The great brass and enamel model of the heavens swept through its rotation with little ticks from within its base. Etched in gold and silver, the signs of the zodiac wrapped in a band so that, even in daylight, an astrologer could see where the planets lay. Lit by the sun streaming in through the large glass windows of Sir Phillip’s study, the planets rotated like women dancing in scarlet, cerulean, and primrose ballgowns. Mr. Whitaker peered through the brass door in the side of the mechanism and frowned. His neat starched collar contrasted beautifully against the dark skin of his throat and made his jaw appear even firmer than it was. Rumor had it that his mother had been a Rajah’s daughter, but he denied that. Whatever the truth, the result was a man who caused the fashionable young ladies of London to swoon whenever he walked into a room. Hannah was not immune to his charms. Not at all. Mr. Whitaker picked up a wrench and reached inside the orrery’s base. His movement checked almost immediately as his coat snagged on a gear.
