Page 56 of A Lady's Propitious Match
CHAPTER 25
Several days had passed since the misty dawn that had shifted the trajectory of their lives. Clara, seeking solace in the quiet sanctuary of her art, found herself painting a morose landscape. The brush moved across the canvas, capturing the somber tones that mirrored the emotions swirling within her.
In the midst of her creative solitude, the butler’s discreet summons disrupted the quiet rhythm of her thoughts. It seemed that her father was finally well enough to talk with her, which she supposed was a wonderful turn of events.
Although that did not cause her nerves to subside. She was still very anxious about everything. Her father had not been impressed with her about her behavior at the Spring Soiree, and she was concerned that he still wanted to duel with Christopher.
Setting aside the brush, Clara made her way to her father’s bedchamber, her heart hammering against her rib cage as she walked.
Entering the room where Reginald convalesced, Clara was unprepared for the emotional intensity that greeted her. The once stern countenance of her father seemed softened, vulnerable, as if the recent brush with mortality had peeled away layers of stoicism.
Reginald’s eyes, usually a reflection of authority and resolve, now held a depth of emotion that Clara had not seen before. His voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of profound revelations and regrets.
“Clara,” he began, the word filled with a mixture of tenderness and remorse, “I need you to know that in my pursuit of duty, I failed you. I tried to mould your path to fit the same rigid duty that impacted much of my own life. I see that now. I see it so very clearly. I have been a fool.”
Clara was stunned.
She had certainly not been expecting this and she did not know what to say. But that did not matter. It seemed like her father had much more to say.
“My father,” Reginald confessed, “controlled me greatly in my youth. He compelled me to marry your mother, not out of love, but to uphold family duty and station.”
The weight of those words hung in the room, the ancestral echoes of obligation reverberating through the generations. Clara’s eyes met Reginald’s, and in that moment, the generational ties that bound them became palpable.
“At first,” Reginald continued, his gaze fixed on a distant point, “our marriage was a challenge. Duty and tradition dictated our union, and the early years were marked by a struggle to find common ground. I did not think we would ever be able to find something that we had in common.”
Clara absorbed the layers of her father’s narrative, realizing that the stoic man before her had once faced the same currents of uncertainty and obligation. She had no idea of any of this.
“But over the long years,” Reginald’s voice softened, “something changed. The icy barriers that duty had erected began to thaw, and I found myself genuinely loving, respecting, and cherishing your mother as my wife.”
“I see,” Clara murmured. But as she spoke, she anxiously twisted around in her lap.
This option was not possible for her anymore. Lord Simon Caldwell no longer wanted to marry her. He had taken great pleasure in telling her as much.
No other lord would want her now either.
If her father was telling her to marry out of duty because it might become love, then he was very much mistaken. That was never going to happen.
“Clara,” he began, his tone carrying a sorrow that resonated deep within Clara’s heart, “I know now that your path is not mine. You should have the freedom I was initially denied — to follow your heart in love. Almost losing my life has made me see that trying to control you is my biggest regret. I never should have done that.”
The admission, laden with sincerity, unfurled like a delicate blossom. Clara felt the weight of her father’s words, a recognitionthat the journey toward personal fulfillment need not be shackled by the constraints of tradition.
Her father’s voice held a depth of sincerity as he continued, “I ask for your forgiveness, Clara. I realize now the error of my ways, how I tried to shape your path out of my own fear of bucking convention again. I have been a fool. But through these trials,” Reginald’s voice trembled with sincerity, “I have come to understand what truly matters. Your happiness, your right to freely choose your path, no matter what society dictates.”
“You mean it?” Clara was too stunned to really accept this. “You really think that will be alright?”
As Clara absorbed the weight of her father’s revelations, a sense of shock settled over her like a shroud. In that moment of profound vulnerability, Clara’s thoughts spiraled into the realms of possibility. Clara envisioned a life unfettered by the rigid expectations that had long dictated her choices. Christopher, with his passionate spirit and the shared moments of authenticity, became a beacon of possibility in her thoughts.
Yet, as Clara contemplated the life that could be, a shadow of doubt crept into her thoughts. Christopher, the man who had stood by her in the face of scandal and crisis, became a focal point of uncertainty. Would he still want her? Would the echoes of their shared connection transcend the tumultuous events that had unfolded?
The possibility of a life with Christopher, once a beacon of hope, now held a touch of trepidation. Clara grappled with the uncertainty that lingered, wondering if the unexpected turns of their journey had altered the course of their connection.
She hoped not, but she knew that she would have to find out soon enough before she drove herself insane with worry. She now had a chance to live the life that she had always wanted.
This might not be the expected outcome of their ruse, but for Clara it was the best possible result. After all, they had fallen in love with one another along the way…
***
In the aftermath of her father’s cathartic admissions, Clara retreated to the quiet sanctuary of her art studio once more where she could process her emotions. Clara’s mind buzzed with the weight of her father’s words, a cacophony of feelings reverberating within her.
