A Passion for Pleasure(69)
“A contract granting you ownership of Wakefield House and the surrounding property,” Clara said, “if you will release custody of Andrew to me.”
She took an involuntary step back, as if the proposal would ignite a bolt of fury in her father, but Fairfax didn’t move. An eerie calm collected around him, like a coat perfectly tailored to his form.
“That is the reason you married him,” he said.
Clara nodded, finding no purpose in lying. “You’ve been attempting to gain ownership of Wakefield House for months,” she reminded her father. “I would have given it to you the day I left Manley Park, had the courts allowed it. But now I can give it to you through Mr. Hall. I’m certain your solicitor will find the papers entirely in order.”
When her father didn’t respond, Clara pressed on with a growing sense of desperation. “My lord, it’s worth a substantial sum, even with the house in disrepair. I’m certain the proceeds from a sale would go a long way toward assuaging any financial difficulties you may—”
“Do shut up, Clara.” Fairfax flicked open a silver box seated on the mantel. He pressed tobacco into a curved, fluted pipe of polished teak, then used the tongs to extract a burning twig from the fire. Smoke billowed from the cup of the pipe as he puffed.
He squinted at Sebastian through the haze. “Your father is Lord Rushton.”
“Benjamin Hall, the Earl of Rushton. Yes.”
An arrow of tension lanced through Sebastian’s tall frame, tightening his shoulders and stirring Clara’s unease. She moved closer to him, appearances be damned, and watched her father warily.
Fairfax drew on his pipe again and released the smoke on a long exhale. “And you both think this”—he flicked the contract with blunt fingers—“is enough for me to surrender custody of my grandson?”
Clara’s heart plummeted. “But you…you’ve been wanting Wakefield House for months and now…”
“Oh, I’ll accept Wakefield House. Sell it to the first hapless buyer who offers enough. But Andrew is worth so much more than a decrepit old house, isn’t he, Clara?”
Sebastian’s tension crystallized into anger, lacing him with fury. He closed the distance between himself and Fairfax, and for a heart-stopping instant Clara thought surely he would strike her father.
No. Anger vivid but leashed, Sebastian glared down at Fairfax. “How much more do you want?”
“More than you have, my boy.”
Clara gasped. Still Sebastian did not lash out, though a visible current of rage vibrated through him. Fairfax puffed on the pipe and met Clara’s gaze over her husband’s shoulder.
“I commend your efforts, my dear. But Andrew will remain within my custody, as I refuse to jeopardize his safety in your presence. You will not see your son again.”
Clara started to shake. Her father’s final remark opened a wide, black pit inside her that she dared not face for fear she would fall into the endless darkness.
“There…there is nothing that will change your mind?” she asked, her voice weakening under the onslaught of suppressed emotions.
“I am not doing this to be cruel, Clara,” Fairfax said. “Andrew has been in a prolonged state of shock since his father’s death. I am sending him to an institution where he can receive proper treatment.”
“A…an institution? Why—” Clara’s voice broke as she recalled Lord Margrave telling her that Andrew hadn’t been “well” during his visit to Manley Park.
“The institution is in Switzerland, near Interlaken,” Fairfax continued. “I have corresponded with a Swiss physician who has studied afflictions of children, and agreed to work with Andrew. The institution has wards dedicated to children’s care. I’m certain Andrew will receive the help he needs there.”
“What kind of help does he need?” Clara cried, her spine so tight it felt like it would break in two. “Why do you want to send him to a physician? What is wrong with him?”
Fairfax slanted Sebastian a glance. “Please take Mrs. Hall out before she becomes hysterical. Or before I have her removed.”
“You will not get away with this,” Sebastian snapped.
Before Clara could shove words past her constricted throat, Sebastian grabbed the papers from the table, then took her arm and led her into the foyer. Davies stood near the door, his expression impassive even as tension poured from the room.