hand into his pocket and maneuvered through the crowd closer to the stage. He stopped beside his father, who stood with his fellow secretary Lord Margrave. Onstage, Lady Rossmore continued her lengthy discourse on Granville Blake’s genius. She then stepped aside when the curtains parted to reveal Granville and the automaton.
Sebastian’s breath stuck in the middle of his chest as his gaze skirted to Clara. She stood beside the harpsichord in a dark blue gown that was at least a year out of fashion but whose color reflected the light and cast a sheen of pink on her pale skin.
“Thank you for the lovely introduction, Lady Rossmore,” Granville said, smoothing wrinkles from his coat with a sweep of his hand as he stepped forward to address the audience. “My niece, Mrs. Clara Winter, and I are honored to be here to demonstrate our newest creation, Millicent, the Musical Lady.”
The crowd laughed at the name. Clara placed her hand on the shoulder of the mannequin, who sat at a small harpsichord, her porcelain fingers unmoving over the keys, her head bent. The mannequin wore a crimson silk gown edged in lace and accented by gold earrings and an ivory cameo. Her face was a model of feminine perfection, her cheeks and lips tinged with pink, her long eyelashes lowered in perfect feathery crescents.
“Millicent is an automaton who plays four tunes on the harpsichord,” Granville continued. “We will demonstrate with three tunes and ask that you watch her carefully, as she moves her fingers, feet, and even her eyes with the utmost accuracy. After the demonstration, I invite you to examine the very intricate mechanisms more closely.”
The audience rustled with interest, several women straining on tiptoe for a better view of the stage. Granville moved to the side of the harpsichord and took hold of the crank handle to wind the machine. He turned it halfway. The crank stuck.
Murmurs buzzed like insects from the audience. Clara moved to her uncle’s side as he pulled the crank back into position and started to wind it again. It jerked at the same sticking point, then rotated. The bellows inside the instrument released an audible expulsion of compressed air, and the wheels began to turn.
Relief flashed across Clara’s face. Granville wound the machine twice more and stepped back to watch Millicent perform. The mannequin’s chest expanded as if she were inhaling air into her lungs, and then her fingers began to move across the keys. A tinny but pleasing melody drifted from the harpsichord.
Gasps and applause rose from the guests as they shifted to obtain a better view. Clara smiled.
Millicent seemed to preen at the attention, her elegant head sweeping back and forth as she watched the keys, her foot tapping in time to the music. After the first tune concluded, she gave a slight bow before starting to play again.
“I heard tell that Lady Rossmore intends to offer her patronage to Blake’s Museum.” Lord Margrave scratched his bristling side whiskers as he peered at Millicent. “Apparently Fairfax’s daughter is Blake’s new assistant, so her ladyship believes he ought to have the means to exhibit more of his work.”
Sebastian slanted his gaze to Margrave. “You know Mrs. Winter?”
“Indeed. Her husband was quite a promising young fellow. Tragic death in a hunting accident. Fairfax has been good enough to take the son under his wing.”
He returned his attention to the stage as Granville concluded the demonstration and the audience began buzzing with excitement and questions. Several people crowded up to the stage to look at Millicent more closely, while others drifted toward the refreshment table.
Sebastian’s heart thumped against his rib cage as he saw Clara weaving through the crowd. As if sensing his presence, she turned her head and smiled, then diverted her path to approach him.
“It went well, don’t you think?” she asked. “Lady Rossmore was quite pleased.”
Sebastian nodded, acutely aware of his father’s presence. “Mrs. Winter, this is my father, the Earl of Rushton.”
“Oh.” A flush painted her cheeks as she realized the familiarity of her remark. “Lord Rushton, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Yours as well, Mrs. Winter.” Rushton studied her with his apple-peeling gaze. “Quite a unique demonstration, I must say.”
“Thank you, my lord. My uncle has a number of—” Her eyes skidded to Margrave. “Er, good evening, Lord Margrave.”
Though he didn’t know the reason for her sudden unease, Sebastian moved closer to her, resisting the urge to pull her protectively to his side.