Chapter 22
Persuade Him
London
“So I shall see you at the Smiths’ ball, and then on Friday at the Luthers’ dinner.
Do you plan on attending the theater Saturday night?
” Lord Gallant asked from his seat on the opposing sofa as he flipped through his commonplace book.
Each Monday, Clara and the duke compared social schedules, determining which events they would attend separately or together.
It was practical, but did nothing to further their connection.
Even after several months of ‘courtship.’ Clara had not learned a single thing about the man other than he liked to socialize.
They had never once discussed anything deeper than a preference of chicken over fish.
They were surface level friends, acquaintances really, and yet the lackluster relationship prevented her from forming any others.
Somehow, she had entered a new class of women, though truth be told, it was only her among them.
No one else was ‘somewhat engaged’ to a young duke who showed absolutely zero interest in truly getting to know them.
She felt isolated and alone, even when standing in a large crowd of people.
No one here understood her, nor did they care to.
At first, she had been shown a great deal of attention, but when the gossip ran out, so did those willing to spend time with her.
Of course, Alice checked in when she could, but she was a busy wife and mother.
All those times Clara had assisted those in need, and yet, in her confusion and loneliness, no one took the time to care for her.
Papa did his best, but the political war was raging.
He was often gone during the day and was pressured by other lords around him whenever they went out.
He regularly asked Clara to find a different chaperone, as his head constantly ached.
Sometimes Alice would accompany her, other times it was a cousin, or aunt.
More and more regularly, when Papa could not leave the house, Clara stayed home.
She sat on the drawing room sofa, picturing Luke sitting across from her, reading her a book, or simply listening as she expressed all of her many concerns. Luke always was a good listener.
“Lady Clara?” Lord Gallant interrupted her thoughts, “the theater?”
“Oh, my apologies, your grace,” Clara responded instinctually. “Yes, I would enjoy the theater.”
“I shall fetch you at nine,” he added the note to his book, much like one would add items to a grocery list. “Any other events I should know about?”
This is going nowhere!
Something on the other side of her brain argued back, so fix it.
Fix it? How? He is not interested in me!
Then make him interested! You know how to get what you want.
Stop sitting around waiting for someone to rescue you, and fight for yourself!
And while she did not appreciate the sassy way in which her brain brought attention to the fact, it was true.
Clara had been wallowing in grief and feeling sorry for herself.
She had not made an effort to change her situation, but instead, mentally complained about it over and over.
She could not change the fact that John and Luke were gone.
She could not change Queen Charlotte’s desire for her to wed Lord Gallant, nor could she make Papa’s headaches go away.
But she could reach out to her friends. She could find joy in society again, and with a little bit more effort, she could change the relationship between herself and the duke.
She could probably even convince him to fall in love with her, if she tried.
You did it with Luke, her brain reminded her, without even trying.
The comment felt more like a stab in the heart than a line of encouragement.
Regardless, it was time to take action. “Lord Gallant,” Clara used her most flirtatious voice, “I was wondering if you would like to join me for a picnic tomorrow.”
“Let me see what I have scheduled.” He flipped through his book.
While his eyes were down, Clara came and sat next to him, setting herself so close on the sofa, her pink skirts brushed his grey trousers.
She placed her hand on his shoulder, and tilted her head to appear as if she were reading in his book as well.
“I can make it work,” Lord Gallant concluded as he turned toward her. Their faces were inches apart.
She tilted her chin upwards, allowing her eyes to lock with his. “I look forward to it,” she whispered back, taking a quick, calculated look at his lips before letting her hand glide down his upper arm as she brought it back to her own lap.
The surprise on the duke's face was apparent, but so was his interest. Slowly, he inched his gloved hand to hers, lifted her fingers up toward him, and kissed the back of her hand.
Well done, she congratulated herself. Now the relationship will finally progress. But as Lord Gallant walked away, she wondered if that was truly what she wanted.
Spain
Every Tuesday, Mother had a group of her friends over.
The children all played in the yard while the matrons exchanged news and complained about various going-ons.
The first Tuesday, Luke had made the mistake of staying indoors with the women, but he quickly realized the real fun to be had was outside with the children.
Personality-wise, Manuel was a male version of the young Clara Merritt—popular, constantly surrounded by his peers, and ready for any adventure.
The dark-headed boy led the pack of little ones in games and mischief.
If he were still a child himself, Luke probably would have clung to the edge of the fence and hoped to be left alone, but it was different now.
He was different now, and he no longer felt the need to stay in the shadows.
He did not care what these children thought of him.
In fact, he did not care what anyone in Spain thought of him.
He had no reputation to maintain, no ton to please, no responsibilities to perform, and no woman to impress.
Luke was not a prominent lord here, just the son of a country couple, and that was freeing in a way he could not possibly describe.
“Hermano!” Manuel yelled in excitement when Luke appeared, carrying baby Isabella. “Donkey!” It was not an observation, but a request. So, setting the baby on her blanket under the tree, Luke got down on all fours and gave the children donkey rides.
This was a favorite game, and having expected them to ask for it, Luke wore the same pair of faded trousers every Tuesday morning.
The knees had long since worn through, but Mother had been ecstatic to patch them.
“I never did get to fix any of your clothes as a lad,” she gushed.
“It is high time you ruin a pair of trousers.” And ruin them he did.
He was on his seventh or eighth donkey ride that morning, when a hearty laugh sounded from above him.
Luke cranked his neck, arching his back with two children still atop it, to see the cause of the sound.
A beautifully tan woman with a sharp chin and long wavy black hair tied back with a kerchief looked at him.
He was still coming to understand the Spanish fashion, but from the look of it, she was more wealthy than any of the Spaniards he had met thus far.
Large, golden earrings adorned her ears, and matching bangles circled her wrists.
Her dress was boldly red and full, and swished as she walked toward him.
Luke quickly slid the children off and stood, dipping his head in greeting.
The woman did not reciprocate his polite gesture.
Instead, she sauntered right up to him and brushed dirt off his shirt sleeve.
The baron took a step back in surprise, but the woman stepped with him, now reaching her hands up to adjust his cravat.
She was a good two heads shorter than Luke, so her hands were nearly straight overhead.
“Uhh!” Luke exclaimed in fear as he gently pushed her hands away, rushed over to the blanket and picked up his baby sister. Though, if he was holding her for her own safety or his, he could not say.
“Are you the English lord I heard about?” she asked in a heavy accent. She tossed her hair with the back of her hand, her look undeniably flirtatious. At least she kept herself at a respectful distance this time.
Luke had absolutely zero desire to speak with her, but he could not outright ignore her question. “Probably,” he muttered, slowly gathering the children around him as a tiny human fortress.
The social little Manuel saw no danger. “?Quién es usted?” he asked, pointing up at the sultry woman, heading in her direction instead of toward the huddle.
Oh no! Luke lamented as he pulled the baby closer to his body.
The woman smiled, forcefully sweet, down at the boy, but her answer was obviously directed to the gentleman as she responded in her educated English, “I am Valentina Guardia Flores.” She curtsied. “I have come to invite your brother to the festival.”
Manuel rolled his eyes in boredom, and Luke made a great effort to not do the same. The boy quickly abandoned the woman, and unfortunately, Luke’s living shield joined him, leaving the baron—and the baby—to fight for themselves.
“I …” Luke stuttered, looking around frantically for rescue. Then, who should be seen, but John, just visible on the horizon as he returned on his grey mount. “John!” he cried in desperation, “John!”
Thankfully, the man pushed his horse to a gallop, and reached them in only a matter of seconds. “Who is your friend?” John asked as he dismounted.
“This is Miss Flores,” Luke whispered back, his eyes wide with fear. “Miss Flores,” rather than look at her, his face lowered to his shoes. “This is my friend, John Merritt, Viscount Lord Rollins, the future Earl of Faversham."
Valentina did not seem to care one bit about John’s presence. Odd. Most women forgot all about a lowly baron when John showed up. “Good day, senor.” The woman curtsied. “I am trying to convince your friend here to attend the festival tomorrow night.”
John laughed, loud and merrily. “Good luck to you! Lord Maxwell is not fond of socializing.”
“I see,” Valentina tilted her head as she squinted up at Luke. “How would I persuade him?” She gave John a conspiring look, as if the two were old friends, not acquaintances of less than a minute.
John shook his head. “I am afraid I do not know the answer.”
Luke sighed in relief. Sometimes, I do not give him enough credit, he thought. He really is a good friend.
Then John finished with, “His mother will know how to convince him, perhaps you should go inside and ask her.” Valentina decided to do just that.
Useless, Luke reprimanded as John rode to put the horse away, utterly useless.