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down another corridor, a pulse swept through his chest, diluting the anxiety that had plagued him since he’d discovered the unnerving disability of his right hand. Now pleasure subsumed that dismay, sparked by the anticipation of something new.
    His instincts told him that Clara Winter was intrigued by him. That meant a few well-placed, sweet words and persuasive smiles would have her revealing what he wanted to know before the week’s end.
    Five months ago, he’d have ensured she revealed it before the day’s end.
    They entered a former library, larger than the music room and cluttered with gears, wires, and the entrails of various machines. Clara paused beside a metal-framed figure seated on a bench.
    “My uncle is currently working on this,” she said, placing her hand on the curved bow of the top. “It’s to be a scribe writing at a desk. Uncle Granville is planning to have him write three different poems in both English and French.”
    Sebastian lifted a brow. That sounded impressive, even to him. “He’s ambitious, your uncle.”
    She didn’t respond, and for a moment he didn’t think she’d heard. He repeated the remark.
    Clara glanced at him. “I’m sorry?”
    “Your uncle. I said he was ambitious.”
    “Yes. You spoke earlier, didn’t you?” She waved her hand beside her ear, as if batting at a pesky fly. “I don’t hear very well with my left ear, so if I’m turned away I sometimes miss things.”
    Sebastian didn’t recall her having a hearing loss when she’d been his student. Then again, he reminded himself, he didn’t recall much about her at all. Shame flickered in the pit of his stomach.
    “At any rate, yes,” Clara said. “Uncle Granville is constantly thinking of ways to make his inventions ever more complex and unique. His mentor was a very renowned toy and clockmaker. Perhaps you’ve heard of him, Monsieur Jacques Dupree?”
    Sebastian made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. Clara moved on to a different automaton.
    “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak with my uncle to learn about the actual mechanics involved,” she said. “This one will be a couple dancing.”
    “Does your uncle make such things only for amusement’s sake?” Sebastian asked, selecting his words with care.
    “He makes clocks on occasion, which of course are eminently practical.”
    Aha. And Darius had told Sebastian that coding machines contain similar mechanisms as clocks. So if Granville Blake did indeed possess the plans for the blasted thing, then Blake would not discuss it with just anyone.
    And if Clara knew about it, she certainly would not come right out and tell him.
    Yet.
    “But for the most part, yes,” Clara continued. “Uncle Granville invents the automata for his own enjoyment. We are hoping that after Saturday evening’s demonstration, Lady Rossmore will offer her patronage to the museum.”
    “Your uncle is seeking a patron?”
    “He receives a number of commissions, but a patron is always a benefit,” Clara admitted. “In the meantime…perhaps I ought not to chide poor Mrs. Fox for insisting our guests pay the admission fee.”
    “My footman will—”
    She laughed—lush, dark purple—a sound so unexpected that Sebastian’s heart twisted with both bewilderment and delight, as if he beheld a rainbow in a thunderstorm. Clara’s eyes crinkled with warmth, and a quick shake of her head made curls of hair dance against her neck.
    God, but she was lovely.
    “I do hope your footman considers himself fortunate to be entrusted with the care of your purse,” she said. “But really, Mr. Hall, I didn’t intend to cause you any guilt. There is no need for you to pay the fee. Now please, join me for tea before you depart.”
    Sebastian followed her to the parlor, his heart still strumming with the echo of her laughter.
    Ah, yes. Mustering the desire to charm Clara Winter would require no effort at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d so looked forward to