Chapter 7
Highly Entertained
-the following summer-
“Do you think we could convince your brother to take the carriage with us into town tomorrow?” Clara’s new friend, Eliza Courteney, asked. Her desire to thrust herself upon John would not go unseen to even the most oblivious onlooker.
Despite her attempts to stop it, Amanda Fletcher—now Mrs. Rowley—had married the old banker in town, and was far too busy to spend much time at Rosecrest. So Miss Eliza Courteney acted as Clara’s new companion.
“I doubt it,” Clara replied from the vanity chair.
“He and Luke tend to keep to themselves.” Many of her friends had attempted to have Clara play matchmaker for them, but at this young age, she did not see any point in doing so.
John would likely not marry for another ten years, and while Luke was a baron and would want an heir before then, the man was shy.
Inviting him to events was more likely to end a relationship with him than begin one.
“We shall invite Lord Maxwell as well,” Eliza responded. “Obviously you will need a man to escort you around, since I will be on your brother’s arm.” She sighed dreamily.
Clara had never met anyone so absorbed in the opposite sex.
Eliza was not the first to set her eye on John.
A kind, handsome, future earl? No one could resist that!
But John never took advantage of the attraction, something Clara secretly respected about him.
Though he was regularly handed hearts, he never toyed with them.
“You may invite them, but I do not think they will accept.” Clara actually spent a good deal of time with John and Luke, but only when she was by herself.
She joined them for rides, quiet meals, or casual entertainment after dinners.
But she had discovered that anytime she had a friend with her, the boys made an excuse to reject her invitation.
“Perhaps if you invite Lord Maxwell …” Eliza twisted one of her own blonde curls around her finger.
Ugh. This again.
“I have told you a thousand times, Liza. Luke and I are just friends!” Miss Courteney insisted a romantic tension was building between Clara and Luke, and none of Clara’s persistent comments against it seemed to be getting through to the love-sick girl. “He is practically my brother.”
“I do not believe you,” she commented, flipping her hair. “Regardless, I do think the outing will be best received if you ask Lord Maxwell during dinner this evening.”
“Very well,” Clara relented. There was no harm in asking, and perhaps, if he said no, Eliza would realize there was nothing suspicious going on. “I will ask him.”
“The year was 1757, and there I was, marching into Bohemia with my troops.” Walters, the butler, stood in the middle of the drawing room after dinner, an imaginary musket in his hand. “The smell of gunpowder filled the air …”
The butler was an old, spindly man with a white mustache.
As a former officer in King Frederick II army, he had fought in the Seven Years’ War.
Lord Merritt’s father had paid for his commission with the understanding that some day, he would pay the loan in full.
Well, Walters attributed his entire success to the Merritt family, and as such, had devoted his life to serving them.
He made an excellent butler. Unfortunately, if given even the slightest bit of encouragement, the man would tell long winded, rather dull, stories.
He truly was a war hero. He had a stack of medals that stood as proof, but his stories were only mildly entertaining the first time, and dreadfully dull by the second or third.
This was probably Luke’s fifteenth time hearing it, and he really wished he had a legitimate reason to leave.
“Luke,” a small voice whispered from behind him. “Luke.”
He leaned his head over to find Clara, squatting unseen behind the pink sofa. “What are you doing behind there?” he mumbled back.
“Hiding,” Clara said as if the answer were obvious. “Anyway, I am supposed to ask if you would like to ride into town tomorrow with Miss Courteney and me.”
John sat beside Luke on the sofa. “We are visiting the Sprouts tomorrow,” he responded.
Robert and Anne Sprout, one of the Merritts’ tenant farmers, had recently wed and moved into their own tenant cottage.
Lord Merritt had assigned Luke and John to visit, and ensure their accommodations were sufficient.
“Well, let us come with you,” Clara whispered back, but her comment was slightly too loud.
Walters stopped his reenactment, and gave Luke a withering stare which drew the attention of every other guest in the crowded sitting room.
Blast you, Clara! Luke mentally cursed as he lowered his eyes to his lap.
But reprimanding the girl would not help, so instead, he turned his thoughts heavenward, praying silently, but fervently.
Having two or three sets of eyes on him was uncomfortable.
With all thirty of the Merritts’ dinner guests staring, Luke felt a bit light-headed.
Thankfully, it only took a few seconds for Walters to find his stare a sufficient punishment.
Relief flooded through Luke—which seemed contradictory to his usual feelings during the lackluster tales—as the man started again.
Clara whispered, quietly this time, “Say yes or I will groan back here, and Walters shall have to start the entire tale over.”
Luke’s usual feelings about Walters’ recountings returned.
“Yes!” he answered, but in his haste to respond, he had forgotten to maintain a soft volume.
Once again, every head turned in his direction.
John chuckled into his hands as Luke hid his face.
He wanted to blame Clara, but this was obviously his own doing.
Like a knight in shining armour, Lord Merritt came to his aid. “Thank you for the stories, Walters, though I am afraid we must stop there.” The heads shifted from Luke to the earl. “Now, how about a game of whist?”
Thank goodness! Luke thought, deciding he would make a quick exit. John jumped from the sofa as well, hoping to find a partner before one of Clara’s friends tried to ensnare him.
“Luke?” Clara sprung to her full height, popping up from behind the sofa much like a jack-in-the-box toy. “Will you be my whist partner?”
Don’t do it! His head warned. The girl is trouble! But Luke made the mistake of looking into her bewitching blue eyes, and before he knew it, he was playing whist.
The ride to the Sprout’s cottage went about as Clara expected.
Miss Courteney spent the entire time trying to impress John in ways that were utterly ridiculous.
The first time she openly attempted to flirt with him, John gave Luke and Clara a pleading look, but they both shared a silent laugh.
The second time it happened, Luke mouthed the word “two” when Eliza wasn’t looking.
John did not find it nearly as funny as Clara did, and while she knew she really should rescue him, it was just too entertaining to intervene.
After that, it was somewhat of a game to see how many times the girl would so unabashedly push herself on the obviously uninterested John, batting her eyelashes, placing her hand on his forearm, and attempting to tell jokes when she had absolutely no grasp on John’s sense of humor.
Luke and Clara were at ‘fourteen’ when the carriage finally reached its destination.
The Sprouts had moved into the smallest of the tenant homes. It had a thatched roof and two petite windows on either side of a slightly crooked front door. Vines grew on one side of the house, and the other side shaded a small patch of dirt that would one day be an herb garden.
The moment the carriage rolled in, Robert and Anne stepped out of the front door, ready to greet their visitors. “Lord Rollins!” they called enthusiastically, “why, and Lady Clara! T’ank ye fo’ comin’ by.”
“Congratulations, Mrs. Sprout.” Clara gave the young woman a genuine smile. They were similar in age, and acquainted with each other, having lived in the same village their whole lives.
“T’ank ye, miss. Why, I stills can’t believe I’m fin’ly m’erried.” She looked affectionately at her husband.
“I can imagine,” Miss Courteney replied blissfully. John, Luke, and Clara shared a look. Perhaps bringing her along was not such a wise idea.
“We have a small gift for you,” Clara said, gesturing for the footman to retrieve the wedding basket full of kitchen necessities. “We women can go inside while the men inspect the land.” They all quickly agreed to the arrangement. John’s nod came a bit faster than the rest.
“So how did you meet your husband?” Eliza asked eagerly before the women had even fully entered the small house.
“Well, first we ‘as just f’iends,” Anne explained. Clara refused to meet Eliza’s eye as she attempted to give her a pointed look.
Luke and I really are just friends, she mentally refuted.
Anne offered the women a seat in her small, two-room cottage. The front acted as both kitchen and sitting area, and back behind stood the bedroom. The only visible furniture was a small round table with three wooden chairs, so it was not difficult to determine where the chat would be taking place.
“T’en one day, I forgots to close t’e gate, and all me chickens gots loose. Robert ‘elped me get t’em all back in.” She smiled. “I figu’ed, a man like t’at is wort’ keepin’ round.”
“You were a damsel in distress!” Eliza gushed, which made Anne blush, “and Mr. Sprout was your knight in shining armour!”
“Not su’r I woulds put it quite like t’at,” Anne commented, but Eliza was far too lost in her daydreams to hear her.
Clara felt it best to change the subject. “Is the house to your liking?”
Anne nodded enthusiastically. They would outgrow it quickly once they started having children, but it would suit them at this stage of life.