“I have some news,” her father said. “Some news which I am rather pleased to give…” A faint hint of a smile crossed his thin lips, a rare sight. Such was the man and his ever-present coldness that this struck fear into Clara. “It needs no saying that you have been a disappointment, Clara. If your mother were still alive…” He gave a shake of his head. “But that is neither here nor there.”
Still, Clara said nothing. Her mother had died eight years ago, when she was just fourteen. And like Clara, her mother had lived in a state of fear for her husband, as he had treated her with no more warmth or kindness than he showed his daughter.
“The point is, I am pleased to say that we can put all of this behind us.” That smile again, and a glimmer in his dark eyes. “For I have found you a husband.”
“Wh – what?” Clara stammered before she could stop herself. Her father narrowed his eyes, and she was quick to recover. “Oh, that is…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Wonderful news.”
He nodded his agreement. “It was no easy thing to do. Truly, the pains I have been through this past month to see the deal made. But it is done, and tomorrow it will be announced at the Ashworth Ball.”
“I am to go to the ball?”
“Of course,” he said. “And I expect you not embarrass me.” A stern look. “You need this, Clara. I need this. Lord, for a time there, I had worried that you would never find a husband. But I suppose that miracles have been known to happen.”
Clara hesitated.
She knew her father well enough to know that he did not like questions, as they suggested a rebuke of his iron law. But the situation was such that she felt she had no choice.I am to be married? How? To whom? And why do I sense that I will not like the answer…
Clara had always dreamed of marrying. What young lady had not? But her fear had always been that it would be to a man who did not want her, did not love her. Who would see her as little more than a prize to use for his own gain.If he sees me at all.And that, inevitably, as was her life here, she would be forgotten and become a shadow of the woman she knew that she could be.If only I was given a chance to show it.
“Father…” Her chin trembled with fear. “May I ask, to whom have I been promised?”
He scoffed. “I suppose so. Lord Ayles is who I have found for –”
“No!” She cried before she could stop herself. Her father stiffened, and his expression darkened. “I did not mean it, Father,” she hurried desperately. “I was simply taken by surprise.”
“No doubt.”
“Lord Ayles…” She grimaced, forcing calm and bravery both. “He is rather old, no?”
“Forty-five, I believe. A good man. Recently widowed. Wealthy, also. He is not one to waste time or worry with nonsense. He knows what this is…” A firm nod of his head. “What is more, an older groom will be more likely to show his gratitude.”To my father, not to me.
Clara knew a little about Lord Ayles. Beyond his age and his wealth, she had heard that he was a cold, dispassionate man, much like her father. A man who was liked by a few, and who prided himself on his title and name above everything else. But beyond that, what Clara knew most of all was that not only did she not love him, but that she likely never would. Nor would he love her, for that matter.
She knew better than to argue with her father. Oh, how it had been trained into her. After a lifetime of being told no, most people saw Clara as a weakling without a voice, good for little more than wearing a dress and taking up space.
She had a soul. She had a voice. She had self-worth as any woman should! All that was missing was someone who cared to see it. And where she knew that no matter what she said, it would make no difference, now was the time to show her father exactly who she could be. Not who he saw her as.
“Father, I do not think this will be a very good match.”
His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
She hesitated before striding across the room toward the desk. “Lord Ayles. Although I am sure he is a kind enough man, he is not one whom I ever imagined I would marry.”
“I do not care what you imagined.”
“He is… I do not know him, Father,” she pleaded, at his desk, thinking to drop to her knees if she had to. “I have never met him.”
“And you will. Tomorrow night.”
“It will make no difference!” she cried, to which her father growled his fury. “I know enough to know the truth.” She met her father’s eyes, desperate for him to see the pained look in her own. The desperation. “I will never love him, nor will he ever love me.”
“Love?” Her father scoffed as if he did not understand the word. “I thought I raised you better than –”
“You raised me as I am. And I am telling you –”
“Do not interrupt me,” he snarled. “I raised you to do as you are told. No more. No less. I raised you to know that love is not the aim of marriage – it is for fools, girl. And above all else, you were raised as no fool.”
Clara opened her mouth to push a final argument, but closed it just as quickly. Her father’s warning glare was as cold as ice and as dangerous as a storm. She had some fight in her, this was true, but only so much.Besides, what is the point in fighting when I know I will lose?
