Her father’s head went back down, his hand returned to scribbling on whatever it had been that he was working on before she arrived, and this Clara knew to be the end of the discussion. Still, she lingered for a moment longer, hoping that he might sense how crestfallen she was. How sad. How utterly bereft she was of hope.
For all the little good it did. He ignored her, and soon she had no choice but to skulk from the office, her tail between her legs, her future set for her. And it looked to be a very depressing future indeed.
She did not sup that night. She did not speak to anyone – there was nobody in the manor to whom she might voice her complaints. She was alone in this world, a state of being that was likely to remain a constant, despite her pending marriage.
What she did do was lie in her bed, staring blankly at the open window, wondering if she should run and never look back. To escape from here, to live a life she could barely dream, one of hardships and toil, because she was not made for a world beyond these walls.No… this is my life, my prison, and there is nothing I can do about it.
A cage, it felt like. One made of silk and glass, stuffed with pillows, a dream it might look to most. But she knew the truth of it. A cage of sadness and despair, for what else could it be?
Two
"Maybe he is not coming?” Lady Alicia Marwood said hopefully. “Perhaps he has changed his mind.”
“Doubtful,” Clara sighed.
“It may happen. You do not know!”
Clara smiled softly at her best friend, appreciating the hope she was so desperate to instill. She needed it. Anything to pull her from the depths of sadness that had wrapped itself around her like a cloak made of glass, cutting her carefully, slowly killing her where she stood as others looked on without notice or care.
“Maybe,” she said. “Perhaps he arrived, took one look at me, and then fled.” She laughed. “In this dress, I would not blame him.”
“Oh, stop it.” Alicia slapped her arm. “You look beautiful, and you know it.”
It was almost a shame that she did. The dress she wore had belonged to her mother; a classic gown of dark green with long sleeves, a high neckline, and a tight waist designed to give her lithe frame the appearance of curves. Clara’s father was not rich by any measure, so most of her outfits were second-hand and not tailored to suit her. This one, as it stood, did.
Her alabaster skin was paired perfectly with the darkness of the dress. Her hazel eyes, too, big like an owl’s, also stood out. Chestnut hair worn in curls, sparse jewelry as she could not afford to cover herself in gems and stones, her appearance was elegant rather than flashy. Which her father had assured her was to Lord Ayles’ taste.
“Thank you,” she said to her friend. “I do appreciate it.”
“I know,” Alicia said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “It is a look wasted on Lord Ayles…” Her nose wrinkled. “Urgh, honestly, Clara, what is your father thinking?”
“I suspect he is thinking about how fat his purse is sure to become once this marriage is confirmed.” She chuckled to herself. “And how much quieter the manor will become once I am free of it.”
“Oh yes, because you are such an agent of chaos,” Alicia laughed. “A true menace. Perhaps when Lord Ayles comes, I will tell him so myself.” She flashed her eyes wickedly. “Assuming that he does…” Then she looked about them, craning her neck to see past the masses. “Truly, if he is not here yet, he may have changed his mind.”
“Here’s hoping.”
It was the Ashworth Ball, and the mood throughout the large ballroom was vibrant. Everywhere that Clara looked, she saw smiling faces, laughter coming from their lips, joy present in their eyes. Hundreds of guests, flocking to and fro as they ate and drank and socialized and made sure to beseen.
There were times when Clara would have been among them. She had been to hardly any balls, as she was not allowed, always holding out hope that her father might change his mind one day and agree for her to begin attending them again. It was the colors she loved most, every one imaginable, worn loud and proud by the various ladies as they used nights like this to show off their wares and garner compliments as if admiration were coin.
Sadly, Clara found herself toward the back of the ballroom as she waited patiently for Lord Ayles to arrive so that her father might make introductions.
And where she liked to think that perhaps Alicia had the measure of it, that Lord Ayles had decided not to come, one look at her father and she knew this to not be the case. He was across the room, chatting to some friends of his, a rare smile on his face that told her he was not worried about Lord Ayles’ tardiness. The man was coming, of that she had no doubt, otherwise she would know it.My father is not exactly known for his subtlety.
“Should we have a drink?” Alicia asked.
“I… I do not think so,” Clara said carefully. “Father would not like –”
“Oh, who cares what he thinks?” she said, taking Clara by the hand. “After tonight, you will never have to concern yourself with him again!”
Still, she hesitated, so used as she was to following rules. “If he sees me…”
“What will he do?” Alicia said brightly. “Force you to marry Lord Ayles twice?”
Clara laughed, for she could not help it. “Perhaps one drink. At the very least, it should calm my nerves.”And hopefully dull my senses for when I am forced to meet Lord Ayles.
“That is more like it!” Alicia beamed and began to drag her toward a server.
