, momentarily avoiding hers, held a hint of apprehension. Clara’s heart quickened as she navigated the descending steps, her mind racing to decipher the unspoken tension that clung to the air.
“Mr. Fitzhugh,” she said, trying to give Christopher a much needed escape from her father. “Shall we proceed to the theatre?”
Reginald, without a word, abruptly excused himself. The front hall seemed to exhale a collective breath as he departed, leaving Clara and Christopher alone amidst the opulence of her mansion. Her father’s sudden withdrawal heightened Clara’s sense of uncertainty, and she sought answers in Christopher’s gaze.
He turned to face her, and for a moment, the weight of unspoken words lingered between them. Clara’s lips curved into a polite smile, attempting to dispel the tension. “Christopher, before we leave I must ask, is everything alright? It seems my father left in quite a hurry.”
A fleeting expression of concern crossed his features, and he offered her his arm, a gesture meant to usher them forward. “It is nothing to worry about, Clara. We should leave now. The carriage is awaiting us.”
Unease weighed on Clara’s shoulders, but as they made their way down the long hallway, Christopher seemed to be distracted. He wanted to talk about something else.
“Clara, I must ask about these ancestral portraits. Did you paint any of these?”
She glanced at the paintings, recognizing the distinct styles of various artists throughout the generations. “No, these are the works of talented artists from our family’s history. I have not painted anything displayed here.”
A mischievous gleam lit up Christopher’s eyes. “Ah, but you owe me a private viewing of your own artistic endeavours, remember?”
Clara blushed, a smile playing on her lips. “I am afraid that will not be possible. My parents do not see the merit in my creative pursuits. According to them, a lady’s talents are better directed towards more appropriate and feminine endeavours. There is no hallway displaying my paintings. They are hidden away like a secret.”
Christopher frowned. “Well that seems very unfair. I have heard that your paintings are beautiful and would love to see them.”
Her blush deepened, appreciating his support. “Thank you, Christopher. But my parents’ beliefs are deeply ingrained. It is noteasy to change their views. I do not imagine I will ever have their respect when it comes to my paintings.”
The soft murmur of the night enveloped Clara as they stepped outside, heading towards the awaiting carriage. The moon cast its silvery glow on the cobble stone path, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze provided a serene backdrop to the evening. Yet, the unresolved tensions lingered, casting shadows on the edges of the night.
Seated across from Christopher inside the plush carriage, Clara with Ruth by her side, attempted to dispel the lingering unease with casual conversation.
“Christopher, have you always been fond of the theatre?”
He leaned back comfortably, looking like he was truly considering his answer. “I must confess, the theatre has its own allure. The ability to lose oneself in a captivating performance. It is a form of escapism I find quite appealing.”
Clara nodded, her eyes wandering to the passing cityscape. It was hard to have this conversation with the lingering tension, but she had to try “Indeed, there is something magical about watching a story unfold on stage. Do you have a favourite play?”
Christopher nodded slowly. “I have always been drawn to Shakespeare. The complexity of human emotions he weaves into his plays is truly remarkable. How about you?”
She pondered for a moment before answering, “I find Beethoven’s works quite intriguing. The way he explores the subtleties of human relationships resonates with me.”
Christopher, his features softened by the ambient glow of the carriage’s interior, caught her gaze and the ruse fell away from his face. “Clara, I hope the evening has not been too disconcerting for you. I still hope we can enjoy ourselves.”
She offered a reassuring smile, “Would you care to share what happened with my father?”
Christopher hesitated, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and concern. “It was a difference of opinions, Clara. Your father disapproves of our association, and tonight brought those sentiments to the surface.”
Clara’s heart sunk. The weight of societal expectations pressed on her shoulders, and she sighed, “It seems our connection challenges more than just my family’s expectations. He does not understand that life can be lived through art, and that people can make a living from it.”
