“Would you have been disappointed?” he asked as he held out his arm for her to take.
Clara stared at his sleeve for a moment, then caught his gaze. He was dressed again in the dark-blue greatcoat cut at the knees and the beaver top hat. She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, feeling his warmth as he placed his other hand over hers and guided her down the street.
“Where are we headed?”
“Houghton, where Stanhope and Newcastle join,” she said. “Do you mind the walk? It’s such a mild winter evening. Do you live in a different direction?”
“Doesn’t matter. It gives us more time to become acquainted.” They stopped at the corner of Charles Street, waiting for passing carriages and hackneys. “How was your day?”
The words poured out. Pa would half listen as she rambled on about the house, choosing the best ingredients, following her recipes, and learning to give orders to staff. But Mr. Norton seemed genuinely interested. He asked questions occasionally when she paused, proving he was paying attention to what she said.
“And I have no idea what to expect when the comte arrives at the beginning of March, but I’m ready for anything.” She drew in a breath, realizing she had dominated the conversation. Mr. Norton put her at ease without any effort on his part, and Clara decided she liked him.
“I’m sure Mrs. Johnson will prepare you. She sounds extremely capable, as does Mr. Smalley.” He pulled her back from the edge of the street as a wagon rumbled past them, the driver snapping the reins on the spine of a swayback horse. They turned left onto Holborn, toward Cheapside. “It sounds as if you’ve found a steady position with good people to work with.”
His use of the housekeeper and butler’s names reinforced her assumption that Mr. Norton listened intently. Warmth bloomed in her chest, giving her a feeling of importance. Her father still saw her as his little girl, but this man recognized Clara as an adult, a woman with opinions and ideas to share.
“And what of your day?”
“I’m working on a case involving stolen jewelry. I’ve spoken with several businessmen and employees about their losses but haven’t come close to finding the culprit. I did, however, manage to save a damsel in distress yesterday and procure a reward today.” He grinned.
Clara’s stomach fluttered.
“Tell me more about you, Miss Alberts. Do you come from a large or small family? Do you have a favorite color? Sweet? Any secret hopes for the future that will probably never come true but still make you smile?” He gently pushed his elbow into her side, making her laugh.
“So many questions and so little time,” she said with a chuckle as they headed left onto Chancery Lane. She tapped a finger against her mouth. “No siblings, I’m afraid, though I would have loved at least a few. My mother died five years ago?—”
“I am sorry,” he interrupted, his eyes scanning her face. “Was it sudden?”
She shook her head. “Consumption. I think sudden would have been better.” Clara remembered the raspy breathing, pale skin, and bruises beneath her mother’s eyes the last six months. Ma had been in such pain.
“My mother died from a fever when I was five. I understand your loss.”
Clara saw the pain in his eyes and squeezed his arm. “Oh my, so young. Your father had to raise the family on his own?”
“My father was nonexistent after that. The O’Briens took me in, raised me as their own. A more loving couple couldn’t be found in the whole of London.” His face brightened instantly when he spoke of his found family. “I have five brothers, two semi-brothers and one sister. And a beast of a dog.”
“What, pray tell, are semi-brothers?” she asked, amused.
“There were seven us growing up in the household, all foundlings of a sort like myself. Marshall came along as a young man but was included just the same, and Roger only joined us a couple of years ago.” He winked at her. “It seems we never stop growing.”
“Oh my! That’s quite a brood. I suppose your house was quite hectic growing up.” Clara marveled that the O’Briens had collected such a large family. What generous souls they must be. Mr. Norton seemed to be a fine young man, so the couple must have done well by the children.
“Loving chaos, Maggie calls it,” he said with a nod. “That’s our matriarch. Paddy is our wise leader, though Maggie may have a different opinion, depending on the situation.”
They turned left again toward Lincoln’s Inn Field, passing Lincoln’s Inn, one of the four Inns of Court where barristers trained. “The undercroft of the chapel here used to be a place where people often left babies. I can’t imagine abandoning my child.”
“Desperate people are often driven to do desperate things.”
It was a simple statement, yet so profound. Clara studied Mr. Norton’s profile. He seemed much older tonight than when she first met him. Perhaps it was his tragic background. “Very true. Who am I to judge?”
They walked in companionable silence for a while, then he asked, “And your favorite color?”
“Blue. The sky on a brilliant summer’s day, the ocean at sunrise, or the wings of a Kingfisher.” Clara had worried she wouldn’t have anything to talk about with Mr. Norton. Now she worried their walk would end too soon. They were passing King’s Cross Hospital, almost to her street.
“That’s almost poetic,” he said, looking down at her. “I’d like to sketch you some time. Your face has my fingers itching. The angles, the symmetry…”
Clara looked up when he trailed off. His gaze was so intent, she had to remind herself to breathe. He stopped beneath a tree, a secluded spot behind the hospital. When he turned to face her, one hand gripping her arm, she thought he would kiss her. She had only experienced two kisses in her life.
