Chapter Six
To say he slept poorly would be an understatement.
Silas had spent a miserable night, tossing and turning, visions of Thea appearing with annoying regularity and interrupting whatever rest he managed to claim. Even when he did sleep, she was there—bold as brass—in his coggleblasted dreams.
One look at her and his gears had forgotten their manners, and the more he looked, the more his pistons misfired as well.
Staring at himself as he shaved, he was appalled to see dark shadows beneath his eyes and a slump to his shoulders. This would never do.
“Rough night, sir?”
Nelson earned himself a glare as he passed his master a towel along with the question.
“I have a lot on my mind, if you must know. Any more trouble and my whole system will be kicked out of rhythm.”
“I see, sir.” Nelson, as always, betrayed no expression at all, but by St. Virellus, his intonation spoke volumes.
Silas decided that ignoring all the implied comments would be the most mature thing to do. “Do you have my clothes ready? I’m going to the Depot first thing to pick up little Gen’s Mama.”
“I did recall that, sir, yes. Suitable garments await on your bed.”
“Good.” He rinsed off the last of his shaving cream and stared at himself. He still looked a bit tired, but overall he thought he’d pass muster as a welcoming committee to the Undercroft.
“The young ladies are still asleep,” Nelson said. “Would you wish me to wake them before you leave?”
“I don’t think so.” Silas considered the matter as he fastened his shirt.
“They had a long day yesterday. Especially little Gen. Let’s let them sleep for a while.
That way they won’t have a long wait for Gen’s mother.
” He grabbed his jacket. “A full breakfast, I think, Nelson. I’ll wager everyone will be hungry. ”
“As you say, sir.” He trundled from the room, the model of efficiency as always.
It really was very early, Silas realised, as he left his house, quietly activating the gear locks in the front door behind him.
The few people out and about were on their way to whatever the morning held for them, and disinclined to talk.
So he walked along the lane toward the Depot, his mind turning over a variety of matters.
None of them, of course, had anything at all to do with a certain unusual and lovely young woman, who was at present asleep in his guest room.
Lost in the variety of emotions that vision aroused, he damn near squeaked when a firm hand thumped him on the shoulder.
“What the devil are you doing up at this hour?”
“By all the saints, Hiram. You almost scared the breeches off me.” Hoping his heart would restart soon, Silas stared at his friend. “This is very early for you, you know.”
“I know.” He rolled his eyes. “But to be honest, I didn’t get much sleep. That coggleblasted Mistletoe machine is worrying me, and I spent half the night trying to decide what to do.”
“Look, I’m going to the Depot to pick up Gen’s mama. Walk with me, come back with me and have breakfast. After that, we might get a chance to sit down and go through your ideas, and maybe mix in a few of my own.”
Hiram considered the invitation, then shrugged. “I could manage breakfast, that’s for sure. And I wouldn’t mind seeing little Gen again. Not to mention that lovely lady who was accompanying her...” He waggled his eyebrows at Silas.
“Hmph.”
The clatter of the Trammelbuggy grew louder as they neared the Depot platform, and Silas drew out his pocket chronometer, watching the seconds tick like tiny hammer strikes. “Shouldn’t be long now,” he murmured.
And as if summoned, a light appeared and grew brighter as the vehicle neared its destination, and finally arrived with an ear-splitting squeal.
Hiram winced. “Someone hasn’t greased the track yet.”
Silas nodded, but his eyes were busy trying to find a woman who looked like she might be Gen’s mother. He’d asked Gen what she looked like last night, but her answer, although honest, hadn’t been helpful. “She looks like Mama.”
“You know her name?” Hiram watched the crowd.
“Er...”
“What the hell were you doing last night, playing gears and pistons with Gen?” He grinned. “Or maybe Miss Thea?”
“Oh hush,” Silas brushed the comment aside, frowning a little as he could see very few unattached women who weren’t wearing their work uniforms. Trammelbuggies at this time of day transported workers to the forges and furnaces, so those who weren’t in the dark grey clothes with the same-coloured cap were fairly obvious.
And there...one of the last to exit the carriage, was a woman wearing ordinary clothes. “Perhaps that’s her,” said Silas, moving forward. “I’ll ask.”
She stood unmoving as the final passengers swirled around her, her skirt unfashionable, her jacket a size too large, and her hat—well, it had seen better days. She had a large bag next to her on the platform, and Silas suddenly saw that in one hand was a cane.
He approached her slowly. “I beg your pardon, Ma’am, but would you by any chance be Genevieve’s mother?”
Her gasp was audible, and she would have fallen as she turned toward him, but he caught her just in time.
“You have her? You have my Gen? Is she safe? Oh, please...”
Tears flooded her eyes, green as emeralds, and Silas was a little breathless as he stood her upright. Her jet-black hair was coming loose from its pins, and her shirt had a smudge on the cuff, but in spite of all that, she was stunning.
Behind him, Hiram cleared his throat. “Gen is safe, and we can take you to her now. A friend of ours is with her.” He turned slightly. “This is Silas Gray, and I’m Hiram Fowler. Gen is at Silas’s house. We met her last night.” He picked up her bag.
“I’m Mrs Sinclair. Lyra Sinclair. I was so worried about my daughter,” she said, her voice low and a little shaky.
“I can assure you she’s well,” said Silas with a smile. “And very much looking forward to telling her Mama all her adventures.”
“’Tis only a short walk, Ma’am,” said Hiram. “So if you’ll come this way?” He headed for the exit, but their guest followed slowly, leaning on her cane.
“You must pardon my awkwardness, gentlemen. I have, as you see, a slight handicap.”
Silas frowned. “I am sorry to hear it. A recent injury?”
“No, and I apologise,” she answered. “I will do my best not to slow you down, sirs. Please go ahead. I will be right behind.”
For the first few minutes, both Silas and Hiram strolled slowly back along the platform toward the exit, but it was clearly slow and awkward going for Mrs Sinclair.
Hiram stopped and turned. “This walk is tiring for you, Ma’am, I can see that most clearly, and I’ll wager you didn’t sleep much last night. So, as gentlemen, we must lend our assistance.” He glanced at Silas. “Get the bag?”
Silas grinned and nodded.
“What...what...wait...” Lyra’s green eyes nearly popped out of her head as Hiram calmly picked her up as if she was a child, settled her in his arms, and strode off, with Silas, bag, and cane in hand, right behind him.
“I...I...oh, what are you doing?” Her voice trembled.
Hiram smiled at her. “We’re helping you, Mrs Sinclair. That’s what we do here in the Undercroft. We help each other.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Really?”
“Really.”
Silas watched her face, seeing a little of Gen there, along with a lot of pain, confusion, and worry.
She had a story, no doubt, and it was one he’d like to hear.
But only after she’d been reunited with her little girl.
A reunion he hoped would relieve some of the fears and tension that he could clearly see in her eyes.
“It’s going to be all right, you know,” he said quietly, drawing alongside Hiram. “We really do take care of each other down here.”
Lyra blinked, and then some of the tension left her shoulders as Hiram settled her even more comfortably. She managed a weak smile. “That’s nice to know.” She turned her head to look up at the large man carrying her. “And I will confess to enjoying this unique mode of transportation...”
Hiram, to Silas’s complete surprise, blushed.
*~~*~~*
Dorothea awoke slowly, warm and tucked beneath covers that weren’t her own. But the comfort they offered lured her back to snuggle into the pillow and take a few moments to let her mind wander over her adventures. Gen was similarly tucked in, breathing quietly.
She herself had slept well, even after some time spent wondering whether she had wanted Silas to kiss her last night, and if so, why?
If anything completely true could be said about Lady Dorothea Langley, it was that she had never betrayed a moment’s interest in such matters as courting, romance, and especially kisses.
She’d allowed herself to experiment once or twice of course, but while the gentlemen involved had been polite and courteous, there’d been nothing to light a flame inside her. She refused to settle for less.
Well-read, and with a sound head on her shoulders when it came to matters of the heart, Thea believed that if that flame did little more than flicker, then that man was not for her. She’d held fast to that pledge until last night.
This unusual man, so straightforward, kind, sensible, and clearly well-educated, was indeed a delightful host. She could find no fault with his manners, his attitude to both his friend, herself, and a little girl...all demonstrated a nature she could not help finding charming and attractive.
Which she told herself was an evasion. Closing her eyes, she could see his face, the warmth in his gaze as he looked at her, really looked at her.
It hadn’t been a polite appraisal, she knew.
There’d been far too many of those in her life already.
No, this look, Silas’s face so intent on her, was real.
Perhaps that was why she found it so alluring, to the point where if the table hadn’t been between them?
Well, who knew what might have happened?
She sighed. Time to stop pretending. If the table hadn’t been there, she’d have been in his arms, and in all likelihood, enjoying every minute of it.
So why hadn’t she listened to her heart instead of her brain?
Habit. Training. A life of constant restrictions, rules, and regimentation, all neatly gilded and politely enforced, as if her very breaths required permission.
No wonder she’d felt stifled. And no wonder she had discovered she could indeed be attracted to a man. Away from the stuffy and elevated atmosphere of Renslow House, it would seem parts of her were budding in ways she’d never expected.
Would they flower? It might be interesting to find out.
With that thought tucked away for the moment, she slid from the bed and prepared for the day.
Her movements disturbed Gen, so after a brief good morning cuddle (and wasn’t that delightful?), they both engaged in the ritual of getting ready to face the day.
Both she and the child were in the same boat when it came to clothing, so Dorothea did her best to brush and smooth skirts, and blouses, make sure that little socks and longer stockings were snug, and that ribbons were tied into pretty bows.
Her own hair was annoying, so she simply brushed it smooth, piled it on top of her head and stuck her hairpins in it. She ignored the imagined shrieks of her maid.
“There now, Gen,” she said, straightening a curl on the little girl’s head. “We’re a pretty pair, aren’t we? So, I think it’s time to face the day. Remember your Mama is going to be here soon.”
“I’m so happy,” whispered Gen. “She really is coming, Miss Thea? She hasn’t forgotten me?”
“Of course not. She’s your mama, Gen. You see, when you’re a mama, you are not allowed to forget your daughter. It’s in the rule book for mothers.”
Gen giggled and took her hand. “You’re funny, Miss Thea. I don’t believe there is a rule book for Mamas, but I’m going to ask, anyway.”
“You do that, sweetheart. I’ll wager you’ll find I’m right.”
The murmur of voices made both woman and child look at each other and then at the door.
“She’s here...” breathed Gen. “Mama.”
“I believe you’re right,” answered Dorothea, her own heart speeding up at the knowledge of who would be with her. Would he be there? Would he look at her the same way as he did last night? And if he did, how the coggleblast was she to control these strangely exciting emotions...?
“Come on, Miss Thea,” Gen tugged at her hand.
“All right, sweetheart, let’s go and see your Mama.”
Dorothea opened the bedroom door, and Gen dashed past her, running flat out down the corridor towards the sound of voices, and the scent of food.
Following a little more slowly, she reached the doorway to hear cries of joy. Gen was wrapped around the legs of a lovely young woman, who was quietly crying as she sat on a chair. A cane rested beside her, and Dorothea could see an awkward foot twisted awry.
To her surprise, Hiram was bending over the chair and chatting with Gen, while handing her mother a large handkerchief.
Silas came to her side, and she could have sworn she felt his heat, but fought to keep her countenance as she turned and smiled at him. “There’s a lovely picture,” she murmured.
He nodded and surprised her by putting one arm around her and hugging her close to his chest. “I have to admit I’m so relieved to see it. Gen needed her mother, and by the looks of it, those feelings were reciprocated tenfold.”
Enjoying the warmth, Dorothea grinned. “It’s also quite charming to see Hiram’s attentions. He’s a good man, isn’t he?”
As Hiram bent down to touch the faithful Thim, Gen turned and leaned against him for a minute, talking rapidly about something important, and showing her mother Thim’s claws. It was a perfect family picture, thought Dorothea for a moment.
“There’s something I’d like to see painted,” murmured Silas, absently echoing her thoughts.
She breathed in his scent — fresh, masculine, leather and perhaps vanilla, or just simply the man himself.
“Silas,” she whispered, turning her head and meeting his gaze.
“What?”
Her heart fluttered like a mad thing as she lost herself in his eyes. Then she blinked, and the moment was gone. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”