He leaned back, making a mental note to inquire about Munich’s Clockwork Society.
“You certainly know a great deal about clockwork, Lady Elizabeth.”
“My father was the Earl of Braxton,” she said by way of explanation.
“I recall.” As if he could forget with her sitting there in all her aristocratic finery. “And your brother now holds the title.”
Lady Elizabeth waved her hand in the air as if to sweep away any mention of her brother. “Henrick is merely an earl. My father, however, went by a different name on occasion.”
“Your father held dual titles?”
“Not that the ton would recognize,” she said. “Most of them gave the Clockwork Earl the cut direct.”
Ezra thought himself beyond the type of surprise that rendered one speechless, but silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity of heartbeats before he was able to form words.
“Your father was the Clockwork Earl?”
Lady Elizabeth nodded. “When I was a girl, I would sit in his shop for hours, watching him work and listening as he discussed his trade.”
“Pardon, my lady, but your father was an Ironmaster, not a mere Smith. He did not practice a trade; he answered a calling.” The Clockwork Earl had made some of the most progressive machines in history. There was simply no way of knowing how many lives his Johnny Sweeper, named after a young boy who fell to his death while cleaning chimneys on the earl’s estate, had saved. “Your father was a gifted and giving man. The whole of the British Empire owes him our gratitude.”
“Thank you,” Lady Elizabeth replied, her voice grown husky by emotion. “He couldn’t command the aether, not like you, but he could coax it into working with him. He saw it as a bargain. The aether would assist him, and in return, he would assist mankind with the things he made. His method was unheard of, and almost as many Smiths and Ironmasters turned their back on him as members of the ton, which makes me even more curious about Mr. Garroway’s hand.”
“Because only an Ironmaster like your father could have merged the clockwork and the aether?”
Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “Mr. Garroway’s hand is beyond anything my father could have accomplished.”
As a Touched, Ezra had little knowledge of the world of clockwork. When King Henry VII ended the Touched’s exile in 1485, part of the treaty had stipulated that no Touched be allowed to apprentice with an upper-level Smith. As a result, a Johnny Sweeper seemed as mystical and otherworldly to a Touched as a simple sleeping spell did to an Untouched.
What Ezra did understand was that something beyond an Ironmaster’s capabilities required a great deal of skill and power. The kind of skill and power only found in a Velchan.
“So it was someone of immense skill. Someone like Ware.”
Lady Elizabeth’s snort was as dismissive as it was unladylike. “Daniel Ware couldn’t build a cuckoo clock without putting the numbers in the wrong order.”
“Are we speaking of the same Daniel Ware? The one who introduced the world to the Atomic Airship at last year’s Great Exhibition?”
Lady Elizabeth’s eyes darted to the window. Ezra watched as her tongue smoothed over her lips, the sight inciting a flash of desire as powerful as it was unexpected.
“I do believe you might be the only person in the whole of England who does not hold Mr. Ware in the highest of esteem,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to pull his attention away from her lips. They were unbalanced. The bottom was a soft, sensual cushion, and the top a line of stern discipline. He wanted to taste them, first one and then the other, to see if his tongue could detect a difference and coax the unyielding top lip into misbehaving. “I must wonder why that is.” Perhaps wondering about such things could force him to stop wondering about more inappropriate things that could never come to pass.
Unaware of the torture she was causing him, her teeth pressed into her bottom lip just long enough to ratchet up his desire another notch before saying, “I am acquainted with Mr. Ware.” Her eyes darted to the window again, and he found himself wondering how well she was acquainted with the inventor. If her blush was to believed, it was well enough Ezra wanted to do violence to the man. “He apprenticed under my father just before his death. And while he is a gifted Smith, he has not even reached the level of Ironmaster, and certainly isn’t the current Velchan as many people suspect. I cannot believe him capable of anything so complex as Mr. Garroway’s hand.”
He adjusted his greatcoat, attempting to hide the effect she was having on him. “And you know no one else capable of such a feat? Surely one of your father’s colleagues—”
“Continued their association with a young girl once her father was gone?” Her hands, which had been so lively at the beginning of their discussion, clutched one another tightly in her lap. “I’m afraid I am no longer privy to the world of clockwork, Dr. Nash.” Something passed over her face. A sadness tinged with something more, but before he could contemplate what it was, it was gone. She smiled at him, a pleasant but empty upturn of the lips. “I am so sorry my curiosity got us off on such a topic. I’ve done little but prattle on about things that are of no consequence. Now, please, tell me of your sister that I am to play companion to.”
Something was off. He had only known her a short time - no more than a handful of hours, and most of those she had been unconscious - but still he knew this Lady Elizabeth, the one with the empty smiles, was a mask she wore to hide something. Something to do with Garroway’s hand and clockwork. Something that pained her as much as it fascinated her.
He wanted to press her on the subject, to find out what she was keeping hidden, but a glance out the window told him his time alone with the lady had drawn to an end.
“My sister is the most extraordinary of girls,” he said, sweeping his hat off the seat beside him. “And it is time for you to meet her.”
Chapter 7
Outside the carriage door stood a city street that looked like any other in England. Bits tried to hide the surprise from her face. It was silly to have believed any of the illustrations depicting Corrigan as either the fairy wonderland or gothic wasteland gracing the pages of children’s books and newspapers, but she freely admitted she was expecting something fantastical about the place.
“My lady?” Mr. Nash offered up his hand to assist her from the carriage. The moment her hand connected with his, tingles of awareness raced across her flesh once again. She simultaneously wanted to clutch onto him so she might feel that sensation forever and jerk away to escape whatever it was.
A row of houses sat before her, each a twin to the one sitting next to it. Although all put together they would still be half the size of her brother-in-law’s house in Town, very few would classify them as small. It was precisely the type of home she envisioned a surgeon might live in, and she was not at all surprised when the door swung open at the house with the most elaborate and well maintained facade. Mr. Nash’s hand moved to her elbow, and the electrical storm his touch caused moved with it. She snuck a look at his profile and willed herself not to turn red. His face was perfection. She could trace the line of his jaw and sharp slant of his cheekbone with her eyes since no extra flesh was there to hide their location. Dark brows arched over his impossibly blue eyes, and the slim line of his lips was a color of red women tried to replicate by artificial means.
Usually a person of such physical perfection would have her stammering over her words, if she was able to form them at all. Yet with Mr. Nash she had babbled on as if she was conversing with Nellie. Somehow, despite his lovely eyes and the way his shoulders filled out his jacket, he put her at ease. It was as if she was connected to him on some deep, soul-reaching level.
It was probably the magic. She still wasn’t completely sure how the Touched used the aether to perform their spells, but if it involved aether, then it undoubtably required something of himself. Probably every person Mr. Nash healed felt as if they had known him their whole lives and tingled when he touched them. It was energy
calling out to like energy. Nothing more.
The thought filled her with an almost unbearable sadness.
Unaware of the maudlin direction of her thoughts, Mr. Nash led her up the stairs and into the foyer, handing the older gentleman who opened the door his hat and coat. Since Bits had been pulled out of a burning train carriage, she had nothing save her slightly singed dress, which looked as if she had been wearing it for years instead of a mere day. She adjusted the skirts in an effort to make herself more presentable, but only succeeded in revealing a hole she had yet to notice and a black patch that was either ink or some type of oil.
What would Mr. Nash’s butler think? Her hair was a snarled mess and she was wearing a torn and stained dress. She could only imagine the description he would give the other servants once she was out of earshot. They would be sneering at her before she had the opportunity to do something worthy of their rebuke.
“Lady Elizabeth, might I introduce Mr. Green. He and his wife keep my house up and running. They are the two most capable humans I have ever met, so should you want anything, merely ask. I have every confidence they can take care of your every need.”
Mr. Green beamed at Mr. Nash’s introduction. He was an older man, the years having worn fine lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth as if he’d spent much of his time smiling.
“We will certainly do our best,” he said, bending as far as his back would allow.
“Mr. Green, this is Lady Elizabeth Warren, the sister to the Earl of Braxton. She will be staying with us and keeping Lily company for the foreseeable future.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Green,” Bits said, comforted by Mr. Green’s apparent delight at Mr. Nash’s announcement. “I promise I will not impose on you or Mrs. Green any more than absolutely necessary. I will try to make it so you won’t even know I’m here.”
Mr. Green looked as if he was about to protest her ability to be a bother — as if having to attend to another person’s needs was anything other than a burden — but before he could say anything another voice called out.
“Ezra? Is that you?”
“No. ’Tis I, the Ghost of Christmas Past come to remind you of all sweets you have robbed from your dear brother.”
Bits couldn’t help but smile at his gentle teasing and the mention of Mr. Dickens’s story. She had received a copy as a gift a few years back and was forced to read it to her niece so many times her voice had almost completely disappeared.
“For a ghost, you have not only an unfortunate sense of time, but an abysmal memory as well. Christmas is well over five months away, and it was my brother who stole my sweets.” Mr. Nash - Ezra his sister had called him - chuckled, and the sound washed through Bits, making her entire being feel lighter as if she too shared in on the joke. “Did I hear a woman’s voice? Did you bring home a guest?”
“I did.” He turned to her and offered his arm once more. “Lady Elizabeth?” She slid her fingers along the inside of his elbow, prepared for the tingles that followed. “Mr. Green, if you could be so kind as to have you wife bring us some tea?” he inquired before tugging Bits toward a room that sat just off the foyer.
Having been raised the daughter of an earl and spending the last decade going from one ducal estate to another, Bits was used to grand parlors with carefully selected color schemes, furniture made for appearance over function, and knick-knacks whose price could have fed a family living in St. Giles for a year. After a lifetime of such parlors, the room Ezra led her into was like a breath of fresh air. The furniture, which was in good repair but didn’t come close to matching one another or anything else in the room, looked temptingly comfortable. Small items sat on the mantle and decorated the bookshelf, but they weren’t merely decorative trinkets. Jars filled with dried herbs and colored liquid littered most surfaces. The tools of the Touched sat alongside a collection of more personal, nonmagical items. No doubt each piece had a story or memory attached to it. She found herself wondering who had carved the little wooden soldier and which of the Nashes had delighted in watching the clockwork lion play.
Sitting amongst the well organized chaos was Lily. Even if she was not the only person occupying the room, Bits would have been able to determine the identity of Ezra’s sister. Like him, her face was slender and well-defined. Her hair was a shade darker, and there was no evidence of the curls that popped up whenever Ezra ran his hands over his head, but her eyes were the same clear shade of blue.
“Lily, may I introduce Lady Elizabeth Warner.”
Lily’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Lady?”
“She is to be your new companion.”
At his pronouncement, Lily dropped the book she was holding into her lap, drawing Bits’s attention to the way the other woman was sitting on the settee, a wool blanket draped across her.
A blanket that went flat just past Lily’s knees.
Realization came slowly, too slowly, and Bits realized she had been staring at the spot where the remainder of Lily’s legs should have been for entirely too long. Heat blazed in her cheeks as she wrenched her gaze back up to Lily’s face.
Ezra had mentioned his sister was an invalid, but Bits had pictured a sickly girl with pale skin and dark circles beneath her eyes, not a beautiful young lady who just happened to be missing part of her legs.
“A lady? To be my companion?”
Ezra’s shoulders stiffened and his Adam’s apple bobbed, but he fixed a smile on his face.
“Lady Elizabeth was in an unfortunate accident with Lady Alice earlier today and is in need of a place to stay as she has decided to make Corrigan her home. The Duchess of Sidhe was the one who made the suggestion she play companion.”
His meaning could not have been any clearer had he spelled it out. She was here only because the duchess demanded it. He was required to oblige, no matter how much he did not want her in his home.
It shouldn’t have stung. Bits could not remember the last time she was in a place where she was truly wanted, yet Ezra’s rejection seemed to reach a place of pride she long thought dead.
“Alice is home and you did not lead with that news?” Lily turned to Bits and rolled her eyes. “Tell me, Lady Elizabeth, do you have a brother?”
“I do.” He was a complete wastrel and she wasn’t ever allowed to speak to him again, but he did exist.
“Is he as vexing as Ezra?”
“More so, I imagine. Although, I have just made your brother’s acquaintance. There is still time for him to prove as irritating as Henry.”
“Lily,” Ezra interrupted. “I have been home for a total of five minutes.”
“Which means you waited an entire five minutes to tell me my dearest friend since childhood has returned home after four years.” Lily worried the edge of her blanket, looking very much like a child filled with anticipation on Christmas Eve. Actually, she looked very much a child to Bits. If she was a girlhood friend of Alice’s, then she must be near twenty, but engulfed in her large blanket with her hair plaited over one shoulder, she appeared much younger. “Do you think tomorrow will be too early to call on her? I know she needs to reacquaint herself with her family first, but I have missed her fiercely.”
“I have a feeling she will pay a call on you tomorrow,” Ezra answered, this smile free of all pretense. It utterly transformed his face, causing Bits’s breath to catch in her throat. “She told me she has missed you as well, and I’m certain she will want to see how Lady Elizabeth is settling in.”
If possible, Lily’s grin grew. “So you and Alice are friends?”
“We are.” It was odd to claim friendship with someone she had known for so short a time, but she knew her words were not a lie.
“Excellent,” Lily said, clapping her hands together. “Then we shall be friends as well. Alice has always been a most accomplished judge of character.”
“I would like that, Miss Lily.” And she would. Bits didn’t have many friends. Most young ladies in her acquaintance were more likely to share insults than
friendship. Her relationship with Nellie and the distraction provided by her nieces and nephew were usually enough, but sometimes, when the loneliness settled in late at night, she longed for the easy friendships her sister had always been able to forge.
Lily reached for her hand, and Bits stepped forward to make it easier for the younger girl to capture it. “Just Lily,” she said. “We are to be friends, after all.”
“Very well, Lily,” Bits said, smiling. “And you shall call me Bits.”
“Bits.” Lily rolled the word around as if tasting it in her mouth. “I like it,” she finally determined. “Common, but unique.”
Common, but unique. Bits thought a better description of her might never have been uttered.
Ezra cleared his throat and adjusted his cravat. “While it is a lovely name, Lady Elizabeth—”
“Bits,” Lily corrected.
“Is a lady,” Ezra continued. “I think it’s for the best if you continue to address her as such. We are not of equal stations—”
“Oh posh,” Bits said, cutting off the good surgeon yet again. “I am playing companion to my new dear friend in exchange for a roof above my head and food in my belly. I would dare say I am more akin to a servant in this house than a lady. Lily may call me whatever pleases her.”
Very few people could give a glare good enough to quell Bits’s spirit. Her mother had been capable, as well as the butler at the Duke of Keaton’s Dover estate, but although her sister, brother, a handful of unfortunate gentlemen who had been forced into her company, and most of the respectable matrons of Society had given it their best effort, the list had ended there until Ezra turned narrowed his eyes on her. Bits’s stomach sank, and her teeth worried her lip.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” Lily’s laughter filled the small room. “I knew I was going to like you, Bits.”
At that moment the door to the sitting room opened and Bits’s stomach, which had been working its way back up to the appropriate spot dropped again as the clockwork servant entered.
A Dance Like Flame (Of Magic & Machine Book 1) Page 6
