In Favour |Clara Walseworth|

New expectations ~ Chapter 4

Germany, 1816.

A few weeks had passed since the ball at the palace, and Clara Walseworth found herself back at her aunt's sprawling estate in the quiet German countryside. The lush greenery that once felt like an escape now seemed to mock her with its vibrant life, while she felt utterly stagnant, trapped in her own disappointment. She sat by the window, staring out at the rolling hills, the world beyond the glass full of freedom she couldn't reach. Her hands rested idly on her lap, the book she had been struggling to read left abandoned on the small table beside her.

Since their return from Berlin, the house had been heavy with silence. Aunt Polly's ambitions, once soaring, had come crashing down, and Clara could feel the weight of her aunt's quiet, bitter disappointment pressing on her like an unbearable burden. Polly had spoken little to her since they returned, but her pointed sighs, the tight-lipped glares, and her refusal to bring up William's name all spoke volumes. Clara knew that, in Polly's eyes, she had failed. She had not secured the prince's favor. And now, it seemed, she had faded from his thoughts entirely.

Clara had known from the beginning that her presence in Berlin was more about her aunt's aspirations than her own desires. But still, part of her—perhaps the naive, hopeful part—had wondered if things might turn out differently. If maybe, just maybe, William had seen something in her beyond the grand ballrooms and societal expectations. Yet weeks had passed, and there had been no word. No letters, no invitations back to court. Nothing. Clara bit her lip, fighting the sting of tears that threatened to spill. She had not allowed herself to hope too much, but the emptiness left behind was harder to bear than she had expected. The memory of William's easy smile and those moments when his eyes had softened as they met hers lingered, haunting her with what could have been.

She had danced with him that night, spoken with him briefly, but she had seen him speaking with so many others—women far more beautiful, more accomplished, more polished in their manners. It wasn't hard to imagine why she had been so easily forgotten. Polly had reminded her of that daily, though not in so many words.

Polly entered the room now, her expression as unreadable as ever, but Clara could feel the chill of her presence immediately. "Clara," her aunt began, her voice cold and clipped, "I had hoped for more from you in Berlin." She didn't sit but remained standing, towering over Clara as though her very presence alone was meant to intimidate. "I tried, Aunt Polly," Clara replied quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn't try to argue; she had learned long ago that it was useless to defend herself against Polly's impossible expectations. "Trying was not enough," Polly snapped, her eyes narrowing. "Do you have any idea what you've cost this family? The opportunity we had?" Her voice lowered, but the venom in it was unmistakable. "You may have ruined any future chance you had."

Clara flinched at the words, though they were no harsher than what she had told herself over the past few weeks. She lowered her gaze to her hands, her fingers twisting the edge of her skirt nervously. "I'm sorry, Aunt Polly," she murmured, though the apology felt empty. She wasn't sure what she was apologizing for anymore—failing to catch a prince's eye, or simply for being who she was, a young woman who had never fit neatly into the mold Polly had tried to force her into.

Polly stood there for a moment longer, her silence filled with judgment. Then, with a huff, she turned on her heel and left the room, the door closing behind her with a soft but decisive click. Clara felt the weight of her aunt's absence like a cold shadow. She leaned back against the chair, closing her eyes for a moment, willing herself not to cry. It wasn't just the disappointment of not being chosen by William that hurt; it was the constant feeling that she was never good enough, not for Polly, not for the expectations placed upon her.

As the days stretched on, Clara assumed she had been forgotten entirely by the royal family. Why wouldn't she be? She was just one of many young women paraded before Prince William, and she had done nothing remarkable to distinguish herself. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but one she was slowly forcing herself to accept. Still, deep down, a small part of her couldn't let go of the hope that she had once carried into Berlin. Not the hope of marrying a prince—she had never truly wanted that—but the hope of being seen. Of being understood. That, she feared, was the greatest loss of all.