his boots, Andrew stepped onto the first of several flat stones that provided a path to the opposite bank. The current cascaded over the stones, polishing them to smoothness.
Knowing well how cold the water was, Sebastian grinned as Andrew made his way cautiously to the largest stone in the center, then reached to grab the dangling balloon. Clutching it in one fist, he retraced his path back to Sebastian’s side. He held up the deflated balloon with a triumphant smile.
“Well done, Andrew.” Sebastian tousled the boy’s hair. “You’d make a fine retriever. Shall we give it another go?”
Andrew nodded, and they walked back to the garden where they had left the supplies. Sebastian mixed another batch of the gas concoction, and they set the balloon aloft again. As Andrew ran off to give chase, Sebastian saw Clara coming toward them from the house.
Tension knotted his shoulders as half of his soul urged him closer to her and the other half remained locked behind the wall of his anger. Even understanding the desperation behind her revelations to Rushton made it no easier for Sebastian to accept the fact that Clara hadn’t trusted him.
“He seems happy.” Clara paused beside him, her smile belied by the strain in her brilliant eyes. She looked to where Andrew ran along the path back down to the river. “I’m so grateful for the time you’re spending with him, however short it might be.”
“He’s good company. Intelligent, curious.”
Clara didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on her son. “Has he said anything to you?”
“No.”
Clara’s shoulders sagged, as if she had been holding her breath while awaiting his response. Sebastian surrendered to the urge to comfort her and slid his arm around her. A ripple of unease went through her, but she stepped closer to his side.
“I know this is the reason my father wanted to send him away,” she said, her voice low, “but I don’t understand why Andrew refuses to speak. He must have stopped speaking after I left for London because he had no such affliction when I was still at Manley Park.”
“I’ve heard him laugh,” Sebastian said.
She swung her gaze to him. “You heard him laugh? When?”
“Earlier today when we set the balloon aloft. He still has a voice. He just chooses not to use it.”
“Have you asked him why?”
Sebastian shook his head. He stared after Andrew, lifting his hand in acknowledgment as the boy held up the deflated balloon.
“I never wanted to be asked about my hand infirmity,” he said. “I assume Andrew wouldn’t want to be asked why he won’t speak.”
Clara watched her son. A breeze whipped a loose tendril of hair across her face, and Sebastian couldn’t resist brushing it aside. His fingertips stroked the softness of her cheek. An ache clenched his chest as he thought of how drastically his life had changed in the past months.
Clara turned to him again. “What will we do now?”
“I’ve made arrangements for us to leave tomorrow afternoon. I’ve sent word to a cousin who lives near Brixham. We can lodge with him for a few days. I’ve also directed Alexander’s solicitor to look into matters again, especially pertaining to the debts your father has incurred. Perhaps we might still come to an agreement with Fairfax.”
As much as he wanted to believe his own statement, the words rang hollow.
“He’s poisoned my son against me,” Clara said.
“What?”
“My father.” Her jaw tightened, a pulse thudding along the delicate column of her neck. “He must have said something to Andrew about my being responsible for Richard’s death. It’s the only explanation I can think of as to why Andrew doesn’t want to be near me.”
Before Sebastian could respond, Andrew approached, his gaze darting to Clara. Wariness flashed in his blue eyes. He paused uncertainly near Sebastian. Though Clara smiled at the boy, Sebastian felt her close in on herself, felt a strain arcing between mother and son. She stepped away from them.
“I’ll…I’ll leave you both to your sport, then. Tea will be ready in an hour, if you’d care to join me.”
“Of course.” Sebastian watched her return to the house, her steps measured and stiff.
Andrew tugged on his sleeve and held up the balloon. Sebastian took it, wanting again that feeling of blithe freedom to conquer his foreboding.
“Let’s try it again, shall we?”
Chapter Twenty
Clara sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the blanket over Andrew’s legs. He held an open book on his lap, his chestnut hair falling in a swath across his forehead as he