For as long as he lived, he’d never forget the moment he awoke in a guest room in the little-used east wing of Kingsley Court. Father at his bedside, laying a damp cloth on his brow. For the first time in his life, he thought Father might actually care for him. Why else would he roll up his crisp white sleevesand tend to his wounds personally? Spoon-feed him broth. Bathe and dress him without the aid of a servant. For the span of three months, Theodore thought he’d finally earned his father’s love.
“But the colonel’s secrecy was to afford Father the opportunity to prevent our family name from being sullied in the quagmire of my shame. Father made good use of that opportunity. He nursed me back to health, all the while keeping my survival and my presence unknown to the household. A fact I discovered upon my recovery.
“‘If you were going to besmirch the family honor so spectacularly, you could’ve at least had the decency to die.’ Those were his words to me the day I was finally well enough to hobble from my bed. Once again, I had disappointed him ... by failing to die.” A tear wetted his cheek, and he turned his face away. “I was then informed that my death had already been announced, my funeral attended, and a headstone engraved with my name. The stipend I was to inherit legally divided amongst my brothers. Only Father and Colonel Chicanery knew I yet lived, and the latter had been compensated into forgetfulness. Theodore was effectively no more, and I was ordered to make certain he stayed that way. To leave through a back door under the cover of night ... never to return.”
The force of Miss Stanton’s indignant gasp shook the boat. “That brute! He would disown his flesh and blood?”
He shrugged. “I tried to convince Father to reverse his pronouncement. Demanded to know if he thought my mother would be pleased by what he’d done. It was the one time I dared question Father about anything.” Not that it had done any good. Theodore removed the broken gear from his pocket, turning it in his fingers.
“What did your father say to that?”
“‘I’d trade your life in a second if it would restore the life of my Theodora. But as a trade cannot be arranged, I’ll settlefor your dismissal. Be gone by first light. I’ve no use for broken pieces.’” Theodore clenched the gear, letting the teeth bite his flesh. “Those were the last words my father said to me. The same words that toy with my mind whenever sleep does chance to come. I’ve come to accept the nightmares as penance for my part in the Charge ... along with the fact that I can never find a place where this faulty gear belongs.”
Silence threatened to sink them in the depths of the lake.
Tucking the gear back into his overcoat, Theodore cleared his throat and straightened to meet Miss Stanton’s blanched expression. He shouldn’t have overwhelmed her with details, so gritty and grim. “I apologize for the conclusion to my tale, Miss Stanton. I should’ve come up with a better story for you. Spun some epic legend of a gallant knight named Arthur with a fancy for circular furniture and a talent for getting cutlery dislodged from boulders.”
Miss Stanton opened her mouth, but her words were preempted by the chiming of Drosselmeyer’s pocket watch.
Had he truly wasted an hour on his sorry tale? Theodore retrieved the oars and placed the blades in the water. They must get back to searching for Drosselmeyer’s clockwork clue. If they didn’t find it soon, he would need to convey Miss Stanton back to the inn for refresh—
“Honk, honk.”
On the far side of the lake, a pair of white swans glided with the air of a king and queen, trailed by a devoted court of downy gray cygnets. The royal couple led their graceful procession toward an arched tunnel at the base of a stone terrace constructed at the water’s edge, beneath the fluttering branches of a willow. As the watch continued to chime, one of the cygnets veered from the flock and swam toward the boat. Sunlight glinted off the cygnet’s back, revealing its downy feathers to be made of molded pewter.
A smile eased the tension in Theodore’s face. His grip onthe oars relaxed, and he waited for the automaton cygnet to come to them, drawn across the shining water by clockwork instinct. As it neared the boat, the cygnet trumpeted for joy with the smooth note of a brass horn. The feathered royals glanced back at the sound, and one of them swam to retrieve their wayward child.
Miss Stanton’s eyes widened. “Oh dear ... we’ve a cranky cob at two o’clock. Better make haste with those oars. We need to retrieve Grand’s device before the cob carries it under the terrace.”
“Right-oh.” Theodore rowed them toward the automaton, on the double.
Leaning against the edge of the boat, Miss Stanton stretched her arm to its full length, gloved fingers straining for the cygnet.
Honking and beating its wings, the cob swam to intercept.
“Faster!” Miss Stanton rose from her seat, increasing her reach.
The boat tilted, and Miss Stanton’s sleeve touched the top of the lake.
Theodore scooted to the edge of his seat, trying to provide a counterbalance as he rowed. “Careful or you’ll capsize the boat.”
“Oh, don’t be such a negative newton. I’ve al ... most ... got—”
Splash!
CHAPTER
25
Clara was sinking toward the bottom of an idyllic lake.
And the timing was most inconvenient.
Bubbles floated from her nose, escaping to the sunshine with ease. She tried to follow them—arms flapping, legs kicking—but waterlogged garments dragged her downward. Ever downward. The dress must come off. This instant!
Propriety could drown in her stead.
Reaching behind, she floundered to find the ties of her skirt. Her heart thrashed like a fish out of water. Her lungs ached with envy of the beached fish and its death by air. Oh, for a drink of blessed air! Wrenching her shoulders, she clawed at her waistband. Why must her fingers be so awkward?
