The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(39)

"Nor am I." Mr. Glass held out his hand to his aunt.

She beamed up at him through her tears. I might have smiled at him too, but he wasn't looking my way, although he did stand very close to me.

Lord Rycroft glanced between his sister and nephew. He shook his head and grunted. "If you leave, Letitia, do not come back. Ever. Go to America with him. I don't care. Just get out of my sight."

"Gladly." Miss Glass took Mr. Glass's hand and tucked mine into her side. "Come, Miss Steele. We have a house to air out." She turned to her sister-in-law, sitting on the sofa with a stunned expression on her tight face. "Have my things sent to Matthew's house by the end of the day. All of them. I'll be counting every last trinket."

She marched out, taking me with her.

But Mr. Glass didn't follow. "I believe you have several letters belonging to Aunt Letitia, written by my father," he said to Lord Rycroft. "Include them in her belongings."

Lord Rycroft bristled. "You do not give me orders in my own home!"

Mr. Glass bared his teeth. "Then come outside, Uncle, and I will order you there." Before anyone could fully digest his words, he grasped Lord Rycroft's arm, twisted it behind his back, and hustled him toward the drawing room door. The footman standing there came to life, proving he wasn't an automaton after all. He gasped and his eyes bulged, but he did not move to assist his master as Mr. Glass marched his uncle into the entrance hall, as if he were ejecting a drunkard from a tavern.

I picked up my skirts and ran after them, not wanting to miss a single moment. Behind me, Lady Rycroft ordered Miss Glass to remain behind, but light footsteps followed nevertheless.

"What are you doing? Let me go!" Lord Rycroft struggled to pull himself free of Mr. Glass's grip.

"Not until you promise to send the letters. Every last one of them." Mr. Glass shoved him forward, and Lord Rycroft stumbled. He would have fallen if Mr. Glass hadn't still been holding his arm.

"Very well," Rycroft grumbled. "I don't care about the bloody letters anymore. Harry's dead. His letters have no meaning now."

I thought Mr. Glass would punch him, but instead he let his uncle go. He tugged on his sleeves and collar to straighten them, then held his elbow out to Miss Glass. She took it with a smile. He offered me his other arm, but I shook my head. A small triangular dent appeared between his brows.

"You've turned out to be even more of a disappointment than your father," Lord Rycroft said as we exited. "Hardly surprising considering the type of blood running through your veins.

"Pay him no mind," Miss Glass said, patting her nephew's arm. "He's simply jealous of Harry. Always has been and always will be."

The door slammed behind us.

Mr. Glass helped his aunt into the coach. I stood on the pavement and glanced up at Cyclops. His one eye watched me closely. How much of that exchange had he seen and heard?

"Everything all right, miss?" he asked.

I nodded and smiled, yet I didn't climb into the carriage. Mr. Glass held his hand out to me. "Miss Steele?"

I stared at his outstretched hand. It withered and closed upon my scrutiny. He dropped it to his side.

"You have something to say?" he said to me.

My things were at his house. All my worldly possessions were in one of his rooms. I could forgo the clothing, but not my tools or the daguerreotype of my parents. Surely he wouldn't harm me. I was no threat to him. Indeed, I was helping him. If he'd wanted to attack me, he could have done so last night in the kitchen. I made up my mind to go with him and do my best to simply perform the duty he asked of me. I abandoned the idea of notifying the police and collecting the reward. I valued my life more than money.

"No." I held out my hand for him and he took it. "I have nothing to say."

His fingers momentarily pressed mine, then he let me go. As he folded up the step, I could swear I heard him sigh.



Willie was not pleased to have another Englishwoman in the house. "You're a damn fool, Matt!" She paced across the entrance hall tiles and back again to wag her finger at her cousin. Some of her hair had come loose from its knot and she looked like a madwoman. I resolved to steer clear of her. Of the lot of them.

Miss Glass had no such qualms. She patted her nephew's cheek. "But a sweet fool. I knew you would be. You're your father's son, and so like my own dear mama too."

Willie snorted. Duke jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow and hissed at her to be quiet. She jabbed him back.

"She was always rescuing poor helpless creatures," Miss Glass went on.

"Helpless?" Willie echoed. "Ha!"

Miss Glass ignored her. "She used to wander in the woods on the estate, singing and talking to the birds."

"She sounds more like you," Willie grumbled, which she followed up with an "Ouch," when Duke once again elbowed her.

I did have to agree with her. The late Dowager Lady Rycroft sounded as mad as her daughter. But there was no harm in Miss Glass. Looking at her now, with a dreamy emptiness in her eyes, it was impossible to reconcile her with the woman we'd met on the doorstep, accusing Mr. Glass of house stealing. First appearances were definitely deceiving in some cases. Her nephew had something in common with her there, but little else.

"Willie, see that my aunt is made comfortable while Duke prepares a room for her," he said.