A Passion for Pleasure

chapter Twenty-Two




Andrew did not want to return to London with his grandfather. That much was clear. Rushton watched as the boy all but cowered against the side of the railway car as they made their way back to the city. He looked at Fairfax.

“What was this talk about an institution?” he asked.

“Andrew has refused to speak since his father’s death,” Fairfax replied. “Several doctors have recommended I consult a Swiss physician who can help determine the cause of his affliction. I intend to leave Andrew with him until he is cured.”

“You’ve no idea how long that will take,” Rushton said. Unease laced through him as he glanced at Andrew again. If Fairfax abused the boy, then one would think Andrew might be relieved at the opportunity to get away from him. Then again, he’d have to consider an institution and a physician as the lesser of two evils.

“It does not matter how long it takes,” Fairfax replied. “As long as Andrew is well cared for and cured.”

“So your plan is to leave him in Switzerland while you return to London?” Rushton asked.

“Not London. I shall return to Manley Park for the remainder of the year.”

Rushton narrowed his eyes. His unease intensified, alongside the growing sense that Fairfax was leaving something out of his story, some vital piece that might prove illuminating.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Fairfax,” he said, keeping his tone friendly and curious, “why exactly did your daughter leave Manley Park in the first place?”

“Oh.” Fairfax waved a dismissive hand. “She too was distraught over the loss of her beloved husband. So distraught, in fact, that she was unable to properly care for Andrew. She thought it best if she went to London to recuperate from her bereavement.”

A frown pulled at Rushton’s mouth. If Fairfax indeed believed Clara had been responsible for her husband’s death, why had he not accused her of the crime? And why would he concoct a tale of her grief driving her away from her own son? Which story was the true one?

Although Rushton possessed bitter, firsthand knowledge that a mother was capable of abandoning her children, he could not reconcile such drastic action with what he knew of Clara. So grief-stricken over the death of her husband that she would abandon Andrew, even if the boy was no longer her legal ward?

No.

The woman who had abducted Andrew in an effort to reclaim him, the woman who had begged Rushton for aid…such a woman would never leave her child behind. And even if Rushton was uncertain about his conclusion, he could rely upon his son’s actions for confirmation.

Not even to defy Rushton would Sebastian have married a woman who had abandoned her child shortly after the death of the child’s father. In a moment, Sebastian would have seen through to such coldness.

Instead Sebastian had married her partly to help her get her son back, obviously believing that Clara and Andrew should be together.

Rushton had never considered himself a man ruled by emotion. His anger toward his son was not so blinding that it obscured Sebastian’s admirable qualities. Sebastian had always been the one most capable of understanding what people truly needed, often better than they understood themselves. It was but one of the reasons Sebastian had always been at his ease in the world.

“When do you intend to bring Andrew to Switzerland?” Rushton asked.

“I’d intended to leave last week, so all preparations have been made,” Fairfax replied. “Provided I can change my tickets, Andrew and I should be able to leave for Brighton on Monday at the latest. We’ll take a boat to Dieppe, then stay in Paris for a day or so before leaving for Interlaken.”

Rushton tucked that information away in the back of his mind as he turned his attention back to Andrew. The boy stared out the window, his face pale but without expression.

Rushton had the upsetting thought that Andrew might very well try to run away at some point during his journey with his grandfather. Though likely Fairfax had also considered the possibility and would ensure the boy was well guarded.

Protected. Fairfax would ensure that Andrew was well protected.

Andrew turned his head and met Rushton’s gaze. The sudden contact brought to mind an unexpected image of his sons. All four of them. Dark-haired boys whose eyes glinted with varying hints of mischief, curiosity, seriousness, glee. Boys who had grown into men of sharp intelligence and strong constitutions, despite the obstacles that had been thrown into their paths.

Men capable of teaching Rushton a thing or two about how to conduct oneself in the world.

Andrew Winter might become the same type of man, given the opportunity to attend school, play sports, travel, work, marry. But such a future appeared in doubt, if his grandfather carried through with his plan.

Rushton tore his gaze from Andrew and looked out the opposite window. None of this was his concern, at any rate. Fairfax was the boy’s guardian. And Rushton’s sole concern was to prevent anything from further damaging his family’s reputation.

By helping Fairfax reclaim his grandson, Rushton had fortified the walls around the earldom. That was all that mattered.

At the Paddington station, they procured two cabs to take them back to their respective residences. Rushton nodded a farewell to Fairfax and turned to ensure his luggage was loaded into his cab.

There was a quick, sharp tug at his sleeve. He glanced down. Andrew stood at his side, his shoulders hunched furtively.

“She didn’t do it,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with disuse. “Didn’t.”

Before Rushton could question the boy, Andrew darted back to his grandfather. Fairfax was speaking to the cabdriver and appeared not to notice Andrew’s short absence.

Andrew climbed into the cab and looked at Rushton through the window. He shook his head.

Disquiet tumbled through Rushton’s chest. Was Andrew speaking of his abduction? Or Clara’s involvement in Richard Winter’s death? Although Rushton didn’t believe her capable of murdering her husband, he hadn’t discounted the potential of her accidental involvement. Fairfax would hold to his accusation that Clara was responsible for Richard’s death.

But how did Andrew know she was not?



The familiar smells of paint and grease permeated the museum. In the front exhibition room, Clara pivoted on her heel and paced to the window. Her mind ferreted through all the tangles of the newest plan they had concocted since arriving back in London yesterday.

She could no longer afford to carry the weight of hopelessness and anguish. For the past year, such emotions had pulsed alongside her blood, fueling her desperation, but ultimately they were useless. She would never see Andrew again if she allowed despair to rule her heart.

And now, she was no longer alone. Even when faced anew with the loss of her son, even though darkness still fought to pull her downward, she reached for the light shining like gold coins on the surface. She and Sebastian had reclaimed Andrew once, and they would do so again.

She glanced to where Sebastian sat by the hearth, his brow creased as he studied the latest missives from his brother’s solicitor.

“He didn’t sign the deed of conveyance.” Sebastian pushed to his feet and began to pace, latching a hand behind his neck. “That’s to our benefit, at the least.”

Darius unfolded himself from a chair and approached to examine the papers. “Though there appears to be no possibility of Fairfax’s willingness to settle.”

“No.” Sebastian shook his head. “We will not approach him again. I will write to Alexander explaining the situation and send the letter in Monday’s post.”

“I’ve the information about the institution here.” Granville riffled through a stack of papers. “As well as all the papers pertaining to Wakefield House.”

Relief eased some of the tension from Clara’s shoulders. Wakefield House remained in Sebastian’s hands, still useful as a point of negotiation should the situation arise, doubtful though that might be.

She met her husband’s warm gaze, her heart fluttering again at the reminder that not once had he wavered in his determination to remain by her side.

The sound of the doorbell rang faintly in her ear. She went to the foyer to answer it, as both Mrs. Fox and Mrs. Marshall had left for the day. Clara pulled open the door, her breath stopping in her throat as she stared at the Earl of Rushton.

“Mrs. Hall.” He gave her a stiff nod, his features set like stone. “Sebastian’s footman said he was here.”

“Yes.” Confused and wary, Clara stepped back to allow him entrance. After he’d divested himself of his greatcoat and hat, she gestured to the drawing room. “Everyone is inside.”

Rushton’s shoulders tightened, but he nodded. Praying he would not throw yet another obstacle into their path, Clara preceded him and closed the door after he’d entered.

Silence crashed over the room. Darius and Sebastian exchanged glances, their stances guarded. Apprehension flickered across Granville’s face.

“Sebastian.” Rushton nodded at his sons. “Darius.”

“My lord.” Sebastian extended his hand to a chair. “Would you care to sit?”

“No.” Rushton’s gaze flickered to Sebastian’s hand, the finger bent at a right angle. A shadow veiled his eyes for an instant. “I’ve come to ask about your intentions regarding Andrew.”

Sebastian eyed his father warily. “We have no intentions. As you’ve proven, we have no further recourse.”

“And yet I do not for an instant believe you will not attempt to find one,” Rushton replied, folding his hands behind his back. “You’ve already gone to enormous lengths to reclaim Andrew, and I know there is nothing on earth that would stop either of you from continuing your efforts.”

“Why do you want to know what they are, then?” Hostility threaded Sebastian’s voice. “So you can relay the information to Fairfax?”

“No.” Rushton cleared his throat, looking from Sebastian to Darius and back again. “So that I might assist you.”

Silence fell again. Clara’s heart pounded inside her head as she struggled against the hope desperate to break forth. She met Sebastian’s gaze and saw the same struggle in the depths of his eyes before he turned back to his father.

“Why would you assist us?” he asked. “All you’ve wanted is to avoid scandal.”

“And up until now, I have had good reason to do so.” Rushton turned to Clara. His brows pulled together with a faint sense of confusion. “Your son spoke to me.”

Clara gasped, her hand going to her throat. “Andrew spoke to you?”

“He said, verbatim, she didn’t do it,” Rushton explained. “I assumed he was speaking of your hand in Mr. Winter’s death.”

Hope surged through Clara’s blood, filling her heart. Andrew had believed her. No matter what Fairfax had said to him, no matter what lies he had slipped into Andrew’s ear, her son believed her over his grandfather.

“Did he say anything else?” she asked.

“No. He had little time to speak at all.” Rushton frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I was given to understand that Andrew had been rendered mute by the shock of his father’s death. Yet if that is the case, why would he choose to make such a statement after all this time? And to me, no less? A stranger?”

“Perhaps he thought Fairfax would make the accusation public?” Darius ventured. “And sought your help in denying it?”

“If Fairfax had intended to make the accusation public, he could have done so months ago.” Sebastian raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “We must follow them to Switzerland. At least there, Fairfax won’t have the weight of British law behind him should he start tossing threats about.”

“Neither will we,” Clara added, a fact which might be to their benefit.

Sebastian looked at his father. “Do you know anything else?”

“Fairfax plans to leave by Monday for Brighton,” Rushton said. “He might already be gone. I’ve procured tickets for our own travel. Darius, you will remain in London in the event we need assistance here.” He gave Sebastian a firm nod. “Bastian, Mrs. Hall, I suggest we depart immediately.”