A Passion For Pleasure

by Nina Rowan

  As Sebastian paused to examine the fish, Rushton glanced at Clara.

  “Did he tell you what I asked of him?” he said.

  “Your requirement that he marry?”

  “My requirement that he marry a woman who makes him a better man.”

  Clara stopped and turned to face him. “No, my lord. He didn’t tell me that.”

  “His brother Alexander did so, though I admit for a time we feared he would bring us all to ruination again,” Rushton said. “And since my own marriage failed in an unfortunately spectacular fashion, I’ve come to the conclusion that unions of political or social ends matter far less than the moral quality of the woman involved and her ability to improve upon a man’s own constitution. I told Sebastian as much when I insisted that he find a wife.”

  “I hope…” Clara swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “I hope you haven’t been too disappointed with his choice.”

  “On the contrary, Mrs. Hall,” Rushton replied. “I admit to grave misgivings when you told me of Fairfax’s accusations, but such doubts have been overshadowed by your son’s reactions to both Fairfax and Sebastian. Over the last year I have learned that children’s true feelings are not easily concealed. Moreover, they often possess a very keen perception about the character of others. A lesson I failed to comprehend when my own children were young.”

  “Andrew took to Sebastian immediately,” Clara said. “And though I’m biased, I cannot think of a better endorsement of your son’s character.”

  Now she had to hope that Andrew would one day trust her again as he trusted Sebastian. Although she had sensed the breach between herself and her son begin to close during their last day at Floreston Manor, there hadn’t been enough time to fully understand its formation in the first place.

  All Clara had were speculations that Fairfax had poisoned her son against her. And all Andrew had were Clara’s assurances that she had not been responsible for Richard’s death, though the confirmation that he had believed her shone inside her like sunlight.

  They continued walking as the sun began to sink, casting a reddish glow over the streets. Other people strolled along the streets as well, some peering into shopwindows and others going in and out of baths and restaurants. Clara tilted her hat to block the glare of the sun just as she caught sight of two figures walking along the opposite side of the street.

  She stopped. Her breath snared in her lungs.

  “Clara?” Sebastian turned to her with a frown, sliding his hand beneath her elbow. “Are you all right?”

  Clara pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart slammed against her palm. Across the street, a small, chestnut-haired boy walked a pace behind an older man clad in a dark blue greatcoat, his features concealed beneath the shadow of a hat.

  Sebastian followed her gaze, his spine stiffening. Before Clara could stop him, he lunged across the street like a tiger attacking its prey and came to a halt in front of Fairfax and Andrew.

  They both stopped in their tracks. Fairfax looked from Sebastian to Clara, his eyes widening with shock and anger. Andrew started forward. Fairfax threw out an arm to block his path.

  “Get out of my way,” he snapped at Sebastian. “Or I will have you arrested.”

  “You will not. Andrew, come here.”

  Andrew started toward Sebastian again. Fairfax grabbed Andrew’s arm, wrenching a yelp from the boy. Several pedestrians paused as they sensed a brewing conflict. Fairfax pivoted to stare at Rushton as he and Clara hurried across the street to them.

  “Rushton?” Confusion flared in the baron’s eyes. “What…?”

  “Andrew, explain what you said when you spoke to me at the Paddington station,” Rushton said, without a glance at Fairfax. “What did you mean by that?”

  Andrew swung his gaze from Rushton to Clara. His mouth opened and closed. Tension squeezed Clara’s shoulders.

  “Andrew.” She spoke his name in a hoarse whisper. She extended a hand and took a cautious step forward, her heart thudding. “You know I was not responsible for your father’s death.”

  Andrew started to shake, all color draining from his face. He tried to yank his arm from Fairfax’s grip, but Fairfax took a step back and pulled Andrew with him.

  “Andrew, you know nothing of the kind,” Fairfax said.

  “I…I do,” Andrew gasped, throwing his grandfather a terrified but determined look. “It…it wasn’t M-Mama.”

  Tears sprang to Clara’s eyes at the sound of her son’s voice, music that had been silenced for the past year. A cascade of relief burst through her fear. She took another step forward. Andrew suddenly wrenched his arm from his grandfather’s grip and flung himself at Sebastian, the impact powerful enough to send Sebastian stumbling back. A collective gasp rose from the crowd of people who had gathered nearby.

  “It was him!” Andrew pointed a trembling finger at Fairfax the instant before Sebastian’s arm closed around his shoulders. “He k-killed my father. I saw him d-do it.”

  Clara froze, swamped with horror. She stared at her father, saw the truth of the accusation in the guilt that flared across his features before a shutter descended. His eyes hardened to ice as his gaze broke from hers. He darted forward to grab Andrew.

  Sebastian stepped back, his hand curling around Andrew’s arm. His grip faltered. He cursed. Fairfax hauled Andrew up and turned to flee. He staggered a few steps then, realizing the hindrance of the boy’s weight, he dropped Andrew and ran.

  “Andrew!” Clara hurried to her son and fell to her knees beside him, relief billowing through her as she gathered him into her arms. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded, his slender body shaking with fear and exertion as he sagged against her. Sebastian passed them in a blur of speed. His boots slammed against the cobblestones as he gave chase.

  Fairfax’s dark-clad figure was halfway down the street when Sebastian caught up to him, both of them crashing to the ground with one lunge. A scuffle ensued as the two men fought, but Fairfax was no match for Sebastian’s height and strength. Within seconds, Sebastian had subdued the older man and dragged him to his feet.

  Still clutching Andrew, Clara turned to search for Rushton. For a moment, she couldn’t find him in the growing crowd, but then he pushed past a group of people. Two police constables followed, their batons at the ready as they approached Sebastian and Fairfax.

  Voices rose from the crowd in excited chatter. Clara tightened her arms around Andrew and led him to the safety of a doorstep. She pressed her cheek against his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry it happened this way.”

  One day soon she would ask him exactly what he saw happen between Fairfax and Richard, but that day could wait. Right now all she wanted was to hold her son again and get reacquainted with the boy he had become—this time, without the portent of fear hanging over them like a thundercloud.

  They waited together, huddled close, as the crowd began to disperse and Sebastian returned to find them. He scraped a hand through his messy hair and crouched in front of them, balancing on the balls of his feet.

  “You did the right thing, Andrew,” he said. “No harm will come to you for having told the truth. Had you feared that it would?”

  Andrew nodded. Sebastian lifted the boy into his arms, then extended a hand to Clara and helped her up. He pulled her to his other side, holding them close. A tremble shuddered through Clara as she embraced both her husband and her son. She and Andrew would always be safe at Sebastian’s side.

  Slowly, she turned to find Lord Rushton.

  “Fairfax is in police custody.” His face reddened from exertion and lined with concern, the earl stopped beside them. “Rest assured, Mrs. Hall, I will do everything within my power to ensure that justice is served.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Clara didn’t doubt his promise. Rushton was determined that nothing would shake the foundations of the earldom again, but he was not so uncompromising that he would allow a murder to go un
punished.

  Her heart clenched. Murder. Richard had been murdered by the very man to whom he had entrusted his son.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Sebastian lowered his head to whisper into her ear. “He will never harm you or Andrew again.”

  She tightened her hold on him. “I believe you.”

  Several days after returning to London, Andrew explained in slow, halting speech what he had seen that fateful day when his father died. They sat in the parlor of Blake’s Museum of Automata—only Clara and Sebastian, as Andrew had said he wanted no one else present. He huddled in a chair before the fire, his hands cupped around a bowl of hot cocoa. Soon he would have to recount the events to the police superintendent, but everyone had agreed to give the boy a chance to recover.

  “They were talking about business,” Andrew said. Firelight flickered across his youthful features as he stared into the flames. “Grandfather and Papa. Railway stock or…or something like t-that. Then they started arguing.”

  He fell silent, a distance blurring his gaze as if he saw the scene anew.

  “M-my grandfather accused my papa of keeping him out of a…a contract,” Andrew continued. “Their voices got louder and louder. I’d gone into the woods a ways to follow a rabbit, so I don’t think they knew I…I was there. Then I heard the sound of a slap and I went back to see what had happened. Grandfather had…had grabbed Papa and was shaking him. They were both yelling. Then he…he hit Papa hard enough that Papa f-fell off the horse. There was a…a horrible crack. Blood. Grandfather jumped down and ran to Papa, shouting at him to get up.

  “He shook him again, then looked up and saw me. He l-looked awful…scared, like something was horribly wrong. I knew it too. The m-minute he shouted my name, I turned and ran. Just k-kept running until I didn’t hear him anymore. I found my pony again and went back to the house to find Mama, but you weren’t there.”

  “I’d returned to the woods to look for you.” Clara brushed her hand across Andrew’s hair.

  “I…I didn’t want to wait.”

  “Richard was dead by the time I reached him,” Clara told Sebastian, an old horror pushing at her memory as she recalled finding Richard on the path. “I think my father had gone for help, but it was too late. And when he saw me with Richard, he obviously thought to deflect the blame.”

  “Why did you not tell anyone, Andrew?” Sebastian asked gently.

  Andrew’s lower lip trembled as he stared down into the bowl. “H-he said he’d hurt Mama if I did. Said if I spoke a word, M-Mama would be arrested and hanged. So…so I stayed quiet.”

  “Oh, Andrew.” Clara struggled against the tears clogging her throat as she bent to embrace her son.

  She understood now why Andrew had maintained a distance from her during their brief stay at Floreston Manor. He’d been afraid that if he let down his guard around her, he would say something to expose Fairfax, a confession that would then have repercussions for Clara.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “You did the right thing, Andrew,” Sebastian said. “Never doubt it.”

  Andrew looked at Clara. “Will I stay with you now?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at Sebastian. He returned her gaze, and a warm understanding passed between them. “You’ll stay with both of us forever.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wakefield House presided over the land like an aged matron who still retained vestiges of a youthful beauty. The sun cast a burnished glow on the rustic brown stones and the expansive gardens. Red and orange leaves carpeted the grass, and the wind carried a fresh tinge of salt. The hills of Dorset rolled toward the sheer cliffs that plunged into the sea, foaming waves crashing at their base.

  Sebastian took Clara’s hand as she descended the carriage. He lowered his head to brush his lips across her cheek, pleasure warming his chest when she smiled at him. He then turned to help Andrew down the carriage steps.

  “You’ve not been here before?” Sebastian asked.

  Andrew shook his head. Since their return from Brighton two weeks ago, he still favored gestures over speaking, but slowly his confidence in speech was beginning to return. More important, the haunted look in his eyes was lessening, eclipsed now by the curiosity and happiness every seven-year-old should possess.

  Together they walked to the house, where a line of five servants stood waiting for them. Sebastian had arranged for the staff and the opening of the house prior to their arrival, though as he glanced at the cracks spreading through the window glass and the weeds in the neglected garden, he realized the extent of the work still to be done.

  Anticipation lit inside him at the notion of restoring and repairing this property that meant so much to Clara. He would do it for her, but also for himself and Andrew, because he wanted Wakefield House to be more than a place for them to escape London. He wanted it to be their home.

  Inside, the furniture and floors were worn but clean, the curtains parted to allow the late autumn sunlight to stream through the windows. Sebastian stopped at the entrance to the drawing room. “Oh, no.”

  Clara paused to peer around his shoulder. She laughed. Strewn about the tables were machine parts, gears, and wires. Automata lined the walls—birdcages, mechanical animals, acrobats. A creature that appeared to be an elephant sat atop the piano.

  “Did I forget to tell you?” Clara asked. “Uncle Granville spent a great deal of time with us when we stayed in Dorset.”

  “Yes, you forgot to tell me.” He glowered at her. “And I neglected to consider the fact that your uncle is a consequence of marriage to you.”

  She shot him a smile. “Too late now, isn’t it, husband?”

  Too late, indeed. To his great good fortune.

  Andrew darted forward to pick up a mechanical turtle, the shell a gleaming design of green metal. He turned the key and grinned as the creature plodded forward on thick legs.

  “Oh!” Clara went to a large, closed trunk that sat near the windows. “I didn’t think it would have arrived yet.”

  “I had Giles bring it directly from the museum,” Sebastian said.

  “Andrew, these are all for you.” Clara unlatched the lid and opened the trunk to reveal the myriad of toys and automata inside. “Uncle Granville made most of them, and others were sent by fellow inventors.”

  Andrew hurried to peer into the trunk. Clara took out a wooden acrobat and demonstrated how it flipped into an intricate spin. Andrew laughed.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Clara handed the toy to her son.

  Andrew dug into the trunk and began removing wooden trains and boats. Sebastian watched as Clara straightened and approached him again, a smile curving her mouth and a light glowing in her eyes.

  His heart swelled, all the shadows of the past slipping away. The loss he had once considered so dire had become insignificant in the face of all he had found with Clara and Andrew. Although he still could not fathom the extent of his mother’s betrayal, he now understood both the strength and fragility of love. He would do anything to protect it, to ensure that nothing ever again came between him and his family.

  He wrapped his arm around Clara’s shoulders and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to the top of her head. She softened against him, one hand sliding over his back. For a moment, they watched Andrew as he began setting up the toys on the floor.

  “Andrew, I’m going to talk to the housekeeper,” Clara said. “We’ll have supper in about an hour, I imagine.”

  Andrew nodded. Clara gave Sebastian another smile before she headed toward the kitchen.

  Sebastian crouched next to Andrew. He picked up a mechanical duck and set it waddling across the floor. He and Andrew both chuckled as the creature emitted a squeaky quack every step or two. Sebastian glanced at the boy.

  “Would you like to continue your piano lessons while we’re here?” he asked.

  Andrew nodded, his assent bringing a welcome warmth to Sebastian’s heart. After reviewing the charges against Fairfax, a judge had returned c
ustody of Andrew to Clara and Sebastian, a situation that would be permanent as soon as the papers were drawn up.

  “I want to make balloons again too,” Andrew said.

  “And I’ll also show you how to make crystals using alum and hot water. Let’s see if we can upset the housekeeper here as successfully as we did Mrs. Danvers.”

  Andrew grinned. Sebastian reached out to tousle the boy’s hair before he pushed to standing and went out to the garden. A fresh, cold wind swept through the trees. Sebastian breathed in the sea air, felt it swim through his veins and cleanse the dirt of the city from his lungs.

  “It was once lovely,” Clara said from behind him. She reached out to pluck a weed from a flower bed.

  “It still is. And we’ll restore it to its former glory.” Sebastian tucked a stray lock of hair back behind Clara’s ear. “Darius has promised to visit prior to his return to St. Petersburg. And after he and Granville finish constructing the cipher machine, which they ought to do soon now that they have Rushton’s patronage.”

  “When is Lord Rushton scheduled to present it to the Home Office?”

  “Next month. Darius is certain that the committee members will be highly impressed by the machine and Monsieur Dupree’s unbreakable code. And if the Home Office uses it to further the British efforts in the war, then such an attainment will greatly enhance Rushton’s political standing.”

  “And further diminish the effects of my father’s disgrace upon the earldom,” Clara added, a shadow darkening her eyes.

  “As Darius recently reminded me, the earldom is locked tight and secure,” Sebastian said. “And trust me when I say that people are already talking about your courage in the face of your father’s cruelty. Not to mention Andrew’s.”

  “I can’t believe we have him back.”

  “I can.” Sebastian brushed his lips across her temple. “Nothing would have stopped you from saving him. Nothing. You have no idea how strong you are. Not even I could withstand you.”