And all Luke wanted was for his mother to be happy. “Well,” he replied, “tell Alfonso he shall have to answer to the Baron of Harleston, should he treat you poorly.”
Mother’s smile lit up her face. “Thank you, Luke! Thank you!” She set her teacup down and ran to him. Her steps were sure, her gaze confident. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Her slim body pressed up against his, and for the first time, she did not feel cold.
“My lord,” Walters the butler interrupted the Merritt dinner party, “I have an urgent message from Lord Maxwell.” He presented a silver platter with a thick, cream envelope atop it. The mail was not typically delivered during dinner hours, and though the butler had spoken at only a whisper, the unexpected change of events caught the eyes of all four Merritts and their guests.
“From Luke?” Mother’s voice was full of concern as Papa swiftly plucked up the letter. Luke had never written to Lord Merritt before. The countess stood from her seat at the opposite end of the table, rushing to her husband, her large red skirts billowing out around her. She stooped behind him, glancing over his shoulder to read. There were five or six pieces of parchment enclosed, but Papa had only read half of the first before he yelled to the butler, “Pack my bags! John and I shall leave at first light.”
Chapter 4
The Silence of Maxwell Manor
It was surprisingly easy for Clara to convince her father she was also needed at Maxwell Manor. Technically, none of them had been invited. Luke asked only for answers to a few questions, but he was family at this point, and they all wished to run to the rescue. Rosecrest had guests, so Mother could not leave, but based on the details of Luke’s letter, a ‘lady of the house’ was definitely needed. So, while only fourteen, Clara stepped in to fill that role, at least until Luke returned to school. She knew what was needed to prepare a house for a long leave of its master, something the gentlemen were clueless about.
The road was long and rocky, and Clara slept most of the way. John and Papa had gone on horseback, hoping to make it there as quickly as possible, but she traveled with the large entourage of servants. Papa insisted that any maid, gardener, or stablehand, not needed by Mother, join them. He wanted to get their expert opinion on what Luke’s estate demanded.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a small house. It was old, dark, and ugly.That is it?Clara thought as the footman helped her exit the vehicle.I have seen pigsties that are more attractive.
The servants began unloading their supplies and carrying them through the side door. Clara walked gingerly to the front of the house. The stone bricks ofthe front steps were leaning and lumpy and a large gap blew air between the top corner of the door and the door frame. She knocked lightly—fearing a large tap would push the entire house over. No one answered.
“Luke?” she called, but no response came. Slowly, she turned the door knob and peeked inside. “Luke? Hello, is anyone home?”
The foyer was practically non-existent and opened right into the sitting room. Three worn, green, plush chairs sat far closer to a fireplace than seemed safe. Behind those stood a walnut-wood tea table that clashed greatly with the cherry wood flooring. Clara did not know what color the walls were painted, for she could not see them. Every inch of the small building was covered with bookcases, portraits, faded tapestries, and end tables. A basket of yarn sat beside the nearest chair, the only sign that someone may have lived in what looked to be a very ancient, used furniture store. “Hello?” she called again before stepping inside.
She shivered. Somehow, it was colder in the house than it had been outside. She squinted through the darkness as the door swung closed behind her. Clara removed her own bonnet and gloves, and hung them softly on a coat rack laden with heavy winter coats. The floor creaked and groaned as she took the few steps to the fireplace. She stood directly in front of the open flame, fingers splayed before it, but the chill only seemed to penetrate her further.How is it so cold?she wondered.
“There is a blanket in the basket,” a small voice said from the chair.
Clara’s frame jumped forcefully. She turned to see a white, wispy-looking figure seated with a knitting project across its lap. At first glance, the thin being could be nothing other than a ghost, but as her fear subsided, she realized, with a new sense of worry, that it was Luke’s mother. She looked dreadful. Luke’s letter, while very open about his mother’s health, did not give a full depiction of just how bad it was.
“Th-th-thank you,” Clara responded through chattering teeth. She pulled a large, woolen blanket from the designated basket and wrapped it tightly around herself as she inched even closer to the fireplace.
The front door swung open and in walked Papa, John, and Luke. They did not remove their hats and gloves, but instead selected a coat off the rack and put it onas well. As soon as Luke finished buttoning the article, he headed straight for his mother’s chair.
“ClaraBear!” Papa called, as he caught sight of his daughter. He pulled her into a hug. She did not bother freeing her arms from the blanket to reciprocate.
After a faint smile from his mother, Luke turned his attention to the newcomer as well. “Thank you for coming, Clara.” His voice sounded different, heavier, and he had large, dark circles around his green eyes.
“Luke,” his mother croaked from the sofa, “surely, you do not call young ladies by their given name.” She gave him a look of disapproval.
Luke did not protest his mother’s chastisement, but instead turned to Clara and bowed formally. “I apologize,LadyClara. Thank you for traveling such a great distance to come to my aid.”
If she wasn’t so miserably cold, she may have laughed at the interaction. It was strange to have Luke speak to her with such sophistication. “It was my pleasure, my lord.” She lowered herself into a curtsy, an exceptionally awkward thing to do with her arms plastered under the blanket. She wobbled slightly, leaning precariously too close to the fireplace.
Immediately, the men around her responded. Papa shoved a hand behind her back, pushing her away from the roaring fire. Luke reached out from the other side, pulling her toward him.
“I am all right. I am all right,” Clara reassured them.
“Are you sure?” Luke asked, and that is when she realized she was wrapped in his arms, his body acting as protection from the open flame. He was much taller than she, so her head tucked in against his broad chest.
“I am well. Truly.” She took a step backwards. After ensuring her feet were solidly on the ground, he hesitantly lowered his arms back to his sides. He returned to his mother, putting a respectful distance between them once more. But he took the only warmth in the room with him, and as he walked away, Clara couldn't help but shiver.
“What would you recommend first?” Luke asked Clara after their tour of the house. They were standing in the attic storage, looking up at the molded beams. Many, many visible holes had dripped rain through the roof, causing damages that were truly beyond repair.
“Permission to speak freely, my lord?” she asked in a sarcastic tone.
Luke rolled his eyes. “Just tell me, Clara.” He trusted her opinion completely. She may have been young—and she looked even more so under the three fur coats she currently sported—but he had never met a more natural hostess or homemaker.
Clara sighed heavily, looking up at the ceiling. “We can patch holes. We can replace wood, but…”
