A Passion for Pleasure

chapter Twelve


The inner alphabet on the cipher disk contains the original twenty-six letters,” Granville explained, pulling a stool up to the table in the museum’s studio. “And the exterior contains twenty-six numbers as well, plus the integers two through eight inclusive, for a total of thirty-three.”

“So the openings on this plate”—Darius tapped his finger on the drawing of a brass disk—“align both the plaintext and the ciphertext equivalents.”

“And the gears inside the box rotate the disks,” Granville said.

Both men peered at the diagrams as if they were maps to a hidden treasure.

Clara smiled slightly at the sight of them, furrows of concentration lining their foreheads. Though Darius needed the funds of a patron before constructing the machine and presenting it to the Home Office committee, he had enlisted Uncle Granville’s help in translating the diagrams. The men had spent all their time studying the plans in the two days since Clara and Sebastian’s wedding.

“The alphabet code is very precise,” Granville explained. “And it requires a different key word for each correspondent. Wait a moment. Let me get the notes I made about Monsieur Dupree’s calculations and we can see if they work.”

He left to return to his workshop. In the ensuing silence, Clara remembered Sebastian’s words, his declaration of love that wound through her like bright ribbons. Oh, how desperately she wanted to return the avowal, to admit to all the feelings that had been locked inside her for so many years—her youthful adoration now flourishing into a brilliant, richly complex love that both thrilled and frightened her. A love she could not yet acknowledge.

A shuddering breath escaped her. She looked at Darius, who was watching her across the misty sunlight. A hint of sympathy eased the impassivity of his features.

Clara swallowed and placed her sewing on a nearby table.

“Did Sebastian tell you about my son?” she asked.

Darius nodded. “He will help you in whatever way he can.”

“He already has.” A touch of nervousness wound through her. “Were you terribly shocked when he told you of our agreement?”

“No, because I know my brothers.” Darius rubbed a hand across his hair and studied the notebook in front of him. Behind his glasses, his eyes took on a distant cast. “Sebastian is not like Alexander or Nicholas. Or me, for that matter. Alexander forces things to fit the way he wants them to. Nicholas breaks them, if need be.”

“And you?” Clara asked.

Darius shrugged and leaned forward to make a notation on a page. “Sebastian is more…surreptitious,” he continued. “He used to merely charm people into doing what he wanted, but now it seems he needs to find a different approach. And he will find it, Clara, make no mistake. Loyalty is his greatest strength.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “And his greatest weakness?”

“The same.”

“Why?”

He put the pencil down, a frown etched on his brow. “Because he sometimes finds it necessary to lie in order to protect those he loves.”

Clara knew he spoke of the way Sebastian had kept secret the infirmity of his hand, which Darius must have sensed even if he didn’t know the full truth. Yet Sebastian had told her about it shortly after her proposal, as if he knew the secret would be safe with her.

“Here it is.” Granville returned, his head bent as he leafed through a tattered notebook. “I expect one of these codes will work.”

He and Darius began conferring over the specifications again. Clara pushed up from her chair and went to the foyer, where Mrs. Fox sat penning numbers into her account books.

“Any word from Mr. Hall?” Clara asked.

“No, Mrs. Hall.” Mrs. Fox peered at her from above the half-moons of her reading glasses. “You said you were expecting him before supper, and it’s not yet tea.”

“Yes, I know.” Clara twisted her hands into her apron. Sebastian had gone to a meeting with his brother’s solicitor, Mr. Findlay, in order to finish the contract to convey Wakefield House to Lord Fairfax. As soon as the terms were established, and both Clara and Granville, as trustee, signed the papers, they could approach Fairfax with the proposal. Despite Clara’s wish to accompany Sebastian, he wanted to ensure the impermeability of the terms first before she and Granville reviewed the contract.

“You’ll let me know if he returns or sends a message?” she asked Mrs. Fox.

“Of course.” The other woman returned to her ledger.

Clara went into the drawing room and tried to busy herself by straightening the displays and testing a few of the automata. She twisted the key of a mechanical toy and watched a little bear beating on a drum. When it wound down, she turned it again.

Restlessness seethed in her, born of both Sebastian’s admission and the physical pleasure she had experienced at her husband’s touch. She could not reconcile the two most essential needs she had ever known—her desire for Sebastian and her desperation to have her son back. In allowing herself to surrender to the former, she feared she weakened the force of the latter.

And yet both heat and tenderness billowed through her every time she allowed herself to relive those moments in Sebastian’s arms, the flex of his muscles beneath her hands, the glide of flesh against flesh. The sensation of his heart beating against hers.

“Mrs. Hall?” Mrs. Fox’s voice came from the doorway. “A visitor has just arrived.”

Clara forced down the tangle of emotions and schooled her features into impassivity before she turned to face Mrs. Fox.

“Have they requested a tour?” she asked.

“She has requested to speak with you,” Mrs. Fox replied, her severe expression mitigated by a faint air of confusion.

With a frown, Clara followed her to the foyer. A tall, dark-haired woman, clad in a plain black cloak and hat, stood beside the desk. Her large, dark eyes were framed by thick eyelashes, and her skin appeared bronzed from the sun.

The instant Clara met her gaze, she knew the identity of the woman. Her heart crashed against her ribs as she stepped forward.

“Mrs.…?” Her voice faltered.

“Leskovna.” The woman extended an elegant hand, her eyes sweeping Clara from head to toe. “You are Mrs. Sebastian Hall?”

“I am.”

A strained silence fell. Mrs. Fox cleared her throat delicately.

“Mrs. Hall, if you’d care to bring your guest into the parlor, I will have tea brought in.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs. Fox.” Grateful for the direction, Clara gestured for Sebastian’s mother to follow her and closed the door behind them. “Mrs. Leskovna, I’m glad to make your acquaintance. Darius is in the studio with my uncle, but I’m afraid Sebastian isn’t here.”

“I know. It’s the only reason I dared visit you.” Catherine Leskovna tugged off her gloves. She cast a glance around at the automata and mechanical toys. “I feared Sebastian might have me thrown out otherwise.”

Clara’s chest constricted as she murmured, “He wouldn’t do that.”

Yet her words did not have the ring of conviction, and clearly Catherine sensed its lack. Clara waited, guarded, uncertain of the reason the woman would have come here knowing Sebastian was elsewhere.

“I’m certain you know the reasons my children have renounced me,” Catherine said. “When I heard about Sebastian’s resignation from Weimar, I could not believe it. I was convinced something disastrous had befallen him. Sebastian would never abandon his patrons and supporters on the basis of a disagreement over his work. I had to learn the truth of what had happened to him.”

“Why did you not approach him first, then?”

“If I’d thought he would speak to me, I would have. And perhaps he might have considered it, were he not so loyal to Alexander. Even as children, he and Alexander had a bond that would not be broken. And I know…” She paused and looked down at the floor, only the slight tremble in her voice disclosing her emotions. “I know Alexander has forsaken my very existence. Sebastian would not betray his brother by opening the door to me.”

“Yet Darius did.”

Catherine gave a sad smile. “Darius is ruled by his head rather than his heart. Not unlike his father. Though he might feel hurt by my actions, Darius would not allow his emotions to overrule his intellectual curiosity. Not to mention his appreciation of a good challenge. And so when I approached him and explained the situation, he conceded to my request. Yet Sebastian continues to refuse a meeting with me.”

“Surely you understand the reasons why.”

“Yes. But I cannot remain in London much longer, Mrs. Hall. I am aware of the scandal I created, and in its aftermath I thought I would leave England forever. Certainly that was the least I could do considering the wreckage I created. I returned solely for the purpose of seeing Sebastian again, but I will not allow my presence here to cause renewed gossip.”

A brief knock announced Mrs. Marshall arriving with the tea tray. After the housekeeper left, Clara poured the tea and sat back to study Sebastian’s mother. Catherine Leskovna had lost the refined elegance of a countess, but she possessed a kind of self-assurance, a calmness, that seemed at odds with the disgrace of her infidelity.

Though Clara had encouraged Sebastian to visit his mother, a flare of anger swept through her chest suddenly. How dare Catherine Leskovna not flay herself with remorse over what she had done? How dare she sit here with such graceful stillness, as if she did not regret anything? How dare she seem to be at peace?

Clara’s fingers tightened on her cup. “Why are you so insistent upon seeing Sebastian? Haven’t you caused him enough pain?”

Catherine lowered her gaze to her teacup, concealing whatever reaction she had to the barbed question. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Of all five of my children, Sebastian is the one most likely to understand why I did what I did.”

“Why Sebastian?”

“Because he has always followed his heart, his instincts, regardless of what people have said. He has always been so confident in his decisions. In his place in the world. He has never done anything unless he was certain he wanted to.”

Clara’s throat tightened as she remembered Sebastian’s words of love. Even when she first proposed, had he truly wanted to marry her? Had he followed his heart?

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her own heart, which had taken such a tangled, labyrinthine path during the past year. She had once believed that path could lead her only to Andrew, but now she had to confront the very real possibility that Sebastian, too, stood at the end of her heart’s journey.

But at what cost to Andrew?

Clara blinked away the sting of tears. “Do…do you think Sebastian could be a liaison to your other children, then?” she asked. “That if you make him understand your decisions, he might defend you to the rest of them?”

“No. I need no one to defend me, Mrs. Hall. I’ve long become accustomed to doing that myself.”

A somewhat unwelcome twist of admiration went through Clara as she met the other woman’s resolute gaze. “Then why are you here?”

“When Darius told me Sebastian had married at Rushton’s urging, I couldn’t help but wonder if this union was somehow related to the reason he left Weimar.” Catherine took a sip of tea. “Forgive me, but neither his resignation nor his marriage accord with the man I know Sebastian to be.”

“Perhaps he’s changed.” Clara set her cup down and paced to the windows, her shoulders stiff with tension. “Do you believe he resigned from Weimar because of our marriage?”

“Did he?”

“He resigned last spring, Mrs. Leskovna. I knew Sebastian when I was younger, but did not make his acquaintance again until recently. No. I had nothing to do with his resignation.”

A mild surprise flashed in the other woman’s eyes. “I didn’t think you had a hand in it, Mrs. Hall. I was speaking of your father.”

“My…my father?”

“Forgive me for recalling that he was not the kindest of men.”

“How on earth do you know that?”

“I knew your mother, Mrs. Hall.”

Clara’s knees weakened as shock bolted through her. She sank into a chair, buffeted by a sudden rush of memories. “I…I was not aware of that.”

“We were not close friends, but we shared an interest in several of the same charities and saw each other often at various meetings and teas. I regret to say that the other ladies often remarked on Lord Fairfax’s reputation, though your mother had the grace never to discuss personal matters. I found her to be a kind and thoughtful woman, Mrs. Hall. So did many other ladies of my acquaintance.”

Clara’s jaw tightened as she struggled against another wash of tears. She nodded her gratitude, not trusting herself to speak.

“So when Darius told me Sebastian had married you rather suddenly,” Catherine continued, “I remembered both your mother and the rumors about your father. And while I fully recognize this is none of my business, especially in the shadow of my own decisions, I was concerned about Lord Fairfax’s hand in your hasty engagement.”

“My father did have a hand in our engagement,” Clara admitted, forcing the words past her tight throat. “Though not in the way you think.”

With images of her mother flowing through her mind, Clara found herself confessing everything to Catherine Leskovna—Richard’s death, the will that had granted Fairfax custody of Andrew, Wakefield House, and the reasons behind her proposal to Sebastian. Catherine listened without expression, but smiled when Clara explained that Sebastian had agreed to marry her in part to satisfy his father’s ultimatum.

“I believe Lord Rushton capable of such an ultimatum,” Catherine said. “But Sebastian would not have agreed to marry you had he not wanted to, regardless of Rushton’s threats. I hope you know that.”

Clara did. She’d known the moment Sebastian told her their union would be both real and permanent. And in a very secret corner of her heart, Clara had wanted that too.

“Have you asked for Rushton’s assistance in the matter with your father?” Catherine asked.

“No. Sebastian would not hear of it.”

“No, I imagine he wouldn’t.” A crease marred Catherine’s forehead. “I wish I could offer you advice or assistance, but I’ve lost whatever connections I possessed in London. And I don’t dare contact anyone lest I cause trouble for Darius. I owe him a great deal.”

“When Darius told us the true reason for his return to London, I attempted to convince Sebastian to agree to meet you,” Clara admitted. “Although I know very little about what happened, I do believe he should not deny you the opportunity to explain.”

Clara realized that her wish extended beyond the fact that Catherine was Sebastian’s mother. Clara herself knew well what it felt like to have one’s efforts at reconciliation thwarted, and she did not want that pain for Catherine Leskovna. Questionable though Catherine’s choices might have been, her feelings for her children were genuine.

“I am extraordinarily grateful to you, then.” Catherine set down her teacup and rose. Such calm infused her gestures, even the air around her. Despite the turmoil Catherine Leskovna had both caused and sustained, she appeared unrepentant, as if something had soothed the sting of her deceit.

Clara wondered what it was. And she wondered if she would ever know that kind of peace following the storms that had battered her over the past year.

Catherine approached to take Clara’s hand. A kind smile curved her lips. “Darius believes you are a good match for Sebastian. I must say I agree with him. Your mother would be proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Clara tightened her hand on the other woman’s. Her mother would not have censured Catherine without having known the truth of the rumors, and so Clara would not either. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Catherine smiled. “I do know.”



Sebastian pushed his right hand into his pocket and watched his father clip dead leaves from a plant. The humid, musty air of the greenhouse filled his nose with the smells of damp soil and moss. Flowers flourished throughout the glass-encased house—asters, roses, lilacs. Only here among his plants did Rushton ever seem relaxed, at his ease. Elsewhere, the earl still wore an air of caution, as if he knew the restoration of his family’s standing remained somewhat fragile.

“Bastian, stir the soil in those pots, would you?” Rushton nodded toward a row of Botany Bay plants lined up on a shelf. “Just the surface. And open the window sashes to let some air in.”

Sebastian picked up a trowel and proceeded to dig into the pots. For a few moments, they worked in silence before Rushton set down his clippers and wiped his hands on his apron.

“She’s not what I’d expected,” he finally said, “but she is suitable enough and appears to be very well mannered.”

Sebastian almost smiled.

“She is suitable indeed,” he agreed.

Rushton picked up a water syringe and began misting the plants. “I understand her father is visiting town. Thought I would invite him to dine one evening.”

Sebastian turned away so Rushton wouldn’t see the tightening of his expression. Two days hence, he and Clara would approach Fairfax with the completed proposition about Wakefield House. Then they would know if she would finally have Andrew back.

“I’ve explained that Clara and her father are estranged,” he told his father.

“Still, it would be in good form if I were to introduce myself to Fairfax. And bring Mrs. Hall for tea one day soon,” Rushton suggested. “Her uncle, too. I’d be interested to speak with him more about his rather unusual creations.”

“I’m certain he would be pleased to accept.”

“You ought to tell Darius about his inventions as well.” Rushton began putting the tools away. “Have you written to him and Alexander with the news of your marriage?”

“I intend to do so later this week.” The lie stuck in his throat, for he could not tell Alexander anything until he had settled the matter of Clara’s son.

And he knew Darius had not told their father he was back in London. The secrecy of his brother’s presence, not to mention that of the former countess, continued to poke at Sebastian like a thorn. Hadn’t their family harbored enough secrets in recent years?

Sebastian completed the task Rushton had given him, then left to return to the Mount Street town house. He removed his greatcoat and hat before entering the drawing room, where Clara and Darius sat conversing.

Sebastian let his gaze wander over his wife, appreciating the curves beneath her dark green dress, the coils of hair spilling around her neck, the warmth in her eyes as she rose to greet him. A mixture of tenderness and unease churned through him.

“I was just telling Mrs. Hall I regret not having attended your wedding,” Darius said. “But owing to the circumstances…”

“What are you doing here?”

The abruptness of the question didn’t appear to offend his brother. Darius settled back into his chair, a grave expression steadying across his face.

“Catherine Leskovna leaves at the end of the month.” Darius folded one leg over the other and studied the brandy in his glass as if it were a specimen under a microscope. “I’d suggest you pay her a visit before she pays you one.”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

“She might. She just wants to speak with you, Bastian. What harm is there in that?”

Sebastian felt Clara’s gaze as if she were touching him, felt her silent urging. Although he knew it would be his doom, he turned his head to meet her violet eyes.

Dammit.

He shot his brother a pointed look. Darius pushed himself to standing and murmured a farewell to Clara before seeing himself out.

“Please don’t deny her this,” Clara said the moment the door closed.

“You know nothing about her.”

“She came to see me this afternoon.”

Sebastian’s spine stiffened with wariness. “What?”

“She wanted to learn the details of our marriage. She also knows of my father’s reputation for cruelty. While I revealed nothing about your resignation from Weimar, I did tell her the circumstances that led to my estrangement from Fairfax.”

“She doesn’t deserve to know anything.”

“She is still your mother,” Clara said. “Whatever she’s done, you cannot deny her the opportunity to see her son again.”

“After what she did, I can deny her anything,” Sebastian snapped.

Clara studied him a moment, then approached and curled her hand around the lapel of his coat. “You’re not the slightest bit curious to hear what she would say to you? Are there no questions you wish to ask her? Nothing you want to tell her?”

Sebastian’s heart pulsed against his rib cage. For almost three years, questions had amassed in his mind until his head ached with them. And beneath it all lay the pervasive memory of listening to his mother play the piano and knowing he was the only one of his family who understood how music could soothe all the rough edges of one’s life. The only one who understood, somehow, that his mother’s seemingly flawless life might actually have rough edges.

He had tried to rid himself of that memory, not wanting to remember anything that would soften his anger toward her, but still it remained, like fresh grass buried beneath layers of hard winter ice.

“You know I would give anything to see my son again,” Clara said. “I cannot believe your mother doesn’t feel the same way. And trust me when I tell you that you will regret it if you do not grant her a meeting before she leaves London. What if you’re never given an opportunity again?”

Sebastian tried to smother the anger roiling in his chest. He wrapped a lock of her long hair around his finger. “If I agree to meet her, what will you give me?”

Startled, Clara drew back to look up at him. “What will I give you?”

“Mmm.” He rubbed his thumb along the soft strands of hair. “You devised all the arrangements for our marriage. I’d help you transfer Wakefield House if you helped me find the cipher machine plans. So if I agree to see my mother, what boon will you grant me in return?”

“You…” Her breath shortened, her violet eyes darkening. “You insisted upon your own conditions to our agreement. Do you not recall?”

“Oh, I recall.” He wished now he’d insisted on a few more conditions. Creative ones. “This, however, is a new request that requires new conditions.”

Clara frowned. “You are trying to divert my attention from the subject at hand.”

“Is it working?”

“Sebastian.” Clara lifted a hand to cover his. Though her voice was stern, a smile twitched her lips. “You know I will give you anything you wish in return. But please don’t make a decision based on that. Make a decision based on what your heart tells you to do.”

“That was not how you made your decision to propose,” Sebastian reminded her.

Clara looked at him, her gaze skimming across his face, her fingers tightening on his.

“Oh yes,” she whispered. “It was.”

His heart thumped.

“It seems to me that you have experienced enough regrets in recent months,” she said. “I do not wish for you to endure more of them.”

Neither did he. He’d had so few regrets in his life prior to the difficulty with his hand, simply because he’d always done as he pleased. He’d made a career of doing the very thing he loved to do.

He sighed and looked at Clara, her eyes filled with wary hope. He hated the idea of being the source of yet another disappointment for her. He flexed his right hand and tried to imagine seeing his mother again. A mixture of doubt and, surprisingly, anticipation rose in him.

“All right,” he finally said. “I will pay my mother a visit.”