What if I wanted someone else?She questioned.What if …?But such wonderings were pointless now. The Queen of England had spoken, and Clara had no choice but to obey.
Chapter 20
Family
“Tell me what you know of Lord Gallant,” Papa whispered as they sat patiently in the drawing room. The duke should arrive any minute.
Oddly, Clara had never heard anything of Lord Gallant until that day. But as soon as she had arrived home, the gossip quickly streamed in. “He is twenty-two years old. He graduated from Cambridge last year, and then was in mourning for his father during the Season. He is the eldest child, and has a large slew of younger siblings. He likes hunting and music, and is considered a highly social person.”
“He is young,” Papa commented, “I would not expect a boy of that age ready for marriage.”
Clara shrugged. “I am not sure we will marry right away, unless her majesty insists upon it.”
“I always pictured you with someone a bit older.” The comment was unnecessary. Clara knew exactly who her father had pictured her with.
Walters stepped through the drawing room door. “His grace, Lord Isaac Gallant requests a visit with Lady Clara. Shall I let him in?” At Papa’s nod, the duke entered.
Introductions were made and tea was poured. Clara wore a pale pink day dress, and Lord Gallant wore a grey suit. He was charming, witty, and perfectly pleasant.
“I was sorry to hear about your father,” Papa offered his condolences. “He was a good man and a great duke.” Isaac thanked him, and then Papa asked, “Do you hold his same political opinions?”
Really, Papa?Clara mentally scolded.Already, you are interrogating him?
“For the most part,” Lord Gallant responded with slight hesitation, “I believe my father was stuck in some of the old ways. Under the Regent, there will be changes, and I think they will propel England to greatness, yet again.”
“I generally agree,” Lord Merritt responded. His face remained emotionless. “We can discuss this more at a later date. Perhaps you and my daughter could take a turn about the town? I have a few items of business I need to attend to.”
Lord Gallant agreed and quickly moved to assist Clara from her seat, but her eyes were on her father.Papa likes him,she realized.He likes him and he didn’t want to.The newly acquired knowledge greatly impacted Clara's opinion of her suitor. If Papa liked him, she saw no reason she should not as well.
Soon, Clara and the duke walked arm and arm down the street, a maid trailing them as chaperone. They discussed upcoming social events, and it appeared they had been invited to many similar outings. Though to be fair, after the queen's show of attention, they had both secured invitations to just about every event of the Season. Clara shared some information about people that would be at the balls and dinners, and he seemed eager to meet her friends. He was kind, happy, and excited to enter her social circle. It truly did appear to be a perfect match! And yet, Clara was disappointed.
You just don’t know him well enough, she tried to persuade herself as she dressed for dinner.You are comparing him to someone you knew for years, and that is not fair. Give him a chance!But she had wanted to choose. She had been looking forward to meeting new people and exploring potential suitors, and while it was not Isaac’s fault those doors had been closed to her, she feared it would be difficult to ever open her heart to him, simply because it was what she was told she must do.
I wanted to make my own decision,she silently lamented.I did not want someone to choose for me. That is why I did not …She tried to stop the thought. She could not change the past. She couldn’t fix what she had broken.I have to accept this, she told herself.I have to accept that I will be Lady Clara Gallant, Duchess of Preston.I will marry Isaac and move to the other side of the country. I will make new friends, and love new people, and all will be well.But the pit in her stomach was back. The gut-wrenching twist that made her want to curl up into a ball and remain there for several hours.
I need someone to talk to.Someone who will understand me.And while she was in the walls of her London townhome, surrounded by home after home of her friends, there was only one person who had ever truly understood her. One person who knew exactly what to say to comfort her, and always seemed to make her problems go away. But Clara’s knight was gone, and it was time she learned to fight her own battles.I can handle this on my own, she assured herself.I do not need him. Her stomach turned again as if it didn’t believe her.
Spain
“Here we are,” John said as he and Luke rode up to a small Spanish villa. The house was made of stones in various shades and sizes, held together by tan clay. The roof had an orangish hue, and unlike most English homes, the house had a roundness to it. Several round windows, rounded roofing, and even a round front step.
“I am scared,” Luke whispered under his breath. He had not seen his mother in many years, and the last time he had, she looked nearly on the brink of death. What if she still looked ill? What if she did not recognize him? What if she did not wish to see him? There had not been time to send notice of their arrival. For all he knew, his mother was not even home.
John tied his horse to a pole out front, already walking toward the door. “Come on, Luke!” he hollered. With a big shaky sigh, Luke followed suit.
He knocked on the dark brown door. It didn’t take long before it opened. A beautiful, young, curvy woman peered back at them wearing a plain, light blue dress with a tan apron atop it. Her long, curly, brown hair was too thick to stay up in her high bun, and the majority of it moved in waves down her shoulders. She had piercing green eyes and a confused expression.
“Pardon the intrusion,” Luke began, “we are searching for my mother, Lady-”
The woman stopped him. “Luke!” she shouted, throwing her arms around him. “Mi chico!”
“Mother?” Luke asked in surprise. She looked nothing like the woman who raised him. “Mother, is that you?” He gently pushed her back so he could take a better look at her. Her once drawn and pale face was now curved and tanned. Her hair shone lush and full. Her eyes sparkled with emotion. It was those eyes that convinced Luke it truly was his mother, for no one had ever looked at him with such love. “Mother!” His voice cracked as he pulled her back into the embrace.
“Come in, come in,” she urged, though her English words sounded strange, as if they were not used to coming off her tongue.
The inside of the house was inviting. A large, rolling fire on the far wall warmed the room and gave everything a bright yellow glow. The walls were plastered with the same tan clay and decorated with large embroidered tapestries. Most were traditional, country scenes, but a few showcased Mother’s masterfully done needlepoint portraits. There was one of Luke, around the age he had been before Mother left England. There were also some depictions of a small, dark haired baby, and a wedding portrait of a thin Lady Maxwell, and an older-looking Spanish gentleman.
The sitting room was small but comfortable, with a large, worn sofa that had several knitted blankets thrown on its back. Mother gestured for them to sit, and then hollered through the wall, “Manuel! Ven aquí! Trae a la bebe contigo!”
