Like hell they were. Toys were like air to children, necessary for the mind and for the soul.
Behind him, coach wheels and horse hooves rattled over the courtyard drive. Temple Grant, Baron Knightly had arrived.
“Don’t be nervous,” Nico said, patting the boy’s shoulder as the coach creaked to a stop. “The baron and his sister are quite—” the door opened, and a man and woman stepped down—“friendly.”
The man, big of body and dark of hair, was scowling.
Timothy curved into Miss Dean’s embrace.
Nico burst forward, slapping his old friend on the back and hugging Miss Sybil Grant. “Sybil, terribly good to see you.” He turned to Temple and hissed in his ear, “Smile, you arse. You’re scaring the boy.”
Temple’s lips pulled back into a not-quite smile beneath steel-gray eyes and a thick mane of dark hair. “Is this Timothy?”
Trembling, the boy shook his head. “No, sir. Not me at all.”
“Oh, the poor dear.” Sybil knelt in front of Timothy, giving him the full force of her wide smile and sparkling blue eyes. A lock of honey-gold hair fell over her temple, and she brushed it away. Temple’s decision to bring her along was brilliant. Young, bright, and with so much kindness in her eyes, she’d put the boy at ease where Temple—big, rough-hewn, and scowling—would not. “My brother’s countenance is harder than his heart. Don’t fear him. Besides, if he gets grumpy, I’ll make him travel outside the carriage. Here.” She pulled a bundle from her pocket. “Would you like a biscuit?”
Timothy looked to Miss Dean, who nodded with a smile, and then he took the outstretched sweet, stuffing every inch of it in his mouth at once.
Sybil laughed and stood, and Temple, his face softening, handed Timothy a rock, black and brown and green, its rough, speckled edges flecked with metallic shine. “Here. Copper, yes? That’s your element?”
“As far as we know,” Nico said. “Copper is abundant here. It may simply be what he’s had access to.”
The boy took the rock, chewing around puffed-out cheeks. He turned it and turned it, held it up to the sun, narrowed his eyes. Then the rock moved, all the copper spreading to the rock’s edges.
“Excellent.” Temple slipped his hand into his greatcoat pocket, likely to find what resided in Nico’s pocket, too. “Keep it with you at all times. It will help you sharpen your talent.”
Alchemists carried their tokens from childhood on. Each man’s token was a raw chunk of whatever metal they worked best with. The sides of Nico’s silver had been rubbed smooth long ago. No doubt Temple’s thumb swept over the iron in his pocket.
“Well, Mr. Timothy, will you give me a tour?” Sybil stood and smoothed her skirts, and the boy, cheeks now the usual size and new token pocketed, grasped her hand and pulled her inside.
“We’re staying at the Copper Fox tonight,” Temple said, “before returning to London. I’m headed there now to secure accommodations.”
Nico nodded. “Thank you. The boy needed a home.” All the children did, and homes were scarce.
“Thank you. You don’t have an apprentice that I’m aware of. You could have taken him for yourself.”
“I’ve no work to speak of right now. I declined to accept my father’s old munitions contract.” The crown had offered,but he had never been able to see himself making weapons, no matter how lucrative the trade. “Besides, your father needs him.” The Grant family had been ousted from social and professional alchemist circles. It was no simple social exile, either. They’d been expelled from the Alchemist Guild. Mr. Grant had been the Master of the Guild, and Temple rising to that position. And now no family would send their sons to apprentice under them, no daughters would consider Temple for marriage, and every suitor had dropped their interest in Sybil. The younger Grant sons had been forced to find apprentices and work outside of England. That the price of leaking alchemist secrets to the king. It hadn’t been all bad. The king had paid Temple well for his losses, making him a baron and dusting off an old court position for him: Royal Alchemist. They’d come up in the world, technically. But no one from their world accepted them any longer.
“Thank you,”Temple grumbled. Guilt hung heavy on his shoulders, pulling the corners of his mouth into downward arrows. “He’s been overworked in his forge. Timothy will be a great help.” He cleared his throat, clapped Nico on the shoulder, and boarded the coach.
As it rumbled off, Nico sidled closer to Miss Dean. “You seem pensive.” The first time he’d spoken to her after their midnight encounter, he’d thought his voice would give him away. But without the rough whispered desire that had coursed through it that night, she’d not seemed to notice.
She grasped the doorframe, pausing before moving inside. “I am glad Timothy has found a home, a purpose. But I am always sad to see them go.”
Nico leaned in close. She was such a forlorn little thing. Hated to see it. Needed a smile. He tugged a loose strand of her hair out of place, fingers brushing almost imperceptibly againsther downy skin. Warm despite the December chill. Heat shot through him, tilting his lips in a wicked direction as his touch tempered hers, tightened them into that narrow, oh-so-prim line.
“Sir Nicholas.” A warning.
“They’re lucky to have you. In the last year, you’ve found five children permanent positions. Good ones. Steady and kind ones.”
She sniffed. “As if you’ve not settled three yourself. And into similar circumstances.”
“Yes.” He frowned. “You’re winning. I need to improve.”
She flinched. Her lips trembled, hinting at pouty pinkness—their natural shape when she wasn’t taming them ruthlessly. “It is not a competition. It is a solemn duty that must be carried out carefully.”
Her stubborn adherence to rules irked him. And intrigued him. Some people stayed in line because they never once considered thinking for themselves. But Miss Dean seemed to have thought about it to some considerable extent and come to the conclusion that rules were right, their chaffing limitations righteous. And God… that was arousing. Roused the part of him that wanted to battle it out with her, prove her wrong. And roused his body, flushed him with the heat of appreciation.
