Chapter 17
Bad Luck
It was nearly noon the following day, but Luke was still in bed, tucked up in the covers, the curtains shut.
He did not intend to leave this position until the Merritts were gone, which was still several days away.
Perhaps I will never leave, he thought, pulling the blanket up a little higher.
What was the point? What in his life was worth getting out of bed for?
Soon he would be left alone to sit in his office and spend the rest of his days reading charts and checking budgets.
He had lost Clara and surely, the rest of the Merritts along with her.
He had taken a risk, and it had cost him everything.
There was a light knock on Luke’s bedchamber door. “I can’t today,” he whispered to himself. “I just can’t.”
“Luke?” Lord Merritt called from the other side of the door. When Luke did not respond right away, he called again. “Luke?”
“Come in,” Luke relented, not bothering to change his position.
The earl squinted as he entered the dark space, but he didn’t say anything as he crossed over to the bed.
A wooden chair sat in the corner of the room, and Lord Merritt picked it up and carried it over to Luke’s side.
The baron’s eyes were closed, but he could feel Clara’s father’s dark gaze on him.
They sat quietly for several minutes. In that time, the events of the night before played in Luke’s mind yet again. “She said no,” he finally whispered. He definitely had not intended to be the one to start the conversation, but he couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.
“I heard.” Lord Merritt’s voice cracked. “I am so sorry.”
And while Luke thought he had released all the tears his body could ever produce, more found their way to his cheeks. “I am just going to miss her.”
Lord Merritt handed him a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. “This does not have to be goodbye,” he said softly, but Luke shook his head.
“It hurts,” he whispered, “it hurts knowing she is out there, but she doesn’t want me. Having to see it on her face-” Another batch of tears fell, and Luke sniffled loudly. What a baby you are, he told himself. Pull yourself together.
But Lord Merritt’s voice held sympathy. “Then it is time, Luke.”
“Time for what?”
“Time for you and John to go to Spain. I promised I would pay for your trip. Didn’t you say you had some younger siblings?
You really should meet them and check in on your mother.
” Luke could easily see the man was trying to keep him from wallowing.
A new place, a new list of duties, it made sense, but everything was so fresh, he needed time to process.
Process what? His brain mocked. She said no. You do not get to marry Clara. What is there to process?
He had still not given an answer. “Luke,” Lord Merritt sighed. “Please, just accept my plan.” And then he added quietly, “I believe you going to Spain will be best … for all of us.”
Clara, Luke realized. He wants me to leave for Clara’s sake.
And while Luke knew the events of the night before should have caused him to resent her, the love still burned within him.
Yes, he would do anything to help her, even if that meant leaving.
It had been seven years since he had seen his mother. It was past time for a visit.
“I accept your plan.” He sat up in his bed. “I shall make the arrangements.”
Clara had cried herself to sleep, and she awoke with red, puffy eyes. She did not let that stop her from dressing and joining in the day’s events. Being around her friends and family was exactly what she needed.
She made the mistake of looking out the front window as she descended the main staircase.
Half a dozen maids were outside, dressed in warm coats, collecting all of the candles from the path.
It’s over, she told herself, it’s over. But she wasn’t sure if the statement was relieving or agonizing.
Her eyes remained down as she passed the ballroom.
She made a conscious effort to avoid glancing at Joan and Leopold, but it did not help.
Everything reminded her of Luke. She quickened her step, hoping to reach the drawing room a bit sooner.
I need to be around my friends. Just a few more steps and I will be safe.
But a splash of color stopped her in her tracks. A large trail of dying Christmas greenery covered the polished floor. They didn’t burn all the decorations last night. This year is destined for bad luck.
She had not needed the tradition to tell her so.
Only a week into the new year, and Clara had developed a sense of sadness she doubted would ever go away.
It left her feeling nauseous, tired and guilty.
I have lost Maxwell Manor, she lamented.
The halls she had imagined into existence, the drawing room she had filled with friends and neighbors.
Joan and Leopold. All of it was going away.
Yet, it seemed trivial with the loss of Luke.
She had lost the person who knew her better than anyone else.
The person she was most comfortable with.
Who else would listen to her lengthy ramblings?
Who else would make her laugh? And what about Luke?
Who would care for him? Who would help him run his household and be there to hear his troubles?
Who would plan his parties and watch over his tenants?
Well, probably his wife, her brain concluded, but the idea was not one she wanted to grasp.
There would be a new lady of Maxwell Manor, a new woman for Luke to escort around Town, and Clara was surprised with the jealousy that swelled inside her just from the thought.
You said no, she reminded herself, you do not get a say in this.
What Luke does can no longer concern you.
But she could not remember a time when Lord Maxwell was not in her life.
Having him so readily ripped from her created a large gaping hole.
“Clara?” John’s voice came from the top of the stairs. “What are you doing?”
She stood frozen in the middle of the foyer, looking down at the dried leaves. “Nothing.” She shook her head. “I am just heading to the drawing room.”
“Well, have you seen Luke? He was supposed to meet me at the stables, but he did not show up.”
“No.” Clara’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Well if you do, let him know I am looking for him.” He paused. “Oh, and try to convince him to go with us to London. He is ignoring me, but I know he will do anything if you ask him to.”
And though Clara put a hand to her mouth, a sob escaped through her fingers.
John rushed down the stairs. “Are you crying?” he asked with concern. “Did I do something wrong?” She shook her head, but more tears continued to spill out. John gingerly placed an arm around her hunched shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
And while physically, she was unharmed, hurt seemed the correct description.
“What happened?” John slowly led her to the staircase and helped her sit on the bottom stair.
“Luke-” she croaked, but just saying his name made her cry harder.
“Luke hurt you?!” His voice dripped with confusion.
“No.” Clara took a big breath. “No, he … proposed to me.” And instantly the pit in her stomach returned.
It took a few seconds for John to process her words. “You are marrying Luke?”
Clara did not miss the excitement in his voice, and something about it caused the pit to jump in her throat. “No,” she whispered, and then, watching the look of disappointment cross his face, Clara’s stomach wrenched.
I am ruining everything! She had hurt Luke and disappointed John.
She had not spoken with her parents yet, but she doubted either of them would be thrilled to hear the news.
Why, even the servants were mourning in their quarters.
All of Maxwell Manor had assisted their master in his romantic proposal, and now, given their help had not achieved the desired outcome, everyone felt as if they had failed.
But I am the failure, Clara cried. I am the one who has broken our family.
She risked another glance at her brother. His face was full of concern and love, but it did not fully hide the disappointment she could see in his dark eyes. “I am going to be sick,” she groaned, putting a hand to her upset stomach. She ran back up the stairs to her room.
“So,” John hesitantly entered Luke's study, “is there anything you wish to tell me?” He wore his riding clothes.
Lud, I forgot to meet John at the stables. Luke set down his quill. “Sorry, I forgot we were going for a ride.”
John shook his head. “That doesn’t matter.
” He crossed the wooden floors and took a seat on the leather sofa.
“No, I am wondering why you did not tell me you were in love with my little sister.” His voice wasn’t angry or hurt, it sounded sympathetic.
Yes, it was pity in John’s tone, and Luke wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
“Didn’t you already know?” he muttered in response.
“Well, yes,” John answered, leaning back into his chair, “but if you had told me, I could have helped you. I wasn’t sure you had even realized it yourself.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Luke mumbled, picking up his quill once more. He had to focus on planning the trip. He had to forget about Clara.
“Are you sure you are up to working today?” Again, John’s voice was full of condolence.
“I am planning our trip,” Luke answered with more force than he intended.
“To London?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Your father has asked me to go to Spain.”
After a moment, John nodded. “I assume I am going with you?”
“Yes.”
“All right,” He sat up straight and looked at the papers sprawled across the desk. “What can I do to help?”