Chapter 29
Emotional Confusion
The days continued to blur together, and Clara watched as everyone around her moved on with their lives.
Mother joined her friends for dinners, John rarely left the study, and the household grew accustomed to a new master.
But Clara was stuck. Though it was no fault of their own, the rest of the family was too encompassed in their own grief to notice.
All, that is, except Luke. They still had not truly spoken to each other, but everyday, he made some sort of effort to see her and check on her.
At first, it seemed coincidental, but after a week, Clara began to notice a pattern.
He would ask her for assistance spelling a word, or adjusting his lapel, or locating something that was probably never lost in the first place.
He would enter the room she was in, ensure she was settled, and then apologize for opening the wrong door.
After a fortnight, Clara found herself looking forward to Luke’s ruse, and would sometimes even make herself intentionally difficult to find, just to see how far he would go in his search for her.
This particular day, she hid in the music room.
None of the Merritts were musical, and Clara had not entered the room since her lessons long ago.
She had learned some basic pieces on the pianoforte, but had not touched the instrument since.
The music room wasn’t large compared to most of the Rosecrest chambers, though it had all the instruments a noble family would typically play—a pianoforte, a full-sized harp, several flutes, and violins.
The only sheet music the family had was downstairs in the drawing room, should a visitor desire it, so Clara sat at the pianoforte and randomly plucked keys.
Her piece in no way resembled true music, but it at least entertained her for several minutes.
Next, she moved to the harp. I bet Mama played the harp as a girl, she thought.
Her plucking of the harp sounded more like intentional noise than the pianoforte had, but maybe that was because Clara had so little knowledge, that any noise coming from the angelic instrument sounded nice.
She picked up the violin next. After one ear-piercing screech, she set it back down, a shiver creeping up her spine.
She definitely could not play the violin.
She was just lifting the flute to her lips when Luke arrived.
He looked the same as he had before his travels, though perhaps a bit more tan.
Like everyone else in the household, he was dressed fully in black.
“Oh, Clara,” he feigned confusion, “I did not think anyone would be in here.”
It was a ridiculous comment. “Oh,” Clara stated, with false innocence, “and what exactly were you intending to do in the music room?”
Luke’s cheeks pinked, like a little boy who had been caught sneaking frogs into the house. “To … ummm … play music, of course.” He pulled at his tight collar.
“That sounds nice,” Clara lowered the flute and walked a step closer. “What instrument do you play?” She had a streak of wickedness in her today.
“The …” his eyes darted around the room, “the violin?”
Clara smirked. She had already discovered that the little instrument was much trickier than it appeared. “Well, play something for me!” she requested. “I would love to hear your talent.”
“As you wish,” he announced in defeat, crossing over to the table where the violin lay.
He lifted the instrument up in front of him, like one would hold a guitar, and then gripped the bow with his other hand, lifting it vertically above his head before pulling it down in front of his nose to make contact with the strings.
The noise resembled that of a dying cat.
Luke cringed. “This one seems a bit out of tune,” he commented, as he let the bow slide across the strings a second time.
Clara covered her ears. Luke looked equally terrified and disgusted by the sound.
And then, for the first time in months, Clara laughed. The sound felt foreign and wonderful as it bubbled from her chest, ringing off the top of the music room much more beautifully than the violin had. “Oh Luke,” she continued to giggle, “please stop.”
Lord Maxwell laughed, too, and the sound pricked at her heart. It was such a familiar sound, but one she had not heard in a long time. The nostalgia of it, combined with her emotional confusion, brought tears to her eyes. Her giggling stopped as she began to cry.
“Clara?” Luke asked in concern, setting the instrument down and taking a hesitant step toward her. “Are you upset?”
But Clara wasn’t really sure why she was crying. “I don’t know,” she whimpered as the tears came faster. She had closed off her emotions for so long, they all seemed to come at once—fear, anger, confusion, but mostly sorrow.
And then, Clara did the very thing she had been avoiding for months: she turned to someone else for comfort. With her hands on her wet cheeks, she threw herself against Luke’s chest, sobbing into his black coat. “I am so confused,” she repeated between tears.
At first, Luke’s arms hung stiffly by his sides, but after a moment, he let them pull around her. “It’s all right,” he whispered into her hair before resting his head atop hers. “Let it out.”
Clara did not know how long she cried, but Luke held her the entire time, gently rubbing her back, whispering words of reassurance.
The love she felt dripping from him was unmistakable, but it did not scare her.
It comforted her. Her best friend was here, caring for her in her time of need even though she had broken his heart.
She had caused him serious pain, and yet he put aside his own feelings to come to her aid.
Wrapped so tenderly in his arms, Clara’s numbness began to peel away, leaving a heart that was hurt, but aching for love.
She could not guarantee it would not break again, but she had to believe that the reward was worth the risk.
“Thank you,” she whispered, a smile coming to her face as she wrapped her arms around Luke as well.
“Anytime,” he whispered back, not making any attempt to let her go.
“And thank you for noticing me.”
He pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face. “I will always notice you,” he replied, his words low, soft and genuine, his hands placed protectively around her waist. “And I am here, if you need anything.”
“I know, Luke,” she answered back, her heart swelling as all the love for those around her came flooding back in.
She had lost someone she loved, and that heartache was not going to go away.
But Luke had helped open her heart back up.
He had reminded her what it felt like to be cared for, and she had a renewed desire to help others feel the same.
Luke was beyond surprised when Clara asked him to accompany her on tenant visits the following day.
“It has been a long time since I have checked in on the women of Faversham,” she informed him.
“I want to make sure they are all being taken care of.” The excitement he saw returning to her eyes while mentioning her formulated plan was contagious.
While he had no real desire to make the visits, the idea of helping Clara find her happiness again filled him with joy.
The first house they stopped at belonged to Clara’s old friend, Amanda. The dark-haired woman had married an old banker and now lived in a house next to Amanda's parents, just west of the town center. The building was fairly new, and made entirely of red brick.
“Clara!” Amanda yelled in excitement when she opened the white-stained front door. “Come in! Come in! Oh, and you have brought Lord Maxwell with you!” She ushered the two of them inside.
“I have just come for a short visit,” Clara explained, sitting down on the room’s small sofa. Luke wasn’t sure what his purpose was, so he stood just inside the doorway. “How is your family?”
A young boy with brown hair and murky eyes wandered in from the back room, looking wearily at the visitors.
“We are doing well!” his mother answered, sitting down on the cushion next to her friend.
“Little Charlie,” she gestured to the boy, “is just starting to talk, and then our next little one,” she pointed to her slightly rounded stomach, “should be here around Christmas.” Clara gushed over the announcement and asked Amanda a dozen questions.
The woman answered back excitedly. The light continued to grow in Clara’s eyes, piercing out over the blackness of her attire.
She was talking to someone. She was caring for her friends.
She was finally allowing herself to do the things that made her happy.
Little Charlie stood a few paces from the sofa, but his mother was too engrossed in the conversation to pay him any heed.
Luke decided to attempt entertaining the boy, hoping that would allow the women to converse a little longer.
He squatted down to the child's level and whispered, “Charlie, do you like biscuits?” That got his attention. Little Charlie came toddling over.
“We will be right back,” he announced to the room. The boy's mother simply nodded her head as she animatedly told Clara about an event she had attended at the local dancing hall.
They were only a minute's walk from the shopping center, so Luke swooped the child into his arms and carried him over to the bakery to buy him a treat. As they meandered through the streets of Faversham, he remembered another shopping experience he had made long ago. It was a hazy memory now, but he remembered Clara’s friend attempting to flirt with John, and the four of them standing in a shop full of ribbon for far too long.
John had been so angry when Luke and Clara were slow getting back to the carriage.
Why had we been slow? He tried to remember. We had been discussing something, but what was it?
He and Charlie purchased their sweetened biscuits and headed back toward home. All the while, Luke’s thoughts were on that day, trying to remember the details.
The little boy finished his biscuit. “More!” he asked in his childish voice.
“Sorry,” Luke answered, “just one.”
Just one.
The memory came flooding back to him. Clara had told him people brought meaning to her life—something he had witnessed first hand.
Then he said he needed just one. One person to truly love.
Of course, Luke was blessed to have more than just one person in his circle of love, but he found there was still some truth in his words.
If he could keep just one person happy—one particular person with blue eyes and long blonde hair—his life would be fulfilled, his mission complete.
He just did not know if that particular person would allow him to do so.
While Clara had thoroughly enjoyed her time outside of the house, coming home, knowing her Papa was not there, had filled her with sadness once again.
She was not as sorrowful as she had been, not even remotely so, but she still could not muster the strength to continue her visits, and instead, returned to her unproductive melancholy.
Daily, Luke urged her to travel beyond the estate’s brick walls, or to invite a group of friends over for tea.
But winter was coming, and with it came a great deal of thunderstorms. Given the weather, Clara had the perfect excuse to ignore his promptings.
But Luke continued to seek her out. They came together at least once a day, just to talk. It felt like old times in a way, but also new and exciting. She was not naive enough to believe the relationship could remain as it was, but for now, she was enjoying having him as company.
Rain continued to pound against the house as Mother and Clara sat in the drawing room.
Walters appeared with a note on his silver platter.
“His lordship requested I deliver this to you.” He tipped the tray toward Clara.
“He apologizes for the delay. It was in a jacket he has not worn since his travels.” The envelope was crinkled and somewhat damaged.
“Thank you,” Clara said, eyeing the package strangely. But it took only a moment to determine it was from Luke's mother. She pulled out the letter and read.
Lady Clara Merritt,
I have enjoyed having my son and your brother stay with us.
They are two of the finest gentlemen. I love watching Luke play with his little brother and sister.
He was such a stoic child, but he has become a happy man.
I think a great deal of the change can be attributed to you.
At one point in time, you asked me to teach you how to embroider portraits.
I have enclosed some examples and instructions as my best attempt to teach you from afar. Feel free to write with any questions.
Avianna
Clara pulled out several pieces of fabric, each filled with different stitches and partially completed images.
There were also multiple pages full of written instructions.
It was obvious Luke’s mother had spent a great deal of time preparing the embroidery lesson, and Clara's heart swelled with gratitude.
I am going to learn, she decided. Then I will make a portrait of Papa.
She pulled out her own embroidery set and began to study.