Chapter 33
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“Lord Gallant! What are you doing here?” Clara asked in frustration. He had definitely not been invited.
“I heard you had entered half-mourning so I posted the banns. I have come to take you to Preston.” He had his ‘charming’ smile plastered to his face. The one that seemed to say, “I am such a blessing to this world.” A ‘fact’ that certainly wasn’t true.
Clara was beyond shocked. “You posted the … Isaac, we are not engaged. I did not accept your proposal!” He must not have realized with the excitement of Papa at the ball, that Clara had never answered his question.
But even if the misunderstanding of their engagement was an honest mistake, what gave him the nerve to post the banns without her permission?
He had set their wedding date and announced it to all of England! Well, all of England except her.
Then again, why was she surprised? He had never asked for her input before. “I do not want to marry you,” she told him firmly, taking a step back.
The duke seized her wrist. “Clara, stop teasing me. It is time to go.” He pulled her a few feet forward, ignoring her protests. “I have a carriage for you out front.”
Clara dug her heels into the ballroom’s glossy floor, but it did not affect the tyrant man. “Let me go!” she insisted, slapping his hand away, but he acted as if he did not notice.
“Her majesty was enthusiastic when I told her the news. We have certainly secured a high spot in court next Season.” He did not even bother looking at her as he said it.
She wasn’t a person to him, just a pretty thing to hang off his arm.
A means to his popularity. But Clara would not tolerate his arrogance any longer.
She flopped to the floor, sprawling across it like a sea star.
Her stomach to the ground, her shoulder nearly ripping from its socket as Isaac kept his firm grasp on her wrist. She would not be going with him.
“What are you doing!?” he asked, his voice loud and cruel. His inner violence had finally surfaced. “Get up! You will soil your gown.”
Clara rubbed her legs against the floor, in hopes of collecting as much dirt on her navy skirt as possible. “I am not marrying you. Take your carriage and leave.”
Finally, he released her arm, letting it fall to the floor with a forceful slap.
He crouched down, making their faces nearly eye level.
His normally pleasant expression was scrunched in anger, and though his voice now dropped to a whisper, the snarl made him sound even more threatening.
“I will not have a wife who disobeys me.”
“Then it is a good thing I will never be your wife,” she answered, pushing herself backwards and then scurrying to stand.
Lord Gallant was still frozen in place, the shock of not getting exactly what he wanted stalling his action.
She put more distance between them as he remained squatting in the middle of the ballroom. “Go home, Isaac.”
Slowly, he stood, his face as hard as a rock. “I have posted the banns,” he reminded her, “no one will take you if you break this off. You will ruin your social standing forever.”
He was right, but Clara didn’t care. She would rather have no one than be stuck with the duke. “What do you care? Your popularity will remain unharmed.”
“True,” he answered. “Very true. In fact, this shall probably be a greater boost to my fame than our marriage would have been.” He slowly meandered to the exit.
If they had ever cared for each other, more words would have been exchanged, but his reputation was unharmed, and that was all that mattered to the selfish Duke of Preston. The only thing that mattered to Clara, however, was finding Luke.
Isaac seemed to have forgotten about her, so Clara ran to the exit on the ballroom's far side, racing through the corridor. “Where is Lord Maxwell?” she asked the nearest footman, but the man did not have the answer. “Luke!” she shouted, rushing through the halls of the estate, “Luke?”
She ran toward his bedchamber, but spotted John in the hallway. “Where is Luke?” she asked frantically. She desperately needed to talk to him, to explain her feelings and Lord Gallant’s appearance.
“I tried to stop him,” John responded in frustration. “Hopefully he is still downstairs with Mother.”
“Stop him from what?” Clara asked as they both rushed to the drawing room.
“Going home.”
“Going home?” Her words came out in a confused whisper, and she slowed as she tried to process what he was saying.
“Hurry, Clara!” John urged, gripping her elbow and pulling her with him.
Clara’s head could not concentrate on the present. He is leaving, she thought. He is going home without me. Mother was right. I needed to tell him I loved him, and now it is too late.
Eventually, they entered the drawing room, though Clara probably would not have made it had John not led the way. It did not take long to see Luke was not there. Mother rushed forward in her dark gray dress. “The carriage is being pulled around.” She sounded anxious. “John, will you be going, too?”
“Going?” Clara’s brain was struggling to think of anything other than, I have ruined it. I have ruined it again. I’ve lost the man I love.
“To Maxwell Manor!” Mother answered, pulling Clara into the foyer for her gloves and bonnet.
“I am coming!” John said, a step behind them.
It was only a matter of minutes before the Merritts were all piled into their largest carriage. They had no luggage, minimal servants, and no real plan.
They rode through the night, switching out horses as needed, and sleeping on the cushioned carriage seats.
Clara was the first to shut her eyes, though her mind would not settle long enough to sleep.
She kept rehearsing what she would say to Luke.
How to explain why it had taken her so long to come to terms with her feelings, and why she had not told him when she did.
But what started as a fitful exercise, slowly became soothing.
They would finally be on the same page with matching feelings for one another.
They would marry and not only be best friends, but true partners.
The official Lord and Lady of Maxwell Manor.
Yes, Clara was going home. Home to Luke.
And she did not plan to leave anytime soon.
The ride home was long and boring, as it usually was.
Rain slowed his process, and Luke slept more than one night at an inn.
While he had plenty of time to think, he tried his best not to.
He had acted rashly, storming off instead of waiting for a logical explanation.
He had been self-centered and childish, but he just couldn’t suffer the heartache of Clara’s rejection again.
Rather than waiting around to see if there was a possibility she would choose him, he fled.
Hoping that breaking his own heart would be less painful than having it broken by the woman he loved.
And he did love Clara, even more now than he had a year ago.
Through the sorrows of the last few months, they had grown closer.
They had supported each other in their grief.
They had discussed their innermost fears and desires.
Except, of course, for the ones that involved each other.
While Luke had begun to believe affection was growing, the fear of it all being imagined had kept him from acknowledging it.
It did not matter in the end. Clara deserved someone like the duke.
Someone young, handsome, and well-connected.
She would be an amazing duchess. It was her destiny.
But Luke was still trapped under the Maxwell curse to live a sad, lonely life.
You are not a Merritt, he reminded himself. You were never meant to be one of them.
But immediately after thinking the words, a different voice popped into his head, a voice he would never hear again. “Don’t forget I love you, Luke, my son.”
And out in the middle of the English countryside, all alone, Luke wept like he never had before. He cried for the loss of Clara. He cried over the death of the only father he had ever known. His tears clouded his vision, and made his head pound as his horse slowly crept toward his empty home.
By some miracle, the Merritts arrived at Maxwell Manor before its master.
They were not even in the door before Clara put her plan into action.
“Prepare the household!” she told the servants.
“Prepare everything, Lord Maxwell should be here soon!” Linens were removed from sofas, drapes were opened, the pantry restocked.
“Ensure his lordship’s room is prepared,” Clara informed the housekeeper, “and,” she added with a whisper, “the baroness’s suite, as well.
” The elderly woman nodded with a knowing smile.
The whole house was in motion—the servants, the countess, John, but especially Clara.
She meticulously placed candles all over the foyer, lighting up the path from the door to Joan and Leopold.
She was nearing the end of her task when a cry sounded throughout the house.
“Lord Maxwell has returned! He is in the stables.”
“Places!” Clara yelled. “Everyone, to your places!”
Luke let out a sigh as he neared his home.
At least it is not the old Maxwell Manor, he reminded himself.
This one was usually far more warm and inviting.
Today, however, it just looked large and empty.
There were no servants in the stables, which wasn’t too surprising, they had no way of knowing their master would be returning.
So Luke fetched his horse oats and water, and spent a few minutes brushing out his coat.
You have to go inside eventually, he rebuked himself.
The side entrance was locked, so Luke went around to the front. It, too, was bolted shut. He knocked, a strange thing to do on one's own front door.
“Close your eyes!” A some-what familiar male voice shouted from the other side of the wooden entrance.