murmured.
“Such a fool I am,” Clara whispered, swallowing hard against a rush of tears.
“No mother is a fool who wants her child back,” Granville said.
No, but she was a fool to think she could ever appease her father into giving up custody of Andrew.
No further recourse, the solicitor claimed.
Clara could not believe it. She could not fathom a world in which a defenseless boy, her son, would be condemned to a life of isolation. And that she, as his mother, would have no further recourse.
Not wanting her uncle to bear witness to her dismay yet again, Clara pushed herself upright. She swiped at a stray tear and straightened her skirts. “Well, we’d best get back to work. There’s a great deal to do before Lady Rossmore’s event.”
Granville looked as if he wanted to say more, but of course they both knew there was nothing left to say.
After Granville returned to his workshop, Clara picked up the acrobat and turned the key again to watch the dexterous flip and spin. How Andrew would love such a creation. For once, a flutter of happiness rather than pain followed the thought.
She put the acrobat on a nearby table so she could see it from her sewing chair. She sat down and picked up the green silk again.
Push, pull. Push, pull. Don’t think. Don’t remember.
“I believe she might have granted me a smile.”
The deep, clear voice came from the doorway. Clara looked up with a start. Sebastian Hall stood with one hand on the jamb.
“What…oh.” She embedded the needle into the silk. “Do you refer to the formidable Mrs. Fox?”
“I do indeed. At least, I think it was a smile. Might have been more of a grimace, now that I think on it.”
Clara smiled. She felt his appreciative gaze from across the room, heating her like sunshine.
“Now that, ” he said, “is most assuredly a smile, which I could never mistake for something else.”
A surge of pleasure reddened Clara’s cheeks. Oh, but he was still charming, wasn’t he? Even with that combination of fatigue and restlessness clinging to him, his eyes warmed as he looked at her.
And Clara was glad of it. Glad of the evidence that Sebastian Hall’s allure still appeared intact, though buried beneath his soul-weary exterior.
“You’re here to see my uncle,” she said, putting the sewing aside.
Disconcertion flashed across his features. “Your uncle has returned already?”
“Yes, just several hours ago.” Clara suppressed the sudden thought…no, the hope …that perhaps Sebastian had come to see her and not Uncle Granville. Again, that hope was followed by the instinctive sense that he could prove her ally, even if as yet she had no idea how.
Sebastian continued to watch her as she rose and smoothed her apron. He paused beside a table covered with folds of silk and satin and sank his gloved hand into a swath of orange silk.
Clara watched his long fingers caress the material, then slid her gaze over the length of his arm, across his shoulder to his face. He looked much as he had yesterday—clad in a forest-green, superfine coat and snow-white linen shirt, but still with shadows smudging his dark eyes, and furrows bracketing his mouth.
What does he want?
The question sprang into her mind again, a riddle she couldn’t solve. Sebastian Hall might well enjoy the spectacle of the automata, but Clara could not believe he held the mechanisms in abiding interest. He’d hardly cast Millicent a glance when they’d first met in the Hanover Square building.
Perhaps that had been because he’d been too occupied looking at Clara.
Warmth suffused her entire body as she recalled his tangible scrutiny. She couldn’t recall another man, not even Richard, appraising her with such blatant thoroughness.
And appearing to like what he saw.
Pushing aside the unexpected pleasure of the thought, Clara ducked her head and hurried past Sebastian. “If you’ll wait here, please, I’ll fetch my uncle. I told him to expect you.”
She went to seek
“Such a fool I am,” Clara whispered, swallowing hard against a rush of tears.
“No mother is a fool who wants her child back,” Granville said.
No, but she was a fool to think she could ever appease her father into giving up custody of Andrew.
No further recourse, the solicitor claimed.
Clara could not believe it. She could not fathom a world in which a defenseless boy, her son, would be condemned to a life of isolation. And that she, as his mother, would have no further recourse.
Not wanting her uncle to bear witness to her dismay yet again, Clara pushed herself upright. She swiped at a stray tear and straightened her skirts. “Well, we’d best get back to work. There’s a great deal to do before Lady Rossmore’s event.”
Granville looked as if he wanted to say more, but of course they both knew there was nothing left to say.
After Granville returned to his workshop, Clara picked up the acrobat and turned the key again to watch the dexterous flip and spin. How Andrew would love such a creation. For once, a flutter of happiness rather than pain followed the thought.
She put the acrobat on a nearby table so she could see it from her sewing chair. She sat down and picked up the green silk again.
Push, pull. Push, pull. Don’t think. Don’t remember.
“I believe she might have granted me a smile.”
The deep, clear voice came from the doorway. Clara looked up with a start. Sebastian Hall stood with one hand on the jamb.
“What…oh.” She embedded the needle into the silk. “Do you refer to the formidable Mrs. Fox?”
“I do indeed. At least, I think it was a smile. Might have been more of a grimace, now that I think on it.”
Clara smiled. She felt his appreciative gaze from across the room, heating her like sunshine.
“Now that, ” he said, “is most assuredly a smile, which I could never mistake for something else.”
A surge of pleasure reddened Clara’s cheeks. Oh, but he was still charming, wasn’t he? Even with that combination of fatigue and restlessness clinging to him, his eyes warmed as he looked at her.
And Clara was glad of it. Glad of the evidence that Sebastian Hall’s allure still appeared intact, though buried beneath his soul-weary exterior.
“You’re here to see my uncle,” she said, putting the sewing aside.
Disconcertion flashed across his features. “Your uncle has returned already?”
“Yes, just several hours ago.” Clara suppressed the sudden thought…no, the hope …that perhaps Sebastian had come to see her and not Uncle Granville. Again, that hope was followed by the instinctive sense that he could prove her ally, even if as yet she had no idea how.
Sebastian continued to watch her as she rose and smoothed her apron. He paused beside a table covered with folds of silk and satin and sank his gloved hand into a swath of orange silk.
Clara watched his long fingers caress the material, then slid her gaze over the length of his arm, across his shoulder to his face. He looked much as he had yesterday—clad in a forest-green, superfine coat and snow-white linen shirt, but still with shadows smudging his dark eyes, and furrows bracketing his mouth.
What does he want?
The question sprang into her mind again, a riddle she couldn’t solve. Sebastian Hall might well enjoy the spectacle of the automata, but Clara could not believe he held the mechanisms in abiding interest. He’d hardly cast Millicent a glance when they’d first met in the Hanover Square building.
Perhaps that had been because he’d been too occupied looking at Clara.
Warmth suffused her entire body as she recalled his tangible scrutiny. She couldn’t recall another man, not even Richard, appraising her with such blatant thoroughness.
And appearing to like what he saw.
Pushing aside the unexpected pleasure of the thought, Clara ducked her head and hurried past Sebastian. “If you’ll wait here, please, I’ll fetch my uncle. I told him to expect you.”
She went to seek
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