He nodded and surprised her by putting one arm around her and hugging her close to his chest. “I have to admit I’m so relieved to see it. Gen needed her mother, and by the looks of it, those feelings were reciprocated tenfold.”
Enjoying the warmth, Dorothea grinned. “It’s also quite charming to see Hiram’s attentions. He’s a good man, isn’t he?”
As Hiram bent down to touch the faithful Thim, Gen turned and leaned against him for a minute, talking rapidly about something important, and showing her mother Thim’s claws. It was a perfect family picture, thought Dorothea for a moment.
“There’s something I’d like to see painted,” murmured Silas, absently echoing her thoughts.
She breathed in his scent — fresh, masculine, leather and perhaps vanilla, or just simply the man himself.
“Silas,” she whispered, turning her head and meeting his gaze.
“What?”
Her heart fluttered like a mad thing as she lost herself in his eyes. Then she blinked, and the moment was gone. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Chapter Seven
Silas looked around his dining room, amazed at the amount of sound and bustle. Used to a solitary life, this was most unusual, but cogblast it, he liked it.
Nelson had surpassed himself, and even now was ferrying in a few more pieces of toast for the hungry crew. Hiram, of course, always enjoyed a large breakfast, and he himself wasn’t averse to fueling up for the day with eggs, bacon, toast, or whatever was at hand. His food source always kept him supplied, so there was plenty for everyone on this particular morning when he had a full table.
The chairs were filled...on his right was Thea, and on his left, Mrs Sinclair. Gen sat between her and Hiram, laughing and apparently having the time of her life. The happy breakfast was certainly a lovely way to kick off the day. But time was passing, and he knew they must be off shortly.
“Hiram,” he said, attracting his friend’s attention. “It’s getting late.”
“Well, bless my gears, it is indeed.” He glanced down at Gen, who was chuckling at his words.
“All right,” announced Silas. “Here’s what I suggest. Mrs Sinclair and Gen can certainly stay here, with Thea, while we sort everyone out. Hiram and I have to go to the Forge, because we have a lot of work ahead of us before it closes for Christmas.”
“That machine,” grunted Hiram.
Silas nodded. “Yes, that machine.”
“Which one might that be?” inquired Thea politely, sipping her tea and glancing at him.
He sighed. “The one that has failed, and is crucial to our production.”
“Oh, dear.” She put down her cup. “Silas, if I might accompany you...I have been told I have an ability with machines, and I would be very willing to help...”
Silas smiled. “That is very kind of you, Thea, but I don’t think...”
“Come now,” she urged sweetly. “If this machine is as crucial as you say, surely any offer of assistance would be welcomed? And remember, I did fix Thim.”
“She did, Mr Silas,” agreed Gen. “And look at it now...”
Thim trundled over to Silas, nudged him with a clawed arm, and fixed its slightly crooked gaze on his face.
“It’s worth a try, Silas,” offered Hiram. “The unit is nearby, and Miss Thea looks as if she could reach places we can’t...”
“Will you and Gen be all right here alone for the day?” He glanced at Nelson. “I am sure you’llbe well looked after, between Nelson and Thim...”
His tickerkin gave him a slow blink, a sure indication that he was in favour of whatever question was under discussion. “I believe we shall be quite comfortable, sir. You need not concern yourself with that matter.”
“Mrs Sinclair,” he began.
“Please, Mr Gray, call me Lyra? I believe our situation negates any social requirements, don’t you?”
“And it’s such a pretty name,” smiled Hiram. “We shouldn’t let it hide behind restrictive rules.” He paused. “Lyra.”
