Chapter 31
Undeniably Admirable
Clara’s maid was styling her hair when Mother stepped through their connecting door.
“What do you have planned today?” the countess asked, adjusting her black shawl in Clara’s vanity mirror.
But as Clara began to share her plans, Mother stopped her.
“Is that a new locket?” she asked, squinting at the golden chain.
While technically not new, this was only the second time Clara had ever worn the oval necklace with three sapphires on the front, and the inscription My Queen on the back.
It was still empty, though she planned on putting a portrait of Papa on one side.
“Luke gave it to me,” Clara whispered, “for Christmas.” Understanding passed through the gaze of her mother.
“And,” Mother pursed her lips, “is there any particular reason you are wearing it?” Though she had attempted to keep herself from smiling, her eyes could not contain their joy.
Clara nearly giggled as she answered, “The baby had curly hair.” A sentence that would only make sense to her mother.
Lady Merritt squealed, a full on childish squeak. “Clara!” she shouted in excitement as she pulled her daughter into a hug. “Oh, Clara! This is happy news!” She pulled back to look at her. “So you love him?” she asked. Her playful eyes looked as if they already knew the answer.
“I do,” Clara admitted, a smile instantly filling her face. It was the first time she had said it out loud.
“Oh, Papa would have been so happy! Will you wed here or in Harleston? Does John know? Well, of course he does because Luke had to ask permission.” The countess rambled.
“Well actually-” Clara tried to explain, but Mother was too excited to listen.
“You cannot marry while we are in full mourning,” she commented with dissatisfaction. “What day is it?”
“Mama, Luke hasn’t-”
This time it was Clara’s maid that interrupted. “It is October twenty-first, my lady.”
Mother quickly did some calculations in her head.
“We shall enter half-mourning on the first,” she informed the maid so she could tell the rest of the household.
“Perfectly acceptable to have a wedding in half-mourning.” Mother talked to herself, forgetting there were other people in the room.
“We will serve pheasant at the luncheon. Luke likes pheasant. Oh, and I must write Avianna!”
Clara stood from her vanity chair. “Mama,” she gently took the countess’s arm.
“Yes, dear?” she shook her head as she finally stopped to listen.
“Luke has not proposed.”
“What?!” she pushed herself backward in shock. “Is it John? Because-”
“Mama,” Clara’s voice was nearly chastening. “I have not yet told him my feelings. I have only just discovered them.”
“Oh,” worry passed over Mother’s face, “I see. But you will tell him, right? Soon?”
“As soon as I am ready,” Clara assured her.
The answer did not satisfy her mother. “He has waited years for you, Clara. Don’t make him wait too much longer.”
“It is all so new.”
“But you cannot expect him to wait forever,” she stressed. “You do not have to marry right away, but you should tell him your feelings. Let him know you are interested.”
“That is what the necklace is for,” Clara replied, adjusting the piece of jewelry out in front of her. Mother continued to look at her with concern.
Clara had joined Luke in his game. Each day, after tea time, she would hide in random places in the house, and Luke would search for her.
Neither of them had confessed to the other that they knew what they were doing, but their daily game of seek and find had become somewhat of a tradition.
In fact, Clara had begun leaving him little clues as to where she would be.
For example, a wooden block on his tea tray indicated she was in the nursery.
A carrot implied she waited in the stables, as she often brought along a carrot for her mare.
It was a fun game, and it usually helped Luke find her quicker.
On this particular day, the tray held a book.
Luke stopped at the library first, thinking a book would most logically lead him to the room full of them, but the library sat empty. A book. Well, one could read in the drawing room. Luke tried there next. It too was unoccupied.
Perhaps there was a clue in the book. He fanned the pages, looking for any indication of where Clara was, when he came to a familiar portrait. In fact, he had a miniature of it in his own home. The image depicted was that of the ancient Joan of Arc.
Clara was similar to Joan—a woman who had faced many challenges.
She had been attacked in the hat shop long ago, and then had to live with her attacker for over a month.
She had witnessed her father’s health decline, and eventually, the tragic accident that led to his death.
Yet, through all her struggles, she continued to stand for what she believed in—helping people.
Though not a warrior in a typical sense, Clara still fought for her cause.
She waged a battle against cruelty and loneliness, and time after time, she came out on top.
He had seen her victories help her countless friends, his mother, and even Luke himself.
While most of the world would not appreciate Clara’s valor, Luke found it undeniably admirable.
And assuming he understood the clue correctly, the valiant woman would be waiting for him in the attic, where he and Clara had found the suit of armour they had christened Joan.
“You found me!” Clara answered happily as Luke swung open the attic door. She sat on a wooden chair, encircled about by lanterns and candles. She looked angelic. As he took a step forward, he discovered the lighting was not for ambience, but served a far greater purpose.
“How is the embroidery going?”
“Well, I would have said ‘well,’ but in the last five minutes, I have managed to tie my thread into knots, and I am quite frustrated with it.” Her tone was both playful and irritated.
She rose from her seat, placing the project on the chair and walking over to him.
“Oh, Luke, your cravat is twisted.” She stepped in to adjust it.
And while she did so, Luke was reminded of Miss Valentina Flores. She, too, had attempted a similar thing, though it had been far less enjoyable. “Have I told you about the woman I met in Spain?”
“Woman?” Clara’s hands remained on his cravat. It was unclear if the lingering hands were done out of endearment or because she intended to strangle him.
“Her name was Valentina Flores.”
Finally she looked at him, her gaze unreadable. “Did you court her?”
“Not intentionally.” Before Clara could decipher the flippant comment, he explained, “She was the most forward, bold woman I have ever met. She scared me senseless. I couldn’t seem to get rid of her.”
Clara’s puzzling expression soon turned to a laugh. “Oh, I am sure you did not enjoy that one bit!”
“You are correct. My mother and John found it rather funny, though.”
“It is funny, Luke,” she said, stepping back a proper distance. “So,” she placed her hands out from her sides, gesturing to the room, “what do you think of the attic?”
Luke observed his surroundings. “It is much less cluttered than it was last time we were up here.”
“Well, that is because we took most of it with us to Maxwell Manor.”
“Yes,” Luke answered, “it has been so long since I have been home, I guess I have forgotten.”
“I miss Harleston,” Clara responded, “and Maxwell Manor.”
“As do I,” he agreed.
The candlelight flickered against something shiny wrapped around her neck.
Luke’s eyes naturally settled on the jewelry, and as they did, he discovered it was a familiar piece.
“You are wearing the necklace I gave you.” His words were hesitant and slow.
She was wearing the necklace! What did that mean?
He had not seen her wear it since the night he gave it to her.
“Yes,” Clara answered with a smile and nothing more.
News had come that Papa’s headstone was completed, and the family walked to the churchyard together.
The path to the cemetery was actually quite pleasant.
The sun had come out again, and the Merritts enjoyed catching up with one another as they trudged through the slightly damp grass.
At first, Mother and Clara walked in front, with Luke and John behind, but about halfway through, Mother insisted she needed time with both of her children, so Clara and John swapped places.
The group grew somber as they entered the churchyard and looped around the back to the Merritt family cemetery.
It was not a place Clara had been to very many times.
The grass stood long and green between the headstones, and as they passed the row of deceased family members, Clara felt Papa’s absence much greater than she did most days.
He truly was gone, buried beneath her feet along with all the earls before him.
Her sadness bubbled to the surface again, and Luke immediately pulled her under his arm, offering her one of his white handkerchiefs.
By the time they reached Papa’s stone, the whole family was crying and holding each other, each consumed in their grief.
John squatted down and ran a hand across the memorial, making sure the craftsmanship was sufficient.
It had been five months since Papa’s passing, but this day was arguably more sad than the day he had died.
They had time to miss him, to feel what life was like without him there.
But unlike that first day, they had learned to rally around each other.
Luke supported Clara. Clara supported John.
John supported Mother. The circle of love never ended.
With each of them caring for the other, eventually, the crying lulled, and Lady Merritt spoke.
“Matthew would be happy to see us all together.”
“I miss him,” John whispered, and they all agreed. Soon, they were telling stories, both happy and sad, about times with Papa. John shared lessons he had been taught on horseback, and Clara talked about her bedtime stories.
When it was Luke’s turn, he reminisced, “The first summer I was here,” he gestured back to the house, “my mother accompanied me, and she was very particular about my behavior.” The other three nodded in agreement.
They all remembered Avianna’s paranoia. “Lord Merritt took pity on me, and would sneakily give me small pleasures from time to time. He invited me into his office once, told Mother it was a financial lesson, but then we played cards.” The Merritts laughed.
Papa had always been good at keeping people happy.
Finally, it was Lady Merritt’s turn. “I have many memories of my husband.” She took a long, laborious breath, and Clara placed an encouraging hand on her elbow.
“I think my favorite was seeing him become a father.” She looked up at John, tears in her eyes.
“Your Papa was always a good man, but loving you,” she looked around the circle, “all three of you, made him a great, happy man.” They all hugged each other again, offering words of comfort.
They stayed for a few more minutes, before Mother announced she was ready to walk back.
“I would like a minute alone,” Clara told the group.
Luke offered to accompany her when she was done, and Mother and John went together.
The baron rested against a nearby tree, giving Clara privacy as she knelt down next to her father’s final resting place.
“Hello, Papa,” she whispered. “We are doing better now.” She thought of how horrible those first few weeks had been, and yet how hopeful she had felt since.
“It is hard still, but we are slowly finding ways to be happy again. John is back, and he’s been working hard.
A little too hard, if you ask me.” She placed a hand on top of the large stone.
“Mother seems happy enough, and she was so excited when I told her about Luke.” Clara smiled.
“I love him. I imagine I will marry him. I know that is what you wanted. It has just taken me a while to realize it is what I wanted, too. But he is my best friend, and he makes me happy. I am not sure why I didn’t see it before.
” She looked over at Luke then. His eyes were closed as he rested against the tree, and she pictured that scrawny little boy from long ago.
She and Luke had thousands of memories, and she looked forward to making a thousand more.
“I really do love him,” she whispered. “I think I always have.”