CHAPTER 13
The next morning dawned bright and clear, a brilliant summer day in the heart of England’s green and leafy land. After an early breakfast, the party traveling to the exhibition gathered in the forecourt, packed and ready to depart.
Although Mary had ridden the relatively short distance from Raventhorne the previous day, Ryder had ordered their traveling coach to follow, and it had arrived later that afternoon. Now, with its team of four horses between the shafts, the coach stood ready on the gravel. The footmen piled Mary’s, Ryder’s, Rand’s, Felicia’s, and William John’s bags into the boot or lashed them onto the roof behind the coachman.
Then the guards, all mounted and wearing livery—tabards displaying the Raventhorne coat of arms—came clopping down the path from the stable. The Hall household, gathered about Flora on the front porch, chattered and watched. The rising tide of excitement was palpable, investing swift smiles and the rush of action as everyone hurried to take their place.
As per their deliberations the previous evening, their company formed up in a small cavalcade. It had been decided four riders—three of Ryder’s men plus Shields—would lead the way, followed, at what they hoped would be a safe enough distance of one to two hundred yards, by the steam-powered horseless carriage, with William John at the wheel.
Rand would sit beside William John, at least for the first leg of the journey, but Ryder, Felicia, and Mary had all stated their wish to ride with William John at some point. All were eager to experience the thrill of bowling along with no horse before them.
Behind the horseless carriage, separated again by a few hundred yards, would come four more mounted guards, closely followed by the traveling coach, with a pair of outriders bringing up the rear.
Ryder handed Mary, then Felicia, up into the coach, then shut the door; he’d elected to ride and, if need be, act as a messenger back and forth along their line.
Mary and Felicia promptly hung out of the windows, just in time to see Rand stride up.
Rand met Felicia’s eyes, then he looked at Ryder. “Ready?”
“Quite.” Ryder smiled his lazy smile. “We’re an impressive sight.”
Rand turned to look along the line, then nodded. “Indeed, and now”—he swung to grin at Mary and Felicia—“it’s time we got under way.” His expression sobered and turned determined. “Keep your eyes peeled.” With that and a brief salute, he strode back up the line.
Ryder, too, saluted Mary and Felicia, then gathered the reins of his huge gray hunter and swung up to the saddle.
Distantly, they heard the clatter of horses moving off, then came the soft cough followed by a purring hum they now recognized as the steam-powered engine starting up.
Mary and Felicia exchanged a look, then both shifted to the other side of the carriage and hung out of the windows to peer ahead and witness the moment. Courtesy of the curve of the drive, they could see the steam-powered carriage, with William John behind the wheel; as the first group of riders had disappeared between the avenue’s trees, the steam carriage was now at the head of the line.
Rand climbed up to the seat and sat beside William John. The steam carriage purred for another minute—no doubt to let the advance guards get far enough ahead for the horses not to be spooked by the engine—then William John adjusted a lever and the sound of the engine changed; he released the brake, and with a small lurch and the crunch of gravel under its wheels, the steam carriage rattled off.
The company assembled on the porch gave vent to a resounding cheer.
William John and Rand responded with triumphant grins and waves.
Smiling more broadly than she ever had, Felicia watched the steam carriage roll out of sight down the drive, then she sat back, settling against the luxurious leather seat. She saw her own excitement reflected in Mary’s bright-eyed smile and admitted, “This feels like a dream that I hadn’t dared to dream actually coming true. Until Rand arrived, and even in the weeks after that while we struggled to get the invention working as it should, I could never quite imagine that we would ever reach this point—setting off for the exhibition with a working engine leading the way.”
Mary continued to smile, but faintly—almost wryly—arched her brows. Her gaze drifted to the window beyond which Ryder sat his horse, waiting for the guards ahead of the traveling coach to move off. “One thing you can say about the Cavanaughs,” she confided, “is that they are dogged and never give up.”
Felicia considered that, then inclined her head. “Those certainly seem to be family traits.”
Then Ryder called an order, and the coach lurched into motion. Mary shifted to the window alongside which her husband was riding, and Felicia quit the rear-facing seat to sit beside Mary.
Felicia straightened her skirts, then sat back. Her gaze passed over the trees lining the drive.
Keep your eyes peeled.
There—among the shadows.
She blinked, then stared. As the carriage rolled on, she turned to look back, trying to spot what she thought she’d seen.
“What is it?” Mary asked.
Felicia frowned. “I thought I saw someone lurking in the wood, but...” With a sigh, she sat back and faced forward. “When I looked again, there was no one there. I must have imagined it.”
“Shall I tell Ryder?” Mary asked. “He’ll stop, and he and the guards can search.”
Felicia thought for a moment, then shook her head. “It might have been a curious farmworker or some such person, and it doesn’t matter now—we’re on our way.” She glanced at Mary and smiled. “Besides, we should keep as close as possible behind the steam carriage—we don’t want anyone slipping in between.”
“True.” Mary settled against the seat. “If anyone wants to sabotage the engine, they’ll have to catch us first and then go through the guards.” Her smile turned edged. “They’ll never manage that, so, I believe, we can relax on that score.”
After seeing the men Ryder had brought as guards, Felicia had to admit that was a reasonable assessment and conclusion.
As they rolled out of the drive and turned onto the lane leading away from the village, then almost immediately turned right onto the lane heading north toward Oxford and Banbury beyond, she imagined how their cavalcade would appear to all those they passed.
Imagined how the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage would look to others—like a fantastical machine from the future.
As she swayed with the motion of the carriage, she inwardly sighed, touched by a combination of happiness and sadness as she thought of her father.
It was an abiding pity he hadn’t lived to see this moment—to see William John complete the invention and drive it off to the exhibition. How proud her father would have been of William John.
And, perhaps, of her.
* * *
Standing cloaked in shadows, Clive Mayhew watched the Throgmorton machine rumble down the drive. One small part of him cursed, but a larger part of his mind was fascinated.
Enthralled.
As for the rest of his mind, that had taken a firm stand, lecturing and hectoring him on his fall from grace.
He now deeply distrusted his uncle’s stance. And despite the black cloud of despair and desperation that hung over his own head, he was nevertheless increasingly sure that for his own sake, he needed to pull back and step away from the action he’d agreed to undertake. To turn aside from that particular path to monetary salvation.
His attempt to seize Miss Throgmorton had been calculated to bring about his uncle’s desired end without physical harm to any person or, indeed, to the machine, even though he hadn’t, at that time, set eyes on it.
The thwarting of that attempt—the manner in which it had been thwarted—had shaken him. He’d seen the looks on both Cavanaugh’s and Miss Throgmorton’s faces, signaling their contempt and his loss of all gentlemanly status in their eyes.
Their expressions had haunted him. Had started the voice in his head niggling, asking questions such as What sort of man are you? And some deeply buried part of him had surfaced and warned that there was no point erasing his debts if, in the process, he lost all standing in his world—and, most especially, with himself.
He hadn’t thought of himself as overburdened with morals, yet in that moment when Cavanaugh and Miss Throgmorton had looked at him, his inner self had flinched. Had cringed. And he’d turned and run away.
Now, as he listened to what he realized was a quite fascinating advance in steam-powered carriages hum its way toward the exhibition in Birmingham, he felt that deeply buried part of him strengthen and take firmer hold.
He set his jaw, then softly reiterated, “I’m not going to do it.”
He waited to see how clinging to that resolution of yesterday felt—whether it still fitted him, the man he truly was. And it did; it resonated and felt right.
He drew in a breath, slowly exhaled, and felt immeasurably better—lighter—than he had.
He was, thank heaven, a complete failure when it came to illicit and underhanded sabotage. In reality, he felt more comforted than bothered by that conclusion. How he would pay his debts, he didn’t know, but he would find some way—some legitimate way. Some way that wouldn’t make him ashamed to be Clive Mayhew.
Perhaps he could grow serious about his sketching. His family had never encouraged him to think his sketches worth anything, but Cavanaugh and the Throgmorton ladies had thought them better than merely good. The London News used his sketches here and there, but they didn’t want art so much as recognizable depictions of this or that, and they didn’t pay much. Perhaps he should gird his loins and offer his private portfolio to some art dealer and see what might come of it?
One way or another, he would find a way.
The mounted guards and the traveling coach had followed the steam carriage and were now long gone. The Hall’s household had returned indoors, and the stableman had retreated to the stable. Clive turned and quietly made his way out of the wood, eventually emerging onto the lane.
Now what?
He stood in the lane and debated. Given his new direction, his first move should be to free himself from all ties to his uncle’s scheme. “I’d better tell the old codger that I won’t be doing his dirty work.”
He grimaced at the thought of going back to London. He rather fancied remaining in the country until he had added substantially to his portfolio, so he would have some hope of securing cash quickly on his return to town, the better to keep Quire at bay, at least long enough to test the waters with some art dealers.
He’d been gazing, unseeing, along the lane the steam carriage, the horsemen, and the traveling coach had taken; as, frowning, he refocused, he realized he didn’t have to go to London—his uncle would be at the exhibition in Birmingham in two days’ time.
His resolution firmed. “I’ll go to the exhibition, find him, and tell him—then I’ll see if I can get a closer look at the Throgmorton engine and whatever other machines are on show.”
He’d recognized the tug he’d felt as the steam-powered engine, gleaming in the well of the carriage, had puttered past. It was the same tug he felt when he saw certain buildings in certain landscapes. For some odd reason, his artist self was attracted to the new machines.
“Who knows?” Turning, he continued down the lane toward the track along which he’d left the gig he’d hired. “Sketching mechanical inventions might be the next big thing.”
* * *
Later that night, Felicia lay in the bed in her room in the Reinedeer Inn in Banbury and listened to the creaks as the timbers of the old inn settled. The footsteps that, earlier, had tramped past her door had faded, and silence had descended on the upper floors. If she strained her ears, she could dimly hear the distant sounds of revelry issuing from the taproom.
Relaxing between the crisply laundered sheets, she let her mind wander. In retrospect, the day had passed in a curious mix of excitement and enforced patience.
She, Mary, and Ryder had not only taken turns riding beside William John in the horseless carriage, but also, at her brother’s insistence—after he’d taught Rand how to drive the engine to the point that Rand had tooled the steam-powered carriage along the winding lanes with increasing confidence—they had each been taught to steer and manage the engine. To their considerable surprise, it hadn’t proved that difficult, and each of them had thoroughly enjoyed their moments behind the steering wheel.
Passing through villages had also been a thrill; people had dropped what they were doing and rushed to watch the horseless carriage putter past. More often than not, the steam carriage had been cheered on, certainly by the children, who had thought it a great lark to run alongside and shout questions. Only a few ancients had scowled and raised their fists. Most other adults had contented themselves with staring in wonder, then, once the steam carriage had passed, shaking their heads and returning to their interrupted tasks.
In contrast to the thrills and excitement, riding in the closed coach for hours on end had been enervating. It had also left her with plenty of time to imagine possible attempts to sabotage the engine while they were resting overnight at the inn.
But when the traveling coach had rocked to a halt in the inn’s yard and she and Mary had been helped down to the cobbles by Rand, she’d seen the steam carriage being pushed into a barn and heard Ryder issuing orders to his men, setting a rotation of groups of four men at a time to watch the carriage. On top of that, William John had looked around the barn, seen the hay bales stacked along one side, and announced his intention of sleeping there, within sight and sound of the precious invention.
Rand had exchanged a look with her, and neither they nor Ryder and Mary had argued.
Although there’d been plenty of light still remaining in the day, none of them had felt any desire to wander the town. Instead, they’d eaten an early dinner in the splendor of the inn’s Globe Room, which dated from Elizabethan times—as did a great deal of the half-timbered inn—then they’d spent an hour going over their plans for the next day and their arrival in Birmingham.
She was dwelling on their decision to take the road through Stratford-on-Avon, rather than swing farther north to the larger highway through Warwick, when a soft knock sounded on her door. She hesitated for only a second, then thrust back the covers and, the wooden floor cold beneath her bare feet, pattered across to the panel. “Yes?” she softly inquired.
“It’s me—Rand.”
She unbolted the door and held it open while he slipped inside, then she closed the panel and slid the bolt home again. She turned to him as his hands closed about her waist, hard palms burning through the fine linen of her nightgown.
He looked into her eyes and arched a brow. “Do you mind if I stay?”
She smiled and raised her arms to drape them over his shoulders. “Of course not.” As she stepped into him and stretched up on her toes, her lips hungry for his, she murmured, “I hoped you would come.”
As she pressed her lips to his, she felt his curve, then they firmed, and the kiss deepened, and he waltzed her and her greedy senses into the flames of what was becoming a familiar and welcome fire.
He’d shared her bed for the past four nights, and she’d already grown accustomed to having him there.
As he steered her back until her legs met the mattress, she gave thanks that Flora had deemed the presence of Mary, Felicia’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, as well as that of Rand, her all-but-announced fiancé, sufficient chaperonage in the circumstances and had elected to remain and hold the fort at the Hall.
Mentally blessing Flora for her sense, Felicia set her fingers to Rand’s neckerchief. “You’re wearing far too many clothes.”
He didn’t bother replying, instead devoting himself to rectifying that situation.
Then he drew her into his arms, kissed her with undiluted passion, closed his fists in the folds of her nightgown, then he broke from the kiss, stepped back, and drew the garment off over her head.
Hot as a flame, his gaze streaked over her. Before the nightgown even hit the floor, flicked loose from his fingers before he reached for her, she was in his arms, crushed to him, skin to naked skin, and they were burning.
With that delicious flame she’d come to crave.
He took her down to the bed, and they rolled across the sheets, seizing and savoring, seeking and claiming.
Neither felt any need to rein in their rampant desires; both gave the moments their all—their undivided attention and their unstinting commitment. Him to her, and her to him.
Through gasps and smothered cries, through moans and achingly guttural groans, giving and taking and sharing.
At the end, when, exhausted, wrung out, and deeply sated, they lay side by side on their backs in the bed, they each turned their head and met the other’s gaze—sank into the emotions dwelling there—then softly smiled.
She rolled onto her side, into him. He raised one arm and draped it about her, drawing her closer, and she settled her head on his chest, her hand splayed over his still-thudding heart.
A minute passed, then he reached down and drew the coverlet over their cooling limbs.
She settled her head, then murmured, “We’re nearly there. I’m still not sure this isn’t a dream.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair. “No dream. We—William John, you, and I—have worked for this. One more day, then we’ll see what success we can wring from our endeavors.”
Her thoughts returned to her earlier consideration of the next day’s route. After a moment, she ventured, “Do you think, as we approach Birmingham, that the danger to the steam carriage—the potential for attack—might increase?”
Rand didn’t immediately dismiss the idea. However, after considering the likely scenarios, he murmured, “I can’t say for certain, but I think there are several points that will work in our favor and make it unlikely that any attempt at sabotage will be essayed at this late stage—at least, not on the road. Just as we are, all the other inventors with exhibits will be coming into Birmingham tomorrow. As the exhibition hall doesn’t open until noon, I doubt any inventors will have brought their inventions into town early—fearing tampering before they get their invention safely into the hall. But all exhibitors must have their inventions in place by six o’clock, so all the other inventors will be converging on the exhibition hall, as focused on getting their inventions onto the hall floor at much the same time as we will be—I can’t imagine any will have time to spare to think about causing problems for us.”
She shifted on his chest. “That’s the other inventors. What about people they or others might have hired—like Mayhew?”
“That’s the second point working in our favor. The horses have grown used to the steam engine. You might not have noticed, but from after lunch, as we traveled, Ryder gradually brought his men and their mounts closer and closer to the steam carriage. By the time we traveled up Horsefair to this place, the horses were treating the steam carriage as if it was any other carriage.” She looked up, and he met her gaze. “Tomorrow, the guards will travel much closer, especially as we come into Birmingham. That will make it all but impossible to approach the engine closely enough to do it any damage.”
He smiled. “And as we’ll make straight for the exhibition hall, there’ll be no later chance for anyone to tamper with it. The organizers of the exhibition are well aware of the potential threats—they know their reputation depends on them keeping all the inventions safe overnight and through the exhibition. They’ll have guards everywhere.”
“So once we place the steam carriage on the exhibition floor—essentially, placing it into the organizers’ hands—we can be assured it will remain safe?”
He pulled an equivocal face. “Theoretically, yes. But the exhibition itself is liable to be crowded, so we’ll have our own guards in place as well, to ensure the engine remains safe throughout, but until the exhibition ends and we take the steam carriage out of the hall, its safety remains the responsibility of the organizers. Once it leaves the hall, it becomes our responsibility again, but as the presentation of the invention will have been accomplished, I can’t see anyone bothering to make an attempt at sabotage then. There would be no point.”
“Ah. I see.” She smothered a yawn.
He settled her more comfortably against him. Within seconds, he felt her limbs relaxing, growing that telltale touch heavier. He brushed his lips across her temple. “Did you enjoy your driving lesson?”
He felt her lips curve.
“Yes. It was...exhilarating. I can understand why William John is so in alt.”
Rand smiled to himself as her words trailed away and her limbs grew heavier yet. Seconds later, she was asleep.
Still smiling, he closed his eyes and sensed a satisfaction that glowed bone deep, deep enough to wreathe about his soul.
He, too, was in alt, but his contentment owed nothing to any invention.
He owed his state to the woman in his arms and to the emotion that had prompted him to set aside his prejudice against clever ladies and understand all she was, and all she meant and would mean to him.
Feeling her weight soft and safe and secure in his arms, still inwardly smiling, he surrendered to sleep.
* * *
Although, the following day, their party set out with every member infected by heightened alertness, as Rand had predicted, the journey from Banbury to Birmingham passed without incident. They maintained their vigilant cavalcade into the bustle of the busy town, passing along Digbeth and around the famous Bull Ring marketplace, around St. Martin’s Circus, then puttering and clattering all the way up New Street to Victoria Square and the Town Hall, in which the exhibition was to be held.
The Town Hall was a memorable building. They pulled up outside, and Rand alighted from the steam carriage. After one glance at the organizers waiting with their lists before the steps, he went to the traveling coach, reaching it in time to hand Felicia down. He noted her survey of the building and murmured, “It was designed by the inventor of the Hansom Cab—Joseph Hansom. He modeled it on the Temple of Castor and Pollux in Rome.”
Standing beside Ryder and Mary, who had joined her on the pavement, Felicia studied the colonnaded façade with a critical eye, while Rand went with William John to speak with the organizers. A ramp had been erected over one side of the steps leading into the building. After registering their arrival and receiving instructions, Rand and William John returned, and with the help of all the men, pushed the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage up the ramp and into the foyer of the exhibition hall. More organizers were waiting there to take charge of each invention. They had a small army of porters, some of whom were directed to take the steam carriage away. A small man, swathed in a gray dustcoat and with round spectacles perched on his button nose, directed six porters. “Down the aisle to the space reserved for it—number twenty-four.”
The porters nodded and took charge, carefully pushing the steam carriage on through the foyer and into the exhibition hall.
Although the hall’s double doors stood open, from where the Throgmorton party had been halted behind a cordon, they couldn’t see into the space.
William John stared after the disappearing steam carriage, a pained expression on his face.
Felicia put a hand on his sleeve. “All the porters are wearing gloves—did you notice?”
“They are?” William John blinked, looked around to confirm that, then reluctantly conceded, “I suppose they have to take the best of care.”
“Indeed.” Felicia linked her arm with his and drew him inexorably away.
They returned to the horses and traveling coach. Rand and William John joined Felicia and Mary inside the coach, and their now-much-less-impressive party headed back into the town, retracing their route to the Old Crown Inn.
The inn was crowded; it was fortunate that Rand had sent Shields days before to reserve rooms for them. As Shields had used Ryder’s title, the rooms they were shown to were among the best the inn had to offer, well-appointed and comfortable.
Their party gathered for dinner in a private dining room. Ryder had ensured that all the men had been summoned to join them.
At Rand’s suggestion, they applied themselves to the tasty meal served by their hosts; only when the plates had been emptied and jugs of ale had done the rounds of the long table did he and Ryder turn to the task of organizing the watches on the steam carriage during the exhibition and on leaving the hall at the end of the event.
Seated beside Mary, the pair of them flanked by Rand and Ryder, Felicia listened as Rand, Ryder, and William John discussed the potential weaknesses in the organizers’ arrangements.
“The official guards will be there until the end of the day, but there are only so many of them, and exhibitions such as this are always crowded,” Rand said. “There’ll be streams of people—not just inventors and investors, but all sorts of interested members of the public, even children—passing up and down the room and milling around the inventions.”
William John, seated opposite Felicia, frowned. “Not in the morning, though.” He screwed up his face in concentration. “I can’t remember.” He looked at Rand. “Is that right?”
Rand nodded. His expression serious, he glanced around the table at all the men. “Although it’s the organizers’ responsibility to keep the hall and all the inventions in it secure until the end of the exhibition, once the doors open to the public at one o’clock, I strongly suspect the organizers’ guards will be overwhelmed. However, I believe we can place our faith in the organizers and their guards until one o’clock. In addition, the exhibitors—in our case, William John and me—must report to the hall at ten o’clock. Between ten and twelve, the organizers and their team of assessors examine the inventions, and William John and I need to be present throughout that time.”
“But you don’t need extra guards through those hours.” Ryder looked at Rand for confirmation.
“No, we don’t. We’ll both be there, beside the steam carriage, waiting to show the assessors around it and demonstrate how it operates, and while some of the other inventors might leave their exhibits and mill around, there won’t be so many that, between us, we won’t be able to keep an eye on them all.” Rand glanced at William John. “Between twelve and one o’clock, William John and I will remain with the steam carriage, just to be sure.”
Sober and serious, William John nodded.
Rand turned to survey Ryder’s men. “After that, however, immediately the doors open to the public at one o’clock, we will need you—about five or even six at a time—to stand guard around the steam carriage.”
Shields glanced at the other guards. “Right, then.” He looked at Rand. “We’ve enough of us to stand six at a time. We’ll rotate so that we each get a chance to take a gander at the other machines on show, if that’ll suit?”
Rand inclined his head. “Indeed.”
“So,” Shields went on, “we’re to keep all the punters away from the steam engine?”
“They can look,” William John said, “but you’ll need to keep them sufficiently far back that they can’t touch.”
“Either William John or I will be there throughout the exhibition,” Rand said, “standing before the steam carriage to answer any questions.” He paused, then went on, “Even though, prior to the public viewing, the steam carriage will have been examined by the assessors and demonstrated to them, establishing that it works, the most critical point at which our invention must shine is when we have our chance to present it to Prince Albert—so tampering or sabotage remains a real threat until the steam carriage is successfully presented to the Prince.” Rand glanced around at the men. “Albert is scheduled to arrive at half past two. After the usual welcome speeches, he’ll start examining the exhibits, commencing from the first exhibit on the left and progressing down that side of the hall to the end, before returning along the other side.”
Rand looked at William John. “We’re number twenty-four, and I believe there are fifty exhibits in all.” Looking at the men, he said, “I managed to get a glimpse of the plan of the exhibits. The hall is a long rectangle, and the exhibits are arranged against the two long sides, leaving a wide central aisle. The steam engine’s spot is almost at the end of the hall on the left side.”
The men all frowned, envisaging the hall in their minds’ eyes.
Ryder asked, “Are there any side halls or annexes opening from the main hall?”
“None that were marked on the organizers’ plan.” Rand frowned faintly, then offered, “I’ve been in the hall before, and as far as I recall, it’s just one large rectangular hall. There may be doors here and there, but no other spaces open from it.”
Ryder sat back. “If the exhibits are arranged more or less against the walls, that makes protecting them from any interference from the passing crowd easier.” Touching a finger to the condensation on his ale glass, he drew a line on the wooden tabletop. “Here’s the wall, and here”—he drew a rectangle beside it—“is the steam carriage. If we place a cordon of men in a shallow arc extending to either side, virtually to each of the neighboring exhibits, then we’ll block anyone approaching the steam carriage from either side. No one will be able to slip behind it, even if the two of you are distracted by others asking questions.”
Rand, William John, Ryder, and the other men fell to discussing the precise placement of the guards. Watching them, Felicia felt a seductive sense of relief—surely, with so many focused on protecting the steam carriage, nothing would go wrong.
The knowledge that, in the matter of failing, they were approaching the last hurdle hovered at the back of her mind.
Beside Felicia, Mary murmured, “Ryder and I are acquainted with Albert. It would likely be some sort of royal solecism were we not to present ourselves to him at some point in the proceedings.” She glanced at Felicia and met her eyes. “The question is, what would be the most useful point at which to step forward and make our presence known?”
Much struck, Felicia arched her brows. “What would you suggest?”
At that moment, the placements of the guards was resolved to all the men’s satisfaction. Mary leaned forward and asked Rand, “What happens after the Prince arrives? You said there would be the usual speeches, then he’ll speak with the exhibitors—there must be some sort of protocol in place.”
Rand shrugged. “From what I’ve seen in the past, Albert speaks with each inventor, and they explain their invention to him. He’ll move down the line, but he will linger if some invention catches his eye. Then he’ll spend longer, asking questions and examining the machine.”
“The public will be milling about—I imagine the Prince’s equerries will be there, keeping the hoi polloi at a distance.” Mary’s eyes had narrowed, as if examining the scene in her mind. “We’re acquainted with Albert, and it would be odd if we were there but didn’t greet him—his people will recognize us and not seek to prevent us from doing so. From what you say, it seems as if the best time to engage him—to encourage him to focus on the Throgmorton exhibit—will be as he finishes with the invention before. Whatever the number twenty-three exhibit is.”
Ryder had shifted to study his wife. He caught her eye and cocked a brow at her. “You think to charm Albert into paying special attention to the Throgmorton exhibit.”
Mary nodded decisively. “Exactly.”
Rand straightened in his seat. “Actually, that might work out especially well.” Across the table, he met William John’s eyes. “I was wondering how to get the pressure up in time to demonstrate the full capacity of the engine.” To the others, he said, “Once the engine is turned on—the coal ignited—it takes a few minutes for the steam pressure to build. But the organizers’ rules state that we’re not allowed to turn on the engine until the Prince is finished with the previous invention and turns our way.” Rand looked at Mary, including Ryder with his gaze. “If you two step in the instant Albert’s finished with number twenty-three, and chat, charm, and delay him, then William John can push the start button the instant Albert turns our way—”
“And by the time we release him, and he reaches you and William John, the steam carriage will be primed and ready for its demonstration.” Mary grinned. “Consider it done.”
Felicia grinned, too; it was clear that her soon-to-be sister-in-law was delighted to have carved out an active role for herself and her husband in their plans to present the Throgmorton steam carriage to best advantage.
“That will be perfect.” Enthused, William John met Rand’s eyes, eagerness in every line of his face. “If we have the pressure properly up, then if the Prince shows interest, we’ll be able to take him for a short drive.”
Rand, Felicia, Mary, and Ryder—the four of the company who had already experienced the thrill of driving the steam carriage or even being driven in it—fell silent as they considered how someone like Albert, with a known penchant for new inventions, would respond to such an experience, however curtailed...
“That,” Rand said, his tone suggesting he was contemplating an unexpected windfall, “would set the seal on the steam carriage’s success.”
William John looked from one to the other. “Then let’s do it—there’s no reason we can’t ask if he would like to go for a drive.”
Everyone agreed.
“How long does the public showing go for?” Mary asked.
“Until six o’clock.” Rand caught Ryder’s eye, then glanced at the men. “At the end, it’ll be left to us to remove the steam carriage and get it safely away.”
That necessitated another round of discussion and planning.
Eventually, with the manner of their departure, steam carriage and all, from the Town Hall decided, Shields said, “I’ve spoken with the innkeeper, just to confirm—when I was here earlier, he said we could use his coach house to store the steam carriage overnight as the doors have a lock. Seems there’s no problem with that—I took a look, and the building will do well enough.”
“The steam carriage will fit?” William John asked.
Shields nodded. “Plenty of room.”
Regardless of any lock, Ryder and Rand set a roster for guarding the steam carriage over the following night.
With all decided and arranged as far as it could be, with an atmosphere of quiet confidence infusing the company, the men pushed back from the table and, with nods to their various employers, went off to find their beds. William John bade everyone a vague farewell and followed the men from the private room.
Ryder, Mary, Rand, and Felicia rose and followed the others more slowly.
With Felicia’s arm tucked in his, as he and she followed Ryder and Mary up the stairs, Rand murmured, “I plan to survey the other inventions presented to determine if any are worthwhile investing in. Exhibitions such as this are often a good source of future projects”—he caught her eye—“and I would like you to assess them with me.” He smiled. “I would appreciate picking your brains regarding any problems you see in the designs, and also what strengths you perceive in the concepts.”
Felicia felt contentment well and wash through her. She inclined her head. “I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“Depending on the interest the steam carriage garners,” Rand went on, “I might be able to make some time before the Prince approaches, but once Albert’s finished with us and the greater part of the crowd’s attention moves on with him, I should definitely have time to wander the other exhibits and investigate their potential.”
She nodded as they stepped into the upper corridor and turned toward her room. That he valued her mind and her insights into inventions beyond the steam carriage could not have been clearer. “While you’re busy,” she said, “I can make a round of the exhibits myself and see what I can discern.”
“Do.” He squeezed her hand, then, as they paused outside her door, he looked to right and left along the currently deserted corridor. Then he met her eyes. “Should I go to my room and return later? Or...?”
Her smile grew radiant. “No.” She shifted her fingers, gripped and tugged his hand. While it was reassuring that he valued her mind, to be wanted for her body was another delight. “We’re affianced. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s all there is to it.”
His answering smile warmed her heart.
He reached around her and opened the door. She walked in and drew him with her.
* * *
Their lovemaking that night was a scintillating mixture of the tender and the torrid.
Tender in the way they started, with long, gentle kisses that stretched their senses and heralded a slow slide into rising passion; torrid in the final moments, when heat and hunger geysered and drove them, before passion exploded, their senses dissolved, and ecstasy claimed them.
Finally, with oblivion beckoning, they slumped to the sheets, their skins dewed, hers rosy with sated desire.
Their breathing ragged, they lay on their backs, side by side, and waited for the tumult of their hearts to subside.
Despite the tug of satiation, they were both, it seemed, as yet too keyed up to slide willingly into slumber.
After several minutes, Rand drew up the sheet. They settled beneath it, still lying shoulder to shoulder.
Felicia tilted her head, resting it on his shoulder. “We’re nearly there, aren’t we? It’s all falling into place.”
Beneath the sheet, his fingers found hers; gently, he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “Yes.” He paused, then added, “In more ways than one.” He felt her gaze brush his face and went on, “The moment tomorrow when the Prince views the steam carriage is shaping to be one of those fraught instances—those particular moments in time on which so very much depends.”
Her fingers curled with his, and she snuggled closer. “The invention itself and all that flows from that. Your reputation with your investors, the outcome of your investment and theirs, William John’s reputation, his future prospects, the prospects for me and our family, the future of the Hall and our household.” She gripped his hand. “Far-reaching, indeed.”
After a moment, he said, “I know the steam engine works—that it is a vast improvement over what existed previously. I know we’ve taken every possible step to keep it safe, so that it can be presented as a working invention to the Prince tomorrow. Yet...”
Her head moved on his shoulder as, slowly, she nodded, then—softly, wryly—she huffed out a laugh. “It appears that’s another trait we share.” She looked up as he looked down. She searched his eyes, then her lips gently curved. “Neither of us, it seems, is at all comfortable taking things for granted and trusting to Fate.”
He grunted, then let his head fall back and looked up at the ceiling. “Trusting to Fate is not my strength, especially not when so much is at stake.”
“Realistically,” she murmured, “this could still end in tears.”
“Sadly, with inventions, there is always a risk they’ll blow up in your face.”
“In this case, as I well know, that’s a literal prospect.”
They fell silent, then he raised their linked hands and settled them in the center of his chest. “There’s one thing we’ve found, one thing we’ve secured, that I hope that fraught moment tomorrow won’t affect—won’t change or alter—regardless of the outcome.”
Her breath wafting warm and soft against his skin, she murmured, “You and me. And this. That’s already ours, and no one and nothing—no turn of events, however catastrophic—can take it from us.”
He raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Regardless of what happens, we go on together.”
She nodded. “Together. Into whatever future awaits us, regardless of the vagaries of Fate.”
He glanced down, but could only see her red-gold curls. “We haven’t discussed our future.”
“No—and both you and I would rather not. Not at this juncture, this moment of waiting to see what tomorrow brings, whether it be wild success or bitter disappointment.” She paused, then, her voice gaining in confident certainty, went on, “We know our future is there. It won’t disappear if we leave it unaddressed for another day, and I—and you—would rather that when we do eventually come to consider it, we can devote our full attention to it. To us, to defining what we want.”
Her resolve, her agreement, dispersed his lingering uncertainty—his nebulous need to seize and hold and make sure of her above all else. Slowly, he nodded. “When this rather major distraction is over, we’ll focus all our energies on defining our future.”
“Done.” She snuggled down, curling into his side. “Let’s leave our personal discussion until the exhibition is over, and you and I have done everything we can to ensure our efforts reap the ultimate reward. Then we can turn to ‘defining us’ with utterly clear consciences.”
He smiled, because in that—in needing to feel their duty properly done—he and she were also alike.
The exchange had settled them. Their way forward decided, their minds finally relaxed, along with their already lax limbs.
He drew her fingers to his lips once more and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “To success,” he whispered.
“To success,” she breathed.
And they closed their eyes and let Morpheus take them.