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In the year that followed her wedding, Clara wondered just how happy a person could be.
She had eased into her role well, and her home was her pride and joy. However, there was the undeniable feeling that a change needed to be made. She saw it in glimpses at first, the way Julian would be transfixed while looking at a corner, or when he would shudder as they walked past certain places. She wanted to ask him about it, but she knew what it was.
He was remembering his mother, and how she was treated while they were there.
Clara had not taken his mother’s room, instead having one of her choosing. Julian did not want her to be in a room with such awful memories, and she had not wanted to argue. As she wandered the estate, however, she realized that it was now theirs, and if she did not change it, it would never truly feel like her home.
“I was considering decorating,” she mentioned one night at dinner. “You may tell me if you are against it, but I think that it is precisely what this household needs. I do not want to erase your mother, but… I want you to feel as though this is our home, not theirs.”
Julian looked at her for a moment, and then he softened.
“I have so hoped that you would ask this,” he said with a small smile. “I thought that you were pleased with it, but I cannot stand the way my father had this house. It is so dark, and it feels small. You may change whatever you wish, and I will like it.”
Having been given permission, Clara set to work in an instant. A week later, she stood in the middle of the drawing room surveying the newly papered walls. Pale blue and cream stripes caught the afternoon light, and that one change made the room feel so much larger. A new rug, softer underfoot, stretched across the floor, and she felt more secure knowing that when she inevitably began to pace, she would be comfortable doing so.
It looked nothing like the room she had first entered a year ago as Julian’s bride. Back then, the walls had been clad in heavy burgundy paper, the curtains thick, the furniture dark oak. Now, it felt different. It felt like home. Still, she hesitated when Julian came to see it, and she glanced at him uncertainly.
“Do you think it too much?” she asked. “Too bright? It is very different from before, and I know that is what we discussed, but—”
“No, it looks right,” he replied. “It is as though the house has been waiting for you to change it.”
Julian leaned against the mantel, his arms folded. She noted that he was watching her rather than looking around the room, as he so often did.
“Even so,” she continued, “I wondered if it would feel disloyal to your mother.”
Something flickered across his face then, not displeasure with her, but with thought. He took her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles.
“I do not think she ever loved this house. She could not do so with my father’s voice in every corner. That is why I disliked it for so long.”
Clara pressed his hand. She knew enough about his family not to press further, deciding instead to let him speak on the matter when he wished. Over the months of their marriage, he had told her more of his childhood, how his father’s temper had been sharp, his words cutting, his silences colder still. His mother had endured it quietly until she no longer could, and that was when everything had fallen apart.
“She used to sit there,” he continued, glancing at the space near the window. “She would sew or pretend to read. If the door opened too suddenly, she would start, as though expecting him.”
Clara tried to ignore the ache in her throat.
“All the more reason to change all of this,” she said softly. “This is our home now, and nobody can take that away from us.”
The next day Clara ordered the removal of several old pieces of furniture that had belonged to his parents. The sideboard went first, so heavy the footmen groaned under its weight. She watched its departure with relief.
“My father’s,” Julian explained as he watched on. “He insisted on it. She would have chosen something smaller, lighter. But he liked things large, imposing, not unlike himself.”
Clara reached for his arm.
“Then it is well gone.”
“Indeed it is, and it will not be missed. What do you plan to do with all of it?”
“I thought we might donate it to those in need. It would be a help to those around us.”
Julian looked at her with pride and agreed wholeheartedly that it was the right thing to do.
In place of the sideboard, she chose a small cupboard, a lighter color than what it was replacing. She placed a small vase of fresh flowers on it, their colors bright against the pale paper. When Julian saw it, he paused by it, touching one bloom gently.
“She would have liked this,” he said quietly.
“Then we shall keep it always,” Clara replied.
Eliza visited the following week, eager to see the changes. She walked through the rooms with delight, exclaiming over each alteration.
“It looks entirely new!” she cried. “Julian, you will not know where you are. You will find yourself lost in your own home.”
“That is what I hope for,” Julian replied with a smile.
Clara laughed softly, but Eliza looked at her cousin with sudden seriousness.
“It must be a comfort,” she said, “to feel the house is your own at last.”
“It is,” he replied. “And I have my wife to thank for that.”
Eliza’s eyes softened. Clara smiled, knowing that Julian was going to be surprised by what was to come. She had commissioned Eliza to create a painting for them, one that would be displayed in the drawing room. She had brought it with her without saying a word, and when Julian left for town they brought it inside, carefully putting it in place.
“I wish that I could see his reaction,” Eliza said wistfully, “but I must return home.”
“You are welcome to stay for a while. Our home is as open to you as ever.”
“I know, but I happen to have a husband that dare not be away from me for too long.”
“Henry understands,” Clara chuckled. “You are only with your cousin. What is the worst that could happen?”
“A lot of things,” Eliza replied carefully, “when you are expecting, at least.”
Clara dropped the vase that she was carrying, pleased beyond words that it had landed on the rug and therefore not smashed.
“What?” she asked. “Do you mean that you are—”
“Indeed,” Eliza replied, suddenly turning shy. “We have only just learned of it, and though it is too soon to make any announcements, Henry refuses to let me out of his sight for too long.”
“Well, I cannot in good faith keep this from my husband,” Clara pointed out. “It would not bode well for a new marriage. Perhaps you should stay, just until Julian returns?”
Julian was, of course, overjoyed by the news. Once talk of children and excitement had subsided, Julian realized that the painting had been brought, and he spoke excitedly with his cousin once more. Clara enjoyed it, and she was pleased to have their first good memory in their new home, the one that they were making for themselves.
The following day, Clara walked through the upstairs rooms alone, pausing at the doorway of what had once been Julian’s mother’s. It had been left almost untouched since her death, and so the wallpaper was faded, the furniture stark, a tall mirror sitting in one corner. Clara stepped inside, her footsteps quiet on the bare floorboards. She tried to imagine the woman who had lived there before her; dignified and graceful, but frightened. Clara had seen her portrait, had heard society speak of her as composed and accomplished, but no one had ever spoken of her suffering.
Clara moved to the window, opening the curtains to let the sunlight in. A floorboard creaked. She turned sharply and saw Julian stood in the doorway, watching her. She turned quickly.
“Forgive me,” she said quickly. “I did not mean to intrude.”
He shook his head.
“You need not apologize. This room would have been yours, and there is no harm in you seeing it.”
Clara crossed to him, resting a hand against his arm.
“Would you like me to change this room too?”
He hesitated, taking a look at the room as it was, then nodded.
“Yes,” he replied. “I think it is time.”
Over the next month, Clara continued her work. She chose lighter colors with brighter fabrics and selected simple furniture that welcomed rather than intimidated. The change seemed to ease something in Julian, and he moved more freely about the house, lingered longer in the places he had once avoided.
One afternoon, when the last of the curtains had been hung, Clara stood back to admire them. Julian entered quietly behind her, slipping an arm around her waist. She leaned her head back against him, sighing with a smile.
“You have transformed it,” he said. “The entirety of the house feels so different.”
“It is not my doing alone. It is ours. We did this together.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple, clasping her hand in his.
“No, Clara. It is you. You have given this house what it never had before. You have made it a home, our home, and that never could have happened if it were not for you.”
That night, as they prepared to retire, Clara lingered by the doorway of the drawing room. Everything had changed about it, so much so that she hardly recognized it at all. She hoped that she had created something that the late Lady Ashford would have loved, as she had done it partly in her memory too. For a moment, they were silent together, looking into the room side by side.
“My mother endured much here,” Julian said, “but I think, if she could see it now, she would feel at home. She would appreciate that you have given me what she could not have for herself.”
“And what might that have been?”
“Peace,” he said softly. “With you, Clara, all I know is peace.”
She rested her head against his shoulder, knowing that there was something else that she had to tell him. As she thought about it, she could not help but laugh softly.
“What is it?” Julian asked.
“I fear that your cousin might begin to suspect something,” she laughed. “We seem to be copying the Branscombes often.”
He raised an eyebrow, and knowing that she had to tell him what was happening, she took his hands and returned to the settee. She had been keeping a secret from him but now that the home was finished, she could at last reveal it.
“There is a reason why I wanted to change the household,” she explained. “There is also a reason why I wanted it to be done quickly, and why I was so excited for Eliza. However, you must admit that it is rather strange that we were engaged at the same time as them, married only a week after them, and now…”
His eyes widened, and Clara knew that he had guessed correctly.
“Clara, are you..?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, we are expecting too! I have known for a while, but I did not want to tell you before we had finished decorating. I did not want you to be worried for me.”
“That… that was certainly the correct thing to do,” he chuckled, “for I am already concerned. Are you well? Do you need anything?”
She laughed, and he held her close.
“What I want,” she said softly, “is to go to the bed that I share with my husband, and to sleep.”
“That,” he declared, taking in her in his arms, “sounds very wonderful, indeed.”
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 5 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Love and Secrets of the Ton", and get 5 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello my dears, I hope you loved the book and the Extended Epilogue! I will be waiting for your comments here. Thank you 🙂
That was absolutely amazing to read, would be perfect as a series þo follow on learning about the n̈ew babies and what they have ahead of their life
I’m really glad you enjoyed it!
Loved it. Any chance of a sequal? When their children are now about to enter their debut. A bit about their lives in the passing years.
Thank you so much—I’m really glad you enjoyed it! 😊 I love the idea!