“Well, perhaps you do not know him like I do!” Clara teased. “Why, I would trust Leopold to guard my reputation if it were just him and I up here in the dark attic.”
And while he knew it was a joke, the comment did not sit well with Luke. “You should not be up here alone with anyone.” The seriousness of his tone was one hundred percent intentional and did not go unnoticed.
Clara looked about the room, her eyes narrowed. “Who is acting as our chaperone, Luke Maxwell?”
Her voice came out barely above a whisper, but it played loudly in Luke’s mind. They were alone, but that wasn’t new; he and Clara were often alone.Like brother and sister,his mind reassured him.
“We do not need a chaperone,” Luke answered. “We are just friends.” But something deep inside laughed, mockingly.It’s true!He tried to persuade his head.It’s true.So why did he feel as if he had told a lie?
Clara nodded. “Precisely, Luke. We are friends. Joan and Leopold are friends. No chaperones necessary.”
“Like brother and sister,” he added.
“Exactly!” Clara smiled. “Now, Brother, we must get you downstairs. We cannot leave Papa waiting.” She placed her hand on his elbow just as she would have with her father or John, and Luke placed his hand on top of hers.
Luke had never held Clara in such a way. It was formal, yes, but it was also possessive, protective, and respectful. When a man walked with a woman on his arm, he told the world she was under his watchful care. Husbands would escort wives. Sons would lead their mothers. And yes, a brother may guide his sister in such a fashion.You have forgotten one group,his brain teased,a potential suitor must also escort his lady. He hated to admit it, but one of those relationships appealed to him far more than the rest.
Chapter 7
Highly Entertained
-the following summer-
1806
“Do you think we could convince your brother to take the carriage with us into town tomorrow?” Clara’s new friend, Eliza Courteney, asked. Her desire to thrust herself upon John would not go unseen to even the most oblivious onlooker.
Despite her attempts to stop it, Amanda Fletcher—now Mrs. Rowley—had married the old banker in town, and was far too busy to spend much time at Rosecrest. So Miss Eliza Courteney acted as Clara’s new companion.
“I doubt it,” Clara replied from the vanity chair. “He and Luke tend to keep to themselves.” Many of her friends had attempted to have Clara play matchmaker for them, but at this young age, she did not see any point in doing so. John would likely not marry for another ten years, and while Luke was a baron and would want an heir before then, the man was shy. Inviting him to events was more likely to end a relationship with him than begin one.
“We shall invite Lord Maxwell as well,” Eliza responded. “Obviously you will need a man to escort you around, since I will be on your brother’s arm.” She sighed dreamily.
Clara had never met anyone so absorbed in the opposite sex. Eliza was not the first to set her eye on John. A kind, handsome, future earl? No one could resist that! But John never took advantage of the attraction, something Clara secretly respected about him. Though he was regularly handed hearts, he never toyed with them.
“You may invite them, but I do not think they will accept.” Clara actually spent a good deal of time with John and Luke, but only when she was by herself. She joined them for rides, quiet meals, or casual entertainment after dinners. But she had discovered that anytime she had a friend with her, the boys made an excuse to reject her invitation.
“Perhaps if you invite Lord Maxwell …” Eliza twisted one of her own blonde curls around her finger.
Ugh. This again.
“I have told you a thousand times, Liza. Luke and I are just friends!” Miss Courteney insisted a romantic tension was building between Clara and Luke, and none of Clara’s persistent comments against it seemed to be getting through to the love-sick girl. “He is practically my brother.”
“I do not believe you,” she commented, flipping her hair. “Regardless, I do think the outing will be best received if you ask Lord Maxwell during dinner this evening.”
“Very well,” Clara relented. There was no harm in asking, and perhaps, if he said no, Eliza would realize there was nothing suspicious going on. “I will ask him.”
“The year was 1757, and there I was, marching into Bohemia with my troops.” Walters, the butler, stood in the middle of the drawing room after dinner, an imaginary musket in his hand. “The smell of gunpowder filled the air …”
The butler was an old, spindly man with a white mustache. As a former officer in King Frederick II army, he had fought in the Seven Years’ War. Lord Merritt’sfather had paid for his commission with the understanding that some day, he would pay the loan in full. Well, Walters attributed his entire success to the Merritt family, and as such, had devoted his life to serving them. He made an excellent butler. Unfortunately, if given even the slightest bit of encouragement, the man would tell long winded, rather dull, stories. He truly was a war hero. He had a stack of medals that stood as proof, but his stories were only mildly entertaining the first time, and dreadfully dull by the second or third. This was probably Luke’s fifteenth time hearing it, and he really wished he had a legitimate reason to leave.
“Luke,” a small voice whispered from behind him. “Luke.”
He leaned his head over to find Clara, squatting unseen behind the pink sofa. “What are you doing behind there?” he mumbled back.
“Hiding,” Clara said as if the answer were obvious. “Anyway, I am supposed to ask if you would like to ride into town tomorrow with Miss Courteney and me.”
John sat beside Luke on the sofa. “We are visiting the Sprouts tomorrow,” he responded. Robert and Anne Sprout, one of the Merritts’ tenant farmers, had recently wed and moved into their own tenant cottage. Lord Merritt had assigned Luke and John to visit, and ensure their accommodations were sufficient.
