A Passion for Pleasure(101)
He felt Clara’s gaze on him and turned to face her. Warmth filled her eyes and curved her lips.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
Sebastian stretched his left fingers. He still didn’t dare believe that the final composition would be good, but he did know that he would finish it. For the first time in months, he would finish a composition that he could actually perform.
Clara stacked the sheets on top of the piano and brushed her lips across his forehead. “I want to help you.”
He caught her arm. “We leave for Brixham at four o’clock. I’ve arranged for a cab to take us to the train station.”
She put her hand over his and tightened her fingers. “Thank you. For everything.”
Sebastian watched her leave the room, recalling her admission of love from the previous night. She was the one who reminded him that he was the same man he’d always been, that the loss of his hand didn’t diminish his talent. Certainly it couldn’t affect his love for music, though he’d tried hard to bury that love under layers of fear.
And what good had it done him? Clara had never allowed fear to hinder her desire to reclaim Andrew. Even though she was afraid, she plunged forward with inflexible resolve, determined to achieve her goal by whatever means necessary.
A noise turned him toward the doorway. Andrew entered the room and approached the piano.
“Is that one of Mrs. Danvers’s cream cakes?” Sebastian asked, nodding toward the pastry clutched in Andrew’s hand. “When I was a boy, I knew I was having a very good day when Mrs. Danvers offered me a cream cake.”
Andrew grinned. An idea occurred to Sebastian. He reached for the pencil and turned a sheet of paper over. Gripping the pencil in a tight fist, he quickly scribbled a sentence and turned it toward Andrew.
You can tell us anything.
Andrew’s eyes darkened. He scuffed his feet across the rug.
Sebastian hesitated, loath to drive the boy away but also wanting to assuage Clara’s hurt. He held out the pencil to Andrew in invitation.
For a moment, he thought Andrew might accept the offer of communication, but Andrew gestured to the door leading to the foyer.
“Shall we try the balloons again?” Sebastian asked. “Now that we have two, we can have races.”
Andrew shook his head and gestured to the foyer again. Sebastian set the pencil and paper aside. He would try again later.
He followed Andrew to the kitchen, where they had worked on preparing and varnishing the balloons. They had also constructed a wooden frame crossed with wires that supported a spindle.
From beside the wall, Andrew retrieved a large wheel constructed of paper and indicated to Sebastian that the paint was dry. The boy had spent most of the morning painting and decorating it with several spiral designs, and now they attached it to the spindle. The paper wheel was further embellished with a pattern of small holes, which they had punched with a dowel.
Sebastian and Andrew fitted the wheel to the spindle and tested the mechanism. After ensuring that all the wires were tight, Sebastian carried the frame into the drawing room and set it before the fire—close enough to achieve the effects of the light, but not close enough to set the paper aflame. He stepped back.
“All right, then. Give it a try.”
Andrew held up both hands in the gesture Sebastian had learned to interpret as “Wait a moment.” The boy then scurried from the room, returning a few minutes later with a perplexed Clara in tow.
A smile broke loose from Sebastian’s heart. Clara cast him a questioning glance before she saw the paper wheel.
“Did you make this?” she asked Andrew. “It’s beautiful.”
Andrew motioned toward a chair in front of the wheel. Clara sat, shifting her gaze to her son. A guarded hope appeared in her eyes as she realized that Andrew had invited her here to demonstrate their new creation.
Sebastian moved to stand beside her, nodding at Andrew to conduct the performance. Almost vibrating with anticipation, Andrew went to the wheel and took hold of the spindle.
With a few hard twists, he set the paper wheel spinning into a kaleidoscope of colors. Firelight flickered and leapt through the pattern of holes, sparking with every rotation of the wheel. The paint shimmered and gleamed under the illumination until the wheel became a blur of colors and light.
“Oh, how lovely!” Clara clapped, charmed by the display. She glanced at Sebastian. “How on earth did you conceive of this?”
“My brothers and I used to make them when our governess banned us from making real fireworks. Talia usually decorated the wheels, and the rest of us tried to devise ever more dangerous ways to enhance the effects of the light. Andrew did this one almost entirely on his own.”