Andrew and played the phrase again.
Clara pressed a hand to her chest. A memory glowed at the back of her mind—herself as a younger woman standing in the corner to watch Sebastian Hall play the piano. Delighting in the graceful way he moved his hands over the keyboard, the ease of his posture, the effortlessness of his creation.
She had loved him then. How could she not? He had embodied all that was good and beautiful in the world.
And now? The darkness that had encroached upon him only enhanced his appeal, painting him with nuances of shadows and light. This new chiaroscuro strengthened Clara’s love for him, as it seemed to mirror her own soul, the blend of hope and despair that had colored so many of her days.
You must love me without any conditions whatsoever.
Of course she did. She had loved him for years. If Andrew hadn’t been taken from her and she had still somehow married Sebastian, the union would have fulfilled every wish that had ever sparked in her young imagination.
She watched as Andrew put his hands on the piano keys and clumsily reproduced the phrase Sebastian had played earlier. Her heart thrummed as she waited to see if he would turn to Sebastian and say something, but the boy kept his head down and his attention focused on his hands. He listened when Sebastian spoke, responded to the instructions, but said nothing.
What was wrong?
The fear that had lived inside Clara since the moment she discovered Andrew’s muteness bloomed into full force. When had Andrew stopped speaking?
Clara tried to remember the days following Richard’s death, all so filled with shock, grief, and chaos. Then the revelation that Andrew had been left in Fairfax’s custody, Clara’s desperate attempt to prevent her father from sending her away…yes, she had talked to Andrew many times during those weeks, attempting to comfort and reassure the boy.
She blinked back tears and tried to suppress the ache of regret. She’d been wrong in her assurance that everything would be all right. She had no idea what had happened to her son during their separation. And she feared to her very bones that she might never know.
Sebastian’s deep voice resonated in the drawing room as he placed his left hand on the keys and played another scale. Clara ducked from the shadows and hurried back to her room.
Not until this moment did she acknowledge the secret dreams that had taken root in her soul. The dreams in which she and Andrew had closed the distance of their yearlong separation with one embrace. The dreams in which they laughed and cried, and she had reassured him she would never let anyone separate them again. And then they sat down and talked about all they had done and made plans for all they would do. Together.
Never in those dreams had Clara believed things would be so different. Never had she imagined that her son, for whom she had desperately fought every minute of her waking hours, would have become a stranger.
“Now remember that the linseed oil has to be dry before you put the paper on the seams.” Sebastian lifted the cut pieces of taffeta from the wooden table while Andrew spread the brown paper beneath it. “Put a sheet on the top as well. I’ll get the iron.”
Sebastian went to the fire, where a metal iron sat heating. He brought it back to the table and told Andrew to stand back a little while he ironed the seams. A hiss and crackle rose as the iron pressed the paper, releasing the pungent smell of linseed oil.
Since arriving at Floreston Manor yesterday, Sebastian had tried to occupy Andrew’s time with activities that would prevent the boy from worrying. He hadn’t told Andrew of his plan to leave the following day for Brixham, where they would stay with a cousin of his before making their way to France.
Sebastian was so intent on his ironing task that the sudden falter of his hand caught him by surprise. The iron toppled to the side and fell to the floor as his grip weakened, the hot edge hitting the table. Andrew darted forward. He grabbed the handle to straighten the iron and placed it back on the table.
His heart pounding, Sebastian rubbed his hand and stared at the paper. He’d been using his right hand without even realizing it. He swallowed hard and met Andrew’s gaze. Although he knew the boy had noticed how little he used his right hand, Sebastian