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of her gown. Her supple muscles tightened as she strode forward into the space between her and Mrs. Fox.
    “This is Mr. Sebastian Hall.” Clara spoke with precise formality. “I shall be providing him with a tour of the museum. If you would please inform Mrs. Marshall, we’ll take tea after the tour is concluded.”
    Mrs. Fox gave a short nod. “Of course.” She ran her finger over a column in the ledger. “You’ve not recorded the admission.”
    “Mr. Hall is here as my guest.”
    “Nonetheless.” Mrs. Fox gave Sebastian a look sharp enough to slice through leather. “The admission fee, sir, is one shilling.”
    “I’ve no coin at present, but my footman—”
    “You needn’t pay, Mr. Hall,” Clara hastened to assure him. “Please, do come into the drawing room. We’ll begin there.”
    “Mrs. Winter, I must protest your decision to allow a visitor to enter without paying the admission fee,” Mrs. Fox said.
    “And I, Mrs. Fox, must protest your concern.” Clara opened the door and bade Sebastian precede her. “In my uncle’s absence, my decisions are not to be countermanded and my guests are certainly not to be insulted. Please inform Mrs. Marshall about the tea tray.”
    Sebastian ducked past the older woman’s aura of disapproval and into the safety of the drawing room. Clara half-closed the door behind her.
    “I apologize,” she said. “Mrs. Fox possesses an unfortunate tendency to believe she knows best. Her departed husband used to be Uncle Granville’s assistant.”
    “I don’t wish to cause ill feelings between you,” Sebastian said, though it was clear such acrimony already lived between the two women. “I’ll tell my footman to—”
    “No, Mr. Hall. I’ve said you are my guest, and my guest you shall remain. Mrs. Fox handles the museum’s accounts, but she has no authority in the running of the place.”
    She spread her hands over the front of her dress. Uncertainty flashed in her violet-blue eyes for an instant, belying the confidence of her tone. “Well. Let us begin with the mechanical toys. My uncle sells them at the bazaar and gives them to children’s homes.”
    She stepped forward to a shelf lined with toys and proceeded to show him how the turn of a key prompted a monkey to beat a tiny drum, a clown to whirl around a trapeze, a pair of geese to glide over a pond crafted of glass.
    Rather in spite of himself, Sebastian was charmed by the movements of the little creatures, the delicacy of their painted faces, and costumes of bright ribbons and gauze.
    “My uncle devotes most of his time to the larger automata, like Millicent,” Clara explained. “But he still derives great enjoyment from toys such as these. This one is my favorite. A colleague of Uncle Granville’s made it, which is why the musical element works well. Uncle Granville hasn’t yet perfected that in his own creations.”
    She reached behind a flower-laced birdcage to twist a key, then stepped back. Two lemon-yellow canaries inside leapt from bar to bar as their beaks opened and closed in accompaniment to a melodious, chirping tune.
    “Lovely, isn’t it?” Clara asked. She smiled with evident pleasure as she watched the birds perform another dance.
    “Indeed.”
    Clara glanced up to find him watching her. Her smile faded into an expression of disconcertion, warmth again coloring her pale skin. She turned away from him, her hands twisting the folds of her skirt.
    “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you my uncle’s workshop and the room where we display the larger automata,” she said.
    They went into the foyer and past the redoubtable Mrs. Fox, who gave Sebastian another of her keen glances. He responded with an engaging smile that had the impact of a feather against stone, for all of Mrs. Fox’s reaction to it.
    Pity, Sebastian thought. The older woman had thick-lashed eyes and fine, elegant features that might be quite pleasing if softened with even a scrap of affability.
    As he followed Clara