-the following summer-
1807
“Well, that is the last of it,” Lady Merritt announced as she took a sweeping gaze across the new Maxwell Manor drawing room. “I believe everything is ready for the boys’ arrival.” Construction on Luke’s new home had finished about a month before he and John completed their final day of Oxford, and the Merritts had been busy readying it for his lordship’s return. Her mother was able to travel with them this time, so Clara was only acting as a supportive role. This disappointed her greatly. She had started the project, and she wished she had been the one to see it through to the end.
“I am beginning to question the drape color. Clara, what do you think?” Mother stood at the far end of the drawing room, her back pressed up against the wall as she took in her surroundings. It was not nearly as spacious as Rosecrest’s sitting room, but was at least four times larger than the Maxwell’s previous living area had been. The double door entrance stood perfectly centered in the room, and as such, Lady Merritt had decided to flood the room in symmetry. In the center was the fireplace. On both of its sides, sat a small blue sofa flanked by two dark, wooden chairs. Behind those were round card tables, and on one end of theroom, was the wall the countess currently pushed against. The other end held the windows framed by the drapes in question.
“I probably would have used the same fabric as the sofas,” Clara answered. The drapes were a golden color, perfectly presentable, but nothing special.
“Yes,” Lady Merritt dipped her head, “that would have been better.” But there was no time to change it now. Luke and John would be arriving any moment. “I have one thing to check upstairs,” Mother mentioned as she fluffed a pillow on the sofa. “Go stand in the foyer and do not let Luke see anything until I return.” Clara dutifully obeyed.
The main entryway was a perfect square with a round table in its center, and doors leading to rooms in every direction. The doors directly in front were the ones to the ballroom, and that is where Clara had insisted Luke’s suits of armour be placed.
The knob on the front door twisted. “Keep your eyes closed,” Clara heard John chasten. “We all want to see your reaction.” He carefully led a closed-eyed-Luke through the mahogany doorway. Spotting Clara, her brother greeted, “Clara! Perfect. Come here and make sure Luke does not peek. I must find Papa.” Usually, they would have sent a servant to fetch him, but Mother had all the servants lined up in the ballroom for a formal greeting of their master.
John departed, and Clara stepped in a bit closer. “Feel this,” she said excitedly, placing a hand on each of Luke’s cheeks.
Luke reached a gloved hand up and placed it atop of one of Clara’s. “What am I feeling?” he asked.
“My hands!” she bubbled enthusiastically. “I am standing in Maxwell Manor, and my hands are not cold!”
Luke chuckled as they both placed their hands back down at their sides. They stood in companionable silence for a few seconds, and then Luke whispered, “So, is it everything we hoped for?” His voice was light, but the vulnerability in his question was unmistakable.
“Take a peek,” she whispered. “I won’t tell.”
Luke shook his head. “Somehow, your mother would still find out.” There was definitely some truth behind the words.
“You would not see much in this room anyway,” Clara teased, “just a hippopotamus in the corner. Papa doing a headstand in the center, oh, and the butler to your right milking a cow.”
“A cow? Now that I must see!” Luke joked in return. Quickly, he opened his eyes, whizzing them around the room before snapping them shut once more.
“Well?” Clara looked intently at Luke, eager to hear his thoughts. Oh, how she had missed her friend. Since last summer, many of her friendships had changed. The Faversham girls her age were getting married and starting families, and her nobility friends all flocked to London. While there always seemed to be someone to socialize with, the relationships were substanceless and a bit lonely. But now Luke and John were back, her two oldest and dearest friends, home for good, and that made Clara very happy.
Luke smiled, widely. “You forgot to mention we had an audience.”
Fear bubbled into Clara as she spun in a quick circle, but she didn’t see anyone. “No we do not!” She swatted him playfully.
With his eyes still closed, Luke reached out his hands, gripped her by the shoulders and gently twisted her around. “Leopold and Joan,” he whispered near her ear.
The fact that he had remembered the suits of armours’ silly names warmed her heart, but he had not answered her question. “Oh, all right. But Luke,” she turned to face him, her tone serious, “what do you think?”
He took a large breath as Clara watched him. Luke wore an auburn suit that did not quite pair with his curly chestnut hair. He was a large man, a whole head taller than she, with shoulders nearly twice as wide. Last summer, she would have said he had a ‘boyish’ face, but that had changed, and she found herself tracing his jawline with her eyes.
Finally, Luke smiled. “Clara,” he whispered, “it feels like home.”
The estate was perfect. It was everything Luke could have dreamed of. He had more bedrooms than he ever cared to fill, a nursery, a library, a study, two dining rooms, and a fencing room. But best of all, he had a home full of warmth, light, and friendly faces.
He knew his first glimpse of his new home would forever be engraved in his mind. The beauty, friendliness, sophistication, brightness …Are you sure you are thinking of the foyer?His brain mocked.Or perhaps, are you remembering the person who stood in front of you?Luke tried to ignore the comment.
With the help of his brand new valet, he dressed for dinner quicker than usual. After a quick peek at his golden pocket watch, he discovered he had a good fifteen minutes before he needed to head downstairs. So Luke decided to explore the one room in the house he had not toured with the Merritts: the baroness’s suite.
He was not sure why the room had been passed over. Perhaps to keep his future wife’s privacy? Regardless, he had not seen it and as master of the house, he really thought he should.
Luke opened the small wooden door in his own bedchamber. One step into the room he stopped. “Clara.”
No, the woman was not there, but her presence oozed from every inch of the chamber. The room was light and airy. The walls were painted the same pale blue as her eyes, and all of the fabrics were white, lacey, and soft. The lightly stained wood ran under plush rugs. And in a small frame on the mantel stood a miniature portrait of Joan of Arc.
“You are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Luke announced over dinner that night, “though I know you must have duties at home.”
