Finally, John looked up from his pile of work. “I am well,” Luke reassured them both. “I have been reading a note your father left for me.” John nodded emotionlessly, and dove his head back into his work.
Physically, Clara looked attractive in her black, floor-length dress, with long, narrow sleeves. But there was something different. She looked … broken. “Is there anything I can do for you, Lord Maxwell?” she asked, her eyes remaining fixed on the floor.
“Thank you, but no.” Luke wiped the tears off his cheeks. “Goodnight, Lady Clara.”
“Goodnight.” She stepped over to John, her eyes still glued to the ground. “Goodnight, John.”
“Goodnight,” he responded without looking at her. Not that Clara would have seen if he had.
She slid back to the door, her head drooping. She looked miserable, and Luke couldn’t bear seeing her in such a state. “Actually, Clara,” he called out, “I could use your help.” But he had not stopped to form a plan before he made the statement.What could he possibly need Clara’s help with?
“What can I do for you?” she asked as, frantically, Luke tried to think of something.
In an act of panic, he slid his hands behind his back and pulled a cufflink from its proper place, letting it slowly drop to the floor. “I seem to have misplaced my cufflink,” he responded, holding up his arm. “Will you help me search for it?”
So Luke and Clara got down on their hands and knees and looked for the missing piece of silver. It did not take long before she found it. “I will put it on for you,” she stated as they both stood back up. Luke extended his arm, and Clara clasped the cufflink back into place. It was surreal to have her so near, and yet, at the same time, it felt as if she were a million miles away. The Clara he knew was bubbly, happy and full of light. The woman who stood before him was deadpan and disimpassioned. “Is there anything else?” her monotone voice asked.
“No. Thank you for your assistance.” Clara didn’t say anything else as she exited the room. His concern for her was increasing. “She does not seem to be taking this well,” Luke informed her brother, but John was too engrossed in his work to hear him.
Chapter 29
Emotional Confusion
The days continued to blur together, and Clara watched as everyone around her moved on with their lives. Mother joined her friends for dinners, John rarely left the study, and the household grew accustomed to a new master. But Clara was stuck. Though it was no fault of their own, the rest of the family was too encompassed in their own grief to notice. All, that is, except Luke. They still had not truly spoken to each other, but everyday, he made some sort of effort to see her and check on her. At first, it seemed coincidental, but after a week, Clara began to notice a pattern. He would ask her for assistance spelling a word, or adjusting his lapel, or locating something that was probably never lost in the first place. He would enter the room she was in, ensure she was settled, and then apologize for opening the wrong door. After a fortnight, Clara found herself looking forward to Luke’s ruse, and would sometimes even make herself intentionally difficult to find, just to see how far he would go in his search for her.
This particular day, she hid in the music room. None of the Merritts were musical, and Clara had not entered the room since her lessons long ago. She had learned some basic pieces on the pianoforte, but had not touched the instrument since. The music room wasn’t large compared to most of the Rosecrest chambers, though it had all the instruments a noble family would typically play—apianoforte, a full-sized harp, several flutes, and violins. The only sheet music the family had was downstairs in the drawing room, should a visitor desire it, so Clara sat at the pianoforte and randomly plucked keys. Her piece in no way resembled true music, but it at least entertained her for several minutes. Next, she moved to the harp.I bet Mama played the harp as a girl,she thought. Her plucking of the harp sounded more like intentional noise than the pianoforte had, but maybe that was because Clara had so little knowledge, that any noise coming from the angelic instrument sounded nice. She picked up the violin next. After one ear-piercing screech, she set it back down, a shiver creeping up her spine. She definitely could not play the violin. She was just lifting the flute to her lips when Luke arrived. He looked the same as he had before his travels, though perhaps a bit more tan. Like everyone else in the household, he was dressed fully in black.
“Oh, Clara,” he feigned confusion, “I did not think anyone would be in here.”
It was a ridiculous comment. “Oh,” Clara stated, with false innocence, “and what exactly were you intending to do in the music room?”
Luke’s cheeks pinked, like a little boy who had been caught sneaking frogs into the house. “To … ummm … play music, of course.” He pulled at his tight collar.
“That sounds nice,” Clara lowered the flute and walked a step closer. “What instrument do you play?” She had a streak of wickedness in her today.
“The …” his eyes darted around the room, “the violin?”
Clara smirked. She had already discovered that the little instrument was much trickier than it appeared. “Well, play something for me!” she requested. “I would love to hear your talent.”
“As you wish,” he announced in defeat, crossing over to the table where the violin lay. He lifted the instrument up in front of him, like one would hold a guitar, and then gripped the bow with his other hand, lifting it vertically above his head before pulling it down in front of his nose to make contact with the strings. The noise resembled that of a dying cat. Luke cringed. “This one seems a bit out of tune,” he commented, as he let the bow slide across the strings a second time. Clara covered her ears. Luke looked equally terrified and disgusted by the sound.
And then, for the first time in months, Clara laughed. The sound felt foreign and wonderful as it bubbled from her chest, ringing off the top of the music roommuch more beautifully than the violin had. “Oh Luke,” she continued to giggle, “please stop.”
Lord Maxwell laughed, too, and the sound pricked at her heart. It was such a familiar sound, but one she had not heard in a long time. The nostalgia of it, combined with her emotional confusion, brought tears to her eyes. Her giggling stopped as she began to cry.
“Clara?” Luke asked in concern, setting the instrument down and taking a hesitant step toward her. “Are you upset?”
But Clara wasn’t really sure why she was crying. “I don’t know,” she whimpered as the tears came faster. She had closed off her emotions for so long, they all seemed to come at once—fear, anger, confusion, but mostly sorrow.
And then, Clara did the very thing she had been avoiding for months: she turned to someone else for comfort. With her hands on her wet cheeks, she threw herself against Luke’s chest, sobbing into his black coat. “I am so confused,” she repeated between tears.
At first, Luke’s arms hung stiffly by his sides, but after a moment, he let them pull around her. “It’s all right,” he whispered into her hair before resting his head atop hers. “Let it out.”
Clara did not know how long she cried, but Luke held her the entire time, gently rubbing her back, whispering words of reassurance. The love she felt dripping from him was unmistakable, but it did not scare her. It comforted her. Her best friend was here, caring for her in her time of need even though she had broken his heart. She had caused him serious pain, and yet he put aside his own feelings to come to her aid.
Wrapped so tenderly in his arms, Clara’s numbness began to peel away, leaving a heart that was hurt, but aching for love. She could not guarantee it would not break again, but she had to believe that the reward was worth the risk. “Thank you,” she whispered, a smile coming to her face as she wrapped her arms around Luke as well.
“Anytime,” he whispered back, not making any attempt to let her go.
