A Passion for Pleasure(110)
“They were talking about business,” Andrew said. Firelight flickered across his youthful features as he stared into the flames. “Grandfather and Papa. Railway stock or…or something like t-that. Then they started arguing.”
He fell silent, a distance blurring his gaze as if he saw the scene anew.
“M-my grandfather accused my papa of keeping him out of a…a contract,” Andrew continued. “Their voices got louder and louder. I’d gone into the woods a ways to follow a rabbit, so I don’t think they knew I…I was there. Then I heard the sound of a slap and I went back to see what had happened. Grandfather had…had grabbed Papa and was shaking him. They were both yelling. Then he…he hit Papa hard enough that Papa f-fell off the horse. There was a…a horrible crack. Blood. Grandfather jumped down and ran to Papa, shouting at him to get up.
“He shook him again, then looked up and saw me. He l-looked awful…scared, like something was horribly wrong. I knew it too. The m-minute he shouted my name, I turned and ran. Just k-kept running until I didn’t hear him anymore. I found my pony again and went back to the house to find Mama, but you weren’t there.”
“I’d returned to the woods to look for you.” Clara brushed her hand across Andrew’s hair.
“I…I didn’t want to wait.”
“Richard was dead by the time I reached him,” Clara told Sebastian, an old horror pushing at her memory as she recalled finding Richard on the path. “I think my father had gone for help, but it was too late. And when he saw me with Richard, he obviously thought to deflect the blame.”
“Why did you not tell anyone, Andrew?” Sebastian asked gently.
Andrew’s lower lip trembled as he stared down into the bowl. “H-he said he’d hurt Mama if I did. Said if I spoke a word, M-Mama would be arrested and hanged. So…so I stayed quiet.”
“Oh, Andrew.” Clara struggled against the tears clogging her throat as she bent to embrace her son.
She understood now why Andrew had maintained a distance from her during their brief stay at Floreston Manor. He’d been afraid that if he let down his guard around her, he would say something to expose Fairfax, a confession that would then have repercussions for Clara.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“You did the right thing, Andrew,” Sebastian said. “Never doubt it.”
Andrew looked at Clara. “Will I stay with you now?”
“Yes.” She glanced at Sebastian. He returned her gaze, and a warm understanding passed between them. “You’ll stay with both of us forever.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wakefield House presided over the land like an aged matron who still retained vestiges of a youthful beauty. The sun cast a burnished glow on the rustic brown stones and the expansive gardens. Red and orange leaves carpeted the grass, and the wind carried a fresh tinge of salt. The hills of Dorset rolled toward the sheer cliffs that plunged into the sea, foaming waves crashing at their base.
Sebastian took Clara’s hand as she descended the carriage. He lowered his head to brush his lips across her cheek, pleasure warming his chest when she smiled at him. He then turned to help Andrew down the carriage steps.
“You’ve not been here before?” Sebastian asked.
Andrew shook his head. Since their return from Brighton two weeks ago, he still favored gestures over speaking, but slowly his confidence in speech was beginning to return. More important, the haunted look in his eyes was lessening, eclipsed now by the curiosity and happiness every seven-year-old should possess.
Together they walked to the house, where a line of five servants stood waiting for them. Sebastian had arranged for the staff and the opening of the house prior to their arrival, though as he glanced at the cracks spreading through the window glass and the weeds in the neglected garden, he realized the extent of the work still to be done.
Anticipation lit inside him at the notion of restoring and repairing this property that meant so much to Clara. He would do it for her, but also for himself and Andrew, because he wanted Wakefield House to be more than a place for them to escape London. He wanted it to be their home.
Inside, the furniture and floors were worn but clean, the curtains parted to allow the late autumn sunlight to stream through the windows. Sebastian stopped at the entrance to the drawing room. “Oh, no.”
Clara paused to peer around his shoulder. She laughed. Strewn about the tables were machine parts, gears, and wires. Automata lined the walls—birdcages, mechanical animals, acrobats. A creature that appeared to be an elephant sat atop the piano.