The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(35)

"She's my assistant," Mr. Glass answered before I could think of something. "She assists me in my work."

"You work?" She looked as if she'd tasted something sour.

"Of course I work," he said. "Doesn't everyone?"

I rolled my eyes. The man had no idea. The American upper classes might work and be proud of it, but here, the best families didn't like dirtying their hands. Most lived off their landholdings or made good marriages. Of course, there were wealthy gentlemen merchants, manufacturers, bankers and the like, but few in the nobility had done a hard day of labor in their life.

"Tell her what sort of work you do, Mr. Glass." It was rather fun watching him squirm as he tried to think of something, and I found it difficult to keep my smile off my face. Clearly he deemed it necessary to lie to her.

That thought wiped my smile clean away. If he had to lie, then his work involved something secretive, like being an outlaw, perhaps.

"I manage the family affairs," he said, giving me a smug flat-lipped smile.

"What business is your family in?" I inquired.

"Stop this talk at once." Miss Glass shuddered. "Your family is here, Matthew, and we do not discuss such vulgar things."

"With respect, Aunt, I have family on two continents. My American family may not be as…" He drummed his fingers on the side of his teacup as he thought. "They may not be as highly regarded as the Glasses, but they're still family."

She picked up her cup too. "I admire your loyalty, but do try to remember that your father's family are nobility, and your mother's are riffraff."

I thought he would be offended, but he merely muttered, "I'm not that loyal," into his teacup.

"Indeed," she said, her tone dry. "Why did you never write to me? Your father did."

"You just told me his letters were kept from you, so what does it matter if I wrote or not?"

"It matters."

I nodded in agreement.

He scowled at me then turned back to his aunt. "With respect, I don't know you. Writing to someone I've never met felt odd."

"That doesn't excuse it."

He looked uncomfortable, and I felt a little sympathy for him, although I couldn't think why he deserved it. "Now that you've met, I'm sure writing to one another will be easier," I said.

"I promise to write when I'm back home," Mr. Glass assured his aunt.

She looked pained. "We've only just met and already you're talking about leaving me."

"This was only ever going to be a fleeting visit."

"Yes, but now that you're here, why not stay longer? I can introduce you to all my friends and acquaintances. The queen! You must meet the queen, and the prince consort, too. Such a happy couple."

Oh dear. The prince consort had died years ago. Miss Glass's madness was a fickle affliction, sometimes making her seem perfectly normal, until she uttered something outrageous.

Mr. Glass knew it too. His shoulders rounded, as if the weight of her madness was a personal burden he had to carry. And yet he also seemed to want to have little to do with her. He hadn't written, for one thing, and hadn't asked her to stay for lunch. It was terribly impolite of him, and I decided to rectify it immediately.

"Miss Glass, would you join us for lunch today? Cyclops can return you to your brother's house afterward."

"No!" She set the teacup down with a clatter. Then, as if her own vehemence surprised her, she pressed a hand to her stomach, and said, "I'd rather not return to Richard's home."

Mr. Glass and I exchanged glances. "At all?" he asked her.

"At all. I thought perhaps that now you're here—"

"No."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she dipped her head to hide them. I scowled at Mr. Glass, but he merely turned his head away. Heartless man. I touched Miss Glass's hand. "Your nephew would happily welcome you into his household, but I'm afraid he's leaving in less than a week," I reminded her.

She humphed. "We shall see."

I did like her conviction, but it saddened me that she wanted to stay with Mr. Glass so much. Her situation with her brother mustn't be a happy one if she was so eager to live with a nephew she hardly knew and his rough friends and family. I squeezed her hand and she surprised me by squeezing it back.

A commotion outside drew everyone's attention. Mr. Glass was at the door in four long strides, but he fell back as a woman breezed into the drawing room. She was tall and slender, with skin so pale the veins in her throat stood out. I guessed her to be younger than Miss Glass, but it was difficult to determine her exact age. The skin around her eyes and forehead was pulled back by the tight arrangement of her hair beneath her turban. The smoothness contrasted the deep grooves drooping from each corner of her mouth to her chin. Her hazel eyes flashed in Miss Glass's direction. She didn't seem to notice anyone else as she strode up to the elderly woman on the sofa. Miss Glass shrank back and leaned toward me.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Glass growled. "Who are you?"

The woman didn't turn around. She held out her hand to Miss Glass. "I knew you'd be here! Come, Letitia. Leave this place at once."

"I'd rather stay." Miss Glass picked up her teacup, only to have her arm wrenched by the newcomer. Tea spilled and I caught the cup before it tumbled to the floor. "Beatrice!" Miss Glass gasped.