from further hurt.
“Where will you go now?” he asked.
“I’m staying with my sister in Kuskovo. Please know you can always contact me there.”
Sebastian nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, he bent and brushed his lips across her cheek. Then he turned and left, pulling his hand from his pocket and unclenching his fingers as he stepped back outside.
Chapter Seventeen
Rain streamed down the arching windows. Charcoal clouds foamed overhead, spilling heavy drops that pooled on the streets into wide, greasy puddles. Inside the studio of Blake’s Museum of Automata, the piles of satin and silk appeared muddy in the gray light, the ribbons and streamers dulled, the paint thick and congealed.
Clara pushed a needle through a square of silk and glanced at the clock. Two thirty. Her stomach tightened. The hour between now and the moment when she had to execute her plan seemed almost impenetrable.
She pushed the cloth aside and paced to the window. Please stop raining. If the rain didn’t cease, Andrew and his tutor wouldn’t go to the park…and Clara had no secondary plan in place.
She glanced at the clock again. She couldn’t wait another day in the event Fairfax left London sooner or Sebastian discovered the truth. She also had to act before Sebastian returned from the Albion, rain or not.
Although she wanted to know the results of his meeting with his mother, Clara feared that if she saw him again she would capitulate and confess everything. She could only hope that even if a full reconciliation was beyond their reach, Sebastian and his mother could reach an understanding of sorts.
Unlike her and Fairfax.
Pain seized her chest. She stared out the window, allowing images of her mother and brother to form in her mind. How different this all would have been had such tragedy not struck.
The sound of the doorbell rang faintly in her good ear. Her nerves taut with tension, she turned and headed into the foyer, where the housekeeper was greeting a visitor.
Clara stopped at the sight of the Earl of Rushton. His large, broad-shouldered frame seemed to fill the entrance. He shook raindrops from his hat and greatcoat as he removed them and handed them to Mrs. Marshall.
“Welcome to Blake’s Museum of Automata, my lord.” With a rustle of her skirts, Mrs. Fox approached the earl and swept a hand out to encompass the rooms. “Please have a look around on your own, and should you enjoy a tour, I’ll inform Mr. Blake of your presence. The fee is one shilling.”
“Mrs. Fox!” Clara hurried forward. “His lordship is most certainly not required to pay the admission fee.”
“Visitors are visitors, Mrs. Win…Hall, and I daresay that his lordship…”
“Mrs. Fox, please.” Embarrassment rose to heat Clara’s cheeks. “Lord Rushton, welcome to my uncle’s museum. I’m sorry we’re not better prepared for your visit. Mrs. Marshall, please bring in a tea tray while I seat his lordship in the drawing room.”
Rushton, who appeared baffled rather than affronted by their indecorous greeting, gave Mrs. Fox a swift nod before accompanying Clara to the adjoining room.
“I apologize again, my lord, but we weren’t expecting you.” Clara closed the door and ran her damp palms over her skirt. “Sebastian is away at the moment.”
“I didn’t come to see him, in any case,” Rushton replied. He strolled around the room, examining the automata and mechanical toys lining the shelves and tables. He turned the key on a musical mouse and watched as the creature lifted a flute to its mouth and piped a merry tune.
Rushton’s deep chuckle eased the tension from Clara’s shoulders. She nodded as Mrs. Marshall entered with tea and poured for both of them.
“As Mrs. Fox explained, my uncle will be glad to provide you with a tour,” Clara said after the housekeeper had left.
“I would enjoy that,” Rushton agreed. “I was most impressed by the demonstration at Lady Rossmore’s charity ball. I’ve another son who would find your uncle’s inventions quite fascinating.”
“Darius?” Clara spoke without thinking, then winced inwardly at her use of his Christian name.
Rushton lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Has Sebastian told you about him? A very fine mind, that boy has always had. Last I heard from St. Petersburg, he and my daughter-in-law were supporting the invention of machines that calculate arithmetic.”
Clara nodded. Did Rushton still not know Darius was back in London?
“I…I look forward to meeting them all one day,” she said, unable to prevent the tremor in her voice.
She glanced at the clock. Half an hour. The rain seemed to pound harder, hitting the