A Passion for Pleasure

chapter Twenty-Three


An amphitheater of green hills surrounded the town of Brighton, whose wide, paved streets enclosed the brisk sea air like the banks of a stream. Fashionable shops, theaters, and baths bordered the streets, and the royal gardens wrapped around the northern shoulders of the town like an ornamental cloak.

Sebastian procured two rooms at the York Hotel, an expansive hotel a short distance from the Chain Pier. After Rushton had gone to settle into his quarters, Sebastian pushed open the door to a clean, spacious room with a large bed, desk, and chest of drawers.

“There are refreshments in the coffee room,” he said, but Clara shook her head. She hadn’t been hungry for the past two days, her stomach tight with nerves.

She eased aside the curtain and looked out over the sweeping expanse of the ocean. Andrew could be out there already, carried away from her to a distant land where God alone knew what awaited him.

Sebastian’s warm hand settled on her nape, his fingers working the knotted muscles. “I’ve sent word to a hotel in Interlaken for the reservation of two rooms. It’s not far from the institution. We’ll contact the director once we’re there. I don’t want him to say anything to your father about our correspondence.”

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.”

Andrew started to shake, all color draining from his face. He tried to yank his arm from Fairfax’s grip, but Fairfax took a step back and pulled Andrew with him.

“Andrew, you know nothing of the kind,” Fairfax said.

“I…I do,” Andrew gasped, throwing his grandfather a terrified but determined look. “It…it wasn’t M-Mama.”

Tears sprang to Clara’s eyes at the sound of her son’s voice, music that had been silenced for the past year. A cascade of relief burst through her fear. She took another step forward. Andrew suddenly wrenched his arm from his grandfather’s grip and flung himself at Sebastian, the impact powerful enough to send Sebastian stumbling back. A collective gasp rose from the crowd of people who had gathered nearby.

“It was him!” Andrew pointed a trembling finger at Fairfax the instant before Sebastian’s arm closed around his shoulders. “He k-killed my father. I saw him d-do it.”

Clara froze, swamped with horror. She stared at her father, saw the truth of the accusation in the guilt that flared across his features before a shutter descended. His eyes hardened to ice as his gaze broke from hers. He darted forward to grab Andrew.

Sebastian stepped back, his hand curling around Andrew’s arm. His grip faltered. He cursed. Fairfax hauled Andrew up and turned to flee. He staggered a few steps then, realizing the hindrance of the boy’s weight, he dropped Andrew and ran.

“Andrew!” Clara hurried to her son and fell to her knees beside him, relief billowing through her as she gathered him into her arms. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, his slender body shaking with fear and exertion as he sagged against her. Sebastian passed them in a blur of speed. His boots slammed against the cobblestones as he gave chase.

Fairfax’s dark-clad figure was halfway down the street when Sebastian caught up to him, both of them crashing to the ground with one lunge. A scuffle ensued as the two men fought, but Fairfax was no match for Sebastian’s height and strength. Within seconds, Sebastian had subdued the older man and dragged him to his feet.

Still clutching Andrew, Clara turned to search for Rushton. For a moment, she couldn’t find him in the growing crowd, but then he pushed past a group of people. Two police constables followed, their batons at the ready as they approached Sebastian and Fairfax.

Voices rose from the crowd in excited chatter. Clara tightened her arms around Andrew and led him to the safety of a doorstep. She pressed her cheek against his hair.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry it happened this way.”

One day soon she would ask him exactly what he saw happen between Fairfax and Richard, but that day could wait. Right now all she wanted was to hold her son again and get reacquainted with the boy he had become—this time, without the portent of fear hanging over them like a thundercloud.

They waited together, huddled close, as the crowd began to disperse and Sebastian returned to find them. He scraped a hand through his messy hair and crouched in front of them, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“You did the right thing, Andrew,” he said. “No harm will come to you for having told the truth. Had you feared that it would?”

Andrew nodded. Sebastian lifted the boy into his arms, then extended a hand to Clara and helped her up. He pulled her to his other side, holding them close. A tremble shuddered through Clara as she embraced both her husband and her son. She and Andrew would always be safe at Sebastian’s side.

Slowly, she turned to find Lord Rushton.

“Fairfax is in police custody.” His face reddened from exertion and lined with concern, the earl stopped beside them. “Rest assured, Mrs. Hall, I will do everything within my power to ensure that justice is served.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Clara didn’t doubt his promise. Rushton was determined that nothing would shake the foundations of the earldom again, but he was not so uncompromising that he would allow a murder to go unpunished.

Her heart clenched. Murder. Richard had been murdered by the very man to whom he had entrusted his son.

As if sensing her thoughts, Sebastian lowered his head to whisper into her ear. “He will never harm you or Andrew again.”

She tightened her hold on him. “I believe you.”



Several days after returning to London, Andrew explained in slow, halting speech what he had seen that fateful day when his father died. They sat in the parlor of Blake’s Museum of Automata—only Clara and Sebastian, as Andrew had said he wanted no one else present. He huddled in a chair before the fire, his hands cupped around a bowl of hot cocoa. Soon he would have to recount the events to the police superintendent, but everyone had agreed to give the boy a chance to recover.

“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.”