Spain
“Luke!” Mother called from the front room. “Will you come in here please?”
Luke set down the dish he was washing and entered the sitting room. He had removed his coat and wore just a brown shirt and trousers, with mother’s worn, white and lacey apron over the top. “Yes, Mother?” he asked as he stepped through the arched doorway, but it was not his mother who looked back at him.
“Lord Maxwell,” Miss Flores’s heavy accent giggled at him. “Why, you look pretty!” Mother chuckled from the opposite sofa as Luke quickly untied the apron.
Luke knew he should be embarrassed, but he was more annoyed than anything. He turned away from Valentina. “What did you need, Mother?” His words were curt.
“Oh,” she stopped her laugh, wiping a tear from her eye. “I need you to escort Miss Valentina home. It will be dark soon, and I do not want her out at night by herself.”
“It is noon!” Luke refuted, but Mother pursed her lips. Her mind was made up, and he could either comply or receive a lecture. The baron rolled his eyes. “Let me change first.”
“I think that would be wise,” Valentina answered from behind him. “My brothers may not appreciate the apron as I do.” Mother laughed again at the comment. Luke sighed in frustration as he fetched his coat.
He did not enjoy his time with Valentina. She spoke relentlessly of the festival and how grand it had been. She felt the need to point out each house, and share information about the different people who lived there. She was far too social for Luke’s liking, and made a point in greeting any other travelers they passed. “How far away do you live?” Luke finally asked when Miss Flores took a quick breath of air.
“Oh, the other side of the village,” she answered. “It should only take another hour.”
Luke's eyes grew wide in surprise. “Why didn’t we go by horse?” Not only did he have to walk her there, but it would take him quite some time to get back.
“Because I do not get to hold your arm when we go by horse.” She looked up at him through her lashes as she tucked in closer to his side. It took a great deal of strength to not push her away.
“Miss Flores,” Luke hoped to end her flirtations, “I do not feel-”
The woman cut him off. “I can lend you a horse to ride home and return to fetch it tomorrow. Perhaps we could go riding together. There is an old church I would enjoy showing you.” On and on she went.
No one should talk this much,Luke inwardly grumbled as they continued their long journey.
You do know Clara talks this much, his brain annoyingly reminded him.
But that is different,he fought back. But why? Why was it different? Clara would go on and on about a social event, and Luke would ask for more detail. Clara could discuss the news of the neighborhood, and Luke would cling to her every word. So why was it so irritating when Miss Flores did the same thing?
Because,the answer was simple,because she is not Clara.Luke was aware it logically made no sense, but it was true all the same. He would never tire of Clara’s voice. He would never become bored hearing her speak her mind. He loved her. He admired her, and he wanted to hear what she had to say. No matter how kind and funny Miss Flores may have been, Luke would never notice. His heart and brain were lost to another chatty woman.
A wave of homesickness crashed over him as he walked Valentina through the Spanish countryside.The trip isn’t working,he thought.I just want to go home. But ‘home’ was no longer a physical location, but a spot by a different woman’s side. A spot he would never be able to take again, because that woman did not want him.
She never had.
London
“That took longer than I expected,” Isaac commented as Clara entered the carriage. She had rushed as quickly as possible, but even with the help of a duchess and three maids, it was not easy, nor quick, to dress for an event in Queen Charlotte’s court. Isaac had picked an extravagant gown, light pink, with a great deal of ribbon and lace. The hair piece stood about a foot over Clara’s head and was covered in matching trim.
“I assumed you wanted to be the last to arrive,” Clara answered snarkily. Lord Gallant was not known for his punctuality.
“Not to this.” He seemed to miss her sassiness as he tapped the roof, urging the driver to roll forward. “The queen will not appreciate anyone drawing more attention than her.”
The event was held in St. James Palace’s ballroom, a vast, red hall with impressively high ceilings. Long banquet tables filled the space, laden with lavishly expensive foods. Clara and the duke arrived just moments before the Queen made her dramatic entrance. The crowd sang her praises before sitting down for the luxurious meal. Lord Gallant spent more time amongst this particular group of people, and took it upon himself to do all of the talking. “Do not worry,” he whispered to Clara, “you won’t have to say anything.”
After eating, Clara stood as a silent statue on the Duke of Preston’s arm. A few guests commented on her beauty, but Isaac did not even allow Clara to thank them. “Yes, she is lovely,” he would immediately respond, “though not as beautiful as her majesty, of course.”
“We have to keep the queen happy,” he whispered to Clara as the guests moved to another group. “As nobility, our sole purpose is to please the Royal Family.”
Not only was his lesson condescending, but Clara had to disagree. The nobility’s job was to care for the peopleundertheir rank, notaboveit. “Lord Gallant,” she whispered, hoping to excuse herself, but the man did not seem to hear as he ushered her in the direction of another set of people.
“Smile,” he whispered. “I want everyone to know how pretty the next Duchess of Preston shall be.” And then he went right back to ignoring her.
“She is so beautiful,” the crowd whispered, “and he is so handsome. She will be a perfect duchess, and their children shall be gorgeous.” They acted as if it was a fairy-tale ending, a match made in the heavens, but Clara had never been so unhappy.
