“Luke has not proposed.”
“What?!” she pushed herself backward in shock. “Is it John? Because-”
“Mama,” Clara’s voice was nearly chastening. “I have not yet told him my feelings. I have only just discovered them.”
“Oh,” worry passed over Mother’s face, “I see. But you will tell him, right? Soon?”
“As soon as I am ready,” Clara assured her.
The answer did not satisfy her mother. “He has waited years for you, Clara. Don’t make him wait too much longer.”
“It is all so new.”
“But you cannot expect him to wait forever,” she stressed. “You do not have to marry right away, but you should tell him your feelings. Let him know you are interested.”
“That is what the necklace is for,” Clara replied, adjusting the piece of jewelry out in front of her. Mother continued to look at her with concern.
Clara had joined Luke in his game. Each day, after tea time, she would hide in random places in the house, and Luke would search for her. Neither of them had confessed to the other that they knew what they were doing, but their daily game of seek and find had become somewhat of a tradition. In fact, Clara had begun leaving him little clues as to where she would be. For example, a wooden block on his tea tray indicated she was in the nursery. A carrot implied she waited in the stables, as she often brought along a carrot for her mare. It was a fun game, and it usually helped Luke find her quicker. On this particular day, the tray held a book.
Luke stopped at the library first, thinking a book would most logically lead him to the room full of them, but the library sat empty.A book.Well, one could read in the drawing room. Luke tried there next. It too was unoccupied.
Perhaps there was a clue in the book. He fanned the pages, looking for any indication of where Clara was, when he came to a familiar portrait. In fact, he had a miniature of it in his own home. The image depicted was that of the ancient Joan of Arc.
Clara was similar to Joan—a woman who had faced many challenges. She had been attacked in the hat shop long ago, and then had to live with her attacker for over a month. She had witnessed her father’s health decline, and eventually, the tragic accident that led to his death. Yet, through all her struggles, she continued to stand for what she believed in—helping people. Though not a warrior in a typical sense, Clara still fought for her cause. She waged a battle against cruelty and loneliness, and time after time, she came out on top. He had seen her victories help her countless friends, his mother, and even Luke himself. While most of the world would not appreciate Clara’s valor, Luke found it undeniably admirable.
And assuming he understood the clue correctly, the valiant woman would be waiting for him in the attic, where he and Clara had found the suit of armour they had christened Joan.
“You found me!” Clara answered happily as Luke swung open the attic door. She sat on a wooden chair, encircled about by lanterns and candles. She looked angelic. As he took a step forward, he discovered the lighting was not for ambience, but served a far greater purpose.
“How is the embroidery going?”
“Well, I would have said ‘well,’ but in the last five minutes, I have managed to tie my thread into knots, and I am quite frustrated with it.” Her tone was both playful and irritated. She rose from her seat, placing the project on the chair and walking over to him. “Oh, Luke, your cravat is twisted.” She stepped in to adjust it.
And while she did so, Luke was reminded of Miss Valentina Flores. She, too, had attempted a similar thing, though it had been far less enjoyable. “Have I told you about the woman I met in Spain?”
“Woman?” Clara’s hands remained on his cravat. It was unclear if the lingering hands were done out of endearment or because she intended to strangle him.
“Her name was Valentina Flores.”
Finally she looked at him, her gaze unreadable. “Did you court her?”
“Not intentionally.” Before Clara could decipher the flippant comment, he explained, “She was the most forward, bold woman I have ever met. She scared me senseless. I couldn’t seem to get rid of her.”
Clara’s puzzling expression soon turned to a laugh. “Oh, I am sure you did not enjoy that one bit!”
“You are correct. My mother and John found it rather funny, though.”
“It is funny, Luke,” she said, stepping back a proper distance. “So,” she placed her hands out from her sides, gesturing to the room, “what do you think of the attic?”
Luke observed his surroundings. “It is much less cluttered than it was last time we were up here.”
“Well, that is because we took most of it with us to Maxwell Manor.”
“Yes,” Luke answered, “it has been so long since I have been home, I guess I have forgotten.”
“I miss Harleston,” Clara responded, “and Maxwell Manor.”
“As do I,” he agreed.
