“It is unfortunate one cannot get to Spain by horse,” John croaked as he emptied his stomach once again into an old whiskey barrel.
“Sorry, mate,” Luke answered in sympathy, though he did not share the same sentiment. Something about the big open sea and damp, salty air was renewing. Each day, as the ship traveled further and further away from home, Luke felt he could breathe a bit more deeply.
“Ooof,” John moaned again before the barrel received yet another splash. “Remember,” he paused to take a laden breath. “Remember when we were children, and I said I wanted to be a pirate?” He heaved yet again, his poor face as white as a sheet. “I have changed my mind.”
Luke reached in his jacket pocket and handed his friend one of his white kerchiefs. John shook his head, but Luke insisted. “I have more than I could ever need,” he reassured him. “Wipe your mouth and leave it in the bucket.”
Finally, the color seemed to be returning to John’s face, though, if it went anything like the rest of the journey, it was unlikely to stay that way for long. “Why do you have so many handkerchiefs anyway?” John asked, leaving the bucket where it was and pulling himself to stand on the wooden deck.
“They were a gift,” Luke answered softly.
He had been doing fairly well at not thinking of Clara. It helped that he was in new surroundings, doing new things. A ship did not remind him of her, for a ship did not remind him of anything. This world was entirely different to the one he was used to, so it did not seem odd that Clara was not in it.
But there were still moments when his thoughts drifted to her. For years, he had allowed himself to daydream about their future, and it was difficult to keep his brain from repeating the bad habit. It loved to picture waking up beside her, her beautiful blonde curls splayed across his pillowcase. Dream Clara would instantly begin chatting about her many plans for the day, and he would happily listen as he snuggled her under the bed’s thick blankets. “She has her bows tomorrow,” Luke responded absentmindedly, looking out over the water.
John nodded. “Do you think she is nervous?” He too stared across the blue ocean. The sun was lowering quickly, and the last rays of light made the waves shimmer.
“No,” Luke answered simply. It was Clara, after all. She was regal and elegant, and would feel perfectly at ease standing in front of royalty.
“I do not like the idea of her courting without us there to -” He cut himself off, turning from the water to face his friend. “Oh Luke, I am sorry. I did not think before I spoke.”
The baron raised a hand to stop him. “I am perfectly well, John,” he insisted, but his mood had obviously dampened. The idea of Clara being courted by all sorts of different gentlemen was enough to make his head pound. He did not want anyone to treat her poorly, but he also did not like picturing someone treating her too kindly, either. The whole idea was mentally exhausting, and as such, Luke could no longer appreciate the view they stood in front of. “I am ready for bed,” he remarked, taking one last look at the setting sun.
London
“Are you ready?” Alice whispered as she handed the footman Clara’s name card outside the queen’s drawing room.
Clara did not have time to answer before the door opened. “Lady Alice Smith Palmer presents Lady Clara Anne Merritt, daughter of Lord John Matthew Merritt, Eighth Earl of Faversham, Kent, and Lady Violet St. Claire Merritt, Countess of Faversham.”
It was a good thing it was a double doorway, because Clara’s dress probably would not have fit otherwise. She and Alice slowly stepped toward the queen, who lounged on a sage settee. Groups of courtiers were spread throughout the room, and Clara could feel their gaze linger on her. Yes, she was causing quite the stir. The only question would be if the queen approved of the attention or not.
Clara curtsied gracefully, though how the feat was accomplished in such a monstrous dress was a conversation piece in and of itself.
“Rise, dear girl,” the queen responded lazily. “Did I hear properly? Is your mother Miss Violet St. Claire?” But as Clara raised back to standing, the queen answered her own question. “Why, she certainly is, you are her spitting image.”
Clara simply nodded graciously.
“Your mother was one of my favorite courtiers,” the queen explained, “why is she not presenting you?”
Mother knew the queen?It should not have been surprising, Mother was definitely of the elite class.But why had she never mentioned it?“I fear she does not travel toTown, your majesty.” Clara’s voice was calm and proper, but her heart beat quickly in her chest. The queen typically dipped her head, and sent the women away. A conversation was definitely unexpected.
“I see,” the queen sat up in her chair, and the courtiers let out a dramatic gasp. It was comedic, really. “Well, Lady Clara, I have heard your name whispered many times in this room.” The ridiculously-dressed crowd bobbed their heads in unison. “And I already know your mother.” Then Queen Charlotte stood and took one of Clara’s hands, the movement so astonishing, one of the courtiers in the back fainted.
Probably from the weight of her gown, Clara thought. The fashion was absurd.
But her majesty was not finished shocking her audience. “Lady Clara, allow me to introduce you to his grace, Lord Isaac Gallant, Duke of Preston.” A handsome young man stepped forward. He stood two or three inches taller than Clara, with an athletic build and grey eyes. His hair was black and thick, but his most noticeable feature was his smile. It was large, and appeared genuinely kind.
“A pleasure to meet you, your grace,” Clara responded with another curtsy.
“And to you as well, Lady Clara.”
“I can see no better match,” the queen announced, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Yes. Splendid. Well, Lady Clara, you and your mother are welcome in my court at any time.” She dismissed them as she sat on her cushioned sofa once more.
“I shall call on you this evening.” Lord Gallant bent down and kissed Clara’s hand. “Good day.”
Clara and Lady Palmer were directed out of the palace quickly. Once back in the golden carriage, Alice whispered, “I think …” Her voice was full of awe. “I think your match was just chosen by the queen! Clara! This is …” But her friend was at a loss for words.
“It is unheard of,” Clara whispered softly. Not once had something like this happened. Queen Charlotte had ensured Clara would be the most popular woman in all of England. That part was exciting! But the queen had also indicated who Clara must choose to marry. With a single sentence, she had stripped away her agency for the most important decision of her life.
