Curious, Clara took the toy. A slender male figure wearing a harlequin’s costume and ruffled collar balanced on his hands atop a narrow table.
Clara found the key at the base of the platform and twisted it. The acrobat braced his hands on the table and lifted his body into the air, then executed a graceful somersault that curled his entire form before vaulting back to his original position.
She laughed, delighted by the intricate, whimsical action.
“For your collection,” Granville said, his smile edged with sadness.
Clara dragged a large wooden chest out from beneath a table and unlatched the lock. Several dozen toys lay inside the chest, some mechanical inventions that sprang into action at the turn of a key and others well-crafted stationary figures.
All were decorated with great care, bearing costumes of silk and satin, tiny jewels and buttons, intricately painted faces. There were ducks that waddled and quacked, dancing animals, wooden trains, singing birds, spinning tops, a shepherd who piped a tune on a flute, and a Turkish conjurer who concealed three silver balls beneath golden goblets.
“I’ll write Madame Dupree a letter of thanks this afternoon,” Clara said.
“She’ll appreciate that.” Granville gazed at her. “I’m sorry, Clara. I’ve instructed my solicitor to look into the matter of selling or transferring Wakefield House to your father again, but there’s not much one can do against a final ruling.”
Clara gripped the acrobat. “Perhaps we could appeal to the justices themselves?”
Granville just looked at her, his blue eyes swimming with sympathy. Clara’s heart closed in on itself as she sank down onto a chair and rested her face in her hands. A second later, her uncle’s arm circled her shoulders.
“Never give up hope, my dear,” he murmured.
“Such a fool I am,” Clara whispered, swallowing hard against a rush of tears.
“No mother is a fool who wants her child back,” Granville said.
No, but she was a fool to think she could ever appease her father into giving up custody of Andrew.
No further recourse, the solicitor claimed.
Clara could not believe it. She could not fathom a world in which a defenseless boy, her son, would be condemned to a life of isolation. And that she, as his mother, would have no further recourse.
Not wanting her uncle to bear witness to her dismay yet again, Clara pushed herself upright. She swiped at a stray tear and straightened her skirts. “Well, we’d best get back to work. There’s a great deal to do before Lady Rossmore’s event.”
Granville looked as if he wanted to say more, but of course they both knew there was nothing left to say.
After Granville returned to his workshop, Clara picked up the acrobat and turned the key again to watch the dexterous flip and spin. How Andrew would love such a creation. For once, a flutter of happiness rather than pain followed the thought.
She put the acrobat on a nearby table so she could see it from her sewing chair. She sat down and picked up the green silk again.
The deep, clear voice came from the doorway. Clara looked up with a start. Sebastian Hall stood with one hand on the jamb.
“What…oh.” She embedded the needle into the silk. “Do you refer to the formidable Mrs. Fox?”
“I do indeed. At least, I think it was a smile. Might have been more of a grimace, now that I think on it.”
Clara smiled. She felt his appreciative gaze from across the room, heating her like sunshine.
“Now that,” he said, “is most assuredly a smile, which I could never mistake for something else.”
A surge of pleasure reddened Clara’s cheeks. Oh, but he was still charming, wasn’t he? Even with that combination of fatigue and restlessness clinging to him, his eyes warmed as he looked at her.
And Clara was glad of it. Glad of the evidence that Sebastian Hall’s allure still appeared intact, though buried beneath his soul-weary exterior.
“You’re here to see my uncle,” she said, putting the sewing aside.
Disconcertion flashed across his features. “Your uncle has returned already?”
“Yes, just several hours ago.” Clara suppressed the sudden thought…no, the hope…that perhaps Sebastian had come to see her and not Uncle Granville. Again, that hope was followed by the instinctive sense that he could prove her ally, even if as yet she had no idea how.
Sebastian continued to watch her as she rose and smoothed her apron. He paused beside a table covered