“Luke!” Lady Merritt’s motherly voice came off to his left. “I cannot believe you would do such a thing!”
Without thinking, Luke snapped open his eyes. “Clara made me!” he insisted, but as he turned back to Clara’s laughing eyes, he entirely lost his train of thought.
The foyer was covered in hundreds of candles, all piled around to bring as much light as possible. It was bright and cheerful, and really helped Luke see his beautiful Clara. She wore the same navy day dress she had in the Rosecrest ballroom. It was crinkled and dirty. She had wilted roses pinned in her disheveled hair. They looked as if they had been picked several days before. Her golden locket sparkled on her neck, as the candlelight flickered off of its smooth surface. But it was Clara’s beautiful blue eyes and breathtaking smile that caught his attention most. Yes, he had never seen her more beautiful than she looked standing in his foyer.
“Oh, by the way,” she smiled, “we have an audience.” She took a step backwards, and Luke let his arms fall back to his sides as he marveled in the fact that she was truly there. “So,” Clara asked, gesturing to the room, “what do you think?” She stood centered between their beloved Joan and Leopold. John and his Mother were off to the side, smiling encouragingly.
And while there were a million thoughts racing through his mind, only a few words were needed. “We are home,” Luke answered, feeling a peace wash over him. A peace stronger than any he had ever experienced, because he finally knewhis future. He would get to live with the woman of his dreams, to hear her joys and fears, to parade her around to social events, and watch as her eyes lit up with excitement. He would hold her and comfort her and cherish her every day of his life, and she would do the same for him. Clara would guard his heart, and ensure he never felt alone again.
She lowered her arms. “Yes, Luke,” she whispered. “We are home.”
And Luke did the very thing he had dreamed about his whole life. He ran to her, closing the space between them. Clara wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to meet his lips. The kiss was long, joyful, and knee-buckling. Finally, after all these years, their feelings matched, and the love from both parties made it a kiss to remember. She twisted her fingers in his curly hair, and he tenderly placed his hands on the small of her back. Eventually, they stopped, gasping for breath as they rested against the other’s forehead. “Please, stay with me,” Luke whispered, his heart beating wildly within his chest.
“Always,” Clara answered back, looking into his green eyes. “I love you, Luke. I think I always have; I just didn’t realize it.” Though in her practices on the carriage ride home she planned to end her speech there, gazing into Luke’s happy face, she kept going, rambling to her best friend in typical Clara fashion. “I mean, at first you really were like a brother to me, but in a different way than John. He is my real brother, you were more like a brotherly friend? Yes, that’s it. Not any more, of course. I guess that is obvious, I did just kiss you. It was nice, very nice. We should have done that before. Though I guess we have. It was nice then, too, I was just confused. And the timing was all wrong. Next time you propose, you need to give me a little warning. Oh, and I should tell you, stupid Lord Gallant—yes, that is his name, though it does not suit him in the least—he posted wedding banns, so I think my reputation is soiled, and the queen hates me.”
Luke shrugged.
“Can you believe the nerve of that man? Showing up after I had not seen him or heard from him in months-”
“Oh, kiss her so she will stop talking!” John called from the sidelines.
Luke shook his head. “I could listen to Clara talk all day.”
She looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “I love you, Luke,” she whispered.
“I love you, too,” he answered, handing her one of his white handkerchiefs.
She leaned in for another kiss. This one was short and sweet, and then he took her hand. “Clara Merritt?” he questioned playfully.
“Luke Maxwell?” she answered with a confused giggle.
“This is your warning.” He knelt down, and Clara squealed with excitement.
“Yes!” she shouted before the question was even asked.
“You are a little ahead of yourself, ClaraBear,” her mother chuckled from the side of the room.
Luke laughed, too, and Clara grinned. “My queen,” he kissed her hand. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” she answered, throwing herself into his arms as their audience cheered. “Yes, Luke! Yes!”
Epilogue
December 1811
“You are sure it is not too strange a place?” Clara asked as Luke adjusted the wooden picture frame.
“It is perfect,” he reassured her for the tenth time. Clara’s embroidered portrait was finally completed, and the new baroness had decided to hang it on the wall next to Joan and Leopold. “I always have thought of your father as a knight coming to the rescue. He deserves to be here next to the others.”
“He was quite heroic,” Clara agreed, taking her husband's arm. She missed her father, especially on days like today, but she had taken his advice and married her best friend, and the last month had been one of the happiest of her life. She had a beautiful home filled with true friends, a responsibility for a town she loved, and, most importantly, the promise of being with Luke for the rest of her life; to love him and be loved in return.
“Now, be honest,” she grinned up at her baron, “how much are you dreading entering the ballroom?” It was Christmas Eve, and the guests had been arriving for the last half hour.
“Dreading?” Luke asked in surprise. “Not at all. I am excited.”
It could not possibly be the truth. “You, Luke Maxwell, are looking forward to a social gathering? I do not believe it.”
“Then you, Clara Maxwell, do not know your husband very well.”
