Fortune Favors the Sparrow

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Oh, very much so,” Mrs. Daniels confirmed, nodding vigorously. “Clara has far more patience than I do and is eager to maintain a position in the good graces of everyone she meets.”

  “And you are not?” he inquired in amusement, giving her a wry look.

  She met his look frankly. “My dear Kirklin, I no longer care.”

  Hawk grinned freely at this extraordinary woman, thinking his day would not be entirely wasted if Clara had to spend her entire time with the Fleet girls. It would not be the day he wished, but at least the company would be worth the effort. “I’m going to stand by you for the whole of the day, Mrs. Daniels,” he vowed without shame. “Clearly, I am missing out on something by doing otherwise.”

  Mrs. Daniels now raised a brow at him, her mouth curving. “If you spend the entire day by me, Kirklin, I shall never forgive you. You have better company to keep, have you not?”

  His eyes raced to Clara at once as they moved out onto the terrace, Clara and Mrs. Browning at the edge, pointing out various bits of scenery, plotting out the day’s possibilities for the artists. Clara turned slightly, looking back at them, and smiled gently, amusement rampant in her features, delight underlying all.

  “I believe I do,” Hawk murmured, answering Mrs. Daniels’ question. “Do you think…? That is, if I dared…”

  He could not finish the question, or even a statement, regarding what currently pulsed through his veins. It was all he could think about after the ball the night before, and the exquisite dances he had shared with Clara. The moment where he’d almost kissed her in the middle of a crowded room. Every time their hands had touched, every heightened sensation that had distracted him, every smile she had sent in his direction had replayed continuously in his mind until they would be impossible to forget.

  And he was falling headlong into an unknown sea of bliss but did not wish to make the journey alone.

  “In order to have an answer, Kirklin,” Mrs. Daniels murmured in a low tone, no doubt to protect his vulnerability from Clara or Mrs. Browning, “you will need to ask a question. No one can give you satisfaction until you do.”

  He nodded, hearing and understanding the unspoken truth in her words. “If I did ask a question of her, do you believe I would be pleased with the answer?”

  A low laugh beside him did not help his uncertainty. “I would not wish to presume, as my niece does not confide in me on such things,” she admitted, keeping her voice down still.

  Disappointment curled a finger about his throat, and he managed a nod. He should have expected as much.

  “However…”

  He’d never clung to any word so fiercely in his life, though he kept his attention forward for fear of seeming too keen. “However?” he eventually repeated, forcing his tone to be bland.

  Mrs. Daniels seemed to hesitate for a moment. “I have never seen Clara so happy, Your Grace. Never.”

  There was a shift in the way Mrs. Daniels spoke at that moment, and it took Hawk by surprise. Her usually crisp, formal, imperious tone had softened markedly, though it still held all the perfection in diction and accent. It had become warmer, gentler, far more relaxed, and rang with a loving sincerity that could not be denied.

  That alone would have convinced him that what she had said was true, but given their conversation, he further believed that she had given him the answer she had not presumed to give before.

  He nodded slowly, unable to help the smile that spread across his face. “Thank you, Mrs. Daniels. You have given me much to consider.”

  “Yoo-hoo!” Mrs. Browning called, waving.

  “Oh, Lord,” Mrs. Daniels groaned beside him, making him laugh. “When we are settled, fetch me a drink, will you? I shan’t survive the day on tea alone.”

  “Absolutely,” Hawk agreed.

  Mrs. Browning took Clara by the arm and moved down the terrace stairs to the lawn, leaving Hawk and Mrs. Daniels to follow them.

  When they had all descended, they moved out to the set of three easels and canvases prepared for the artists, Mr. and Mrs. Fleet and their daughters waiting for them.

  Pleasant greetings were exchanged, and Mr. Fleet excused himself to return to the house and discuss business with Mr. Browning.

  Leaving Hawk the only man among the group.

  Under usual circumstances, that would have been a cause for concern, but as the Fleet girls were too young to be considered a match for him and everybody knew it, he was in no danger from anyone present.

  Clara aside.

  She was danger enough for him.

  “Why don’t we have you both get started on your painting?” she suggested now to the girls. “I’ll watch a bit and see if I cannot make some suggestions that would be helpful to you.”

  “Yes, Miss Moore,” they said in a dull unison.

  Clara smiled at them warmly. “Have I made you feel like my students? I assure you, this is nothing like. I want you to paint and draw as you normally would, and I will only suggest something if I think it will improve what you are already doing. Your mother has told me you are already very good, so I am quite eager to see what you can capture from this scene before you.”

  “They will look the same,” the younger of the girls pointed out stubbornly. “And Catherine is better than me because she’s older.”

  The petulant protest did not affect Clara’s expression in the slightest. “No, they won’t,” Clara told her with a shake of her head. “You will notice different things about the scene, which will be reflected in your work. That is the exciting thing. No two paintings will be exactly the same. Your technique might be different as well, which will give the scene a unique quality all your own. Does that make sense?”

  Suitably consoled, the young Fleet girl nodded, as did her sister, and they moved to their respective canvases to get started.

  Hawk watched Clara, marveling at the extraordinary manner in which she had spoken to the girls, how she had handled the natural jealousy between siblings, how she had already taught them more than he suspected their governesses had been able to. She was more than just a skilled artist, she was a patron saint of art itself. She believed in its beauty and richness, could see the brilliance in every piece, and gave sight to the blind in such matters.

  Remarkable woman, and there had never been anyone like her in his life.

  Nor would there ever be again.

  He caught a relieved exhale from her once the girls had started their painting and smiled as she untied the ribbons of her hat, setting it aside. She patted the delicate chignon of her hair, a curling tendril dangling alone in its escape from the hold of the rest. Hawk envied that tendril, wanting to toy with it and wrap it around a finger for a time.

  But he would stand here beside her aunt’s chair and only observe for now.

  Seeing him watching her, Clara flashed a quick and easy grin.

  Astonishing how such a simple thing could move him so much and give him such delight. It was a comfortable exchange, all things considered, and he suddenly had a vision of doing so in other settings with a completely different set of people around them. A quick smile across a crowded room that at once filled him with pleasure and pride as well as set his nerves to a painful sensitivity that would take hours to subside. Always both, in his mind, and nothing especially simple about it.

  Each would be extraordinary, unique, and powerful.

  Which meant he would continue to be on the brink of death for the rest of his life.

  If such a thing came to pass, of course.

  Which he prayed it would.

  Something both cold and warm nudged against his hand and he looked down in confusion. Mrs. Daniels held up a cup of tea, the china explaining the coolness while the freshly poured tea was the warmth.

  “Two lumps with a splash of milk, yes?” She tapped the cup of tea against his hand once more.

  He took it from her, bewildered. “How in the world did you know that?”

  She winked, smiling up at him. “I’m observant
, Kirklin. As you were.” She returned to her conversation with Mrs. Fleet and Mrs. Browning, whatever it had been, leaving him to his fancies.

  Clearly, she knew what those fancies were, or at least had some idea.

  Fortunate to have such an ally.

  Clara continued to watch as the girls painted, walking between the two with complete ease, and, true to her word, not stepping in or making any sort of suggestion unless absolutely necessary. And, as Hawk had suspected, it was blended with praise and compliments when she did so.

  “You have marvelous control of the brush,” she told one of them. “You could easily enhance the shading of the cliff in the same way. Just there.” She waited as the girl did so, then beamed. “Yes, exactly! I knew you would see how. And look what that does for the entire cliffside!”

  What was more extraordinary was how the Fleet girls responded to her manner. They turned from trepidation at such intervention to asking her to come and look, or requesting advice, or outright begging for her correction of something they had yet to master. Soon, all three were laughing about something or other, and the art began to improve markedly.

  At least, it seemed to from his position. He did not see the need to throw her present situation into upheaval by bringing closer observation into it. Especially when he did not know the Fleet girls at all. He was a duke, after all, and having a duke observe any young lady’s attempts to be accomplished would be intimidating.

  Clara looked at him again, then, to his surprise, waved him over.

  He was moving in the midst of his shock, the motion instinctive and completely involuntary. Just as it was instinctive and involuntary to slip his hand into hers when he reached her.

  She looked at her hand in his, then brought her eyes to his, smiling freely. “I like this.”

  The feeling in his left knee vanished. “So do I,” he admitted, exhaling pathetically and smiling with it. “Didn’t even think about what I was doing, it just happened.”

  “Perfect.” She laughed through her smile, her thumb brushing against his with a familiarity he adored.

  He cleared his throat, more to keep his sanity than anything else. “Did you need something? I felt particularly summoned.”

  “That’s because I summoned you,” she quipped.

  “Ah, I see.” He nodded sagely, playing along. “And why doth my lady summon me?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “You were over there, and I was over here.”

  It was the best reason he had ever heard for anything in his entire life.

  “Say nothing more,” he replied, feeling certain he would have kissed her soundly at that moment had they not been in company. Then he twisted his lips to one side. “Was there anything else?”

  Clara laughed that low, musical, natural laugh he so loved. “Well, if you wish to see what the Fleet girls have accomplished, you are more than welcome to do so.”

  He sobered, looking at the two girls with some concern. “Are you certain? I don’t wish to make anyone uncomfortable.”

  “Of course!” she insisted, tugging on his hand in a way that her aunt and the other ladies would not be able to see. “I’ve already asked, and they are interested in your opinion.”

  “Mine?” he asked in some confusion. “Why?”

  She smiled at him shyly as he began to come with her. “I told them you’ve recently developed a new appreciation for art.”

  Hawk returned her smile, each beat of his heart colliding with his chest. “That is very true. I have. And for one particular artist, too.”

  The color in her cheeks rose and her eyes lowered, but the hold on his hand tightened, and continued to remain so while they perused the art before them.

  There was something so relaxing about being on the shore and able to breathe in the refreshing sea air. She had felt such strain on her mind for so long, being able to breathe deeply and freely was a powerful agent for peace.

  She’d have removed her shoes and walked in the water once more, had she not thought it would scandalize all who were with her.

  The paintings had gone so well, and the Fleet girls had been so grateful and pleasant to her, she could not feel the day had been anything but successful. Even Mr. and Mrs. Fleet had been full of praise about their daughters’ work and the improvements that had been made. Clara had been very nearly sainted by them, which had not been comfortable, but she could appreciate the sentiment behind such effusiveness.

  Mr. Fleet and Mr. Browning had finally joined them, having finished their business talk, and the party had moved down to the beach for a tour of the caves and coves, and anything else that could be shown to them down there.

  It was difficult not to give in to insatiable curiosity and press them all for details, which was why she had paused to breathe for a moment.

  Craning her neck from side to side, Clara let herself inhale deeply one more time, then exhale slowly, the fragrance of the sea seeping into her with a subtlety that soothed her.

  When all of this was over, and her teaching days were done, she would have to be sure to settle by the seaside.

  “You’d dip your toes in the water if you could.”

  Clara hummed a laugh, turning her head to look at Hawk as he came to stand beside her. “Of course, I would. I’d do so at any seaside I came to, and probably in several lakes, as well. If there is a new body of water, I’d want to dip my toes in and walk a while.”

  Hawk smiled at her, something easy, soothing, and understanding. Something that filled her with warmth and yet made her yearn. Something only he could give her, and only he had ever done. “I’d join you in doing so this time.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a picture, Your Grace?” she mused. She sighed and looked towards the others, all chatting aimlessly as Mr. Browning said something or other about the trail they had just walked down. “Do we have to be with all the rest in this?” she asked, a scant tendril of hair dislodging in the breeze off the sea and dancing across her brow.

  Hawk reached out and tucked the tendril back behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her brow, her ear, and her cheek as he did so. He gently rubbed his thumb along her jaw for a moment, creating a swirling pit of madness in her stomach. “I’m afraid it would not do for us to be exploring caves, coves, and beaches that do not belong to me without our illustrious hosts.”

  Sighing, Clara leaned into the soothing motion of his thumb, nodding against his warm skin. “I suppose so.” She met his eyes, searching their depths for a sign that he felt something of the torment she was enduring.

  She found every bit of it reflected back at her. His mouth curved in a slight smile, prompting one of her own. “Shall we?” he prodded, his tone deep and rumbling through her.

  She nodded again, and he dropped his hand, both turning to join the others.

  “Ah, at last,” Mr. Browning near-shouted when they reached him. “I have just reached the extent of my knowledge of this trail, so your timing is perfection.” He gestured with his walking stick for them all to move along the beach towards the caves, and he led them, strutting like a strange, rotund peacock.

  When they reached a particularly expansive area of beach and sand, he turned to them, his arms open wide. “Here, you will see the loading area for the fishing boats of our tenants,” Mr. Browning informed them all, his voice a cannon over the sound of the waves, “and several local fishermen, as well. Every second and fourth Tuesday, the beach is theirs to do as they will, be it pleasure, business, or both!”

  Clara eyed the area, easily seeing the possibility, but not seeing proof of it. Not that it should be surprising, as it had been barely a week. She looked further towards the cliffside and saw what seemed to be a deep and expansive cave. It would have been perfect for storing boats, especially for the tenants and fishermen that would participate in the venture on those days, yet she did not see any boats within.

  Curious.

  “What is in there, Mr. Browning?” young Annie Fleet asked, pointing at the precise cave Clara h
ad been studying. “Can we go in?”

  Mr. Browning chuckled heartily, the sound echoing in the cave. “Of course, my girl. After you!”

  The group traipsed over to the cave, and all entered easily. Clara trod carefully on the stone, though it was perfectly dry, and looked all around it in fascination. It was clear the tide did not reach the cave any longer, but at one time it had, and the impressions left by the water then remained.

  Mr. Browning was droning on about something or other of his children’s time playing in several of the caves, not just this one, and Clara had begun to tune him out when Annie cried out again.

  “Look! Look, there’s a hole in the roof!”

  All looked up and, sure enough, there was a tunnel of sorts heading directly down to them. It was roughly the size of two men, but hardly bigger, and it would have been impossible to reach it without a very substantial ladder or rope.

  “Ah!” Mr. Browning grinned at Annie, gesturing up at it. ‘That is one of the few remaining hints at the life on Barcliffe and the surrounding area from long ago. Did you know there were once mines here, Miss Annie?”

  The girl shook her head, looking doubtful.

  “There were!” Mr. Browning insisted. “Dozens of mines, each of them creating tunnels while they hunted for precious ore. And those tunnels still remain in the ground, if you can find the entrance. Not all of them were closed in. This one…” He pointed up at the hole above them. “This one was probably such a tunnel, though instead of finding ore, they found this cave.”

  He went on, droning on about the merits of the ancient tradition of mining in the area, which aided in creating so many other caves, tunnels, and nooks in nature in the land round about.

  Clara nodded at the surprisingly interesting fact, looking around the cave for any other signs she might find. If there was one mining tunnel in the area, there were bound to be more. And a cave this size…

  “Where are the boats stored, Mr. Browning?” Phoebe asked with true interest. “Your own, or the tenants’. Is there a cave for that?”