Chapter 25
A Wise Mother
London
Clara had returned home late from dinner with her dear friend Alice, but she had too many swirling thoughts to be anywhere near ready to sleep, so she slipped into the townhome’s library.
It was small compared to the estate's bookroom, though still held a large array of volumes.
A round table stood in its center, with two sofas and several wooden chairs encircling it.
Ornately carved ladders helped shorter readers reach the books on the upper shelves.
Clara selected a volume about King Arthur and settled into the closest sofa.
Unfortunately, the book did not distract her from her problems. After long, tedious hours with Isaac, Clara felt she understood all there was to know about the man.
She had made a valiant effort to form a connection, but as Lord Gallant became more and more invested, Clara became less so.
Perhaps it was because they were too similar.
They each wanted to be the center of the excitement.
They were equally used to being the leader of a group, not the follower.
Two social giants seemed the perfect pair, but in reality, their talents did not compliment each other.
They competed against one another, making the relationship feel strained and uncomfortable.
Or perhaps it is because he is a self-centered boar, she thought to herself. It wasn’t a kind assessment, but it was an accurate one.
Clara’s efforts to invest in herself, however, had not been totally unfruitful.
During the day, while the duke strutted around in the royal court, Clara's drawing room was full of women friends once again. Emily Astley had come calling on multiple occasions, and Clara enjoyed chatting with her. She was young and silly, but in a way that was refreshing. Picturing the world from Emily’s viewpoint was far less stressful than Clara’s.
Unfortunately, Papa’s headaches had only grown worse, and Clara had seen very little of him in the past few weeks. Even still, he had assured his daughter that, headache or no, he would attend the ball with her the following Friday.
Lord Gallant’s ball. Clara had tried to forget.
Isaac was throwing a large, prominent party.
Every person of the ton longed for an invitation.
There was a strict dress code, lavishly talented scheduled performances, and a dinner that would surely impress even the most snobby food critic.
There was talk that the regent himself would be there.
But the most exciting news was the rumor swarming that Lord Gallant intended to propose to Lady Clara in some elaborate, grandiose way.
Society seemed far more keen to the idea than Clara did. I should not have encouraged him, she sighed, I do not want to live with the Duke of Preston. But it wasn’t her choice to make.
“Clara?” Papa called as he entered the library.
“Papa?” she answered in surprise. It had been several days since he had left his dark bedchamber.
“There you are!” He took a seat on a wooden chair next to her.
He looked much thinner and slightly ashy.
His once speckled hair was fully gray, and his face covered in an unkempt beard, but it was Papa’s eyes that troubled Clara most. They looked sunken, defeated, and worn.
“I need to talk to you.” Once his weight was in the chair, he closed those tired eyes and rested his hand across his forehead.
“You should have stayed in bed,” she chastened.
Papa ignored her concern. “I have a meeting with Lord Gallant tomorrow.”
She took a big shaky breath. “I understand.” Isaac would need her father’s permission before proposing.
“ClaraBear,” Lord Merritt opened his eyes, giving his daughter a look full of pure, genuine love that made him seem far more like his usual self.
“I have gone against the queen’s wishes before, and I am not afraid to do it again.
Tell me what you want, what you truly want, and I will make sure it happens. ”
But Clara did not know what she wanted. She was so confused!
It had always been her dream to marry a handsome duke, to be the center of the London scene, to attend balls and shows and all sorts of events.
But something was missing in her life. Something big and important.
After only another second of thought, she realized what it was.
“I want my mama,” Clara whimpered, as a tear slid down the side of her cheek. There was no denying she had a special connection with her father, but in such an important decision, she needed her mother. “Please, let me go home and talk to Mother.”
Papa nodded in approval. “I shall stay and meet with Lord Gallant. If you leave tomorrow, you should have plenty of time to go to Rosecrest and back before the ball. Yes. Go, get the advice of your wise mother, and give her a kiss for me.”
“I will,” Clara promised as she stood to leave, giving Papa one last pitiful look before taking the first step. She was relieved to be going home. She usually mourned leaving London, but this Season, she could not seem to flee quickly enough. Hopefully, Mother would have the answer to her problems.
Spain
Luke was pretty sure he was courting Miss Valentina Flores.
Not that he intended to! She just followed him around like a lap dog.
She was at his breakfast table when he first awoke, waiting at the gate when he and John returned from riding, and secured herself an invitation to dinner more often than not.
Mother was thrilled! And it was seeing her happy that made Luke tolerate the woman, but tolerance was all he could manage.
Valentina was obnoxious. There was no other way to put it.
She complained constantly. “It is too hot. It is too cold. I am bored. I am hungry.” On and on and on.
If Luke found English women scary, Spanish women were downright petrifying.
Yes, it was nice they had more freedom and could be loud, flirtatious, and touchy. But could they do it to someone else?
Not that it mattered at this point. Luke and John were going home at the end of the week, and, though she would be highly disappointed, they had no intention of taking Miss Flores with them.
The question was, what did John intend to do about his girl?
Not that Luke had ever actually confirmed there was one, but the future earl had spent hours away from the house doing something, and it was high time Luke asked what it was.
“So …” Luke started as they began their morning ride, “are you sad to be going home?”
“I am not looking forward to the ship,” John groaned, “but in general, I am happy to be going back to England.”
“You are not sad to be leaving someone behind?”
“Oh,” John finally understood, “she is coming with me.”
“She is?!” Luke was stunned. “You think she is fit for the next countess?”
John narrowed his eyebrows in thought. “I had not really thought of it that way, but yes, I would imagine so. She has a fine bloodline. Strong legs.”
Legs? Luke blushed. Why did John have information about her legs? “Well, when do I get to meet her?”
John shrugged. “We can go now if you wish.”
At Luke’s embarrassed nod, John changed the direction of their course, and the two soon found themselves outside a small, wooden house.
It was not an impressive place, and Luke had a hard time imagining a future countess coming from such humble beginnings.
John dismounted and tied his mount to the post. Luke followed suit.
As they neared the building, the baron recognized it as not a house, but a stable.
“Her name is Lightning,” John called over his shoulder as he threw open the splintered wood door.
A beautiful, young, chestnut thoroughbred with two white socks cantered up to John, nuzzling his hand. “She is a horse!” Luke realized with both annoyance and relief.
“Of course she is!” John gave him a funny look. “What were you expecting?”
“From you?” Luke laughed, “Nothing else! Oh, your mother is not going to be happy about this!”
“Perhaps she won’t notice,” John said hopefully, but the man was delusional to think he could get anything past Lady Merritt.
“Well, when she does find out, make sure she knows it was all your idea, and I tried to stop you.”
“You are going to try and stop me?” John fed the mare a handful of oats.
Luke shrugged. “Just tell her I did.” He gave the horse a pat. “She is a pretty one.” With strong legs.
They closed the stable back up and mounted again. They were halfway home when John asked, “Did you really think I was secretly meeting a woman this whole time?” He sounded amused.
“It was my mother’s idea,” Luke defended.
John rolled his eyes. “Well, when I do find a woman, you will be the first to know. I promise.” Luke nodded in thanks, and then the two took turns predicting John’s mother’s reaction to a new horse, particularly one John paid to ship over from Spain.
It was a fun game, but a pretty scary reality.
Luke was grateful her anger would be directed at someone else.
Rosecrest Estate
Though she had sent no messenger informing of her arrival, Mother did not seem the least bit surprised at Clara’s appearance.
In spite of the fact she had a drawing room full of visitors, at the sight of her daughter, the countess rushed from her hosting duties, silently following Clara up to her room.
“He proposes on Friday?” she asked. It was truly more a statement than a question. Of course Mother knew the London gossip.
“He asked Papa for permission this morning.”
She simply nodded. They reached Clara’s bedchamber, and Mother helped Clara take off her travel dress.
“Are you going to accept his offer?” She tried to sound indifferent, but Clara thought she detected a slight hint of displeasure.
Though, she knew it was quite possibly her own feelings that made it sound that way.
“I have no idea,” Clara whispered, feeling the tears coming. “I do not know what I want.”
Mother rubbed her back affectionately. “I am sure we can figure that out.” She helped Clara sit at the vanity chair, running a thick brush through her hair.
“We shall look at it in a different way.” She paused, tipping her chin upwards slightly.
“That’s it! Close your eyes!” Clara promptly obeyed.
“Imagine yourself five years from now. You are beautiful, of course, and happy.”
Happy? Clara mentally scoffed. Then I did not marry the duke. But surely it could not be as simple as that.
Mama set the hairbrush back on the vanity top, her voice quickening in excitement.
“Imagine your drawing room, the curtains, the tea table …” Clara did her best to envision the room.
It was symmetrical, a fireplace in the middle, flanked on both sides by matching sofas.
“Now, picture me there as well. I have come to pay you a visit and to see my grandchildren. Tell me, what are they like?”
So Clara mentally walked Mother upstairs to the nursery. I finally painted the nursery rhyme figures, she thought, as she fictitiously stepped over to two little beds. “They are still quite young,” she whispered, “the older one is Matthew. It was an easy name to agree on.”
“Yes, I am sure it was.” Clara could hear the smile in her mother’s voice. “What does little Matthew look like?”
“Well, I would have thought blonde, but he is not. His hair is dark.” She clutched her skirts. Dark hair? Was this Lord Gallant’s son? What was he doing at Maxwell Manor?
Mother could sense the distress. “What about his eyes, Clara?” she asked gently.
Clara tried to picture the little boy with open eyes, but she couldn’t. “I cannot see them!” she snapped back, the fear continuing to grip her.
“That is all right,” Mama whispered, “you said there was another child.”
Clara nodded. “Yes, another little boy, in the bassinet.” But she could feel the imagination slipping. Confusion was pulling her back into reality.
“He is beautiful,” Mother whispered, “especially the curls.”
Clara threw her eyes open at the comment, and Mother’s face showed she was not surprised.
“He cannot have curls, Mama.” The tears begin to sting her cheeks.
“I have rejected him, and then the queen and Isaac and the ball.” She was blubbering, the tears coming more steadily down the sides of her cheeks.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mama comforted, wrapping her arms around Clara’s shoulders. “None of that matters, Clara. I just want to know if my grandson has curls.”
“How should I know?!” Clara’s emotions were out of control, and she pushed her mother away in anger. “I do not have any children, Mother! I do not know what they look like!” She threw her head in her hands. “I don’t know anything.” She continued to cry into her hands.
Why? Why was this so complicated? How had she made such a big mess of things?
“I am sorry,” Lady Merritt took a step back. “I went too far, Clara.” She gave her daughter a moment to compose herself before she continued. “Honey, you do not have to know who you are going to marry today. The only answer you need to know is if you want to be with the duke.”
“But the queen …” Clara croaked.
Mother put her hand up to stop her. “I have rejected the queen’s orders and lived to tell the tale. You may do the same.”
Clara lifted her head. “You what?”
“She wasn’t happy.” Mother took a seat on the edge of Clara’s bed.
“But yes, I disobeyed the queen’s request. Her majesty desired me to serve as a companion for her, and I married your father instead.
” The countess smiled. “It was the right decision, though Queen Charlotte was quite put out. In fact, I have begun to wonder if the arrangement of your marriage is more of a test for me than you.” She waved her hand as if the matter was of no importance.
“I will handle the queen. Tell me, Clara, if we ignore what happened at court, if the social pressure was gone, would you marry Lord Gallant?”
It was not a question she had considered, but she did not have to think long. “No,” Clara responded without hesitation. “No, I would not.”
“Then, my dear girl,” Mother stood from her seat, “you had better go tell him.”