A Passion for Pleasure(108)

The boat to Dieppe would leave early the following morning. It seemed an eternity.

A knock at the door announced Rushton’s arrival. At his suggestion, rather than sit in the hotel room and worry about all the things that could go wrong, they went out to take some air. The cold, salt-tinged wind reminded Clara of Wakefield House, a memory that fueled her resolve anew. They walked along New Steine, past various shops and markets whose displays overflowed with fresh-caught mackerel and red mullet.

As Sebastian paused to examine the fish, Rushton glanced at Clara.

“Did he tell you what I asked of him?” he said.

“Your requirement that he marry?”

“My requirement that he marry a woman who makes him a better man.”

Clara stopped and turned to face him. “No, my lord. He didn’t tell me that.”

“His brother Alexander did so, though I admit for a time we feared he would bring us all to ruination again,” Rushton said. “And since my own marriage failed in an unfortunately spectacular fashion, I’ve come to the conclusion that unions of political or social ends matter far less than the moral quality of the woman involved and her ability to improve upon a man’s own constitution. I told Sebastian as much when I insisted that he find a wife.”

“I hope…” Clara swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “I hope you haven’t been too disappointed with his choice.”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Hall,” Rushton replied. “I admit to grave misgivings when you told me of Fairfax’s accusations, but such doubts have been overshadowed by your son’s reactions to both Fairfax and Sebastian. Over the last year I have learned that children’s true feelings are not easily concealed. Moreover, they often possess a very keen perception about the character of others. A lesson I failed to comprehend when my own children were young.”

“Andrew took to Sebastian immediately,” Clara said. “And though I’m biased, I cannot think of a better endorsement of your son’s character.”

Now she had to hope that Andrew would one day trust her again as he trusted Sebastian. Although she had sensed the breach between herself and her son begin to close during their last day at Floreston Manor, there hadn’t been enough time to fully understand its formation in the first place.

All Clara had were speculations that Fairfax had poisoned her son against her. And all Andrew had were Clara’s assurances that she had not been responsible for Richard’s death, though the confirmation that he had believed her shone inside her like sunlight.

They continued walking as the sun began to sink, casting a reddish glow over the streets. Other people strolled along the streets as well, some peering into shopwindows and others going in and out of baths and restaurants. Clara tilted her hat to block the glare of the sun just as she caught sight of two figures walking along the opposite side of the street.

She stopped. Her breath snared in her lungs.

“Clara?” Sebastian turned to her with a frown, sliding his hand beneath her elbow. “Are you all right?”

Clara pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart slammed against her palm. Across the street, a small, chestnut-haired boy walked a pace behind an older man clad in a dark blue greatcoat, his features concealed beneath the shadow of a hat.

Sebastian followed her gaze, his spine stiffening. Before Clara could stop him, he lunged across the street like a tiger attacking its prey and came to a halt in front of Fairfax and Andrew.

They both stopped in their tracks. Fairfax looked from Sebastian to Clara, his eyes widening with shock and anger. Andrew started forward. Fairfax threw out an arm to block his path.

“Get out of my way,” he snapped at Sebastian. “Or I will have you arrested.”

“You will not. Andrew, come here.”

Andrew started toward Sebastian again. Fairfax grabbed Andrew’s arm, wrenching a yelp from the boy. Several pedestrians paused as they sensed a brewing conflict. Fairfax pivoted to stare at Rushton as he and Clara hurried across the street to them.

“Rushton?” Confusion flared in the baron’s eyes. “What…?”

“Andrew, explain what you said when you spoke to me at the Paddington station,” Rushton said, without a glance at Fairfax. “What did you mean by that?”

Andrew swung his gaze from Rushton to Clara. His mouth opened and closed. Tension squeezed Clara’s shoulders.

“Andrew.” She spoke his name in a hoarse whisper. She extended a hand and took a cautious step forward, her heart thudding. “You know I was not responsible for your father’s death.”