Chapter 16
A Third Knight
For the next twelve days, extended family and friends arrived for the end of Christmastide celebration.
It was a busy time, which, thankfully, made it easy for Luke to avoid Clara.
Her small peck under the mistletoe had worked him into a confused frenzy, and he really needed to sort through his plan to express his true feelings before he did something stupid.
But it was difficult to come to any logical course of action when the only thought that played over and over was: She kissed me! Why did she kiss me? She kissed me!
I should have told her right then. But he panicked.
Not in his most mystical of dreams had he imagined Clara would kiss him first. Even now, he questioned if it truly had happened!
Maybe he had imagined the whole thing. But one hundred little white handkerchiefs, laid out across his vanity table, told him otherwise.
One thing he knew for certain: his time was running out.
In less than a week, the Merritts departed for London.
He had to speak with Clara before then. If he did not, she could very likely go off and get married, and he may never see nor speak with her again.
Of course, even if he did confess his love for her, it could result in the same outcome.
He had no reason to believe Clara felt anything for him other than brotherly affection, and that made his planned declaration all the more nerve-wracking.
The day before the party, Luke finally formed his plan.
It was a bit complicated, and involved the cook, several hush-mouthed servants, and a hope he could convince Clara to momentarily leave a social gathering.
A hope that seemed a bit doomed, in all honesty.
But his gesture would be romantic. It would be memorable.
And … it would be over. He had lived in limbo for years, but the time had come to choose a side.
He could no longer love her from a distance.
He would either have Clara in every way he had ever hoped, or he would lose her forever.
Clara was thoroughly enjoying the Twelfth Night celebration.
The ballroom was festive, cheerful, and bright.
All of the guests wore lavish, masked costumes, so each person she spoke with was an exciting mystery, though she could usually decipher who it was after a short conversation.
Interestingly, Clara had yet to discover what costume Luke was beneath.
She had intended to introduce him to several of his neighbors, but she had not seen him anywhere.
He better not have taken the opportunity to skip out.
As always, the cook had outdone herself with the meal, and it was now time to cut the Christmas cakes. There was a cake for the men, a bean hidden inside, and a cake for the women, which contained a hidden pea.
“Are you coming to get a slice of cake?” Mother asked, linking her arm with Clara’s. She did not wait for her to respond before dragging her in that direction. Not that she needed to answer, Lady Merritt already knew Clara would not be skipping out on cake, especially at Maxwell Manor.
“Here’s ye’r piece, miss.” The maid handed Clara a slice of cake. “Ands f’r ye, my lady.” A piece was cut for Mother as well. It looked slightly larger.
“Switch me,” Clara begged as the two women took their plates to the side of the room.
“Absolutely not!” Mother said, already taking a bite. She smiled, much too cheerfully for it to simply be about her sweet.
Clara looked back to her own cake suspiciously, but it took only a quick glance to spot what her mother must have already noticed.
A small, wrinkly pea was quite visibly placed in the center of her slice of cake.
“I am the queen,” Clara whispered quietly.
She had always longed to be crowned Twelfth Night Queen.
She had a hard time believing she was now.
“I am the queen,” she said slightly louder.
“Clara has the pea!” Lady Merritt announced to the room, and everyone cheered. But where, typically, an excited male voice would announce himself as king, there was only silence.
“Has anyone found the bean?” Clara asked the hushed crowd. Still, no response came.
And then, a loud metal clanking sound caused everyone’s heads to turn to the room’s entrance.
There, centered in the doorframe between Joan and Leopold, was a third knight.
This one did not wear a full suit of armour, but had on the boots, breastplate, and helmet.
A long saber wrapped around his waist. The knight held up a single bean, though how he got it Clara could not say.
Mother gave her a slight nudge toward the center of the room before her feet remembered their purpose.
In a far corner, a violin slowly began to play, a beautiful, old, methodic melody.
Clara and her knight reached the center of the room at the same time, and though she expected him to take her hand, instead, he knelt before her.
“My queen,” came Luke’s rich voice, “may I have this dance?”
Clara beamed. “Of course, dear knight.”
And they danced. It was like something right out of a fairy tale. Clara’s skirt twisting and twirling throughout the entire ballroom as Luke led her around the floor with a soft hand on her waist. She had never felt more special, more noticed or cared for, and the song was over all too quickly.
Luke reached for her hand, “I have something for you,” he whispered, gesturing for her to follow him out of the room. She happily obliged.
As soon as they exited the ballroom, footmen closed the doors behind them, and gestured to Luke’s valet and Clara’s maid, who stood at the front door.
“What is going on?” Clara snickered, as her maid took her mask and handed her a hooded cloak and winter gloves.
Luke’s valet had removed the armour, and given him his winter clothing as well.
“Would you like to take a walk with me?” Luke’s voice held uncertainty.
“Right now?” But the hurt on his face made her instantly regret her words.
She placed a hand on his arm. “No, Luke, I am happy to.” She gave him a reassuring smile.
“I am just … confused.” What was going on?
How did her maid know to bring the coat?
Why were they going for a walk in the dark of night during a festival?
But apparently, they would not be walking in the dark.
As Luke led her out the front door, she discovered that hundreds of lanterns and candles had been placed on the gravel pathway leading to the gardens.
The flickering light was beautifully … romantic?
Is Luke trying to be romantic? To me? She looked up, but his face remained straight ahead.
The candle trail ended at a small bench nestled just inside the flower garden.
A wool blanket had been draped across the wrought iron seat.
He has planned this, she realized, and her heart started beating rapidly, though why, she did not know.
He carefully led her to the seat, gently pulling the blanket around her shoulders before sitting beside her.
Clara’s million questions were dying to stream from her lips, but after her inquiry in the foyer, she couldn’t ask them. Luke had obviously planned something, but she was growing increasingly worried as she wondered what it might be.
From his pocket, Luke pulled out a small velvet box. His hand shook as he passed it to her. “Happy Christmas, Clara."
“Thank you,” she whispered back. Her heart pounded so fiercely she wondered if he could hear it.
She fumbled as she opened the gift. Inside was a beautiful golden locket, oval in shape, with three engraved flowers boasting sapphire centers. Inside lay two empty compartments, and on the back, in a beautiful script font, were engraved the words, “My Queen.”
“Do you like it?” Luke whispered, and for the first time that evening, their eyes met. He looked so scared, so nervous, and seeing him in such a state made Clara forget her own concerns.
“It is beautiful!” she reassured him. “Absolutely lovely.” The baron sighed in relief. Seeing him relax slightly helped Clara’s heart slow, at least somewhat. It is Luke, she reminded herself. Just you and Luke. Nothing scary.
“May I put it on for you?” he asked, his voice so tender, Clara’s heart fluttered back into a frenzy.
“Yes,” she carefully placed it in his hand before twisting her back toward him. It is just Luke. She repeated over and over, but something was not right, and she felt very near crying as he gently clasped the necklace into its proper place.
“Clara?” he whispered as she turned to face him once more. “I have something I need to tell you.”
“Go ahead,” she replied, though she feared she did not want to hear what he had to say.
“I love you.” It sounded more like a confession than a declaration.
And, in self-defense, Clara acted as if she did not understand. Her tone was friendly, playful, as she patted his knee. “Well, of course you do.” She did her best to smile. “We have been friends for a very long time.”
“Clara,” his words were raspy, “I do not think you understand.” And before she knew what was happening, Luke pulled her in and kissed her.
It was gentle, tender, cherishing. Exactly what Clara would have expected from him …
well, except for the kissing part. Just when she thought he would pull away, the kiss changed, becoming passionate.
One of his hands cupped her neck, and the other slid down to the small of her back.
The yearning in the kiss was unmistakable as if he were begging her to see him. To understand him. To love him.
Without thinking, Clara kissed him back, twirling her fingers in his curly hair, and, surprisingly, as the kiss continued, her heartbeat slowed.
A peace washed over her as the kiss softened once more.
She felt warm, safe, and happy. She smiled against his lips, lowering her hands down to rest on his cheeks.
As she did, reality crashed back down at full force.
Stop! It is Luke! Stop! She pulled away.
But she had confused him—and herself—with her response. Smiling, Luke took one of her hands in his, bringing it to his lips. “Stay with me,” he pleaded.
“I can’t. John and I are going to London.” The Season was beginning in a few days.
“No, Clara, I am asking you to marry me.”
And instantly, the dread that had slowly been building in the pit of her stomach leapt into her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She was going to be sick.
Luke’s green eyes glistened down at her. “I love you,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her again.
But she turned her head. “You are not thinking clearly.” She wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or herself.
“I have thought this through,” he insisted, “I have been thinking this through for years.” His words were becoming more earnest.
“I want to go to London.” It sounded stupid and juvenile, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.
“I will take you,” he pleaded. “I will take you to London.” She watched as tears pooled in his eyes.
But she couldn’t say yes. Clara knew she was the wrong fit for the shy Lord Maxwell. She longed to host, to be surrounded by people, to enjoy the wonders of Town and society.
“Clara, please.” He began to cry. “I will cherish you, and care for you. I will make sure you are happy.”
She reached up and wiped one of his tears away with her gloved thumb. “Luke,” she tried to tenderly explain, “we want different things.”
“No! All I want is you. All I have ever wanted is you.”
He leaned in for a kiss again, and this time Clara let him.
She needed to kiss him, to allow herself a final chance to discover her true feelings.
The kiss was short, soft, and tearful. Clara did not realize she was crying, too, until Luke pulled away and tenderly wiped a tear from her cheek.
He let his hand linger, caressing her, and running his fingers through a lock of her hair.
Every look, every action, dripped with love.
He reached into his pocket and handed her one of his new white handkerchiefs.
He loves me. He really loves me. But she didn’t know how or when or why.
Their faces were inches apart, and as she and Luke locked eyes, Clara searched her heart.
Marry Luke? The thought had crossed her mind before, but never long enough to actually consider it.
In this moment, she examined it from every angle.
No matter which way she looked, it felt wrong.
Something deep within her twisted and turned, and made her feel heavy.
Her hesitation must have played on her face. “You do not love me.” His voice cracked as he lowered his hand.
“That is not true!” she argued. “You are like a brother to me!”
But that only made Luke cry harder. “John is your brother!” he pleaded, “John is your brother. I am the man who loves you! I have been showing you for years, Clara! Years! You just refused to see it.”
Clara was nearly hyperventilating. She did not love Luke the way he loved her, but did she have to have romantic feelings to become his wife? In this day and age, few married for love. It was unlikely she would ever receive a marriage proposal from someone she already cared so deeply for.
Just say yes! A voice in the back of her head urged, but she couldn’t listen.
She could not ignore the pit in her stomach.
“I need to explore all my options, and you should explore your options, too. You are the first man I have ever known, Luke. I cannot-” Why?
Why did it feel as if her heart was breaking?
“I do not need options,” Luke boldly declared.
“I have already chosen you in every room, in every circumstance, in every thought. I love you, Clara Anne Merritt. Only you. Now and forever.” And then, with a tear-jerking tenderness, he whispered, “But I know you do not feel the same.” Taking a large, shaky breath, he added quietly, “Enjoy London.”
The world seemed to turn on its head, leaving Clara a bit dizzy.
She had lost Luke, her best friend. One of the few people she believed would never leave.
She slowly rose to her feet. “Goodbye, Luke,” she whispered, turning from him.
Her tears blurred the beautifully candle-lit path as she took several slow, wobbly steps in the direction of the house. Her knees felt weak. Her head pounded.
Once she was several feet away, she heard a loud, low, mournful sob from the garden bench.
Luke! Her heart cried. Help Luke! But she could not.
She was the one who caused his pain. Clara staggered back to the house, his white kerchief clenched in her fist, as the sound of her best friend's sobs ascended into the quiet night.