into inextricable knots. She knew what it meant to love another person without condition, without thought. She knew what her own mother had felt.
For the sole purpose of being with her son again, however, Clara would suppress even the memory of such emotions and be as calculating, as shrewd, as was necessary.
If she dared.
Chapter Three
All has gone well thus far with Lady Rossmore?” Granville Blake asked. He opened the cherrywood case of a clock whose face was decorated with a landscape scene and a moving windmill.
“Indeed.” Perched on a nearby stool, Clara watched her uncle fiddle with the springs and chronometer contained inside the clock. Having Uncle Granville back at home restored Clara’s sense of balance and purpose, which had been so askew since Sebastian Hall had reentered her life.
“Tom and I brought Millicent and the bench to the Hanover Square rooms,” she continued, “so it’s just the harpsichord now. Lady Rossmore said you could assemble the rest on Friday afternoon.”
“Good, good.” Granville pulled at a pinion wire and picked up a small lathe. Tufts of blond hair fell over his forehead as he frowned at an uncooperative mechanism.
Warmth spun through Clara’s heart as she watched him. Her love for her uncle was stronger than ever, unstained by anger and bitterness. For many years he had tried so hard to protect her and her mother from Fairfax. Granville had kept Wakefield House out of Fairfax’s hands. He had hired solicitors to wrestle Fairfax in the courts and written countless letters to her father pleading her case.
All to no avail, but Clara knew her uncle would pound a stone wall until his hands were broken and bleeding if it meant she would have her son back.
A delicate cough came from the doorway. Mrs. Fox stood there with her ramrod shoulders and cold, elegant face.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fox.”
“Mrs. Winter.” She nodded at Granville. “Welcome home, Mr. Blake.”
“Yes, yes, thank you, Mrs. Fox.” Granville wrenched at a part inside the clock, tossing her a quick glance over the tops of his glasses.
“How is Monsieur Dupree’s family?” Mrs. Fox inquired.
“Grieving, but well,” Granville replied. “Monsieur Dupree’s son is shipping several more crates of machinery and supplies to me. Should arrive within a week or so. He thought I could make good use of them.”
“Kind of him, especially considering the circumstances,” Mrs. Fox murmured. She glanced at Clara again. “You’ve had no visitors yet?”
“We’ve been open only fifteen minutes,” Clara replied.
“Yes, but the front desk should be staffed at all times during open hours.”
“Uncle Granville would hear the front bell if anyone comes in.”
“Anyone who enters should not be obliged to wait for someone to welcome them.” Mrs. Fox turned to Granville. “And Mr. Blake, I’m certain you wish to rest after your long journey.”
Granville muttered something under his breath, his attention on the entrails of the clock.
“Your bags have been brought upstairs, Mr. Blake,” Mrs. Fox continued. “And Tom is filling a bath. I suggest you make haste before the water cools. Mr. Blake. Mr. Blake!”
At the heightened pitch to her voice, Granville glanced up. “Oh, er, much obliged, Mrs. Fox.”
He picked up a scape wheel and examined the pointed teeth at the edges as he walked to the door. After he’d left the room, Mrs. Fox turned to Clara.
“I’ve rescheduled an appointment this morning so that Mr. Blake might have a bit of time to rest,” she said.
“Not Mr. Hall?”
Mrs. Fox frowned. “Mr. Hall is not listed in the appointment book.”
“He told me he would come sometime this morning.” Clara couldn’t prevent the surge of anticipation at the thought of seeing him again, even with the memory of their kiss burning like a dark star in the back of her mind.
“Well, really, Mrs. Winter, this is not terribly convenient,” Mrs. Fox said. “Shall I send word to Mr. Hall to postpone the appointment?”
“No. He has been wanting to speak with Uncle Granville for several days.”
“Very well, then.” Mrs. Fox narrowed her eyes with disapproval and swept from the room with her skirts trailing like coal dust behind her.
Annoyance prickled at Clara’s spine as she returned to the studio. She picked up her sewing again and was soon immersed in the rhythmic motion of pushing and pulling the needle through the heavy silk, a cadence that allowed her to focus on the task and empty her mind of thought.
“Meant to give this to you.”
Granville came into the room and extended a mechanical toy to Clara. “From Monsieur Dupree’s wife. She said he’d been intending