In Favour |Clara Walseworth|

A Princess ~ Chapter 5

Germany, 1817.

It took only four months to arrange the grand royal wedding, and now, at last, the day had arrived. The great cathedral stood adorned with towering floral arrangements, its marble floors gleaming under the morning sun. Nobles and dignitaries from distant kingdoms filled the pews, each dressed in their finest silks and jewels, their voices a murmur of excitement and speculation. The scent of roses, lilies, and fresh greenery drifted through the air, mingling with the faint notes of the musicians tuning their instruments. The kingdom had waited for this moment, and now it was here—Clara's wedding day.

In those months leading up to the ceremony, Clara had lived within the walls of the royal palace, her days consumed by preparations and protocol. Every morning began with lessons—how to carry herself with effortless grace, how to speak with measured elegance, how to navigate the web of courtly intrigue that surrounded her. Afternoons were filled with fittings, the seamstresses adjusting the endless layers of lace and silk that made up her wedding gown. Evenings, however, brought a welcome reprieve. Leopold and Emilia had been warm companions in those quiet hours over dinner and tea, their laughter and good-natured conversations offering her a glimpse of comfort amid the grandeur.

But not everyone had been so present. Prince Frederick, the future heir, and his wife, Ada, remained distant figures, their lives secluded in an estate miles away, as was tradition until Frederick ascended the throne. Clara had only heard whispers of them—his strict, composed nature, her quiet but sharp wit—but she had never spoken to them beyond a formal introduction. Instead, it was William who became her anchor in this unfamiliar world. He was always near, filling the gaps between etiquette lessons and courtly obligations with his easy charm. In the palace gardens, away from prying eyes, they had shared stolen moments of conversation. There, he spoke to her not as a prince but as William, playful and lighthearted, always making her laugh, always making her feel seen. It was during those walks that Clara had allowed herself to believe in the fairytale—the one where she was chosen not because of duty, but because she was truly wanted.

Yet, beneath all the luxury and expectation, she could not quiet the small voice in her heart that longed for something simpler. There was no turning back now. Her old life, the one where she could exist without the weight of a crown looming over her, was gone. She had committed herself to this new reality, and she would embrace it with all the poise she had been taught.

Now, standing at the threshold of the grand cathedral, she could feel the weight of that choice pressing upon her shoulders. The sun bathed the scene in golden light, glinting off the polished silver of the carriages and the embroidered pearls in her veil. The guests, their jewels catching the light, laughed and chattered in anticipation of the ceremony. Servants rushed about, making last-minute adjustments to the arrangements, ensuring that everything was nothing short of perfection. And yet, as Clara stood still amid the flurry of movement, her heart ached with quiet sorrow.

Her family was absent.

She had known Eden would not come—her sister had written to her, her words filled with both joy and regret. The child she carried, her second with Benedict, made travel impossible. Eden had assured Clara that her heart was with her, that she wished her happiness beyond measure, and even Benedict had sent a few kind words. Yet, it was not the same as having them there. Clara had always imagined Eden standing beside her, whispering encouragement, squeezing her hand in reassurance before she stepped into the church. Instead, she was miles away, living a life that Clara could now only visit in letters.

And then there was Gerard.

His absence cut deeper than she had expected. She had held onto hope, however small, that he would come. That he would be waiting for her, standing somewhere in the crowd, watching with that quiet, protective gaze of his. But he was not here. Aunt Polly had made it clear that he would not be invited, though she had never given Clara a proper explanation. It made no sense. Gerard had been there for her through everything, had been her source of strength when no one else was. He had raised her more than Polly ever had. The idea that he had been deliberately shut out gnawed at her insides. Had he even wanted to come? Had he fought for his place here, or had he accepted his exclusion without protest?