Amanda StoNeS
Historical Regency Romance Author
A Lady's PropitiousMatch
First Chapters
Prologue
3 years ago…
“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Christopher sighed heavily. He had spent many a time inside his father’s study, staring at the endless rows of books on his father’s giant looming book shelf as he ignored yet another lecture about his life choices.
“I do not know what you wish for me to say.”
At five and twenty years of age, Christopher was sure that he should have been able to follow his heart in life, to do what he desired and to enjoy what he was passionate about. He could not see any reason why he had to have this conversation over and over again.
“Christopher, our family name is important,” his father continued, growing increasingly frustrated by the moment. “The Fitzhugh name means something in London, and I would like to keep it that way. Your brother, Graham, is doing everything that he can to ensure his future rule is a prosperous one. Yet you do not seem to care much.”
There was an art piece hanging on the wall painted with the dullest colors. That was so typical of his father, to not even be able to enjoy the beauty in art. He had to display some, because everyone who was anyone in London had art adorning their walls.
But only art colored with browns and beiges. Nothing to capture the eye.
“I am your second son, Father,” Christopher declared flatly, just as he had done many times before. “I am not the one needed to rule. I can live my life as I choose.”
Christopher jumped a little as his father banged his fists down on the giant mahogany table. These conversations always got a little heated, but never quite like this. He automatically took a step backwards, to create some distance between them.
“You do not get to besmirch the family name, Christopher, simply because you were born second. I know that you have always been jealous of your older brother. I am not surprised by that at all. From what I know, younger brothers are always jealous of the ones who will inherit everything. What you are feeling is completely normal.”
Christopher just about managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He could not have been less jealous of Graham if he tried. Graham was perfectly set up to inherit the title and the duties that came with it. He relished society rules and functions.
“But that does not matter. You must push your feelings to one side to support your brother in all of his endeavours. That is your role. You can not continue to waste your life with paints and canvases, making silly little drawings that no one will ever care about.”
The way that his father disregarded his art cut Christopher deep. He should be used to it by now, but it always hurt. He had such a passion for creativity and for his art work, and he had spent his whole life perfecting his craft as much as he could, just to have his father treat it as if it were some silly little hobby of his was just horrible.
“You do not know that nothing will ever come of my art, Father…”
“I do not wish to hear it, Christopher. We have had this conversation many a time, and I have tried to listen to you, but you do not seem to understand that this is all a waste of time.”
Rejection washed over Christopher. He knew that he was never going to see eye to eye with his father, they had always been such different people. His father was so much more like Graham than Christopher, he also loved following the rules of the ton and impressing the important people of London. But he wished that his father would at least try to hear him out.
There had been many a time when Christopher had desperately tried to show his father pieces that he had been working on in the hope that he would understand and be seen for once. But that had never happened. He had simply been dismissed every single time.
Christopher knew that he was always going to fall short, no matter what.
“Right, well I will try much harder,” Christopher replied in a monotone voice. He could say what his father wanted to hear, but that did not mean he would follow this path laid out for him. He could not and would not push his art to one side. This was his life and his purpose, he was sure of it. Even if his family did not understand that. “I will go now and see what Graham needs me to do. I am sure he is desperate for my help.”
His father completely missed the sarcasm in Christopher’s voice. He nodded as if this was the resolution he needed. Once his father picked up a pen to start working once more, Christopher knew that the conversation was over. It was time to leave.
He paused for just one second at the door frame, looking back at his father, wishing that he could have any kind of positive bond with this man, but all he did was make him angry. He still had a painful looking redness in his cheeks now.
With a sigh, Christopher left and took a moment for himself outside the manor house, staring out at the beautiful gardens that surrounded him. The flowers and the colors of the outside world always inspired him, but today he did not feel any of that. He simply felt flat.
He remained where he was, allowing the thoughts to rush through him. Panic and worry, shame and upset, thoughts of all the things that he should have said to his father, to defend himself properly.
But he was never going to be understood, was he? They were never going to agree which was one of the hardest things of all.
“My Lord…” The worried voice of a house maid disturbed him from his spiraling thoughts. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, but he felt a little shocked to be distracted. “You must come inside, right away. It is your father…”
The summons was urgent. Christopher had no idea what he was being called back inside for, but his heart began to thunder in his throat. This was bad, really bad. Ice cold fear over came him. Instinctively he knew that everything was about to be tilted upside down in the worst way possible, he could not stand it.
But nothing could have prepared him for what he was faced with. The scene displayed in front of him was devastating and shattered his heart in to a million pieces. He could not even process what he was seeing, he felt like he was frozen to the spot, completely unmovable.
Nothing in the world was worse than this…
***
Guilt wracked through Christopher.
He hated this, all of it.
He might have been just one person in an ocean of black clothing, he might have looked like he was just another grieving person in the crowd attending the funeral, but Christopher knew that he was different. He was not just another mourner, far from it.
He felt like he was to blame. For all of this.
If he had not been arguing with his father again, talking about his art another time, and making his father mad, then maybe there would not have been a heart attack. Perhaps his father would not have passed away. He had noticed the red face, he just did not know what it meant.
If he had taken a second to wonder, then everything might have been different.
That icy feeling in his veins, and the horrible feeling that his whole life was about to be changed forever in the worst way possible stuck with him, and he could not shake it off. He was starting to think that he would never be able to shake it off.
He wished that he could take it all back and change it. He wished that he could have said something kind during their last conversation. He wished that he had not been sarcastic…
But there was nothing that he could do to take it all back.
He was going to have to drown in these feelings forever.
It did not help that Graham was stepping up perfectly, just as was expected of him. Christopher was hidden in his shadow now, completely consumed with his brother’s new role. Graham was the perfect new Viscount, already showing that he was going to effortlessly meet all expectations, with their mother already clinging proudly to his arm, looking up to him as if he were perfect, and just what she needed to get her through this terrible time.
A cold sense of hopelessness overcame Christopher. He had always felt inadequate, but not as much as he did right now. He could almost sense the crowd looking at him, seeing how unworthy he was. It was not a pleasant place to be.
This was why he preferred to hide in the shadows, not to be seen.
That was, of course, just another failure of his.
Not like being the center of attention like everyone else in his family did. Not to want the ton to stare at him as if he were a spectacle to be judged by everyone else depending on whether or not he was acting in a way that they deemed ‘appropriate’.
Was he always going to be a let down? Would he always yearn for the approval of people who would not give it? Who could not give it, because they were in a coffin being lowered in to the ground? His father was never going to approve of him, not now.
What on earth was he going to do with his life now?
That was the ultimate question pressing down on his shoulders. What could he do? He knew that his role was to support Graham in all of his endeavours, just as his father had told him over and over again. But Graham did not look like he needed help. Certainly not from Christopher anyway. He had everything firmly in hand, as customary.
Graham had always looked down on Christopher, almost as much as their father. He hated his art just as much, and thought of it as a silly hobby, a waste of time. If Christopher did decide to dedicate his life to a man who did not even want him, then he would have to put his creative side to rest forever.
It might finally make his father proud, but it would not make him happy.
That would not be a way to let go of these wounds that cut deep within him. That would never leave him fulfilled. Only art would. But how could he do that and become independent as well? Because this was something he would certainly have to do alone.
He balled his fists up by his side, painful emotion surging through him as he tried to work out the plan for his life. The only thought that came to mind was the idea of teaching his art, tutoring young people who had a passion just like him, from noble families who would be willing to pay for his services. He had done it a couple of times in the past, and it had been more rewarding than he assumed it might be.
Maybe that would not be making money from his art in the way that his father meant, by selling pieces to collectors all over the world, and making thousands from it, but it would be something.
As he watched Graham greeting the crowds as if this was a party to celebrate his new role in life, determination surged through him. He was going to have to make a life for himself. He had no choice but to go his own way. No matter what it took.
Chapter One
The sun light streamed in through the crack in her curtains, dragging Clara from the restful sleep that she had been enjoying, and that she was not yet ready to be disturbed from. She had been deep in a dream that mimicked the lovely romance novel that she had been reading, one where the hero simply swept the heroine off her feet and gave her the life that she desired, and more love than she ever could have hoped for too.
It was the sort of love that she could only dream of.
The sort of love she had spent her whole life wishing for, only it seemed quite unattainable in real life. The men in London did not seem to match the heroes in her books…
“Ah, good morning, milady.”
Before a moroseness could settle over Clara as she was dragged from the dream and into real life, her lady’s maid, Ruth, came to help her dress for the day.
“Do I have anything planned today?” Clara asked with a yawn as she rose to her feet.
Since her family had returned to London for the start of the social Season two weeks ago, Clara’s days had centered around High Society events to launch her second Season. Another whirlwind of balls and dances, of talking to people she barely knew in the hope that she would be able to dance with the right man who might seem good enough to court.
It was all so stifling. So exhausting. Clara much preferred her time in the countryside where she did not have so many expectations weighing down on her.
“You do not have anything on your calendar today, milady.”
Relief flooded through Clara. That meant she had a free day to spend as she chose. She already knew that she would spend the afternoon visiting her best friend, Lady Imogen Chambers, so she could gossip freely and get some advice from the one person she knew would pass no judgement on her, but until then there was only one room she wanted to be in…
“Wait, milady, where are you going?”
She halted, remembering that she was still in her night gown. The excitement to get into her sanctuary almost overtook her completely. She nearly ran right through the house in her night time clothing, which would have been very awkward and embarrassing if she had been caught out by anyone.
“Ah yes, I should dress,” Clara giggled. “But I am going to my art room, so I do not want to wear anything which I can not mess up.”
She had stained one of her most expensive dresses when she was younger, her mother’s favorite, because she could not stop herself from painting, even when she was about to go to a dinner with a family she could not even recall.
Clara had been in so much trouble, and she’d had the rules of how she was expected to behave, drilled in to her from that moment. It was not a mistake that she would make again.
In her wardrobe, she located the pale blue slip dress which already had paint splatters on it, and she eagerly got dressed with little help from the maid. She only paused for long enough to have her long chestnut colored hair brushed and tied into a braid down her back so it would not be affected by her work.
When she painted, she liked to lose herself in the moment. She felt most at home with vibrant colors on her paint brush and a blank canvas in front of her. She did not want to waste time thinking about her hair when she had a creative idea flooding her.
Once she was finally set free, she scurried through the halls to get to her painting room as quickly as she could. The last thing that Clara wanted now was to get caught by her mother with another luncheon idea or another rule about proper etiquette that she should know.
She let out a breath of relief once she was inside her room, with the door closed behind her, and she took a step closer to the canvas that she was currently working on. It was a piece that reflected the glorious light which shone in to the room, sometimes in streams if the sun was at the right angle in the sky. It was also a reflection of how Clara felt when she was in this room alone, not constrained by anyone or anything.
Clara knew that if she was left alone with her canvas forever, without having to dance at balls or talk to gentlemen who thought their business and current finances were the height of excitement, then she would be happy.
She would be content to just create all day every day without a care in the world.
She allowed a smile to cross her face as she grabbed her paint brush, and she began to add to her creation. She knew that her family did not necessarily understand her desire to paint all the time, but at least they allowed it to happen. After the incident with the dress, she had worried for a while that she might not be able to enjoy her hobby any longer.
But it seemed like everyone understood how her head would simply explode if she were not permitted to fulfil her artistic needs, so she had not been halted.
All the worries that rested on her shoulders simply melted away into nothingness as her brush glided along the canvas. The smile on her face grew wider, the bubble of happiness erupted in her stomach, and nothing else mattered. In here, she could just be, she did not need to worry about balls and dances, of how she looked and if she was behaving properly.
There truly was no better sanctuary in the world than this room. Clara did not intend to leave until she was finally feeling satisfied.
***
As the carriage pulled up outside of Imogen’s home, Clara’s excitement levels grew. Lunch had been challenging, she had struggled under the weight of her mother’s comments about the Marquess of Carldale, Simon Caldwell, whom her parents seemed to favor as a match despite Clara finding him dull and boorish.
She tried to shake off the awkwardness of lunch as the footman greeted her, and took her inside to see her friend, who was furiously trying to correct her cross stitch.
“Ah, Clara, you are here.” Imogen tossed her hobby to one side eagerly the moment that she spotted her friend. “It is so good to see you. I was just starting to get truly fed up with this project that is simply not going my way at all.”
Clara smiled and took her seat in the drawing room. It was not long before they had been served with tea and cakes. Not that Clara had an appetite anymore. the lunch with her mother had truly taken it out of her.
“So, how are you doing, Clara?”
Clara sighed. “I am struggling very much, Imogen. The expectations are really starting to weigh down on me this season.”
Imogen frowned. “Is this because of Lord Caldwell?”
“Yes. My mother insists that he truly is the best match for me. She wants us to be engaged by next month, and thinks that I need to put more effort in to him, to encourage his attachment. She wants me to spend more time on him than on my art.” Clara laughed mirthlessly, recalling the way her mother called it a ‘silly hobby’.. “She does not seem to understand that I can not stand him. He has nothing interesting to say at all. The fact that he does not understand art at all is utterly devastating. How am I supposed to make any conversation with a man who does not appreciate creativity?”
Even though Imogen was not as excited by art as Clara was, she still understood her friend’s need to create, more than anyone else. “So, what does he like to talk about?”
Clara huffed with irritation. “He is extremely interested in the most wealthy men in London to the point I would say that he is obsessed with how they run their businesses and spend their money. To speak candidly, I possess no inclination whatsoever towards such a matter. Most people are born into money, are they not? All they have to do is make sure that they do not gamble the money away and ruin their family name. That is not interesting to me.”
“Men and their money,” Imogen laughed. “Sometimes I wonder if anything is quite as important to them. Even their wives and family. It is madness. I have never been able to understand it, but we are to simply accept it is the way they are.”
That little joke made Clara’s heart sink further. She did not wish to be an ignored wife, sat at home with the children while she had no idea where her husband was.
She wanted love, she wanted to be cared for, to have the sort of love that she had only read about in books. When she tried to tell her mother this, she was dismissed for being silly and romanticizing everything in her mind.
Perhaps to others, real life was not like that, but to her…
“He might not be quite so bad, if you give him a chance,” Imogen offered, clearly trying to make her friend feel better about the uncomfortable situation that she found herself in. “He might not be so dull during courtship…”
Her words trailed off as she spotted the expression on Clara’s face. Clara already knew she would not get along with Simon, ever. There was nothing underneath the surface of that man. She could not even bear to imagine being forced to spend more time with him.
“Well, maybe your parents will start to see how boring he is, and they will change their mind about him. Have they even spent any time talking to him?”
Clara shook her head. “They are more concerned with his title and status. They think he will be able to provide me with the sort of life I need.” She threw her hands in the air in frustration. “As if I only need a giant empty home to live in. As if I do not wish for more.”
“Oh, your home will never be totally empty,” Imogen teased. “Because I will always be there to visit you. In fact, I might not bother to get married at all. I may decide to come and live with you forever. I can watch you paint all day, every day, it shall be delightful.”
Clara could not help herself. She burst out laughing at her friend’s outlandish suggestion. Her friend’s parents had high hopes for her future husband also. There was no way that she would be permitted to simply come and live with her, as tempting as it sounded.
They talked for a little while longer about the upcoming balls and what each one was likely to be like. Clara wanted to get into the spirit of things, she wished that she could be as enthused as Imogen, but there was a dark cloud hanging over her head.
She would always have this while societal expectations pressed down on her. How could she feel free and happy, when the constraints of others would never leave her side?
Clara might have spent all morning painting vibrant and exciting works, but she knew that once she could retreat to her art room again, she would return to a painting she had managed to put aside for a while. A melancholy landscape, in which her heart felt trapped in a cage. The landscape in which she feared living in.
The landscape that she was sure she would be living in if she was forced to marry the Marquess of Carldale, Simon Caldwell.
Chapter Two
Christopher sighed with irritation. He simply could not get the eyes right on his latest sketch, which was truly annoying for him. Perhaps it was because this was not a woman he knew. He was not drawing this image from a subject sitting in front of him, or even from memory.
He had been experimenting with creating something completely new recently, and it was a style he had been enjoying experimenting with.
Until now.
Perhaps it was his location, stifling his creativity.
There was something about London which made his mind feel smaller, like it was trapped in a cage. Even sitting by the parlor window did not help, because the view simply reminded him of where he was.
“Ah, there you are, Son. I was looking for you.”
Christopher barely even glanced up from his work to look at his mother. Lenora would not like that, she always needed to be acknowledged and heard whenever she spoke.
“You know, you do not have to do that now that you are home.” The disappointment laced her tone as she took a seat across from him. “You have spent the last year abroad in France and Germany…”
“Italy,” he corrected her, not that she would be too worried about being right. “It was Italy I spent time in, not Germany.”
“Yes, well you have spent the last year working on your art all around Europe…”
“And tutoring those who need me…”
“But now you are back, Christopher,” Lenora interjected. “And just in time for the Season. I think it would be best for you to use this time wisely. Instead of fiddling about with your pencils, you should mingle and get to know everyone. It would be a good idea for you to meet the women of London.”
Christopher tried his hardest not to let out a snort of derision. “I need to focus on my tutoring business, Mother. I need to attain myself some new clients.”
“There are plenty of eligible young ladies who will want to get to know you. Who will admire your artistic talents even. Your worldly knowledge also. I am sure that many people would love to hear all about your European adventures.”
“I do not think I have the time to attend balls and other such events…”
Christopher did not have the enthusiasm more than the time. Much as he knew that he would have to find himself a suitable match one day, this did not feel like the time to him. Not when he still had a lot that he wanted to achieve with his art business.
He truly wanted to get to a point where he did not feel like he was a disappointment to his family any longer. He wanted his mother and brother to respect the path that he had chosen for himself in a way that his father never would. That was why he had become so determined, so nomadic with his business since his father died. To show that he was worthwhile.
When he was not in London, it was easy for him to lose himself in his dedication to nurturing the creativity of his students. It was something that he truly enjoyed and got a lot of self satisfaction from. He loved being able to help others grow and find their artistic voice. He enabled and encouraged them in a way he would like to have been treated.
“Well, you must not forget, Christopher, that I am hosting a dinner later this evening.” Lenora clapped her hands together in excitement. “Graham and his wife, Julianna, will be here of course, with their daughter, Victoria. But more importantly, the Devereuxs.”
Christopher stared blankly at his mother, not sure if this name was supposed to mean anything to him.
“You know that we are hoping for a match between their lovely daughter, Henrietta and you, so if this goes well, you might not need to worry too much about the functions of the Season. If Henrietta is happy with you, then we can concentrate on that courtship instead.”
Christopher was never going to be able to muster up the enthusiasm that his mother had for a courtship, especially with someone he likely knew from his time in London, but could not remember.
“Does this have to be a matchmaking dinner?” he asked wryly.
His mother simply tutted at him. “Dress nicely and be polite. Is that too much to ask for? It does not have to be anything, but I do not think you should dismiss Henrietta Devereux. She has grown up into a graceful and beautiful young lady who always knows how to behave properly.” She gave her son a knowing look. “Since you have been away for over a year, it might be good for you to spend some time with someone who knows what is expected of them.”
All Christopher wanted to do was spend the evening perfecting his work. He knew that if he was given long enough, he could sketch these eyes perfectly, just as he saw them in his mind. But he already knew that his mother was a relentless woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.
Well, he would attend the dinner, because he had no choice in the matter, and he would dress nicely whilst being polite, but if he did not feel anything for Henrietta then he already knew that he would not string her along.
When he eventually got around to finding a match, he knew it would have to be with a woman who understood him, and who he felt a connection with. At eight and twenty years old, he still had plenty of time to find the right woman to spend his life with.
Maybe someone who understood his passion for art, and maybe even enjoyed looking at paintings herself. Someone who was not just interested in hearing his stories about his travels, but who maybe wanted to see some of the world with him. Was that too much to ask?
***
She has transformed, Christopher had to admit to himself as he did his best to make polite conversation with the Devereux family. Henrietta was most certainly an elegant debutante, just as his mother had suggested, but Christopher was struggling to see if there was anything else to her. He had not yet noticed any depth to this young lady. She reminded him of his brother in many ways, the way she always seemed to be looking to others, to see how she was supposed to behave, and what others wanted her to do.
“So, Christopher, I can see you have met the lovely Miss Henrietta Devereux,” Lenora exclaimed excitedly. She was doing nothing to disguise her intentions here which made everything that much more embarrassing. “Henrietta also has an interest in art.”
It was obvious from the way that her cheeks shone red, this was not the case so Christopher decided to not even bother asking her any questions about her tastes. He simply offered her a warm smile, hoping that he could be polite enough to make her feel welcome, but not so warm it gave her the wrong idea.
It was an utter relief when their conversation was cut short by the announcement of dinner. The butler had no idea how much of a blessing this was. He did not need to say anything.
Christopher tactically took a seat at the other end of the table from his brother and wife. The final thing he desired was to endure Graham’s tedious, tiresome recital of his splendid existence and the flourishing state of his enterprise. The only good thing about his brother being at the dinner was the fact that he would draw all eyes on him, including their mother’s. Christopher dd not wish to be the center of attention today…
Only things did not work out that way.
Lenora made sure to sit close to Christopher, and to ensure that Henrietta did too. It seemed that she was not yet done with her unwarranted matchmaking.
“So, Henrietta, Christopher…” his mother began, including them both in the conversation in a very informal way.
Probably trying her hardest to make them feel comfortable around one another, to expedite their closeness to push for a marriage proposal that was very unlikely to come.
Christopher could not help but wonder if she had done the same with Graham and his wife. Although she probably did not need to. Graham would always do whatever he was told to. If Julianna was considered the best woman for him, he would propose without even needing to be told that was what he needed to do. Just because he was so in tune with everything that was expected of him.
“Are you looking forward to the upcoming balls this Season?”
Henrietta lit up. “Ah yes, of course. It seems the season is filled with a plethora of engagements, and I am thoroughly excited to experience them all. I have heard such wonderful things.”
Lenora frowned at him as Christopher did not respond. She already knew that he was not thrilled to be a part of any of this, but still she seemed to expect him to lie. To be fake. This was why he hated London society. No one was authentic anymore. No one said what they were really thinking. It had not been this way throughout Europe. Not to the same extent anyway.
“I am excited to see the gowns that everyone will be wearing at these balls,” Henrietta continued, not sensing any burning tension between Christopher and his mother. “And the floral arrangements as well. I have heard that they can be quite spectacular. Really something to catch the eye.”
“I am sure that you will look the most beautiful of all, Henrietta. What do you think Christopher? She looks lovely even without a ball gown. So graceful and elegant.”
Luckily, Christopher did not need to respond because Henrietta was so utterly astonished by the compliment, that she could not resist talking about all the dresses that she had planned for the Season.
Christopher leaned back in his seat, detached from the conversation. He was a little disappointed by Henrietta’s lack of nuance. She seemed very excited to discuss superficial topics, but he was yet to see any depth. Without that, he would lack mental stimulation, which he was starting to realize was paramount for his future. He needed someone that he could talk to, about deep things. Someone who was interested in so much more than what the London ton was interested in. Gossip and societal events did not enthuse Christopher at all, and that was not something he could see changing.
“It can be like novels, Henrietta,” Lenora continued, perhaps sensing that her son had switched off. “What sort of books do you like reading?”
This piqued Christopher’s interest. She might not really enjoy art, but if there was a commonality to be found in the books that they read, then that would help. Even if they had read one of the same books, that would give them something to analyze together. Something that they could talk about well in to the evening…
Henrietta’s eyes widened, but with worry. “Ah, literature! I do enjoy the occasional novel, of course. The characters and their dilemmas provide a delightful escape… I do not know if I could pick out a particular one though…”
Disappointment crushed Christopher. There was nothing of substance with that answer. It was almost as if she did not read at all. She had not even talked about a genre she liked to lose herself in, much less the title of any book in particular. There was nothing that he could say to that, no way of responding at all. Even Lenora started to sense the hopelessness within him because she pushed Henrietta further, but did not really get anywhere.
The food had only just been served. How on earth was Christopher going to get through this?
***
Christopher had been looking forward to some respite as the gentlemen retired to the parlor for brandy, with the women taking time in the drawing room. He needed a break from his mother and her incessant attempts to push him ever closer to Henrietta.
But once his path crossed a tipsy Graham, Christopher started to realize that his troubles for the evening had only just begun…
“And here he is,” Graham announced with a manner befitting the showcasing of a highly esteemed canine companion. “My brother. The artist. The one who spends all his days lazing around.”
A few of Graham’s idiotic friends laughed as he slung his arm over Christopher’s shoulder, to keep him firmly fixed in place.
“How are things back in London after you have wasted over a year gallivanting all over the world? You must stay and regale us with all of your adventures. I am sure we are all terrible interested to hear what you have been up to for the past year.”
“I just want a drink…”
But Graham was not about to let Christopher out of his sights. Not when he had an audience who he needed to amuse by any means possible. He gripped on to his shoulders, making sure his dominance shone through. As if it was not enough for him to be the older brother with all the trimmings. Now he had to flash that around by making Christopher look bad too.
“How was Germany? Did you meet many women there? I have heard some incredible things about European women and I would love to know how true they are…”
“I am not having this conversation with you.” Seeing the sheer determination in Graham’s burning gaze only suffocated Christopher more. He could not cope with everyone looking at him like that, with the expectation that he was going to be their jester.
He did not care for Graham’s thinly veiled critiques of Christopher’s life choices. He needed to get out of there, and quickly.
“I actually must get some air.” Christopher forced himself away from his brother’s grip. “But I am sure I will have lots to tell you all when I return. I will recall my best ones.”
That must have been enough because Graham did not fight him anymore. That did not mean he was done. Christopher heard a few comments being made about him as he exited the room, which only pushed him further out of the house.
Christopher kept on walking until he reached his favorite gentlemen’s club, wanting congenial company. Anything had to be better than spending time with his family when they were trying everything that they were trying to do tonight.
“Christopher, I did not know that you were coming tonight!”
Christopher was surprised by the sight of his closest friend, Lord Elliot Belmont, sitting at the bar with a drink in hand, and a friendly welcoming smile on his face.
“Hello, Elliot. I needed a break from the family.”
Elliot laughed as Christopher took a seat beside him. “But you have not been back from Europe for a very long time. Pray, how can they vex you so, already?”
Christopher scoffed. “Oh, you have no idea. My mother is determined to keep me here in London, to stop me from travelling abroad again, so she is doing everything that she can to matchmake. She wants me to marry Miss Henrietta Devereux.”
“Well, she is quite beautiful…” Elliot trailed off when he spotted the expression on Christopher’s face. “I understand. Navigating persistent family expectations can be a real challenge. It is not the easiest to choose who you would like to be married to, when your parents are involved. But do know that they have your best interests at heart. They do always want what is right for you.”
Christopher ordered a drink and hung his head low. “I do not want to be married to Henrietta, however beautiful she may be. I can not muster the right enthusiasm over superficial courtships or securing a match just to satisfy society’s ideals. But much as I try to tell my mother, she does not understand my real goal. I came home with the hope that I could nurture students here, and expand my tutoring services in London. To prove myself. But now I am wondering if I should have returned at all. Things were so much easier when I was away.”
It was obvious that Elliot did not really know what to say, but just having him around, being kind and comforting rather than brutish like his brother was preferable.
At least here, Christopher felt like he could talk without the pressure of judgement resting down on his shoulders.
“It is always this way, during the Season,” Elliot acknowledged. “You are simply lucky that you managed to miss out on a year or so of it. The pressure is always going to be there, especially as we grow older.”
“If only we could spend more time hiding away in gentleman’s clubs such as this one,” Christopher laughed, feeling a little lighter simply from being allowed to share his burden. “Exploring what we want to do, living life at our own pace without any pressure from others. Life would be so much simpler for all of us.”
“Hear, hear.” Elliot raised his glass and clinked it against Christopher’s in a cheers gesture. “It certainly would be so much better. Unfortunately, being born into a family with a title and an inheritance keeps us out of the work houses, but leaves us with pressures the working class would not even begin to understand.”
Now that was something Christopher could drink to. Sometimes he thought that it would be so much easier to be born without pressure. Then he could simply be whoever he wanted to be.
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It is truly a delight to read. I can’t wait for it to be finished!!
I look forward to reading more!
So far, enjoying the story line. Looking forward to being able to read it in it’s entirety!
Good story line, looking forward to reading completed novel!