than…what is that supposed to be? A cello?”
Granville straightened and scratched his head. “I don’t know. Found it at a music shop and tried to translate it into the engineering mechanism. Doesn’t quite work, does it?”
“Not quite, no.”
Sebastian glanced at Clara, his brown eyes crinkling with warm amusement. The sight arced pleasure through Clara, evoking memories of the dashing, vital pianist who had made her heart sing.
The glimpses of that young man made her wonder if her former self, the girl who’d once plucked wildflowers from the grassy hills of Dorset and felt the sea foam around her bare feet, hadn’t been entirely extinguished.
No. She pushed the thought aside as she returned to the studio. There was no sense in such useless imaginings. Whether or not that girl still existed made no difference in her current life, which was wholly focused on reclaiming Andrew.
And in order to achieve that goal, she needed to formulate a new plan. One that might somehow include Sebastian Hall.
A half hour passed after Clara left the drawing room. Her uncle’s exhaustive knowledge of machinery and automata appeared endless, and while Sebastian recognized the innovation in what the man was doing, he couldn’t muster the slightest interest in auxiliary levers and polar coordinates.
Whatever those were.
“It’s the bellows mechanism that produces sound,” Granville continued, “and a certain degree of pressure articulates the vowels and consonants, then if one controls the valve with a cam attached to a crank…”
Bloody hell.
Sebastian crushed a yawn between his teeth. “What are your thoughts on the current political climate, Mr. Blake?” he interrupted.
The other man looked startled, as well he probably should considering the abruptness of the question.
“Oh, er, the war, you mean? Just read the report about the Battle of the Alma, which seems to have been quite a decisive allied victory. They even took two Russian generals prisoner. No offense intended.”
“None taken.” Sebastian held no strong loyalty to Russia, though he’d spent much time there as a child and on several concert tours. Now his desire to return to the country sprang from the fact that two of his brothers and his sister-in-law lived in St. Petersburg. “I’ve just read a report that Alma is considered a precursor to the rapid fall of Sebastopol.”
“I hadn’t heard that.”
Sebastian studied the other man. Clearly Granville’s unassuming demeanor concealed a sharp intelligence, but how far did he extend that intelligence? Granville hadn’t expressed much interest in…what had he called them?…arithmometers, which made Sebastian wonder if he even knew about the cipher machine plans.
Sebastian set his cup down with a force that rattled the saucer. He thanked Granville for his time and the sharing of his very comprehensive knowledge, then went in search of Clara again.
He returned to the studio and paused in the doorway. Clara knelt on the floor, her skirts pooled around her and her head bent as she rummaged through a wooden chest.
Sebastian admired her for a moment, casting his glance over the delicate curves of her profile and the arch of her pretty neck gilded with loose chestnut tendrils. He liked the way her pins and ribbons seemed unable to contain the length of her hair, making it necessary for her to brush the locks back with a sweep of her elegant hand.
And that refinement concealed a steel-like resolve evident in the determined line of her chin and unflinching gaze.
She turned to look at him. An unexpected smile widened her mouth, creating two shallow dimples in her cheeks. Warmth uncurled in Sebastian’s chest.
“Has Uncle Granville bored you to tears yet?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Sebastian lied. “We were discussing the machines that solve mathematical problems.”
“Is that so? Well, if anyone would know about such things, it would certainly be Uncle Granville.” She rose to
Granville straightened and scratched his head. “I don’t know. Found it at a music shop and tried to translate it into the engineering mechanism. Doesn’t quite work, does it?”
“Not quite, no.”
Sebastian glanced at Clara, his brown eyes crinkling with warm amusement. The sight arced pleasure through Clara, evoking memories of the dashing, vital pianist who had made her heart sing.
The glimpses of that young man made her wonder if her former self, the girl who’d once plucked wildflowers from the grassy hills of Dorset and felt the sea foam around her bare feet, hadn’t been entirely extinguished.
No. She pushed the thought aside as she returned to the studio. There was no sense in such useless imaginings. Whether or not that girl still existed made no difference in her current life, which was wholly focused on reclaiming Andrew.
And in order to achieve that goal, she needed to formulate a new plan. One that might somehow include Sebastian Hall.
A half hour passed after Clara left the drawing room. Her uncle’s exhaustive knowledge of machinery and automata appeared endless, and while Sebastian recognized the innovation in what the man was doing, he couldn’t muster the slightest interest in auxiliary levers and polar coordinates.
Whatever those were.
“It’s the bellows mechanism that produces sound,” Granville continued, “and a certain degree of pressure articulates the vowels and consonants, then if one controls the valve with a cam attached to a crank…”
Bloody hell.
Sebastian crushed a yawn between his teeth. “What are your thoughts on the current political climate, Mr. Blake?” he interrupted.
The other man looked startled, as well he probably should considering the abruptness of the question.
“Oh, er, the war, you mean? Just read the report about the Battle of the Alma, which seems to have been quite a decisive allied victory. They even took two Russian generals prisoner. No offense intended.”
“None taken.” Sebastian held no strong loyalty to Russia, though he’d spent much time there as a child and on several concert tours. Now his desire to return to the country sprang from the fact that two of his brothers and his sister-in-law lived in St. Petersburg. “I’ve just read a report that Alma is considered a precursor to the rapid fall of Sebastopol.”
“I hadn’t heard that.”
Sebastian studied the other man. Clearly Granville’s unassuming demeanor concealed a sharp intelligence, but how far did he extend that intelligence? Granville hadn’t expressed much interest in…what had he called them?…arithmometers, which made Sebastian wonder if he even knew about the cipher machine plans.
Sebastian set his cup down with a force that rattled the saucer. He thanked Granville for his time and the sharing of his very comprehensive knowledge, then went in search of Clara again.
He returned to the studio and paused in the doorway. Clara knelt on the floor, her skirts pooled around her and her head bent as she rummaged through a wooden chest.
Sebastian admired her for a moment, casting his glance over the delicate curves of her profile and the arch of her pretty neck gilded with loose chestnut tendrils. He liked the way her pins and ribbons seemed unable to contain the length of her hair, making it necessary for her to brush the locks back with a sweep of her elegant hand.
And that refinement concealed a steel-like resolve evident in the determined line of her chin and unflinching gaze.
She turned to look at him. An unexpected smile widened her mouth, creating two shallow dimples in her cheeks. Warmth uncurled in Sebastian’s chest.
“Has Uncle Granville bored you to tears yet?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Sebastian lied. “We were discussing the machines that solve mathematical problems.”
“Is that so? Well, if anyone would know about such things, it would certainly be Uncle Granville.” She rose to
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