Page 23 of A Figure of Love

The metal cat shot down the hallway, emitting a high-pitched mechanical whirring sound and skidding almost all the way to the second library entrance before sliding to a halt. The boy leapt into the air, both arms raised in victory. “Hurrah! Hurrah!”

Gareth smiled. “It is my turn.”

Gareth heard a small clicking sound as he wound the mechanism, as if the spring were slipping. He looked down at the boy, who was waiting with barely restrained impatience. “I think it will require a new pin. The metal has been stressed and is no longer stable.” He finished winding the mechanism and handed the cat to Oliver, who held it with both hands to stop it from prematurely beginning its cycle. “You can release it. I think you will find it cannot be wound too many more times.”

“Do you know how to make a pin, sir?”

“I do not possess the necessary equipment for such fine work. But I daresay a clockmaker could fashion what you need.”

The spring had begun to slip badly by the time Mrs. Lombard and Declan found them a quarter of an hour later.

The sculptor looked at her son—who was in the process of crawling on hands and knees toward the cat—and then at Gareth, who was following behind him, but on his feet.

“What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Lockheart.” The smile she gave him seemed authentic, as far as he was ever able to gauge such things. “I think you will be happy with the progress we are making with the dam.”

Her riding habit was a dark green that made her even prettier than he recalled. Her hair, as usual, had come loose around her flushed cheeks and softened her round face, making her appear younger. Gareth looked at Declan, only to find the Irishman watching him, an amused glint in his eyes that Gareth could not like.

“What do you think of the project?” Gareth asked his friend when he realized they were waiting for some response—any response—from him.

“I never got so far. I met Mrs. Lombard in the stables and decided to accompany her back here.”

Oliver came up to his mother, holding up his toy. “Mr. Lockheart fixed it for me, Mama, but it will not stay fixed. He says we must take it to a clock maker.”

She brushed his hair from his forehead, the love on her face as she looked at her son blatant enough even for Gareth to notice and identify. What must it be like to be the recipient of such undiluted affection?

“I believe there is one in town, Oliver. We shall take it with us the next time we go. Now, it is time for your tea. Nounou will be waiting for you.”

“Yes, Mama.” He turned to leave and then pivoted back around. He grinned at Gareth and held up the toy. “Thank you so much, sir.”

Gareth nodded and the boy sped down the corridor.

Mrs. Lombard began pulling off her gloves. “Would you gentlemen care for tea?”

“No,” Gareth said.

“Yes,” Declan said at the same time.

The woman’s lips twitched. “Perhaps we might leave the hall and discuss the matter more comfortably in the small drawing room?”

Declan gave Gareth an ingratiating smirk. “That would be lovely. Wouldn’t it, Gare?” He offered Mrs. Lombard his arm and they headed toward the small drawing room, leaving him to trail behind.

Gareth did not like what he saw on his friend’s face. Not at all.

∞∞∞

Serena could not envisage a less likely pair of friends: McElroy would not shut up and Lockheart was all but mute. And then there was the awkwardness of acting like a hostess in a strange man’s house. But Lockheart appeared either uninterested in, or unaware of, his duties as a host.

When the tea tray arrived even before they sat down Serena recognized the invisible hand of Jessup at work. No doubt he’d been prepared with a tea tray even before his master’s carriage rumbled into the front drive.

While Serena prepared the tea, McElroy, a man bursting with energy, paced the room and fired off questions.

“I see they are laying out something directly behind the center section of the house.”

“Yes, that would be the parterre gardens.” She looked at Lockheart, who was watching her with the silent, opaque look that made her feel self-conscious. Was her hair a mess? Was there a dirt smut on her nose? “Milk or sugar, Mr. Lockheart?”

“Milk, please.” He came to claim his cup and saucer. “No biscuits for me, thank you.”

“Gareth is an ascetic, Mrs. Lombard. But I will have both milk and sugar in my tea and a couple of those delightful looking fairy cakes as well.” McElroy paused in front of her and waited for his cup and plate, his smile making her feel just as self-conscious as his friend’s brooding stare.