19. Chapter Nineteen

H ugh had given up trying to sleep at the first hint of lightning in the sky. He’d dressed and taken the long walk to Eversly House, hoping that the hour wouldn’t be too obscenely early by the time he arrived there.

Now he was testing the length of certain springs to see which provided the tension he desired and occasionally stopping to eat a bite from the meat pie the cook had sent up with a pot of tea.

The last thing he expected was company.

“Oh good, you’re here. I wasn’t sure how often you came by in the mornings.”

Hugh swallowed the half-chewed bite of pie and fought not to cough as he chugged a cup of tepid tea to get the bite to clear his throat. Once it was safe, he addressed Miss Woodbury. “What are you doing here?”

“I happen to live here.” Her grin was impish as she toasted him with her mug of tea. “But in the interest of time, I’ll tell you that I was hoping you’d be here and that you’d have come up with an idea of how to manage the multiple charities without saying there are multiple charities. The Virtuous Ladies are meeting today.”

Hugh nodded and took another drink of tea, just to be safe. He hadn’t given the wording of the event invitation a great deal of thought, mostly because he hadn’t given this charity project a great deal of thought. It was surprising, given how often his thoughts seemed to turn to Miss Woodbury.

“How was your ride yesterday?” He didn’t really want to know, but he needed to buy himself some time to come up with something, so he didn’t have to admit he hadn’t given her request any consideration.

“Productive, I think.” She lowered herself to her customary chair and wrapped both hands around her steaming mug. “We think the same about a lot of things.”

Hugh’s finger slipped and a spring went skittering across the table. He didn’t know much about Mr. Pitt, but he’d done work for the Earl of Blitzmoor, and he hadn’t thought it an environment that would raise a very pious individual.

“That’s, uh, good then.” He tried to subtly use a ball hammer to scoop the spring back toward himself.

“Yes.” She seemed to think for a minute and slowly her expression slid into a frown. “He does tend to gossip a little much for a man who will one day be a vicar, though.”

If that was the man’s worst habit, she could certainly choose a worse fellow to marry.

He wanted to use the little hammer to pound the delicate spring flat.

“Is he coming to visit again?”

“I don’t know.” Her frown eased into an expression of desperate hope. “I hope so. I truly think we would suit nicely.”

That should be enough for him. But still he found himself asking, “Why?”

“I’m certain you are not interested in the many reasons I believe we’d suit.” She sighed and gave him an indulgent smile. “But if concern for my welfare is behind the question, I assure you that he has an allowance for now that seems to keep him provided for and is lined up for a living. My wellbeing would be set with him.”

“Is that what you’ve decided to focus on, then? Your provision for the future?”

“No, I haven’t quite moved myself entirely over to your camp of ledgers and balances, but I assumed that would be the portion you were most interested in.”

Hugh allowed himself to shift his full attention in her direction. The words felt like something of an accusation, but her expression didn’t seem antagonistic, so he let it go.

Even if part of him wanted to know how well he would fit the desired qualities she wasn’t mentioning.

Provision in life couldn’t be ignored and Hugh couldn’t really offer her anything better than Mr. Pitt. Couldn’t offer her anything at all, really. Not that it mattered, because she didn’t want anything from him.

Except help with her charity function.

He cleared his throat and hooked gears and springs together in a haphazard fashion that he’d spend an hour undoing that evening. “You should use the name of the church. Say you are partnering with the children’s support ministries of St. Anne’s Limehouse to provide aid for the Royal Asylum.”

She followed his change of subject easily enough to confirm that she hadn’t been debating Hugh’s merits as anything more than a partner in purpose or possibly something of a friend. “Doesn’t that still say the funds are going to the orphans?”

Hugh shook his head. “No. You’re partnering with the ministries of St. Anne’s.” He shrugged. “It’s a gray area, but then, so is the charity.”

“Do you know what it is, then?”

“Not exactly, but I’ve put together enough to know that children are involved.”

“That helps, then. We can just refer to the beneficiaries as children, not orphans.” Her nose wrinkled. “It still feels less than honest.”

“It depends on your definition of honest.”

She frowned.

Hugh grinned.

And until their tea grew cold and the household awoke around them, they nitpicked over the definition of honesty.

By the time Hugh departed the house, he’d adjusted his stance slightly from being comfortable with truth in specific, technical definitions of words, but wasn’t in full agreement with Clara’s idea that honesty required a person to ensure the hearer’s complete understanding. Some things just weren’t anyone else’s business to know.

Clara entered the drawing room, feeling fully equipped to take control of all the different areas of her life. Things were going well with Mr. Pitt, the lessons she’d learned from Eleanor seemed to be making a difference, and Mr. Lockhart had provided her a plan to accomplish her fundraising goal. She was ready to make herself heard in the meeting of the Virtuous Ladies Society.

As the women gathered and the tea was poured, she kept her head up and her smile on. She listened to the conversation around her and tried to add to it instead of changing the subject. Her strategy wasn’t quite as easy as it had been at the card party since she couldn’t select the people she joined, but she was determined to make it work.

She forced herself to do nothing but listen as she drank half a cup of tea. Mrs. Hargrove despaired of her son ever settling down. Lady Elliot couldn’t believe that waistlines were going higher yet again. Mrs. Leonard anticipated a large turnout for the ball she was holding next week, but worried some of the higher-ranking invitees wouldn’t come.

None of these were conversations that interested Clara in the least. Mrs. Hargrove’s son was in the enviable position of choosing to wait to settle down, and Clara couldn’t imagine encouraging his mother to infringe upon that choice. She rather thought that if the ladies wouldn’t spend a fortune every year to purchase new gowns that looked like those in the fashion plates, the waistlines would be more likely to stay put. As for Mrs. Draven’s ball, well, Clara was of the mind that a party should be for having fun with one’s friends and community, not establishing social position.

Yet these were her options.

Perhaps it was time to simply skirt along the truth.

With Mr. Lockhart’s views of honesty in mind, she took one more sip of tea and smiled at Mrs. Hargrove. “It must be difficult to have someone else’s preferences interrupt the plans you had for yourself.”

The other woman preened under Clara’s comment. “That is it precisely. Without a wedding to plan or grandchildren to prepare for, I hardly know what to do with myself.”

Clara patted the other woman’s hand. “Fortunately, you have the Virtuous Ladies Society to give your days a little purpose.”

“So true, so true.” Mrs. Hargrove leaned in and whispered to Clara. “I must confess I was a little worried about you when you first arrived in London, but your aunt assured us it was merely a nervous constitution brought on by the unfamiliarity of London.” She gave a decisive nod. “You’re doing quite nicely for yourself now.”

“I confess I did not know what it would be like in London before I came.” She hid her grimace behind her teacup as Mrs. Hargrove gave her a smile and turned to the woman on her other side.

Clara turned as well and spoke to Lady Elliot in sentences that allowed the other woman to be the one truly guiding the conversation. While Clara couldn’t quite bring herself to agree that new fashions made one’s previously attained clothing unwearable rags, she could agree that it was a shame the style of a dress let everyone know the age of the garment.

Eleanor and Mr. Lockhart really did know what they were about with the idea that people just wanted to be free to be themselves.

Now she just had to see if these new, sympathetic relationships would allow her to put forth ideas about the fundraising event.

Before she could attempt to get Aunt Elizabeth to help steer the ladies onto the topic at hand, the butler appeared in the doorway. “My lady, her ladyship, the Countess of Grableton has requested an audience with the Virtuous Ladies Society members.”

A hush fell over the circle of women. Clara swallowed the last of her tea. Grableton? The nice lady Clara had spoken to at the card party?

Aunt Elizabeth found her voice first. “Of course. Please show her in.” She rose from her chair, and everyone quickly shifted to allow her space on the settee. A fresh cup was placed in front of the now vacated chair. Every spine in the room straightened and every skirt was smoothed.

Clara followed the example of the ladies around her because she didn’t want them to think she didn’t fit in with them, but she was far more curious than concerned.

Lady Grableton swept into the room, a gracious smile on her lips for everyone in the group. “Thank you so much for allowing me to interrupt your meeting.” She stopped at the chair and pressed a hand to the bottom of her throat. “Is this for me? How gracious.”

“We are honored you wished to join us.” Aunt Elizabeth set about fixing the woman’s tea and slowly the ladies settled back into their seats.

“I confess I am here with a purpose. I talked to Miss Woodbury several evenings ago, and she informed me that you were temporarily expanding your interests.” Lady Grableton accepted the teacup but did not drink from it yet.

“Yes.” Three women said at once, all apparently wanting to be the next to speak with the countess. Everyone else was too busy giving Clara curious looks, including Mother and Aunt Elizabeth.

Clara cleared her throat. “We are partnering with the children’s support ministries of St. Anne’s Limehouse to provide aid for the Royal Asylum.”

Lady Grableton sent Clara a considering look that almost appeared proud as she gave a slight nod. “The cause is very precious to me, and I would love to request the boon of temporary membership in your society so as to aid in this benefit.”

Everyone rushed to assure her that she was more than welcome.

Clara was fascinated by this look into society. As they were both aware of what sort of husband Carla was likely to attract, neither Mother nor Aunt Elizabeth had sought to introduce Clara to higher society gentlemen such as earls or dukes or even viscounts. That meant she had not yet had the opportunity to see how such elevated status changed behavior.

Lady Grableton had seemed a very normal sort to Clara, but it was fascinating to watch two viscountesses, a baroness, and a cluster of other ladies who’d been daughters of loftier titles or had married high-ranking gentlemen, all but preen for the attention of a countess.

It was rather like watching the debutantes try to attract a dancing partner.

“You are here at the perfect time,” Aunt Elizabeth said, casting one more inquisitive look Clara’s way. “We were opening the discussion to ideas for what our benefit should be.”

“One cannot go wrong with a ball.” Lady Elliot leaned in to pull the attention of the circle. “It would require no one to set aside their other objectives in order to support our cause.”

It was now or never. Clara took a deep breath. “I rather think a ball would be lost in the stack of invitations. There are so many of them, after all. What would make people choose to attend one in which they needed to pay?” When no one immediately berated her opinion, she pushed forward. “I was thinking we invite them to an event at which they gain something for themselves that they would not find elsewhere.”

She wanted to press on, to discuss the advertisements she’d seen for special sermons, but even though this was her event that had been brought before the society, she attempted to apply the principle of allowing other people to have guiding input to the proposal as well as to general conversation.

Once other people were in line with the idea of having people purchase tickets that would not only help their cause but help themselves as well, she could make her suggestion. This was London, so the more famous traveling preachers would hardly be a novelty, but it would be different than the other season’s events.

After a moment of silence, a murmur grew as people considered her suggestion. They seemed in agreement that a ball might not stand out amongst the other social opportunities as much.

“What about a musicale? I’ve a large music room with doors that can open into two drawing rooms if you need a hostess.” Lady Grableton’s voice cut through the noise and Clara knew she’d lost her opportunity. The countess had spoken, and everyone was going to agree. Especially if the countess was willing to host the event.

All was not lost. Perhaps Clara could sway the selection of music towards something that would inspire more holiness in those who listened.

Suggestions were flying about the room with people naming the debutantes that had especially good musical talents as well as the music masters that were known amongst the ton.

Before Clara could determine a suggestion in line with her objectives, Lady Grableton spoke again. “Perhaps a private opera performance? We could persuade Miss Henrietta Thistleton to support our cause, I am certain.”

The room was filled with oohs and aahs and gasps of delighted agreement.

Clara had yet to attend the opera, so she didn’t know who Miss Thistleton was. That didn’t seem to matter, though. This event was no longer hers. And Mr. Lockhart, who was supposedly her partner in this endeavor, certainly wasn’t getting a say.

Not that he seemed to particularly want one, but it didn’t sit right that he had no hand at all in the benefit.

“A lottery,” she blurted out.

All heads turned in her direction.

“We could increase the price of the tickets if they were also for a lottery.” Because the funds were getting split between two groups, she wanted to make the total as high as possible.

All attention swung toward Lady Grableton, as if her opinion was the only one that mattered. Clara gritted her teeth. Did everyone simply forget they had a brain when a higher title walked into the room?

Lady Grableton was looking at Clara again, though, with that look of expectation, admiration, and pride that seemed out of place given how little they knew each other. “I think that is a fine idea.”

Clara looked to Aunt Elizabeth and there was no doubt in her mind that for possibly the first time since coming to London, her aunt actually approved of her.

Hugh was still setting out his tools for an evening of work when Clara knocked on the open drawing room door.

He looked up with a smile that froze on his face as he took her in. It wasn’t the first time she’d come by his workroom. There were many evenings she would come by to say hello or encourage him in his progress. She was already dressed to go out for the evening this time, though, and the picture stole his breath away.

Her hair was pulled up in a pile of loose curls, while other curls framed her face. The dress was cut to show off her figure and the pale green color made her skin almost glow.

It wasn’t that different a presentation than hundreds of other young ladies across London would be giving that evening, but Hugh couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to one of those hundreds. In his world, even at what limited social events it held, the ladies’ finer dresses wouldn’t be a trimmed satin ballgown.

“Twice in one day. I’m truly honored.” He cleared his throat. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a smile and a nod before sighing and looking down at the dress. “I do believe this might be my favorite of the gowns Aunt Elizabeth selected.” Her smile was almost impish when she looked up. “Perhaps that is why I got ready so quickly this evening.”

“And used the spare time to come show it to me?” What was Hugh doing? This was not how he should be talking to his new friends’ sister and cousin. This wasn’t how he should be talking to a lady at all. He was making a business now.

Pink tinged her cheeks. “Actually, I came to tell you that the plans have been set for the charity event.”

He set down the tools and gave her his full attention. “Oh?”

As she told him about that afternoon’s society meeting, he only gave half his attention to the plans. The other half was wondering why she didn’t seem happier about it.

“What is it you don’t like? I confess I’m glad you don’t actually need my assistance, though thank you for including a clock.” She’d told him they intended to have each ticket include an entry for a large case clock. He knew just the one he could convince Mr. Johns to donate to the cause.

She sighed. “I had a different idea.”

“What was it?”

“Last year, Charles Simeon came through our village.” She lowered herself to perch on the edge of her normal chair. “We sold tickets to a special sermon he was giving on the importance of mission work. It was our largest collection of funds all year.”

Hugh had seen ads for charity sermons and the like over the years, but he’d never been tempted to attend one. “That doesn’t seem like a normal event for the London Season.”

“Which would have made it stand out.” She sighed herself into the chair. “It would have been a light into the darkness of London.”

Hugh coughed out a laugh and went back to sorting his tools. “Which do you want more? To help the children or convict the hedonistic society of London of their sins?”

“I see no reason I can’t do both.”

“Other than the fact that it wouldn’t be the hedonistic ones attending your sermon?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I suppose that is true. Ambrose would likely buy a ticket and then fall ill to some mysterious malady that only prevented him from attending that one event.”

Hugh had to admit there was some truth to that. “At least he would purchase a ticket. The main purpose is to help the children, after all.”

She squirmed in her seat. “Do you think that is enough? The truth is, while everyone keeps saying how good this is of me and even Lady Grableton thanked me particularly for allowing her to be a part of my event, I’ve done exceptionally little.”

Hugh’s first thought was that only the underworked would consider an easy success to be problematic, but given the conversations he’d had with Clara so far, he had to think there was more to this problem. “What is truly bothering you?”

She stood to pace. “This was to be my redeeming moment, the one that brought something good from this entire stay in London. If all I do is shake a few hands, that is hardly a righteous endeavor.”

Did this woman truly not see how hard she’d been working? “You’ve spent the past week striving for nothing but the ability to connect with other people. If learning a skill such as that isn’t work, I don’t know what is.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If you are concerned about God seeing your days as holy enough, you need only ask if everything you do is done with righteous intention with a goal of aligning with the will of God.”

Conviction slammed through him as he parroted the words his uncle had told him time and again as he worked through his apprenticeship. There were Sundays where, despite his best intentions, he fell asleep in church. There were nights when he dreamed about gears and springs.

Always, Uncle Patrick would tell him that God honors hard, honest work, and as long as Hugh didn’t forget why he was doing what he was doing, he wouldn’t lose God along the way.

Ever since he’d begun this new chronometer, though, Hugh wasn’t sure he’d been giving the clock shop a full day of hard, honest work. His hand was suddenly too sweaty to hold the fragile gear he’d picked up.

Miss Woodbury continued, unaware of his uncomfortable considerations. “Do you think gaining a husband is a righteous goal?”

He cleared his throat and forced his thoughts to the conversation at hand. “I think making sure your family is cared for and supported is one.”

“I suppose.” She frowned. “Is that your goal?”

Was it? He’d honestly been working toward his own shop for so long that he couldn’t remember if that had been why he’d set out on the path to begin with.

“I . . . yes.” As he said the word, he could see a new future. One that, yes, involved a successful clockwork business, but also a family to come home to, a wife and children to support.

It was a far-off dream. His current rooms might could hold a wife who enjoyed the simple life, but a family was out of the question.

She turned her head to stare out the open door, as if considering what she’d be going to do when she walked out of this room. “I think . . .” She let the words trail off as her gaze seemed to blur and her face went slack with deep thought. “I think it would be very easy to lose track of that in London.” She blinked and renewed determination covered her features. “I don’t want that to happen to me.”

Hugh could barely swallow over the lump in his throat. “Me neither.”

She glanced at his worktable. “I don’t think you are. This chronometer, it’s supposed to open doors for you, isn’t it? I know you said progress has been slow, but this is a step forward.”

It was. If this chronometer was as good as he thought it would be, it could change his life.

Miss Woodbury’s smile was brilliant. “Perhaps marriage is my chronometer. It is the step I need to focus on in order to live a more God-honoring life.”

Hugh didn’t like the sound of it, but he couldn’t tell her she was wrong. “It might be.”

She rose and held out her skirts as she twirled. “I’d best get to it then. Have a good evening.”

And then she was gone.

Hugh looked down at the gears and springs, the spare wooden boxes and the delicate pointed tools. He could, if he tried very hard, remember the giddiness he’d felt the first time he built a clock from scratch. He could almost recall the excitement of his first day as a shop clerk.

He definitely remembered the first custom order he’d created and the way he’d stood in the corner, listening while the owner praised Mr. Johns for several minutes.

What he couldn’t find was the last time he’d felt that way. Life had become a series of tasks, of next steps, of ever-moving objectives. Even his visits to his uncle’s house were almost forgettably routine.

In this room, though, he felt alive again.

And he could only hope it was because of the steadily progressing device on the table and not the occasional visits from a certain intriguing young woman.