“One hundred,” she giggled. She had worked hard to finish the embroidery in time.
“One hundred?!” The shock displayed openly on his face, just as Clara had hoped.
“Why yes, as a knight, you must go through many handkerchiefs, and I am sure most of those poor damsels in distress forget to return them.”
Luke laughed, loud and merrily. He continued to pull out more and more handkerchiefs.
“Stop!” Clara yelled. “We shall be here all day!” But Luke gave her a mischievous smile and pulled out yet another. She reached for the parcel, but he took a step backwards as he continued to pull them out one by one. He unfolded more than would fit in his large hands, so he animatedly shoved the fabric into his sleeves, his collar, his pockets … “Stop!” Clara giggled, chasing him.
She had backed him into a corner. “Don’t!” She laughed, playfully clutching his hands. Luke quickly lifted the package above his head, out of her reach. But in his playful move, he unintentionally knocked something down.
Clara’s eyes followed the falling object, and she discovered it was mistletoe, now littering the floor, a large white berry boldly on display. “You were standing under mistletoe,” she acknowledged quietly. Luke lowered his arms. His playful smile disappeared as Clara crouched down and plucked the berry. Did the tradition still apply when someone knocked the mistletoe to the floor?
“Clara?” Luke whispered, his voice dripping with emotion, though she could not decide what emotion it was.
She straightened back up, turned toward him, and—before she could convince herself otherwise—kissed him. It was short, simple, and playful. If an onlooker blinked, they might have missed it.
But it was obviously a mistake, because Luke's mood instantly dampened. He did not meet her eye, but instead put all of the satin kerchiefs back into their parcel. “Thank you again for the gift,” he remarked stiffly as he scurried from the room.
Chapter 16
A Third Knight
For the next twelve days, extended family and friends arrived for the end of Christmastide celebration. It was a busy time, which, thankfully, made it easy for Luke to avoid Clara. Her small peck under the mistletoe had worked him into a confused frenzy, and he really needed to sort through his plan to express his true feelings before he did something stupid. But it was difficult to come to any logical course of action when the only thought that played over and over was:She kissed me! Why did she kiss me? She kissed me!
I should have told her right then.But he panicked. Not in his most mystical of dreams had he imagined Clara would kiss him first. Even now, he questioned if it truly had happened! Maybe he had imagined the whole thing. But one hundred little white handkerchiefs, laid out across his vanity table, told him otherwise.
One thing he knew for certain: his time was running out. In less than a week, the Merritts departed for London. He had to speak with Clara before then. If he did not, she could very likely go off and get married, and he may never see nor speak with her again. Of course, even if he did confess his love for her, it could result in the same outcome. He had no reason to believe Clara felt anything for him other than brotherly affection, and that made his planned declaration all the more nerve-wracking.
The day before the party, Luke finally formed his plan. It was a bit complicated, and involved the cook, several hush-mouthed servants, and a hope he could convince Clara to momentarily leave a social gathering. A hope that seemed a bit doomed, in all honesty. But his gesture would be romantic. It would be memorable. And … it would be over. He had lived in limbo for years, but the time had come to choose a side. He could no longer love her from a distance. He would either have Clara in every way he had ever hoped, or he would lose her forever.
Clara was thoroughly enjoying the Twelfth Night celebration. The ballroom was festive, cheerful, and bright. All of the guests wore lavish, masked costumes, so each person she spoke with was an exciting mystery, though she could usually decipher who it was after a short conversation. Interestingly, Clara had yet to discover what costume Luke was beneath. She had intended to introduce him to several of his neighbors, but she had not seen him anywhere.He better not have taken the opportunity to skip out.
As always, the cook had outdone herself with the meal, and it was now time to cut the Christmas cakes. There was a cake for the men, a bean hidden inside, and a cake for the women, which contained a hidden pea.
“Are you coming to get a slice of cake?” Mother asked, linking her arm with Clara’s. She did not wait for her to respond before dragging her in that direction. Not that she needed to answer, Lady Merritt already knew Clara would not be skipping out on cake, especially at Maxwell Manor.
“Here’s ye’r piece, miss.” The maid handed Clara a slice of cake. “Ands f’r ye, my lady.” A piece was cut for Mother as well. It looked slightly larger.
“Switch me,” Clara begged as the two women took their plates to the side of the room.
“Absolutely not!” Mother said, already taking a bite. She smiled, much too cheerfully for it to simply be about her sweet.
Clara looked back to her own cake suspiciously, but it took only a quick glance to spot what her mother must have already noticed. A small, wrinkly pea was quite visibly placed in the center of her slice of cake. “I am the queen,” Clara whispered quietly. She had always longed to be crowned Twelfth Night Queen. She had a hard time believing she was now. “I am the queen,” she said slightly louder.
“Clara has the pea!” Lady Merritt announced to the room, and everyone cheered. But where, typically, an excited male voice would announce himself as king, there was only silence.
“Has anyone found the bean?” Clara asked the hushed crowd. Still, no response came.
And then, a loud metal clanking sound caused everyone’s heads to turn to the room’s entrance. There, centered in the doorframe between Joan and Leopold, was a third knight. This one did not wear a full suit of armour, but had on the boots, breastplate, and helmet. A long saber wrapped around his waist. The knight held up a single bean, though how he got it Clara could not say.
Mother gave her a slight nudge toward the center of the room before her feet remembered their purpose. In a far corner, a violin slowly began to play, a beautiful, old, methodic melody. Clara and her knight reached the center of the room at the same time, and though she expected him to take her hand, instead, he knelt before her. “My queen,” came Luke’s rich voice, “may I have this dance?”
Clara beamed. “Of course, dear knight.”
And they danced. It was like something right out of a fairy tale. Clara’s skirt twisting and twirling throughout the entire ballroom as Luke led her around the floor with a soft hand on her waist. She had never felt more special, more noticed or cared for, and the song was over all too quickly.
Luke reached for her hand, “I have something for you,” he whispered, gesturing for her to follow him out of the room. She happily obliged.
