10. Chapter Ten

H ugh carefully connected the winding arm to the mechanism of the church’s turret clock. His lips curved as he recalled the conversation from moments earlier. There would be weeks, if not months, of teasing Eleanor over the misunderstanding, and he intended to enjoy them all.

Miss Woodbury probably deserved a bit of sympathy, though. Despite his best efforts to not learn anything about her story, he knew enough to know that she wasn’t having the best time in London. Their encounters had been intriguing—even more reason to stay as detached as possible—and she’d seem to come out of them all a little worse for wear.

Hopefully Eleanor could change that.

“Gracious, but it is dusty up here.”

Hugh’s body twisted as his attention snapped to the opening at the top of the narrow stairs leading to the clock chamber. His tools clattered to the floor as he pushed to his feet to face the woman he’d just been thinking about. Sunlight slanted in through the slatted walls, highlighting her face and form in glowing stripes of light.

“Miss Woodbury.” He resisted the urge to wipe his hands on his trouser legs. Given the way he’d just been kneeling, his clothing wasn’t that much cleaner than his hands, and he wouldn’t be touching this woman anyway.

She took a step closer, leaning toward the open door behind him to get a better look at the mechanism that kept the clock running smoothly and precisely. “What are you doing up here?”

Hugh turned to look at the exposed gears as well. “Winding the clock.”

She blinked at him. “You mean like one does for a pocket watch?”

“Essentially.” He gave a small shrug. “Less often, of course. The turret has longer weights and a much larger spring and, I say, what are you doing up here?”

“Following you.”

The simplicity of her straightforward answer caught him off guard, just as her brother and cousin had done the day before. Did this bald and bold way of talking run in the family then? It would take some getting used to.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose that is the obvious answer. What is less obvious is why?”

Following him wasn’t exactly simple. There were awkward doors built into the curved walls, steep stairs, and, as she’d mentioned, a lack of cleanliness that should have scared off a well-dressed woman.

“I’ve come to enlist your assistance.” She said it in the same matter-of-fact tone in which she’d admitted to following him, as if the answer should have been more than obvious.

It was not. “Assistance? Have you a broken clock? Do you need your pocket watch wound and reset?”

A small frown pulled her face together. “Reset, perhaps, but I am diligent to wind it twice a day.”

Hugh hadn’t actually expected her to have such a watch. He tended to notice such things on a person, and he couldn’t recall seeing her wear one at any of their encounters.

Even now he couldn’t stop his gaze from roaming over her person, looking for a fob or a clip or even a thin chain that could hold a lady’s watch. There were nothing but smooth lines and graceful tucks anywhere he looked.

Clearing his throat, he turned back to the job of winding the turret clock. He couldn’t let any woman, even one as interesting as Miss Woodbury, distract him from his purpose. Both his immediate one of keeping the clock working correctly for all the neighbors and sailors that depended upon it and the greater one of opening his own shop.

Miss Woodbury was of another mind, though. “I would like to propose a collaboration with you.”

He stopped winding once more and looked up at her. “Collaboration.”

She gave a single, emphatic nod, her gaze locking confidently with his. Though he didn’t want to be, he was the first to look away. “Collaboration on what?”

“Miss Porter has suggested I might be most helpful if I were to plan a fundraiser.”

Fortunately, only the gears could see the grin that stretched across his face. He had told her that collecting money was a valuable part of helping the less fortunate. “I’m hardly of the social class you’ll want to attract.” He glanced at her but kept his face turned to hide his smile. “Perhaps you should see if your aunt has any thoughts.”

“My aunt would refuse to consider anything out of the ordinary, and if I’m to do this, I want it to be novel.”

He stood and crossed his arms over his chest as he considered her. “Why?”

“Because novelty draws attention.” She curled her left hand into a ball before extending the fingers one by one to count off her points of logic. “Attention can be turned into knowledge. Knowledge can become support. And support can become true moral change.”

She dropped her hands primly to her sides. “I refuse to believe my time and efforts are worth nothing but money. If I’m to raise funds for a noble cause, then I will do what I can to make those who open their pockets better people as well.”

Hugh tried to untwist her words in his mind and the effort brought a frown to his face. He didn’t entirely understand her intentions, but he had to admire her conviction. “What is it you want from me?”

“An idea. My aunt’s friends will open their reticules for anything that provides them entertainment, and nothing relieves boredom like something new and shiny.”

Hugh shook his head as he gave the crank a few final turns before beginning the process of disconnecting the winding arm. His tone was dry as he said, “Your respect for the aristocracy is overwhelming.”

“I have done nothing since I arrived in London but shop and drink tea and gossip.” She shuddered and looked through the slats at the buildings surrounding the church. “This is the most comfortable I’ve been since I arrived in Town.”

“Only one who has never been in want of it can find money so despicable.”

“I don’t find money despicable.” She sighed. “I find it despicable when one has no other purpose in life but to gain more of it.”

On the surface, there should have been nothing wrong with her statement. He, too, believed life should have a greater purpose than the gaining of coin. Yet something about her attitude didn’t sit well with him. Was it because he was in business? Because he spent many evenings hunched over a ledger book? Because every expenditure, including those of a more charitable nature, included a consideration of his hopes to open his own shop?

None of those conditions made him a bad person. He loved the Lord and did his best to better the lives of the people he encountered. Yes, there was a financial aspect to his main objective in life, but that would be true of anyone who was responsible for the care of a household, even a simple household of one. Wasn’t that acceptable as long as he didn’t step on anyone in his path to greater gains?

A very small part of him could not definitively agree with that statement. That minor unrest somehow got control of his mouth because he heard himself discussing her fundraising problem, further embedding him in her situation. “Eleanor won’t let you gather funds directly.”

Miss Woodbury frowned. “I know. Do you know what it’s for?”

Eleanor had always been discreet about her work. Comments here and there, and particularly those from a few moments earlier, gave him a vague idea of who she was helping, but it had never been confirmed. Even if he knew, though, he wouldn’t be the one to share her secrets.

Hugh cleared his throat. “She does a lot of good things and helps a lot of people. Some of the situations are . . . delicate.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“Pick another charity?”

“That would leave your cousin without assistance.”

“Not if you raise funds for both.”

She waited, eyebrows raised. Hugh shifted his feet and then knelt to pack up his tools.

Miss Woodbury sighed. “If you are going to be this tedious about offering every small bit of assistance, I’ll find someone else to work with.”

Hugh glanced her way, unsure how he felt about her threat, but knowing that her following through on it would be the best for both of them.

She sighed. “Yes, I know that is an empty threat. I don’t know anyone else to recruit. Still, I need you to participate with a little more enthusiasm, if you please.”

Hugh couldn’t help but grin. “Apologies. I’m accustomed to being around people who would rather I speak as little as possible.”

She lifted an expectant brow. “As we have just established, I know very few people here in London. If I cannot name a person who would aid me more enthusiastically than you, I certainly am not aware of another charity I could recruit for this project.”

Hugh stepped to the slatted window and looked through the sliver of space to see the land on the other side of the river. “Over there, in Greenwich, there’s a home for the orphans of sailors lost at sea. Whether in battle or other disaster, these children are left without support when the ocean takes their fathers. As they aren’t in London proper, they are frequently overlooked as a potential place to aid.”

Her mouth turned down slightly at the corners. “I suppose that would work,” she said slowly, dragging the words out to three times their normal length.

“What’s wrong with it?” Hugh packed the winding arm back into his box of tools.

She sighed. “It’s just that those children, well, it’s a sad consequence of the world we live in.”

“And that isn’t enough to illicit your sympathy?”

“Of course it is, but . . .” She shifted her weight as her words trailed off. Then she crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “The issue is that no one did anything wrong there, did they?”

“I . . . What?” Hugh shook his head. His mind struggled to follow her logic, but he didn’t care for any of the destinations his mind ended at. “Are you saying that because there isn’t some moral high ground you can espouse, you don’t want to help them?”

Her frown curled into a grimace. “When you put it like that, it makes me sound shallow and manipulative.”

If the cap fit, she should wear it. He was somewhat disappointed to learn she was just like everyone else he encountered in Aristocratic London, wanting to find a way to feel better than everyone else.

It was just as well. Hugh didn’t need to spend what little free time he had thinking about Miss Woodbury. He should be glad that his thoughts were now free to focus on the improvements he wanted to make to chronometers.

Still, Hugh wanted to encourage her to aid the seamen’s children. It was one he thought about often when he was up in this tower. “If it helps, recall that Eleanor’s charity is quite the opposite.”

Miss Woodbury crossed her arms. “Seeing as she won’t see her way to allowing me to assist with that one, I’m not certain I find that helpful.”

“What’s more important?” Hugh picked up his toolbox. “That sinners find grace or that you are the one to show it to them?”

Her mouth dropped open and then snapped shut as her gaze narrowed on him. “You seem determined to twist my words into ill intentions I do not mean.”

“Perhaps.” He turned to grin at her. “Or perhaps I simply point out the parts you don’t want to admit.”

He wanted to leave her there, to jog down the steps from the clock room in triumph at getting the last word, but his aunt and uncle had drilled manners into him from the moment he’d stepped into their home. His body simply wouldn’t let him be rude to a woman.

Finally, Miss Woodbury sighed and preceded him down the stairs. They went down, then up, then through another room, before descending the wide steps to where Eleanor was waiting for them at the bottom.

“Oh!” Her worried face broke into a smile upon seeing Miss Woodbury. “You are still here.”

“Yes.” Miss Woodbury got to the bottom of the stairs and fixed her skirts with a little extra fuss than was necessary. “Mr. Lockhart has suggested we utilize two charities and a bit of clever wording. We can discuss one, but split the money among them both.”

“What a fabulous idea.” Eleanor clasped her hands together and turned wide blue eyes Hugh’s way. “I knew you would be the perfect partner in this endeavor.”

Hugh shook his head. “I’ve no idea what use I can be beyond the initial idea.”

“Er, yes.” Miss Woodbury stepped closer to Eleanor. “To be perfectly honest, I have the same trepidations about myself. I was hoping to render aid more . . . directly. I’m afraid I know little of holding events.”

“Oh.” Eleanor bit her lips. “I can find something for you, I’m certain. There are always hands needed to fill the soup bowls and mend the donated rags.”

Had Miss Woodbury been a clock, Hugh would have been able to hear the gears clinking against each other as she thought. He could almost guess her dilemma. Feeding and clothing the poor were things she’d come here intending to do, but they weren’t as appealing as whatever secret Eleanor was hiding.

“I suppose,” Miss Woodbury said slowly, though this time her delay seemed to be more thoughtful and less disappointed. “That it would behoove me to add some additional skills to my own charitable methods.” She cut a swift glance in Hugh’s direction. “Raising funds is essential for the work to continue after all.”

Hugh ducked his head to hide his laughter. At least something he’d said seemed to make sense to her, even if only when it provided some sort of gain.

Eleanor matched his grin with an impish one of her own. “Wonderful.”

Hugh shook his head slightly. His cousin was incredibly adept at getting people to do whatever she wanted them to do. Over the years, though, Hugh had never been able to determine for certain if she did it on purpose or not.

If the way she was looking at him like a bug she intended to scoop into a cup was anything to go by, at least some of it was intentional.

“No,” he said, knowing that if he didn’t get his refusal out first, he might not have a chance.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

Against his better judgment, he gave her a nod. “And what was that?”

“If you would assist Miss Woodbury.”

Hugh’s head shake became more emphatic. “As I informed Miss Woodbury upstairs and the both of you mere moments ago, I’ve no knowledge of such things.”

“Neither have I.” Miss Woodbury was clearly happy to see someone putting him on the defensive.

“A willing heart and available hands are all God requires, cousin. Do you doubt His ability to use you in this way?” Eleanor blinked at him, a picture of perfect innocence.

Hugh rubbed a hand along the back of his neck and gave a shrug. He might as well save them all some time and give in now. “I’ll do it if you tell me what use I can be. I spend my days with balance plates and pendulums.”

Miss Woodbury considered him, head tilted to the side. “Is time not what we all find most precious, though? We are all craving more time. Whether it be the need to find a match before the end of the season or the wish to have one more day with a beloved late parent. Perhaps there is something in that idea we can use to make people more desirous of supporting our event.”

Eleanor hooked her arm with Miss Woodbury’s and Hugh found himself confronted with a wall of mischievous women.

“God would not have you confine your efforts to a mere carriage clock, cousin.” Eleanor grinned and looked toward the bell tower above their heads. “You are capable of such magnificence as the tuning of a cathedral’s chimes.”

“Indeed,” Miss Woodbury added. “Life has richer rewards to offer than the solitary labors you undertake. Though you may seem to make time stand still, it marches on anyway.”

Hugh looked from one woman to the other. Conversations such as this were common with Eleanor, but he had a feeling Miss Woodbury was just trying to retaliate for his comments upstairs. “You two did meet just a few hours ago, did you not?”

Eleanor laughed. “Just more proof that time is not the Almighty.”

“I am well aware of that.” Hugh moved toward the door before they could rope him into anything else. “I listened to the same sermons growing up that you did. Just because I don’t spend my days in these hallowed halls doesn’t mean I didn’t learn it.”

This time he allowed himself to have the final say and left the church before Eleanor could try to wind her words around him again.

He circled the church and moved toward the rectory in the back. Whenever Hugh came to tend the clock, he stayed to eat with Uncle William. In the winter months, when the sun would be gone early in the afternoon, he would often stay the night. As the days grew longer with the approaching summer, he would usually return home to use those last bits of light to work on a project in the shop.

He glanced back at the church before stepping inside to greet his aunt. Would Eleanor invite Miss Woodbury to eat with them? If so, would Miss Woodbury accept? He’d noticed the viscount’s carriage at the edge of the yard, but more than one servant had whiled the day away waiting for their passenger to need their services again.

The real question was, did he want her to be invited to dine with them?

Not wanting to answer that, even to himself, he stepped through the door and focused his attention on his family.