Darius had told him the previous evening. By morning he had still come to no satisfying conclusion. So rather than dissect the problem of his mother until his brain ached more than it already did, or surrender to his festering anger toward Darius, Sebastian would concentrate on the fact that he was to marry Clara Winter two days hence.
Ought to be interesting explaining that to the rest of his family.
He gave a hoarse chuckle and scrubbed his sore eyes. It might have been better if all his relations had remained in London. Then none of this would have happened.
Clara wouldn’t have happened.
His heart stung. He dragged a hand across his chest, his mind flaring with pictures of her blue-violet eyes shimmering with heat and determination. He didn’t want to imagine his life if she hadn’t entered it. Couldn’t.
Sebastian ordered the carriage, shoving his arms into his greatcoat as he descended the steps. A half hour later he was opening the door of Blake’s Museum of Automata and facing Mrs. Fox, who rose like a dark sun from behind her desk.
“Welcome to Blake’s…oh. Mr. Hall.” A gray thread of disapproval knotted her voice.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fox.” His attempt at a smile felt as if it might crack his face. “Lovely to see you again. Is Mrs. Winter at home?”
“She’s in the studio, as usual.”
He started down the corridor. With a swiftness that belied her redoubtable severity, Mrs. Fox stepped into his path.
“The fee, Mr. Hall,” she said, “is one shilling.”
Sebastian laughed, undiluted amusement coursing through him. It was the first genuine laugh he’d experienced in more than an age. The sound of it, booming and sudden, startled Mrs. Fox, who retreated a step and stared at him in astonishment.
Still chuckling, Sebastian went back to the carriage. He retrieved five shillings from the footman and returned to Mrs. Fox. He pressed the coins into her gloved hand and closed her fingers around them.
“Well worth the cost of admission,” he assured her with a wink.
The woman gaped at him, a pink blush bringing a welcome color to her pallid cheeks.
Sebastian’s spine straightened as he continued to the studio. He found Clara folding swaths of silk and stacking them in colorful squares onto a shelf. Granville sat at a table, adjusting an automaton of a crouching tiger. Brilliant stripes of black and orange decorated the animal, its pointed teeth gleaming white and its face twisted into a snarl.
Clara and Granville both looked up at Sebastian’s entrance. A faint tension crackled the air as they exchanged glances. In an instant, Sebastian knew Clara had confided all to her uncle.
Irritation needled him. Unwarranted, he knew. He himself had solicited their aid in not only finding the plans, but relinquishing them to him.
He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and folded his arms. “I don’t intend to see my mother again,” he said. “My only hope is that her presence in London remains a secret so as not to cause my family further harm.”
Granville wiped his greasy hands on a cloth, his gaze on the machine. “We’ve no one to tell, Mr. Hall.”
“Even if we’d wanted to,” Clara added.
The snarled knot in Sebastian’s chest loosened, easing the tightness of apprehension. He couldn’t confess any of these recent events to his brothers, but here stood two people with whom he’d been acquainted for less than a fortnight…and he knew to his bones that Clara and Granville would guard his confidences with steadfast dedication.
Words of gratitude stalled in his throat. He gave a short nod and turned to leave, forgetting the reason he’d come.
“Come in,” Clara said. She smoothed wrinkles from a bolt of silk and beckoned him to sit. “Have you taken breakfast yet?”
“I…no.”
“I’ll ask Mrs. Marshall to set another place.” Granville twisted a key on the automaton. The tiger pushed back on its hind legs, then lunged forward across the circular platform on which it crouched. A tiny door in the platform sprang open, and a delicate, painted gazelle leapt out in a graceful arc. A growl emerged from the mechanism as the tiger landed on the hapless creature, bringing it to the ground between two large paws.
“Well,” Clara remarked, “at least it works.”
Granville chuckled. “Commissioned for a man who enjoys hunting, I suspect. He’s sending someone to pick it up later this morning.”
He pushed away from the table and left in search of Mrs. Marshall.
“I’m sorry,” Clara murmured to Sebastian after her uncle was gone. “I shouldn’t have forced you to take me with you last