29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

I t took Hugh three dinners, two outings, and one week to realize he couldn’t do it.

First, Mr. Fletcher sent him an invitation to join his family for dinner. Apparently, the man was willing to return home for the meal if it meant he might not have to take time away from work to launch his daughter into society. Hugh had accepted because, well, broken heart or not, he still had a future to consider.

There was a possibility this opportunity was from God, another pathway opening up when the one he’d wanted to take was closed. Until Hugh knew for certain that wasn’t the case, he needed to learn more about it.

That first dinner had contained nothing but talk of business while Mrs. Fletcher and Miss Fletcher sat quietly, eating their food.

The second dinner had been just as awkward, with Mr. Fletcher peppering his daughter with question after question to force her to expound upon her accomplishments.

In an effort to give her a true chance, he’d asked her on a walk and taken her to Gunter’s for ices. She'd been pleasant enough, but the way she agreed with every opinion he had made him want to run far away and not look back.

He knew what he needed to know now, and he knew he couldn’t do it.

As the date of the charity musicale had approached, he’d considered removing a large chunk of money from his bank account to contribute to the cause. It didn’t make sense, as he might need every pence and pound soon. Mr. Johns would not be happy when he learned that Hugh had submitted a chronometer under his own name instead of Mr. Johns’, and there was a chance he’d lose his employment over that choice.

If Mr. Fletcher also pulled away when Hugh admitted he couldn’t marry the man’s daughter, well, Hugh might be the one relying upon the mercy of his uncle.

Unfortunately, when it came to Clara, he didn’t always think straight.

Fortunately, God had another plan. When Ambrose left town suddenly, he’d sent his ticket to the musicale to Hugh. He would be able to slide in, sit in the back, and at least see Clara in her triumph.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to see her with Mr. Pitt, but maybe such an occurrence would help him stop thinking about her so much.

Mr. Fletcher also had a plan and an abundance of money. He purchased tickets for his entire family, and Hugh’s plan to quietly sneak in late and slip out early was foiled. Lord Prodford and Lord Northwick joined the party as well, and Hugh was well and truly stuck.

It was the most animated he’d ever seen Miss Fletcher. She was enthusiastic about hearing the popular opera singer. It was enough to convince Hugh to wait one more day before giving up on the proposed match.

Until he saw Clara. More to the point, he saw Clara ignoring him. Had she seen him? She had to know he’d find a way to be here, to support this event.

Even without her blue eyes on him, just looking from her to Miss Fletcher made it clear once and for all that Hugh could never use marriage as a business deal. Perhaps people whose hearts were not engaged could form a solid marriage on practical grounds, but that wasn’t Hugh’s situation anymore.

He spent the night in prayer, shoring up his resolve that his dreams were still alive, but his integrity and faith were as well. Somehow, God would provide. It wasn’t as if Hugh would go hungry and homeless. The worst possible scenario found him on the settee in the St. Anne’s rectory parlor at night.

He knocked on Mr. Fletcher’s office door. As his heart pounded, he reminded himself he was making the right decision. This was what God would have him do.

It would be awfully nice, though, if God made it so that Mr. Fletcher wanted to make a life-changing business deal that didn’t include bartering for the future of his daughter.

“Mr. Lockhart!” Mr. Fletcher closed a ledger and set it aside. “Come in, come in.”

“Do you have time to talk now, sir?”

The satisfaction on the other man’s face made Hugh’s stomach churn. To think he’d even for one moment considered accepting this man as a father-in-law.

“For you, I’ll make the time. Have a seat.”

Hugh sat and took a deep breath, determined to dive right into the situation. “Mr. Fletcher, I will not be offering for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The shipping magnate frowned. “I thought we had an understanding.”

“No. You made an offer, and I was contemplating it, though I think it shows a significant lapse in character that either of us did so.” Hugh was willing to toss himself into the pit if it made the other man a little more amenable to hearing his words.

“I am a businessman. If you’re going to be successful, you’ll learn that everything is business.”

“If that is what it takes, I will never be successful. But I believe there is more to life than business, and people matter more than profits. One day, I will have the best clock shop in London. because I make the best timepieces and I refuse to quit moving forward on that path.”

“Such nobility will cost you.”

“Perhaps, but it will cost only money and not my soul.”

“What are you implying?” Splotchy red patches appeared on Mr. Fletcher’s face.

Challenging the man’s character had not been Hugh’s intention, so he changed the subject. “You are a businessman. Better chronometers and tighter shipping schedules are to your benefit. Should you choose to move forward in that goal, I’m certain we can work out a deal. If you wish to spite yourself, then I’ll be certain my availability is known to your competitors. There are likely other captains who want early access to what will soon be the best chronometer in the world.”

Hugh was laying it on a bit thick, perhaps, but he was truly confidant in his abilities and his design. He was going to change navigational timekeeping.

His integrity might not be up for sale, but his pride and reputation were free to be tossed on the line.

The other man sat for a long while, staring at Hugh, willing the man to break.

But Hugh didn’t move. He sat in silence, using the anxiousness created to remind him that he could indeed, feel things. That there was more than logic in decisions and the way he behaved could affect people’s hearts and ways of thinking.

Finally, the man sat forward in his chair. “Very well. Let’s talk.”

“Did you go all the way up the tower again?” Eleanor stood at the base of the church steps, arms crossed over her chest and a frown on her face. “You’re going to ruin all your clothing.”

Hugh finished descending the stairs before putting his toolbox down and leaning against the newel post. “As it so happens, I’m smart enough to wear the same set of clothes that I wore last time.”

“Well, there’s that, I suppose.” She sighed. “What are you doing up there?”

“It’s a good place to think. There’s a certain perspective one gains when looking at the world from up high.” Hugh tried to put into words what had drawn him up to the top of the tower three times in the week since he’d turned down the offer of Mr. Fletcher’s daughter.

“Up there,” he said slowly, letting her know he intended to answer but still buying himself time to think, “it’s hard to see the small problems.”

“I suppose that’s true. Although I don’t know how you escape worrying about the big problem of not falling off. That ledge is not very wide.” She shuddered.

No, it wasn’t very wide, which was why Hugh always crawled out the door and sat with one arm tucked inside the wall opening. The feeling of the wind and the freedom to look out at the world like a bird were worth it.

“Perhaps that is why it works.” Hugh shrugged. “When I’m up there, I can only consider things that impact the whole of my life.”

“Like whether or not you should go after Clara?”

Hugh shook his head sadly. “No. I’m afraid I know the answer to that one.”

“Then you’re wrong, because I’ve never seen a woman so sad to be leaving a man behind as she was.”

“That’s because you’re usually talking to women who wish the man in question hadn’t come into her life in the first place.”

Eleanor nodded her head with a wince because she couldn’t deny that was true. More than once, the women she assisted in departing London wished some sort of harm would befall the man who’d recently affected their life.

Hugh could at least take comfort in the fact that he hadn’t made Clara’s life any worse. At least, he didn’t think so. When Eleanor had told him Clara had gone home without securing an engagement to Mr. Pitt, Hugh had been hopeful that he’d maybe even helped her make life a little better.

“There is more to life than love,” Hugh said. “As difficult as it will be to remain a spinster in her father’s home, Mr. Woodbury can provide for her better than I can until I gain a reputation. I’m at least a year away from being able to start my own business.”

It was clear by Eleanor’s mutinous expression that she didn’t want to admit he had a point, but he also knew she didn’t want to be making up a poor basket to deliver to her own cousin.

“It’s a good thing, then, that Father and I have prayed every day for you to have an opportunity sooner rather than later.”

Hugh had to admit he’d been praying the same thing. Were he solvent or even potentially soon to be so, he’d probably have already purchased a ticket on the next stage north. While it was all well and good to understand that life had to be lived with both the heart and the mind, there was still a time when practicality ruled the day.

He almost turned right around and climbed back up to the tower to pray some more. Did prayers reach God faster if there were no buildings or trees in the way? Probably not, but it made Hugh feel better to think so.

The next morning, he was working in the back room of Mr. Johns’ shop when Mr. Fletcher flipped back the curtain and strode into the workroom.

Hugh set down the balance plate he was filing and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think customers are meant to come back here.”

“And I didn’t think you intended to work for someone else.”

Hugh sighed. Didn’t people understand that change took time? “It’s a work in progress.”

“How quickly can you progress it?”

A flickering flame of hope flared in Hugh’s chest. “With the right incentive, I’ve enough savings to try to make a go of it.” Once more, the integrity that had him turning down Mr. Fletcher the first time rose up to thwart him. “At this moment, though, I’m working for Mr. Johns. Should you wish to discuss other business, I’ll be happy to meet with you after the shop closes.”

Mr. Fletcher looked like he was going to protest but then he sighed. “At least I can be confident you won’t be cheating me when you quote a price.”

Satisfaction replaced the trepidation in Hugh's stomach that had formed at the thought of losing out on a business opportunity again. This was what Uncle Patrick meant when he said to work as unto the Lord. When he did business with integrity, even when it wasn’t to his benefit, people would notice.

And what was noticed could eventually change lives.

They made arrangements to meet in the evening, and Hugh struggled to concentrate the rest of the day.

Finally, he walked to the shipping office and knocked on the door.

Once he was seated in front of Mr. Fletcher’s desk, the man jumped right into it. “I’ll order three. If my captains report a noticeably better experience, we’ll consider more.”

Three was far fewer than thirteen, but Hugh was ecstatic. If there was one thing he knew about London, it was that they liked to talk. No matter the class, no matter the occupation. When word got around that Mr. Fletcher was trying a new style of chronometer, other people would have questions. Knowing it was currently being trialed by the Royal Observatory would only add to the intrigue.

Three chronometers. It would be enough to pad his pockets some, even after purchasing supplies and paying back Ambrose and Lord Northwick. Was it enough to truly step out on his own, though?

Possibly. Some of Mr. Johns’ customers knew it was really Hugh behind their repairs and favorite devices. Would they follow him? He wouldn’t be able to start as big as he’d wanted, and it would be a long time before he could afford anything remotely considered a luxury, but he could do it.

Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

Hugh couldn’t remember the last time he’d left London, but he was certain it hadn’t been for a small village the size of Eldham. It had taken him two days and three stages to arrive, but here he was.

It was easy enough to find the church and the rectory behind it.

Clara was correct in saying that the air out here in the country was fresher, the sky clearer, and the space more freeing. Beyond the village streets, he could see rolling hills and patches of trees.

The confidence that had propelled him to sit atop a mail coach for two days began to wane as he got closer to the house.

Was he enough to compete with all this? Because he had to be. As much as he wanted to tell her that he would give her everything she ever wanted in life, Hugh was a clockmaker. There wasn’t enough business in a hamlet like Eldham to keep him in food and lodgings, much less provide for a family.

No, he couldn’t give her this, but maybe what he could offer would be enough.

He had to at least try. If her answer was no, his heart would break all over again, but he would be able to return to the city knowing he had tried everything.

Heartbreak was something he could learn to live with. Cowardice was not.

Would she be home? Would she want to see him? There was only one way to find out.

He was preparing himself to see Clara again with so much concentration that he hadn’t given a thought to the fact that he was about to meet her father. The man who opened the door couldn’t be anyone but the one who’d raised her and instilled such strong faith within her.

Hugh tried to swallow but his mouth was dry, and he ended up making a sort of scratchy gagging noise.

The man’s eyebrows lifted. “Interesting greeting. I’m afraid all I have in return is a standard good afternoon.”

Hugh finally got control of his tongue and answered with a gravelly, “Good afternoon.”

The man smiled, his kind eyes those of a pastor who knew what it was to have his day disturbed and didn’t mind in the least. That might change when he learned who he was.

“Would you like to come in?” Mr. Woodbury stepped aside and held the door open wider.

“Yes, sir.” Hugh followed behind the man, saying a quiet prayer.

“Miriam,” Mr. Woodbury called as they entered the front hall. “Put on the kettle, please. We’ve a visitor.”

“Oh, how nice.” The woman entered from the drawing room with a smile and froze when she saw Hugh. “Mr. Lockhart.”

“Oh.” Mr. Woodbury dragged out the word as he turned to look at Hugh. “You’re Mr. Lockhart.”

Was it a good thing this man had heard of him?

Hugh gave a stiff nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Clara isn’t here.”

No other information was offered, so Hugh had to assume they were deliberately leaving him unaware of whether or not she was away from the house, away from the village, or had hopped on a ship and sailed away from the country.

Hugh nodded. “I should probably talk to you first anyway.”

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

Mrs. Woodbury gave a shaky smile. “I’ll just . . . go put on the kettle.”

Hugh followed Mr. Woodbury into the drawing room and sat. Twenty minutes and two cups of tea later—constantly talking about his plans and his heart and his future left a man’s throat more than a little dry—Hugh sighed and spread his hands wide. “And that’s all I have to offer.”

“You say that like you don’t think it’s enough.”

“I’m not certain if it will be. There’s no guarantee I’ll ever have more to offer her than I have now.”

Mr. Woodbury gave his wife a thoughtful look. “What you’re offering now is rather beneficial. You know what my daughter wants more than anything, don’t you?”

Hugh nodded with a laugh. “She wants to change the world, or at least her little corner of it. With her passion and faith, I believe she can probably do it.”

Mr. Woodbury nodded. “All I’ve ever wanted for my children is for them to chase the dreams God gave them and follow the Lord as they went.” The man grinned. “That they’ve both been unconventionally inspired has only made it interesting.”

“That’s one word for it,” Mrs. Woodbury grumbled.

Mr. Woodbury reached across the settee and took her hand. “I trust my daughter, Mr. Lockhart. If you head out of town on the south road, I do believe you’ll learn where you stand in her eyes.”

That wasn’t exactly comforting. If her father was telling him that leaving town and walking in the direction of London would tell him Clara’s mind, well . . .

Still, Hugh did the only thing he could do. He thanked them for their hospitality and for hearing him out.

Then he asked which direction was south because he was so turned around in his mind, he didn’t trust his own sense of direction.

The stones of the narrow country lane crunched under his boots as he left the village behind and strode in the direction he’d been sent. The grating noise combined with the rush of the pounding blood in his ears to block out any other sounds. Were there birds chirping? Children laughing? Peddler’s wagons in danger of running him over? He hadn’t a clue.

There was still the possibility that he wasn’t being sent away, and he would actually find Clara as he walked in this direction. Then again, there was also the possibility that he was being sent into the grisly hands of a pack of known highway robbers.

Not that they were all that close to a highway, so if there were a group of robbers living in that distant wood, they were sure to be lousy ones.

Hugh paused and took a deep breath to clear his racing thoughts. His eyes slid closed as he imagined Clara’s smile, the look in her eyes when she thought he was ridiculous, the laughing sigh she gave when he got her to see life a little differently.

Then he opened his eyes and continued up the small rise topped with a twisted tree growing out of a cluster of broken rocks.

At the top, he paused and leaned against the tree as he quietly laughed.

He’d found Clara, all right. She was in the wide, flat clearing beyond the rise, surrounded by four children in various conditions of clothing.

And she was flying a kite.