After another ten minutes, Valentina gripped his elbow. “I am thirsty!” she announced, leading them from the floor midsong.
If I knew that was an option, I would have left long ago, Luke bemoaned.
Miss Flores pulled him over to a table of drink glasses and drank greedily from one, finishing it quickly. She downed another. “Ready to go again?” she asked, eyeing the dancers as she slammed her empty cup on the sturdy table.
“I think I will head home,” Luke replied, but his comment wasn’t nearly loud enough to be heard over the excitement.
“Come on!” she shouted, clutching his sleeve. The woman was much stronger than one would guess based on her small stature, and any attempts Luke made to lead her in a different direction were futile.
I wonder what Clara would think of this, he thought as he found himself outon the ‘dance floor’ again. He looked around him, trying to picture the scene from Clara’s point of view. She would notice the sweet smells, festive music, and smiling people everywhere. She would comment on the fashion of the men, most wore only shirts and trousers, no neckties or jackets; far less formal than any English party. She would adore the full skirts of the women, and she would look lovely in the rich, Spanish colors. If Clara were here, she would take the time to stop and sample food from each vendor, praising their craftsmanship and spending a great deal of money. By the end of the night, everyone on the square would know her and love her and want to have her attention turned their way.
Yes, Clara would love the festival, and watching her enjoy herself would make Luke love it, too. He could picture her eyes lit up and sparkling as she twirled and tasted and laughed. Clara would be at the heart of the merriment, meeting new people, making new friends, and Luke would silently stand next to her, feeling lucky she was a part of his life.
“You are smiling,” Valentina observed. “Why are you smiling?” Her words broke the trance of his imagination.
“Oh, it is nothing,” Luke whispered, shaking his head.
Clara is not part of your life,his brain reminded him.Why, she is probably already married to that duke at this point.He had heard all about Lord Gallant from a letter John received.You will never see her again. You must find happiness some other way.But it seemed an impossible task.
Finally, John emerged from the masses. “Looks like Lord Maxwell is sleeping where he stands!” he told Valentina. “I had better take him home.”
While Luke was grateful for the rescue, he forgot to verbally express it. The entire walk home, his brain remained aloof, frantically reminding him:Clara is not part of your life. You must find happiness some other way. Clara is gone. She is not thinking of you. She couldn't care less.
But as he lay under his worn wool blanket that night, his brain imagined his Clara, promenading through the streets of Spain on his arm. Her lovely blonde curls poking out from under a kerchief. Luke felt no desire to urge imaginary Clara any which way. As long as she was in his arms, he was content. He pictured her chatting endlessly, and joking, then pulling him into a quiet corner and kissing him senseless. That is when the fantasy came to a crashing halt.Clara wouldn't kiss you. Clara does not want you.It was a hard reality to face.
Luke clutched the blanket close against his body, trying to ignore how cold and empty he felt, knowing Clara was not really there. That she would never be there. That he was not wanted by the person he wanted more than anything in the world. He tossed and turned uncomfortably for the rest of the night, his thoughts still turned to Clara as the sun began to rise.
Chapter 24
Surprises
London
True to his word, Lord Gallant visited much more often. He regularly had tea at the Merritt’s townhome and made a conscious effort to bring Clara flowers weekly. He was enthusiastic about the new connection, but Clara’s heart wasn’t in it. The whole relationship felt more like a chore to be completed than a newly budding romance.
But Lord Gallant never asked how Clara was feeling, nor did he appear to think on it much.Luke would have noticed, her brain torturously reminded her.
She missed Luke. There was no point hiding the matter. She had not realized how much she relied on him for emotional support until he was not there to offer it. Thetonseemed to view her as an impenetrable wall of popularity, but Luke had treated her like a person. A person with feelings and opinions, and a voice to be heard.
So Lord Gallant does not ask me how I feel? I can make friends that do.But she was still having a difficult time in that regard. The duke did not seem to care one bit about her social schedule or commitments. He would swoop in and take her off at any given time. Even if she were half way through a social dinner, he wouldenter anyone’s house and carry her away. Society seemed to find it romantic, but Clara found it irritating.
I am at the dinner because I want to be at the dinner!She mentally rebuked Isaac as he yet again pulled her from her plans, but she could not find it in her to say anything. Who was she to command a duke?
“What are we doing tonight?” Clara asked as she and Isaac rode through the dark streets of London in his carriage. She had been enjoying her meal at the Coventrys’ home, not that it mattered.
“We are going to the queen’s birthday party!” The duke answered in excitement.
“What!?” Clara looked down at her simple, peach dinner dress. “Isaac, I am not ready for such a-”
He did not let her finish her sentence. “Oh, I picked your dress. We shall stop at home so you can change.”
Clara did not say anything as she mentally tried to think of all the things she must do to prepare for such an event. It was an invitation of a lifetime, one that she should have been mentally and physically preparing for months ago. “How long ago did you receive the invitation?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, months ago,” Isaac answered happily. “I thought I would surprise you.” But Clara wasn’t too keen on surprises. Thus, her irritation only grew when it was not her own home the carriage stopped at, but that of Lord Gallant’s. “Mother is inside to show you where to go,” he instructed her. “I will wait right here and see you in a few minutes.”
“Isaac …” Clara couldn’t keep the annoyance from her voice this time. She had never been to the duke’s home before. She had never met his mother, and now he expected her to do so on her own, in mere minutes, while she also dressed for the most prestigious party of the year.
Yet again, the duke did not notice her concern. Instead, he did something unthinkable. He gripped her face and kissed her. His lips were wet, forceful, and unromantic in every way, though by the smile on his face, he must not have realized it. “Hurry, Love,” he whispered. Something about the sound of his voice on her ear made her cringe. “I will be waiting.”
