In Favour |Clara Walseworth|

Beyond the Garden Wall ~ Chapter 3

Germany, 1816.

The palace gardens stretched endlessly, a serene haven from the suffocating grandeur of the court. Clara sat quietly on a weathered stone bench, cradled by hedgerows and fragrant roses in full bloom. A light breeze carried the scent of lavender and fresh grass, mingling with the gentle trill of birdsong. The stillness of the gardens offered her something the ballroom never could: peace. Here, she could breathe freely, away from the stifling gaze of courtiers and the weight of expectations that clung to her like a second skin.

In her hands was a leather-bound book, its spine cracked from use. Though her eyes scanned the pages, her focus drifted, pulled between the poetry before her and the tranquil beauty surrounding her. The words seemed to taunt her, their meaning elusive. The letters, as always, danced and shifted, frustrating her attempts to make sense of them. Reading had always been a struggle—slow, laborious, and often discouraging. Yet, Clara persisted, stubborn in her desire to conquer this quiet adversary. If she were to be a princess she needed to know how to read she could not embarrass herself.

She sighed, lifting her gaze from the book to watch the sunlight filter through the canopy above. It was then she noticed movement at the edge of her vision. A figure emerged from around the corner of the path, stepping hesitantly into view. Clara froze, her fingers tightening on the book.

Prince Leopold.

Unlike his brother, William, whose charisma filled any room he entered, Leopold was understated—a shadow in the royal family. He was tall and lanky, with unruly brown hair that often fell into his eyes, giving him a perpetual air of boyish distraction. His movements were careful, almost tentative, as if he feared disrupting the delicate balance of the gardens themselves.

Clara's curiosity stirred as she watched him approach the flower beds. He crouched low, his long fingers brushing over the petals with an unexpected gentleness. One by one, he plucked lilies from the soil, cradling them carefully in his hands. He moved methodically, his focus entirely on the blooms, as though lost in thought.

The faint scrape of Clara's shoe against the gravel broke the spell. Startled, Leopold straightened, clutching the small bouquet to his chest as his gaze darted toward her. His expression wavered between surprise and embarrassment.

"I apologize, Your Highness," Clara said quickly, rising from her bench and dipping into a small curtsy. "I didn't mean to disturb you." Leopold blinked, his discomfort easing into something softer. "There's no need to apologize," he said, his voice quiet but steady. His eyes flicked to the book in her hands before returning to her face. "Miss...?"

"Clara Walseworth, Your Highness," she replied, bowing her head. "Miss Walseworth," he repeated, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He gave a small, awkward bow of his own, as though unsure of the proper etiquette for this moment. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all," Clara said, shaking her head. "You are most welcome." His gaze drifted back to the lilies in his hand. "I often come here to think," he admitted, almost to himself. "It's... quieter than the rest of the palace."

Clara nodded, settling back onto her bench. "I feel the same. The gardens are a refuge from everything else." Leopold's expression softened, his posture relaxing slightly. He gestured toward the book in her lap. "May I ask what you're reading?"

Clara hesitated, glancing down at the well-worn pages. "It's a collection of poetry," she said, brushing her fingers along the edge of the cover. "Though I'm afraid I don't read it very well." Leopold tilted his head, his curiosity evident. "Not well? That seems unlikely."

A faint blush warmed her cheeks as she smiled ruefully. "The letters... they don't always stay still for me. Reading has always been difficult. I often have to go over things again and again before they make sense."