As mentioned previously, Lord Gallant’s ball had a strict dress code. Clara had been given exact specifications of what her dress should be—light blue, full, with puffed sleeves and a yellow sash. She was also instructed to wear a tiara, lace trimmed gloves, and no necklace. It was oddly specific, but at least she did not have to question her fashion choice.
“You look lovely, ClaraBear,” Papa expressed as she met him in their foyer wearing his usual formal black. “Did your mother help you come to a decision?”
“I do not know who I will marry, but I will be rejecting Lord Gallant’s offer.”
“I am glad to hear it,” the earl responded, doing his best to hide his triumphant smile.
The Duke of Preston’s townhouse was much like all the others Clara had seen—three stories, with white columns and a dark colored door. They were let in and immediately ushered up the staircase to the upper level. The butler instructed them to wait on the landing as he slipped through the double doors of the ballroom.
Clara had spent the ride from Faversham to London forming her plan. It was rather simple really, she would find Isaac, pull him away, and quietly explain she could not accept his offer before leaving the ball. It would cause a swarm of gossip, she was sure, but given the circumstances, there was no way to avoid the attention.
“Right this way,” the butler directed, as Clara and Papa stepped inside.
Clara was not prepared for what she saw when the doors opened. They stood at the top of a marble staircase, looking down at the crowd. The room was packed to the brim. There wasn’t even room for dancing! Just row after row of London society, all dressed from head to toe in white. All except Lord Gallant, who stood directly in the center of the group in a navy blue suit. Every eye was upon her. Thetoneagerly waited to hear her answer, and there was no way she could reach Isaac quietly.
A hush had fallen, and the only thing Clara could hear was her beating heart.This isn’t happening,she pleaded.Please, tell me this isn’t happening.But the nausea in her stomach confirmed that was not the case.
Lord Gallant bowed and belted across the room. “Lady Clara Merritt, will you marry me?”
It is a bad dream. Wake up! It is only a dream.The audience blurred in her vision, creating one big, fluffy cloud of white. “I … I …” she tried to form the words, but her mind and mouth were no longer connected. She felt herself sway.
And then the crowd gasped in unison, leaping forward. Clara turned her head in confusion.Had she fainted? Had she fainted and not realized it?
But then a blurred, black flash passed over the white background.
“Send for a doctor!” Someone yelled. “Get the doctor!”
Someone else placed a hand on her elbow. The touch rooted her, finally allowing her surroundings to push back into focus. As they did, she discovered it was not her that had fainted, but Papa. Her Papa lay, crumbled, at the bottom of the large marble staircase, blood pooling from his head.
“Papa!” Clara screamed. “Papa!” She ran down the stairs, pushing onlookers out of the way. “No! Papa!” She attempted to reach him, but Lord Gallant’s arms were wrapped tightly around her. “Don’t look. Clara, don’t look,” he begged, pulling her from the scene.
Clara kicked and pushed and yelled until the duke let her go. She ran to her father’s side, throwing herself to the floor. “Papa, are you alive? Papa!” Tears streamed down her face. Her heart beat so quickly, she feared it may burst.
Lord Merritt’s eyes fluttered open. The dark pools were full of pain. “I love you, ClaraBear,” he whispered as he lost consciousness.
Chapter 27
The Promise
Lord Gallant helped Lord Merritt and Clara return to the Merritt townhome. He made sure the doctor was there, and Clara settled, before kissing her on the head and going back to his ball. A messenger was sent to fetch Mother, and another sent for John, though he was unlikely to be reached any time soon. Papa had not gained consciousness, but he was breathing. Clara sat by his bedside, full of worry. She had not moved from her chair at all when Mother arrived nearly twenty-four hours later. Lady Merritt finally convinced her daughter to change out of her ball gown, and took the seat. The doctor had refused to give Clara any information, but based on the look on her mother’s face after her conversation with the man, the news was not good.
Time passed strangely. In some ways, the ball felt lifetimes ago, and in other ways, it was as if she were still there, watching the swarm of white and the flash of black over and over. Oh, why hadn’t she paid attention? Why had she forced Papa to come? He should have been home! He should have stayed safe, but Clara had been selfish and insisted she needed him.
Both Mother and Clara slept fitfully in chairs by Papa’s bedside, but the earl did not wake. Finally, after three or four days, right around midnight, Lord Merritt opened his eyes. “Violet?” he whispered. “Violet?”
It was Clara who heard him, “Mama!” She stood and shook the countess. “Mama, he is awake.”
“Matt!” The countess rushed to his side, placing a fresh damp cloth on his forehead.
“Parchment,” he whispered to Clara, “to write to my boys.” Clara left to fetch paper and wake the household.
At this point, everyone had given up hope the earl would wake, so it was quite a miracle to see him alert and giving orders. He took half an hour, writing to John and speaking with the butler, while Clara paced outside the door. Eventually, she was summoned, and she gingerly inched to her father’s side. Surprisingly, he looked much healthier than she expected.
“I am glad you are doing better,” she addressed him fondly.
But Papa had tears in his eyes. “God has granted me one last opportunity to see you,” he answered, reaching for her hand. Mother stood on his other side, crying as well.
Clara wanted to protest his statement, but she knew it was true. Her Papa was dying, and this was her last opportunity to speak with him. “I am sorry-” she began, but both her parents stopped her.
