Chapter 30
Something Was Different
It took several weeks for Luke to convince Clara to begin her tenant visits again, but, eventually, they had met with all the families in Faversham.
With each friendly conversation, Clara’s light had rekindled little by little, and she was happy and loving once again.
When Luke worked in the study with John, she spent most of her time on embroidery.
It was a long process, and a great deal to learn, but her portrait of her father was slowly coming along.
She used the painting over the mantle as a frame of reference.
Not surprisingly, Luke’s love for Clara continued to grow.
Watching her rekindling joy as she helped the people around her reminded him of what a special woman she was—selfless, caring, and charitable.
It made it difficult to persuade himself to return home.
It was already October. He had been away from his estate for nearly a year, and John definitely did not need his help anymore.
There was no logical reason for Luke to stay, but he felt if he waited just a little bit longer, perhaps Clara would change her mind.
She seemed to enjoy his company. They were able to laugh and talk and confide in one another.
Was it possible she would choose him after all?
He still wasn’t sure what had happened with the duke.
Clara had never mentioned it, and Luke didn't want to be tortured with the details.
The only thing he knew was that he did not want to leave when there was a possibility he would be able to take Clara home with him.
After a long morning of work with John, Luke entered the drawing room. Clara had her needlepoint up by her face, squinting at it with a cynical eye. “Clara,” Luke called in greeting, “you look like you could use a break.”
Lady Merritt, who sat on the opposing sofa with a book, nodded her head enthusiastically. “She needs to eat, Luke. See if you can convince her.”
“You haven’t eaten?” Luke asked in concern, but Clara still had the fabric pressed against her nose, ignoring the conversation happening around her. He walked over to her chair, crouching down beside her. “Clara?” His voice was playfully chastening.
“Just one more stitch …” she absent-mindedly mumbled, running a finger across the image.
He let her do five more stitches before gently clutching hold of her elbow. “Food,” he whispered, carefully pulling the needle from her hand.
Finally her gaze broke away from her project, and she looked genuinely surprised to see him. “Luke?” she asked. “When did you get here?” Both the baron and her mother laughed. “Mama?” she questioned, “I thought you were going to take a nap.”
“I did!” Mother responded. “A long one!”
“What time is it?” Clara wondered, looking out the room’s large windows.
“Time for you to eat,” Luke answered, helping her rise from the cushioned chair. They easily could have rung for food, but instead, he led her down to the kitchens. It was between meal hours, so there weren’t many servants working.
“What can I prepa’e fer ye, my lord?” a young maid with red curly hair and a plethora of freckles asked.
“Actually,” the baron replied, “I would like to cook for Lady Clara. Will you show me where the spices are kept?”
“You are going to cook?” Clara asked in disbelief. “Do you even know how?” The maid also gave him a wary look as if she expected him to light the house on fire.
“I did a lot of cooking in Spain,” he assured both of them, pulling a pan from off the wall.
Still, the maid did not look pleased as she showed the baron around the kitchen.
Luke brought rice, onions, and various spices over to the table.
The servant left so she did not have to witness whatever destruction was about to take place, and Luke pulled out a knife and chopping board.
“Shall I teach you?” he asked his companion.
“I think I will watch this time,” Clara answered back. “I am still having a hard time believing you know what you are doing.”
“It was different in Spain,” Luke told her as he began slicing the onion. “There were no servants at my mother’s house. We cooked our own meals. John even learned how to make simple dishes; but I must say, I am far better at it than he is.”
Clara laughed in a bright and cheerful way. “I bet John is the only earl in all of England who knows how to prepare his own supper.” She eyed the ingredients on the wooden countertop. “So, what are you making?”
“Spicy rice. We had it about once a week in-” Luke stopped. “Clara, are you feeling well?”
The woman sat at the servants’ table with tears streaming down the sides of her face.
Luke quickly splashed his hands in the washbin and rushed over to her, taking a seat beside her on the wooden bench.
“I thought I was well,” Clara whispered as she sniffled.
“I do not think I am sad. I am just crying.”
“Oh.” Luke slipped his arm around her shoulder, unsure of how best to help her.
“You think I would be used to crying by now,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief Luke offered. “I cannot tell you how many times I have done it since Papa died.”
He rubbed her back lightly with a comforting hand. “I thought you were feeling better.” He had not seen Clara cry in weeks. He believed she was finally healing.
“I am,” she answered, the tears still streaming down both cheeks. “I haven’t cried in quite some time. I do not know what has come over me.” She leaned her head against him as she continued to dab her eyes.
Luke’s eyes began watering, too. “I have done a lot of crying as well,” he admitted. “It has been hard.”
“And you didn’t even say goodbye!” Clara was truly sobbing now, her face all red and splotchy and her eyes overly puffy.
“But you had to see him suffer,” Luke cried right back. They cuddled on the uncomfortable kitchen bench for a quarter of an hour, crying into each other’s shoulders as they expressed their love for Clara’s father, and the difficulty they had had since his passing.
It was a very vulnerable conversation, and the tears continued to stream when the maid interrupted. “Tis ye onions, my lord.” She sounded annoyed. Apparently she had witnessed their sobbing session.
The couple immediately jumped apart. “Somet’ing ‘bout cuttin’ onions makes people cry,” the girl explained. “T’will end once ye get t’em on the fire.”
Luke looked from the maid to Clara, and as their puffy, tear-lined eyes met, he felt an understanding pass between them.
No words needed to be said, they were able to have an entire conversation with just a glance.
They had connected during their onion-induced emotional outpouring, leaving them closer than they had ever been.
Luke continued to look into her beautiful face, surprised at the tenderness he saw coming back to him.
Clara was looking at him in a different way.
More affectionate than friendly. But perhaps it only appeared that way because of her watery eyes.
He did not take the time to decide as he threw the pesky vegetable into the hot pan.
Luke removed his black jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves as he stood at the kitchen’s hot stove.
He explained to her the cooking method as he completed each step, but Clara was having a hard time focusing.
Had Luke always been so …? She couldn’t settle on the word, but she found it difficult to keep her eyes from his flexing arm muscles as he stirred the food in the large cast-iron pan.
“I am adding a little paprika,” he turned to face her, fetching the spice from his pile with a smile, his green eyes filled with excitement. “We are almost done!”
Those green eyes made her stomach twist in a very confusing way. Was she nervous? It is just Luke, she reminded herself as he turned back around, but the statement was entirely unsuccessful at calming her down. Had Luke’s hair always looked so shiny?
“I won’t put in too much,” he said over his shoulder. “I do not want it to be too hot for you.”
Too hot? Yes, that was it. The small room was much too hot with the large stove in use.
It was the heat making her blush, not her strange new feelings.
Feelings she wasn’t able to identify until long after the delicious meal had ended, and Luke walked her back to the drawing room.
They stood outside the double door entrance, facing each other, as they usually did to say goodbye. But something was different.
“Did you enjoy the food?” Luke whispered down at her, and, involuntarily, her body felt the need to step in closely and outstretch her hand. He took her gloved fingers instantly, but then looked at them for several seconds as if he were unsure what to do with them.
What was he supposed to do with them? She did not usually go around sticking her limbs in people’s direction.
What had gotten into her? She nearly apologized for her bizarre behavior, when Luke bowed and gently brought her hand to his lips, giving it a light, formal kiss.
Clara grinned as her other arm decided to extend itself toward him, too.
She looked absolutely ridiculous, standing in the doorway with both of her arms straight ahead.
“Is that a yes?” Luke chuckled, lifting her second hand and kissing it as well. But all Clara could do was nod as her stomach flipped and her heart fluttered. “Well,” he guided her hands back down to her sides, “enjoy your embroidery.”
Even after sitting on the sofa for over an hour, Clara had not completed a single stitch. What was happening? What had come over her? Why had his kiss affected her so? It is just Luke! She tried to persuade herself, but simply thinking his name made her heartbeat quicken.
He was her best friend. The person she enjoyed being with more than anyone in the world.
She felt totally safe in his presence. It did not matter if they were at their best or their worst, she and Luke knew how to care for one another, and they enjoyed doing it.
She loved his laugh, his smile, the way his forehead scrunched when he was worried …
I am in love with Luke Maxwell, she realized with a jolt.
She had been around many lovesick girls in her time, so how had she not noticed how far gone she was? All of the signs were there. They had been there all along. How had she not seen them?
The way she sought him out. The way their eyes met across the room. Her longing for him when he was away. The comfort she had felt being wrapped in his arms. Do not forget the dancing, her brain reminded her, or that beautiful first kiss. Her cheeks pinked just thinking about it.
I am in love, she thought yet again as a smile spread across her face.
I am in love with Luke! Her head swirled with the excitement of it all.
We could get married. This time, the thought of becoming Lady Maxwell did not make her feel heavy.
The pit in her stomach was nowhere to be found.
In fact, the idea of spending her life with Luke by her side made Clara feel light and peaceful, as if she were floating somewhere high in the heavens.
And Clara Merritt never wanted to come back down.