The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele Book 1) Read online

  "Of course I work," he said. "Doesn't everyone?"

  I rolled my eyes. The man had no idea. The American upper classes might work and be proud of it, but here, the best families didn't like dirtying their hands. Most lived off their landholdings or made good marriages. Of course, there were wealthy gentlemen merchants, manufacturers, bankers and the like, but few in the nobility had done a hard day of labor in their life.

  "Tell her what sort of work you do, Mr. Glass." It was rather fun watching him squirm as he tried to think of something, and I found it difficult to keep my smile off my face. Clearly he deemed it necessary to lie to her.

  That thought wiped my smile clean away. If he had to lie, then his work involved something secretive, like being an outlaw, perhaps.

  "I manage the family affairs," he said, giving me a smug flat-lipped smile.

  "What business is your family in?" I inquired.

  "Stop this talk at once." Miss Glass shuddered. "Your family is here, Matthew, and we do not discuss such vulgar things."

  "With respect, Aunt, I have family on two continents. My American family may not be as…" He drummed his fingers on the side of his teacup as he thought. "They may not be as highly regarded as the Glasses, but they're still family."

  She picked up her cup too. "I admire your loyalty, but do try to remember that your father's family are nobility, and your mother's are riffraff."

  I thought he would be offended, but he merely muttered, "I'm not that loyal," into his teacup.

  "Indeed," she said, her tone dry. "Why did you never write to me? Your father did."

  "You just told me his letters were kept from you, so what does it matter if I wrote or not?"

  "It matters."

  I nodded in agreement.

  He scowled at me then turned back to his aunt. "With respect, I don't know you. Writing to someone I've never met felt odd."

  "That doesn't excuse it."

  He looked uncomfortable, and I felt a little sympathy for him, although I couldn't think why he deserved it. "Now that you've met, I'm sure writing to one another will be easier," I said.

  "I promise to write when I'm back home," Mr. Glass assured his aunt.

  She looked pained. "We've only just met and already you're talking about leaving me."

  "This was only ever going to be a fleeting visit."

  "Yes, but now that you're here, why not stay longer? I can introduce you to all my friends and acquaintances. The queen! You must meet the queen, and the prince consort, too. Such a happy couple."

  Oh dear. The prince consort had died years ago. Miss Glass's madness was a fickle affliction, sometimes making her seem perfectly normal, until she uttered something outrageous.

  Mr. Glass knew it too. His shoulders rounded, as if the weight of her madness was a personal burden he had to carry. And yet he also seemed to want to have little to do with her. He hadn't written, for one thing, and hadn't asked her to stay for lunch. It was terribly impolite of him, and I decided to rectify it immediately.

  "Miss Glass, would you join us for lunch today? Cyclops can return you to your brother's house afterward."

  "No!" She set the teacup down with a clatter. Then, as if her own vehemence surprised her, she pressed a hand to her stomach, and said, "I'd rather not return to Richard's home."

  Mr. Glass and I exchanged glances. "At all?" he asked her.

  "At all. I thought perhaps that now you're here—"

  "No."

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she dipped her head to hide them. I scowled at Mr. Glass, but he merely turned his head away. Heartless man. I touched Miss Glass's hand. "Your nephew would happily welcome you into his household, but I'm afraid he's leaving in less than a week," I reminded her.

  She humphed. "We shall see."

  I did like her conviction, but it saddened me that she wanted to stay with Mr. Glass so much. Her situation with her brother mustn't be a happy one if she was so eager to live with a nephew she hardly knew and his rough friends and family. I squeezed her hand and she surprised me by squeezing it back.

  A commotion outside drew everyone's attention. Mr. Glass was at the door in four long strides, but he fell back as a woman breezed into the drawing room. She was tall and slender, with skin so pale the veins in her throat stood out. I guessed her to be younger than Miss Glass, but it was difficult to determine her exact age. The skin around her eyes and forehead was pulled back by the tight arrangement of her hair beneath her turban. The smoothness contrasted the deep grooves drooping from each corner of her mouth to her chin. Her hazel eyes flashed in Miss Glass's direction. She didn't seem to notice anyone else as she strode up to the elderly woman on the sofa. Miss Glass shrank back and leaned toward me.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Glass growled. "Who are you?"

  The woman didn't turn around. She held out her hand to Miss Glass. "I knew you'd be here! Come, Letitia. Leave this place at once."

  "I'd rather stay." Miss Glass picked up her teacup, only to have her arm wrenched by the newcomer. Tea spilled and I caught the cup before it tumbled to the floor. "Beatrice!" Miss Glass gasped.

  So this was her sister-in-law, Lady Rycroft. She certainly wasn't behaving in a very ladylike manner.

  Lady Rycroft's grip must have been hard, because she marched Miss Glass toward the door. "Richard will be furious when I tell him you ran away from me," she spat. "I knew the shopping expedition was a ruse. I told him so, but he wouldn't listen to me."

  Mr. Glass stepped in the way, blocking the exit. He could look quite formidable when he wanted to, and I felt relieved to see him finally take some interest in his aunt's welfare. "Unhand her," he snarled.

  "I beg your pardon!" Lady Rycroft may have been tall for a woman, but she only came up to his chin, even when she straightened her spine. "I am Lady Rycroft and your aunt. You will treat me with the respect I deserve."

  So she knew who he was, then. I tried to think of something diplomatic to ease the tensions, but I could think of nothing. Behind Mr. Glass, Duke and Willie gathered close to hear the exchange.

  "You can be sure that I will," he said. "When you've shown me you deserve my respect. You come into my house without greeting and drag out one of my guests against her will. I think I'm entitled to tell you to unhand her."

  "I will not! You don't know how she is. She needs her rest at home. Her head is soft, you see—"

  "My head is perfectly all right, thank you!" Miss Glass sniffed in her sister-in-law's direction.

  "Unhand her and she will return home of her own free will," Mr. Glass said. "After lunch."

  "No!" Miss Glass cried. I almost shouted at him too. How could he be so cruel? She clearly didn't want to return to her brother's house.

  "Can't she stay here for a few days while you're in London?" I dared venture. "Then she could return." Or he could find other arrangements for her in the meantime.

  I expected him to admonish me for my impertinence, but he merely looked away, although not before I saw a shadow pass over his eyes.

  "He won't leave England." Honestly, Miss Glass's determination that he would remain wasn't helping the situation.

  "I've made my decision," he said. "You may stay for luncheon, Aunt Letitia, but no longer. I'm a busy man, and I don't have time for callers." He spun on his heel and stalked out the door. "Duke, see Lady Rycroft out."

  "You must return her yourself," Lady Rycroft said to his back. "She cannot be trusted with one of your men. She's very cunning."

  "Very well," he said in low tones that only just reached us. "It's about time I met my uncle anyway."

  "He looks forward to meeting you."

  "I doubt it."

  Lady Rycroft let her sister-in-law go and, head high, eased past the others, careful not to brush up against any of them. I expected Miss Glass to break down in hysteria or run after her nephew to plead with him, but she merely gathered her skirts and smiled at me.

  "Will you be joining us for luncheon, Miss Steele?" she ask
ed as if nothing were amiss. "I would very much like your company."

  Chapter 8

  I discovered over luncheon that Lord and Lady Rycroft had three daughters. They weren't in need of a governess at present, but I decided to present myself to them and offer my services to any of their friends. When I asked Mr. Glass if I could come with him to return his aunt to her home, he promptly started an argument.

  "A governess?" he said as he handed my hat to me at the door. "Why do you want to be a governess?"

  "Because none of the watchmakers in London will employ me as their assistant." After our recent visits, I was beginning to see that the situation was even more hopeless than I had first thought. "A governess's position might suit me just as well. I'm educated, and I can play the piano and sew as well as any woman."

  "I don't doubt it."

  "Then why are you being resistant to the idea?"

  He wedged his hat under his arm without a care for its shape and opened the front door. Cyclops waited with the horse and carriage. "I'm not resistant, I simply don't think anyone will employ you," Mr. Glass said.

  "Oh dear," his aunt muttered.

  "Why not?" I asked hotly.

  His aunt tsk tsked and shook her head at him as she passed. He scowled back at her. He'd been doing a great deal of scowling ever since she arrived. He hadn't joined us over luncheon, preferring to eat alone in his rooms. I wondered if he'd been resting or using his special watch again.

  "Aunt Letitia, you explain it to her," he said.

  "Good lord, no," she tossed over her shoulder. "You made your bed, now you must lie in it."

  He jerked his head toward the carriage, but I didn't move from the doorway. "Go on then, Mr. Glass. Tell me why you think I'd make a terrible governess."

  "I didn't say you'd be terrible. I think you'd make an excellent governess. But I doubt anyone will employ you."

  "Because I have no experience?" I stood in the doorway only inches from him, suddenly feeling small, stupid and pathetic. My conviction rapidly drained away. I was a fool. He was right. No one would employ me as a governess without references. I lowered my head. "I'll stay here," I mumbled.

  I stepped back inside, but he caught my chin. I was so shocked that I lifted my gaze to his. He seemed equally shocked by his action and quickly let me go. He tucked his hands behind his back.

  "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have said anything. Come with us, Miss Steele. Hopefully you'll prove me wrong." He offered me a smile and his elbow.

  I took it and descended the steps. He helped Miss Glass into the coach, and then me, and climbed in after us. I still felt a little bruised by his lack of confidence in my employability, but he had offered me an olive branch and it would be rude of me not to accept it.

  "How does one gain experience as a governess in the first place if one doesn't have experience?" I said to no one in particular.

  "It's not your lack of experience that will hold you back, Miss Steele," Miss Glass said. "It's your pretty face, lovely figure, and your forthright manner."

  Mr. Glass turned to look out the window, as if he hadn't heard a thing his aunt said when she was sitting right beside him. I was too stunned to say anything.

  "I'm sorry to dash your hopes," Miss Glass went on, "but you needed to be told. We women can sometimes be unfair to each other, and it would take a kind-hearted woman, sure of her own appeal and the love of her husband, to take you on in such an elevated position. Perhaps as a maid, but not a governess. Believe me, none of Beatrice's circle fit that description. A gaggle of preening geese, the lot of them."

  "Thank you, Miss Glass," I said, unable to think of anything else. She had given me a compliment, and my mother had always told me to be gracious, even when the compliment was unintended or made from politeness.

  "So you ought to thank me," she said with a smug curve of her lips. "The daughters of Beatrice's friends are all as awful as their mothers. Trying to educate them will send any sane woman to the madhouse."

  I smiled, but there was no humor in it. My hopes of working as a governess had almost disappeared entirely. I shouldn't have come. I should have stayed home to find evidence linking Mr. Glass to the outlaw in the papers. The reward money was looking more and more appealing.

  Lord Rycroft's house faced Belgrave Square. It was not unlike Mr. Glass's Mayfair house, in that it was tall and part of a series of townhouses that stretched from one end of the street to the other. Miss Glass informed us on the short journey that the Rycroft estate in the countryside was somewhat neglected, since Beatrice preferred the city and all the social opportunities London offered.

  "Your father would be disappointed," she said, eyeing her nephew. "He loved Rycroft. I always thought it a shame he wasn't the oldest son. He appreciated it more."

  "Yet he would have hated the responsibility," Mr. Glass said coolly. "And resented having to remain in the same place for long."

  Miss Glass sighed. "Very true."

  Stiff-backed footmen greeted us with blank stares. They performed their duties of door-opening and hat-taking with mechanical formality. I wanted to pinch one to see if he reacted.

  "Finally," Lady Rycroft said with a pointed glance at the gilt and jet clock on the mantel in the drawing room. It was fifteen minutes fast. I wondered if she knew. "I've had to postpone my afternoon engagements to wait for you, Letitia."

  "You didn't need to wait," Miss Glass said, taking a seat and indicating that I should too. I did and checked the time on the watch I'd tucked into my waistcoat pocket. The mantel one was definitely fifteen minutes ahead.

  "Richard wouldn't allow me to leave until you returned," Lady Rycroft said. "He's punishing me for your little morning escapade."

  "Is he here?" Mr. Glass cut in, taking up a position by the white marble mantel, his elbow near the clock. I tore my gaze away from the timepiece, only to find it kept wandering back.

  "One of the footmen is notifying him of your presence."

  The conversation stalled as we all waited for Lord Rycroft's entrance. I clasped my hands in my lap, twisting my fingers around one another, but it was impossible. The clock called me as loudly as any trumpet.

  "Forgive me, Lady Rycroft, but have you noticed that your clock is fast?"

  Mr. Glass and Miss Glass looked at the clock. Lady Rycroft looked at me.

  "Who are you, and why are you here?" she asked, as if seeing me for the first time.

  "My name is India Steele."

  Before I could go on, Mr. Glass spoke. "Miss Steele is my assistant."

  Lady Rycroft's eyebrows almost disappeared into her turban. Her face flushed and she picked up a fan from the table and fanned herself.

  "I'm helping him search for someone," I said quickly with a glare at Mr. Glass. He wasn't smiling but somehow he managed to look amused. "After his return to America, I'll be in need of other work. If you know of anyone requiring a governess, then I would appreciate it if you could pass on my details. I have an excellent grasp of most subjects, particularly mathematics and engineering." At her look of horror, I added, "And the gentler arts, too, of course. I can be found at Mr. Glass's residence in Mayfair for a few days more."

  Her gaze fell to my chest then lifted to my face. The grooves drooping from her mouth deepened. "Nobody I know needs a governess at present."

  My hopes fell, although they weren't as dashed as they would have been if Miss Glass hadn't forewarned me in the carriage. I thanked Lady Rycroft and willed my face to not turn red as I felt Mr. and Miss Glass watching me.

  Fortunately, Lord Rycroft entered at that moment too. Mr. Glass stood straighter, and Miss Glass shrank into the sofa, as if she were trying to make herself invisible. He didn't see her, however. He only had eyes for his nephew.

  Lord Rycroft was a less appealing version of Mr. Glass, and it wasn't simply the age difference that accounted for it. The older man did sport some gray through his thick black hair, but that was his only distinguishing feature. He was shorter yet just as broad
in chest and shoulder, which made him stocky. He may once have had the sharply angular cheeks of Mr. Glass but it was impossible to tell beneath the layers of sagging fat. Muddy eyes took in every inch of his nephew, slowly, as if measuring him against the memory of his dead brother and perhaps against himself. Lord Rycroft's stature straightened with every passing moment, and his chest expanded. I pressed my lips together to stop myself smiling at his attempts to make himself more impressive. He ought not bother. Mr. Glass wasn't easily matched by anyone, let alone a short, fat man twice his age.

  "Good afternoon, Uncle," Mr. Glass said, holding out his hand.

  Lord Rycroft ignored it. "What brings you to London?" He had a ropey voice, as if it struggled to travel through his thick throat.

  Mr. Glass pulled back his hand. "I'm looking for someone. It's a private matter."

  "How long are you staying?"

  "Until Tuesday."

  "See that you don't stay longer."

  Mr. Glass's eyes narrowed. "I'll stay as long as I like."

  "Let me make myself clear, you are not welcome here. Your father chose to leave his family, his home and responsibilities, and run away. He then disgraced us further by marrying a foreign girl of ill-repute." He poked a thick finger at Mr. Glass's chest. "And you are the embodiment of that disgrace. We want nothing to do with you."

  Mr. Glass's face darkened. His eyes turned the color of pitch. My blood chilled as Mr. Glass went very still. I suddenly felt afraid for Lord Rycroft.

  "I know who your mother's family are and what they've done," he went on, oblivious to the fuse he'd set alight. "My investigators sent me newspaper clippings and reports of their crimes."

  Crimes! My gasp echoed in the ensuing silence. I was the only one who showed surprise, however. Mr. Glass swallowed but did not take his gaze off his uncle. Nor did he deny the accusation. So it was true.

  I pressed my hand to my rolling stomach. It wasn't until that moment that I realized the stupidity of what I'd done. I was living with a criminal. I'd never quite believed that Mr. Glass was the Dark Rider—until now.

  "Let's be clear," Lord Rycroft went on, "the estate cannot be handed over to the likes of you. It must be against the law, somehow, or what's the good of laws in the first place? I have my lawyers working on it. "