“I do not.” Even though her words were forceful, a faint tremble shuddered beneath them. “But if I did, why would I give them to you?”
“I will pay you for them.”
“That decision would be Uncle Granville’s, not mine.” Her gaze slid past him then, and Sebastian sensed the presence of her uncle.
He turned. Granville looked from Clara to him, concern darkening his eyes behind his glasses.
“Everything all right, Clara?” Granville asked.
“Yes.”
Sebastian expected Clara to ask her uncle about the machine’s plans. She didn’t. His eyes met hers. She stared at him, as if willing him not to reveal his intentions. He gave a slight shake of his head. A smile tugged at her lips.
There it was again, that astute gleam in her eyes, as if she was twisting his revelation around in her mind and examining it from all angles. As if she was trying to determine how she might use his goal to her own advantage.
Rather than be unnerved by the thought, an odd warmth spun through Sebastian. By telling Clara about his need for the plans, he sensed he had given her something she sought. And whatever she chose to ask in return, he thought he would surely grant her wish. No matter what it was.
Clara watched Sebastian through the window as he strode down the steps to the waiting carriage. A heavy curtain seemed to part inside her, allowing streamers of light to filter through. The nascent hope she’d experienced since Sebastian Hall had kissed her now bloomed into something tangible and real.
She had so desperately wanted to believe he could help her, yet that belief had been tangled up in her memories of his goodness and generosity. And while she still believed he would assist her in any way he could, for she could not imagine anything less of him, she needed more from him than he might be prepared to give.
Unless she could offer him something in return, and now he had told her exactly what that might be. If she found the plans he sought, she had all the pieces necessary to strike a bargain with him.
Wakefield House belonged to her. Although the courts had decreed that she couldn’t sell it or bequeath it to anyone else, she could ensure that the law transfer it to someone else’s name.
Sebastian’s name. There was nothing to prohibit him from then giving the property to her father with the proposition that he release Andrew to her custody.
Clara pressed a hand to her chest. A tremble, both exhilarating and terrifying, swept through her down to her toes.
She needed to marry Sebastian Hall.
Chapter Four
Uncle Granville, they must be here.” Clara peeled back the flaps of the box and looked inside. She had spent most of the afternoon since Sebastian’s departure rummaging through the boxes and crates stacked in her uncle’s workshop.
“My dear, if Monsieur Dupree intended to send me something important, he certainly would have given me some forewarning,” Granville said.
“There was no letter?” Clara lifted a stack of papers from the box.
“Not that I’m aware of.” Granville cracked open a crate to reveal several coils of copper wire and drawplates. “Could be any number of things, really. Bit of a collector, Dupree. He always said he never knew when he might need something, so he wasn’t apt to throw things away.”
“He gave things away, though.” Clara removed another sheaf of papers from the box and leafed through them. “To you, at least. Do you think he sent anything to his other apprentices?”
“Couldn’t say.” Granville shrugged. “He had a number of them, though, so it’s certainly likely. But plans for a telegraph machine…” He shook his head. “Can’t think of a reason he’d send them to me, in all honesty. I’m sure several of his other apprentices were more well-versed in telegraph machines and the like.”
“Do you correspond with the others?” Clara asked, even though her heart began a steady drop to her stomach. “Can we write and ask them if they’ve received any such specifications?”
“We can try, yes.” Granville frowned.
They both knew that such a course would take an indeterminate amount of time, and the result might well prove fruitless. And the more time they wasted, the longer Andrew would remain under Fairfax’s hand.
Clara gripped the side of a crate so hard that a splinter pierced her palm. She gripped harder, welcoming the pain to try to distract the wave of rage. She did not know how much longer she could bear it—not knowing