Chapter 12
A Ridiculous Plan
All three of Clara’s male protectors urged her to keep her distance from Everett, though they did not give her a chance to prove she would take their advice.
At least one of them was always nearby, and that ‘one’ was usually Luke.
At first, Clara found his big, silent presence distracting, but after a while, it became second nature.
He insisted on escorting her to every activity she attended.
Even when she did her drawing room visits, a strictly female practice, he stood in a corner and waited.
“When did you hire a bodyguard?” her friends teased.
“I think he prefers the term knight,” Clara responded. The women simply shrugged, but Luke gave a small smile from his stiff position against the wall.
Everett had been at the Merritt townhome for three weeks, and had not made any sort of indication that he would behave immorally.
Clara, being the loving person she was, started to believe that her father had judged him unfairly.
They had no proof he had done the things people whispered about.
He could be a perfectly reasonable person who had not been given a fair chance.
The more she thought about it, the more Clara convinced herself that the threat was imaginary, and she began to feel sorry for poor Mr. Merritt.
One day as they all sat at the breakfast table, Walters, the butler, placed a silver platter in front of Clara with several envelopes placed atop it.
This was not unusual, all of her invitations came this way.
The strange part was that the seal on one of the envelopes had been broken.
Clara did not alert anyone of this, but instead took the letter with her when she went to change into her riding habit.
In the secrecy of her bedchamber, she opened it to find someone had slipped a small piece of paper in her invitation to the Smith’s dinner party.
Only, the message did not come from anyone at the Smith’s residence.
We need to talk. Meet me tonight, 2 AM in the library. -ECM
Thankfully, Clara was not stupid enough to entertain such an inappropriate invitation, but she was curious to hear what Everett had to say. Before retiring for the evening, she placed a response on the library’s tea table.
The men shall be at the House of Lords on Friday, and I will be spending the day with Miss Smith. Around five o’clock, we will be at Maria’s Hat Shop, which I have always considered a great place to have quiet conversation.
The following evening, Clara stayed home for dinner. She had been invited to four different dinner parties, and rather than selecting one over the other, decided it would be the perfect time to be with her family and learn a bit more about Everett.
Clara sat in her usual spot, Papa on her left, Luke on her right, and John across the way.
Everett sat across from Luke, and the two men glared at each other for most of the meal.
It was a good thing none of the men knew about Mr. Merritt’s note, for they all seemed ready to attack should he so much as look at Clara.
There was no way she would become better acquainted with her cousin under her knight’s watchful eye.
“Lord Maxwell,” Papa addressed Luke during the second course, “after dinner, John and I would like to have a word with Mr. Merritt. Family business, you see. Would you please take my daughter for a turn about the town?”
“I would be honored, my lord,” came Luke’s dutiful response.
Clara looked between Papa and John. What did they need to tell Everett? Did they know about the note? She spared a quick glance at her cousin, and noticed he was no longer eating his meal, but simply pushing it around the plate. A shame, Clara thought, for Luke’s cook had made the dinner.
Soon, Clara and Luke found themselves on the townhome’s front steps, a maid trailing behind as chaperone.
The sun was setting and it made the windows golden and the lamp posts shimmery.
They were both dressed in their dinner finery.
Clara wore a pale green gown with an ivory sash, adding her outdoor gloves and bonnet, which were the same ivory color, the headwear boasted faux yellow daisies around its lip.
Luke wore a black suit with a large, grey top hat.
He offered his elbow, and she readily accepted.
As they walked, Clara talked about everything and nothing.
She pointed out different houses, sharing who lived there and what was going on in their lives.
She spoke about dresses and functions, but also about concerns for her friends, things she hoped to do to help a newly widowed mother, and a plan to bolster a rather unsuccessful debutante.
Luke simply listened, feeling blessed to be walking down the street with such a beautiful lady on his arm.
Blessed to hear her thoughts. Blessed to see her face.
Blessed to be her confidant and friend. I wish I could do this every day for the rest of my life, he thought as the sun continued to sink below the horizon.
They turned to head back to the house when Clara commented, “My goodness, I have not let you get in a single word! Though, I know you do not mind.” She smiled at him. “How are you, Luke? How are you liking London?”
How was he liking London? Well, usually he found the streets to be smelly and crowded, events stiff and boring, and the general atmosphere loud and presumptuous.
But in the past few weeks, he had also been able to spend more time with Clara than he ever had before.
He had been able to be part of her life on a whole new level, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.
London was just a city, but any city that could make the woman he loved happy, deserved high praise in his mind.
If all that wasn’t enough, tonight had changed Town for him.
With the setting sun and Clara on his arm, Luke felt peaceful.
Confident. Tranquil. The same feelings he used to believe were only available at Rosecrest, but they had then followed him to Maxwell Manor, and were now here once more.
“I have never been better,” Luke answered, “and London is not nearly as awful as I thought it would be.”
Clara laughed, looking up at him with smiling eyes. “From you, Luke Maxwell, I know that is high praise. What, pray tell, has made London so enjoyable?”
You! But surely he could not say that, at least not directly.
Still, he longed to share true feelings with her.
“I have always been fearful of this place and the responsibilities that came with it.” Clara nodded in understanding.
“But being here with you, John, and your father, it does not seem quite so scary anymore.”
“I think many trials feel less troublesome with your family by your side." While, technically, he was not part of the Merritt family, there was no other appropriate word for the relationship they shared.
Another couple passed on the opposite side of the street. Unsurprisingly, Clara knew them, so they stopped for a moment to chat. Once they parted ways, Clara asked, “Do you think your mother would have liked London?”
Luke had not heard much from his mother since her departure to Spain, which was not too surprising.
It was a long distance for mail to travel.
But everything he had heard was happy news.
Most of her ailments were a distant memory.
In fact, last he heard, she was expecting a child.
Clara had literally jumped with joy when she had heard the news.
The baby is probably born now. What a strange thought.
“I think my mother would like anywhere, as long as Alfonso was with her.” And as the words left his lips, he realized he understood the sentiment.
It was not Rosecrest that brought his peace, nor Maxwell Manor, and it certainly was not London.
It was Clara. Clara was his light. Clara was his joy.
And it was Clara that could make any place feel like home.
Each day, it became more and more torturous to be merely her friend.
The desire to further the relationship scratched at him like a stiffly starched collar.
How do I get her to see me as more than a brother?
Why is she so oblivious to my intentions?
When will I finally be able to express how much I love her?
All these, and many more questions were a constant strum in Luke’s mind.
Ding! went the bell at Maria’s Hat Shop at five o’clock that Friday. “Can I help you, sir?” asked the short shopkeeper.
“I have come to buy a hat with my lady,” came a charming voice.
“Ahh, there she is,” Everett said as he spotted Clara and Miss Alice Smith on the opposite side of the room looking at large, feathered sun hats.
The two women were the only customers in the shop.
The shopkeeper simply nodded at Everett, and left to fetch supplies from the closet behind the counter.
Clara and Alice had ridden their horses to town, so they were both dressed in their navy blue riding habits. The dark blue hue made Clara’s eyes a focal point.
Mr. Merritt crossed the room, his gait long and confident. When he reached Clara, he kissed her hand. “Why, you look just as lovely as a summer rose, my dear!” Alice took herself to the other side of the room.
“What do you need to tell me, Mr. Merritt?” Clara inquired as she pulled her hand away, reaching instead for one of the hats displayed on the long table. It was much too large and frilly for her taste, but she was only using it to keep her hands unavailable to her cousin.
“Oh, do call me Everett. It sounds as if you are speaking to your father when you say Mr. Merritt.” He stepped in much too close.
“My father is an earl,” Clara contended, “no one has ever called him mister.”
Everett was not satisfied with her flippant comment. “Clara,” he whispered, though she had certainly not given him liberty to forgo her title, “I know your father dislikes me, but I thought you would be mature enough to form your own opinion.”
He was not wrong. Clara was definitely letting others influence her feelings. She did call all of her other cousins by their given name, there was no harm in doing so with him. “Very well,” she surrendered, “Everett, what do you wish to tell me?”
He placed a hand at the small of her back, and the foreign touch jolted something in her brain, though she could not decide if it was pleasure or fear. He leaned in and whispered, “I have an ingenious plan, and I need your help accomplishing it.”
His lips were nearly on her ear. She could feel his breath tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. Step away! Her head yelled, but Clara remained frozen in place, her eyes fixed on the hideous hat. “What is your plan?”
He slowly drew circles at the bottom of her spine, sending shivers up and down her whole body.
“You see, your father only has one son. Most lords wish for an heir and ‘a spare’, but all Matthew has is you.” Clara flinched at such a disrespectful use of her father’s name.
No one but her mother was at liberty to call him such.
Thankfully, that flinch broke her petrified position, and, dropping the hat, she stepped out of Everett’s reach.
“What’s your point?” Her voice did not come out nearly as strongly as she hoped.
“I think you should marry me, so when John does not produce an heir, the title will remain in your father’s bloodline.” He gave her one of his dashing smiles, though she found it did not look as attractive as she once believed it to be.
“That is ridiculous!”
Clara took another step backwards, but Everett’s stride was much too long.
In half a second, he had reached her. Clutching her wrists so she could not break free, he pushed her up against the shop wall.
“Perhaps I did not make myself clear.” His usually handsome face twisted.
“You will marry me, or John will not live to see the end of the London Season.”
“Alice!” Clara yelled for help, but a quick look around the shop proved that she was on her own. Where is Alice? she thought fearfully.
Unfortunately, Mr. Merritt had also realized there were no witnesses.
“I will force you to marry me,” he declared.
With a dark, wild look in his eyes, he pushed himself up against her and kissed her neck.
“I will ruin you until I am the only one who will take you.” A low rumbling sound escaped his throat as he continued to kiss her.
Clara kicked and screamed, but there was nothing she could do against his strong grasp.
He stopped for a moment and pulled his face up to look into her eyes, “It will be easier if you just accept this, love,” he mocked.
“Never!” Clara screamed, spitting directly into his eyes.
Everett released one of her wrists and slapped her, hard, across the cheek. The taste of blood filled her mouth, and tears stung as they fell on her throbbing face.
“You will comply!”
There was a ringing in Clara’s ears, a perpetual, incessant ringing that did not seem to stop.
And then suddenly, Mr. Merritt was on the floor, and the shopkeeper was wielding a broom.
John had appeared, and his sleeves were stained with blood.
Luke stood directly in front of her, holding her shaking frame, and telling her something, but she couldn’t quite hear.
The ringing sounded once more, and Clara realized it was the bell to the shop door. Papa bolted in with the constable steps behind him. “Papa!” Clara wailed, “Papa!”
And the earl ran to her, wrapping her protectively in his arms. “It is all right, my ClaraBear. You are safe now. He cannot hurt you. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Clara could not stop crying. Her vision blurred. Her right eye was entirely swollen shut. Her head pounded. Nothing was making any sense.
But she knew one thing. Papa was here. He would not leave her. He would protect her. “Papa,” she repeated over and over, “Papa.”
“I’ve got you, ClaraBear. I’ve got you.”