CHAPTER 15
Rand reached the cordon and their guards. He cast a swift glance at the knot of people around the Prince. Luckily, Albert had asked for a demonstration of the steam-powered threshing machine, and the exhibitors were still stoking their boiler.
Remembering that William John was scheduled to fire the steam carriage’s engine as soon as the Prince turned toward their exhibit, Rand stepped over the cordon, saying to the nearest guards, “Keep watching.” He jerked a thumb at Mayhew as the artist made to follow. “It’s all right—he’s with me.”
With Mayhew on his heels, Rand rounded the steam carriage.
He crouched, and Mayhew did the same.
“Winthrop couldn’t have got within spitting distance of the other side of the engine.” Rand reached for the knob that secured the side panel of the engine housing. “I can’t imagine how he might have reached this side unseen, but...” He had to check. His instincts were pricking him like hedgehog quills; he couldn’t ignore them.
He twisted the knob, and the catch released. Smoothly, he lowered the panel. With Mayhew looking over his shoulder, he peered into the engine compartment.
With his sharp artist’s eyes, Mayhew spotted the anomaly first. “There.” Reaching over Rand’s shoulder, he pointed. “That looks like material—it shouldn’t be there, should it?”
Rand looked and swore. “No.” He reached for the white band holding down the pressure valve. He felt and found the knot, tried to unpick it, and realized that wouldn’t be easy. “Damn—he’s used his silk handkerchief. The knot’s pulled tight.”
Grimly, he worked at the knot, frantically trying to ease it apart; they didn’t have much time... An unwelcome thought intruded. Over his shoulder, he murmured urgently to Mayhew, “Look further. This might not be all he did.”
Rand shifted to the side to allow Mayhew to press closer and peer deeper into the engine compartment.
Telling himself the artist’s eyes were keen, Rand concentrated on freeing the valve they knew was stuck—one of the critical valves William John had added off the boiler to equalize the pressure...
“There’s another one—looks like another handkerchief around one of those things.”
“Valves,” Rand gritted out. “Where?”
Mayhew pulled back from the compartment. “Farther from the engine. He must have reached it from underneath.”
Rand gave Mayhew due credit; the artist didn’t hesitate, but rolled onto his back and wriggled beneath the carriage’s underbelly. “I can get this one.”
Mayhew’s words were indistinct. Rand raised his head and realized the noise from the crowd had grown. The Prince and his entourage must be on the point of moving on.
His jaw clenching, Rand ducked his head and worked feverishly to ease the knot, but everything he did only seemed to pull it tighter.
Distantly, he heard Mayhew swear about silken knots.
Then Mayhew asked, his words faint but clear, “Cavanaugh—what will happen if these valves are still tied down when the engine starts?”
Rand’s jaw couldn’t clench any tighter. His eyes felt like they were burning, he was concentrating so fiercely on the silk band. “Nothing initially.” His tone, strangely, sounded entirely even. “But then the boiler will explode.”
“Explode?” Mayhew squeaked.
“Quite spectacularly.” Rand was barely aware of what he was saying, so focused was he on the knot.
Then with a rustling of skirts and petticoats, Felicia crouched beside him. “What...?” Her hand on his shoulder, her eyes had gone to the tie he was wrestling with. “Good God—is that silk?”
“Yes! And the damned knot has pulled tight.” Rand was dimly aware her hand had gone from his shoulder; a glimpse from the corner of his eye showed she’d grabbed her reticule and was desperately hunting inside it. “I can’t get this undone.” Through gritted teeth, he ground out, “Go and tell William John to wait for my signal before starting—”
The coal igniter flared, flames whooshed, and the boiler rattled to life.
Rand cursed.
Then Mayhew called, “I’ve got it!”
He pushed out from under the carriage, triumphantly brandishing the white scrap like a flag.
Felicia spared him a shocked glance, then her features hardened, and she returned to ferreting in the depths of her reticule.
The tone of the engine changed as the pressure in the boiler built, but William John hadn’t yet engaged the pistons and gears.
Without pausing in his desperate tugging at the silk band, Rand shot Mayhew a glance. “Get Miss Throgmorton out of here. Felicia—tell William John to shut the engine down and get everyone back.” The steam engine was going to blow—and the Prince was mere yards away, along with Ryder, Mary, and a host of others Rand cared far too much about.
“Don’t be daft.” Felicia dropped her reticule and waved a pair of embroidery scissors. “Let me at it.”
She pushed his shoulder to make him move aside, and despite every instinct screaming against it, Rand gave way.
The pitch of the engine continued to rise.
Felicia leaned in. “Keep holding the band taut. That’s it.”
A split second later, the band slid free.
The silk clutched in one hand, Rand fell back, sprawling to sit on the floor. Felicia overbalanced, toppled backward, and sat beside him.
Still crouching alongside the steam carriage, Mayhew looked at them with wide eyes. Now what? he mouthed.
Rand held up a staying hand. Both he and Felicia were listening intently to the sound of the engine.
Then Felicia grinned and turned to him. She reached for his arm and gripped hard. “The pressure’s leveled off—it’s going to be all right.”
He stared at her face, then he raised a hand to her nape, pulled her face to his, and kissed her.
For one second, he allowed the violent need that owned him to hold sway, to take control of the kiss and ravage and plunder, then he pulled back.
Mayhew had averted his eyes, looking upward as if listening to William John, who was giving Prince Albert a lecture on the Throgmorton engine’s finer points. The engine was now purring, a reassuringly benign and steady hum.
Felicia crawled back to the side of the carriage and carefully and silently closed the compartment Rand had opened.
Seconds later, they heard William John, closer now, open the engine’s other side and then lift the cover over the engine’s top to display the inner workings to Albert, who was predictably taking a very keen interest and asking relevant questions.
Rand took that as their cue to depart. He returned to a crouch and, using hand signals, directed Mayhew to shuffle to the rear of the carriage, then stand and walk out to the side. As, urging Felicia ahead of him, Rand moved to follow, he felt a draft, looked at the wall, and saw the door Winthrop must have used. Their guards hadn’t fallen down on the job. Winthrop had slithered in like the snake he was.
After helping Felicia to her feet, Rand guided her and Mayhew to the end of the cordon on that side. Rand paused there to take stock. The crowd was too dense and pressed too closely against the cordon for them to have any chance of slipping into the throng. Luckily, Ryder and Mary had joined the Prince’s party, and the pair now stood on the inside of the cordon, not far from William John, ready to support him if need be.
Rand drew Felicia’s hand through his arm. Over his shoulder, he said to Mayhew, “Stick close.” Then he led Felicia forward to join Ryder and Mary, which was where, according to their plan, they were supposed to be.
As Rand settled beside Ryder, without turning his head, Ryder inquired, “Where did you get to?”
“We’ve been nullifying our would-be saboteur’s efforts.” Rand sensed Ryder shoot a sharp glance at Mayhew and added, “Not him. He helped us.”
“Which is something you will both need to explain to me later,” Felicia muttered, glancing at Mayhew.
Rand raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “We will, but later. Definitely later.”
William John had noticed Felicia’s and Rand’s arrival. He flashed them a relieved smile, but his recitation of the wonders of the improvements he and his father had made to the steam engine didn’t falter. At Felicia’s insistence, William John had somewhat grudgingly agreed to omit her name from the discussion; while Rand had understood Felicia’s reasoning—the involvement of a female wouldn’t be viewed in a positive light by the majority of those present—he’d also sympathized with William John and his dislike of being forced, by default, to accept credit for her work.
Perhaps that would change in the future, but for now, Rand agreed with Felicia’s pragmatic stance.
So they stood and listened, and a slow but steady wave of relief and pride welled and rolled through him—through them. He read as much in Felicia’s fine eyes as she glanced at him, the green misty with pride and rising joy.
William John had come into his own. His confidence in discussing the invention with the Prince, the committee members, and several other inventors who had pressed close was impressive; not once did he falter.
And when, with what was, for William John, a remarkably graceful gesture, he invited the Prince to step into the carriage for a drive down the hall, the excitement that gripped not just Albert but the entire audience was wonderful to behold.
After a moment of further discussion, Albert accepted.
William John spared a triumphant glance for Felicia and Rand, then turned back to show the Prince to the steps to climb up to the carriage’s bench seat.
Thrilled and eager to witness such an event, the crowd was quite orderly in falling back to clear space for the carriage to turn out of its allotted spot and then roll up the hall.
Rand doubted he would ever again know a moment like this—the first time an invention he’d backed had been given such a clear stamp of approval from the monarchy. As he and Felicia, together with Ryder and Mary, stepped back with the rest of the onlookers, Rand felt the white silk band still wrapped around his fingers. Releasing Felicia’s arm, he unraveled the remnants of the silk square.
It was monogrammed. For several seconds, Rand stared at the entwined HW. Then he tucked the handkerchief into his pocket and glanced over his shoulder. As he’d instructed, Mayhew had remained close. “I suggest,” Rand said, “that with all attention on the steam carriage, now would be a good time to find your uncle and have a quiet word.”
Mayhew arched a brow. “He would have waited to see what happened.”
“Indeed. Let’s catch him before he realizes nothing is going to mar the Prince’s enjoyment and does a bunk.”
Rand bent his head and whispered to Felicia, “Mayhew and I need to speak to the man who tried to get him to sabotage the engine. You need to stay here in case William John needs any support when he returns. We should be back soon after.”
She shot him a look, one that stated she was torn, but in the end, she nodded. “All right. Just as long as you tell me all later.”
He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “I promise.”
“Do you need help?” Ryder murmured, his gaze fixed on the steam carriage.
Rand thought about it. “Not at this point.”
Ryder nodded, and Rand turned to Mayhew. Rand tipped his head toward the main doors. “Come on. I would wager your uncle’s still watching and waiting, and I believe he owes us all several boons for preventing the assassination of Prince Albert by his hand.”
Mayhew blinked, then his eyes widened. “Good Lord! I hadn’t thought of that.”
Rand smiled grimly, yet predatory satisfaction glimmered in his eyes. “Indeed. I doubt Winthrop did, either, and, in this instance, his handkerchiefs are as good as a calling card.”
* * *
They found Winthrop at the rear of the crowd, not far from the main doors. As they approached, he was scowling and rising up on his toes in an attempt to see what was happening over the intervening heads. His peeved expression stated very clearly that he was utterly perplexed as to why the engine—only just audible at this distance—was still running.
Rand approached from behind Winthrop and dropped a heavy hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Winthrop.”
Winthrop stiffened, then whirled. For a split second, his expression was aghast, but he immediately recovered, summoning a tight smile and drawing himself up in a vain attempt to look down his nose at Rand.
Rand simply waited.
Eventually forced to it, Winthrop inclined his head and managed a rather stilted bow. “Lord Cavanaugh.”
As he straightened, Winthrop noticed who was standing by Rand’s side, and his expression faltered. “What...?” Then he swallowed and glared. “What are you doing here, boy?”
Clive smiled. “If you recall, we met earlier, Uncle.”
Winthrop’s color rose.
Before he could splutter at Clive, Rand drew Winthrop’s silk handkerchief from his pocket. “I believe this is yours, Winthrop.”
Winthrop stared at the handkerchief, focusing on the embroidered initials Rand held displayed. From tending puce, Winthrop’s face paled to a pasty hue.
“Obviously, you forgot that your handkerchiefs were so distinctive.” Rand returned the incriminating evidence to his pocket. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know where we found it—and its mate. I doubt you could concoct a story that would explain that away.”
Winthrop drew in a shuddering breath, then switched his choleric stare to his nephew. “You ungrateful pup! What have you done?”
“What Mayhew has done, Winthrop,” Rand stated, “is to save you from the Tower and a very bad end.”
Winthrop blinked. “What?”
“If Mayhew hadn’t told me of your attempt at interfering with the Throgmorton invention, and I hadn’t been prompted to check the engine, and in the very nick of time, assisted by Mayhew and Miss Throgmorton, managed to release the valves you’d tied down, then the engine would have exploded.” Rand’s voice hardened; his tone darkened. “Exploded, Winthrop, with the Prince and his advisors, and several other members of the nobility, standing beside it. For your information, the last time the Throgmorton engine exploded, the boiler ruptured—thick copper peeled back like a grape. The carnage...doesn’t bear thinking about. So that’s what your nephew has accomplished—by his redeeming actions, prompted by his better self, he saved others from death and you from being hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
Winthrop’s color had progressively worsened. He looked ill, his jaw slack. “I... I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Scorn rang in Rand’s tone. “Your antipathy toward steam-powered inventions is well known—your ignorance of them can be inferred. Consequently, no one in the investment community or more generally will find our story at all hard to believe.”
A spectrum of emotions flitted across Winthrop’s face, horror, dismay, and panic among them. He shifted, then, apparently, realized there was nowhere for him to run. Nowhere Rand would allow him to hide.
Winthrop cleared his throat. “Wh-what do you want?” When Rand arched his brows, Winthrop clarified, “To...er, help you forget this incident.” He glanced vaguely toward where the steam carriage, with William John behind the wheel and a delighted Albert perched beside him, was rolling smoothly up the hall toward the open doors. “The damned thing’s a raging success. No harm done, and all’s well that ends well, heh?”
Rand studied Winthrop long enough to make the older man shift uneasily and glance at Mayhew—as if gauging his chances of his nephew somehow stepping in and rescuing him.
“I think,” Rand said, drawing Winthrop’s gaze back to his face, “that the first thing you need to do is to show your gratitude to your nephew for his sterling service in protecting your health by paying all his debts. Every last one.”
Stiffly, Winthrop nodded. “Of course.” He shot a look at Mayhew. “You gave me the total, didn’t you?”
His expression one of wonder, Mayhew slowly nodded. “Yes. That’s all of them.”
“When I return to London, I will send you a draft.” Winthrop cleared his throat. “And perhaps, in the circumstances, I should add a stipend—a regular payment?”
Rand fought to hide a grin and inclined his head. “I think that would be most appropriate.” Winthrop thought—possibly correctly—that such a payment would ensure no future mention of his misdeeds within his family.
Mayhew rose to the occasion and half bowed to his relative. “Thank you, Uncle. That would, indeed, be a kindness.”
One all of them were well aware Winthrop could easily afford.
“Now,” Rand said, “returning to the world of inventions, Winthrop, as this incident has demonstrated beyond question that you have not the first understanding of modern machines, I suggest it’s time you admitted as much and retired from investing in this and associated fields.”
Winthrop looked as if he was having trouble catching his breath. Rand arched a coolly censorious brow. “Don’t you agree?”
Winthrop pressed his lips together, then jerkily nodded. “Yes, all right. I hate all this newfangled nonsense—the railways were bad enough.” Glancing at Rand, his peevish gaze indicating he knew what Rand wanted of him, Winthrop continued, “I’ll give it out that I’m retiring from all investments in machines of any kind. If any of my clients wish to invest in such projects, I’ll steer them your way.”
Rand suppressed a satisfied smile and inclined his head. “I believe we understand one another. I will, of course, be leaving a report on today’s incident, along with the evidence”—he patted the pocket in which Winthrop’s handkerchief resided—“with those I trust.”
Winthrop’s expression suggested he’d sucked a lemon, but he forced himself to stiffly bow. “Of course.” Straightening, he continued, “If that concludes our business, my lord, I will bid you good day.” Winthrop nodded sharply to Mayhew. “Clive.”
Then Winthrop turned and, rather slowly, made for the main doors, edging around the crowds lining the central aisle, all excitedly watching the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage being put through its paces.
Rand and Mayhew watched Winthrop go, then Mayhew looked rather wonderingly at Rand. “I say...well, there’s nothing I can say but thank you.” As Rand met his eyes, Mayhew spread his hands. “You could have thrown me to the dogs—”
“But I didn’t.” Rand studied the artist’s open expression; he could understand why Felicia had trusted the man—there really wasn’t any vein of villainy in him. “I didn’t because you didn’t have to stop and confess all to me. You could have come here, told Winthrop you’d decided not to do his bidding, and walked away with a clear conscience. No one could have blamed you for anything that transpired thereafter. But instead, you made the effort to come and clear your slate with me and the Throgmortons. If you hadn’t, I would never have felt the need to check the engine one last time. And if you hadn’t stuck with me and been there—and stayed and kept working even when it seemed the engine might explode—it might well have done so. We needed to get both those valves free, and without your help, we might not have succeeded.” Rand tipped his head toward where cheering could be heard coming from the forecourt before the Town Hall. “And the Throgmortons and all those associated with them would have been devastated in more ways than one.”
Rand studied Mayhew’s face as the other man assimilated those facts. Finally, Mayhew frowned faintly and refocused on Rand’s face. “Still, I did try...”
Rand couldn’t help but smile; Mayhew truly was honest to the bone—in selecting him as his henchman, Winthrop had been blind. Rand turned toward where he’d left Felicia. “If you insist on making amends...”
Mayhew straightened and turned to walk beside him. “I do.”
“Then having seen your sketches, I suggest you send a few of your perspectives of the Hall to Miss Throgmorton and Mrs. Makepeace as peace offerings, and we’ll consider the matter settled and done.”
Mayhew nodded eagerly. “I’ll do that.”
“And now”—Rand looked ahead to where the crowds were still thick around the Throgmorton exhibit—“you had better come with me, because at the end of this exceedingly eventful day, I suspect we’ll have a significant amount of explaining to do.”
* * *
Their eventful day had not yet ended. Rand and Mayhew rejoined Felicia, Mary, and Ryder beside the empty Throgmorton exhibit in time to watch Prince Albert, under William John’s tutelage, drive the steam carriage down the center of the hall, back to its place in the lineup of inventions.
For the attentive and excited crowd, this would plainly be the highlight of their day.
For those associated with the Throgmorton steam carriage, it was a crowning achievement.
Nothing, simply nothing, could be better—could surpass the moment when William John showed Albert how to set the brake and turn off the engine, and with that done, the Prince looked up, beaming with undisguised delight.
The organizers gathered around, thrilled at the unexpected episode and delighted to support the Prince’s approbation.
Her face wreathed in a smile of incandescent joy, Felicia watched William John deal with all the questions and congratulations with newfound confidence and authority. More than any other there, she could appreciate the vindication he had to be feeling, then he briefly looked her way, and his eyes shone with just that emotion, and, simultaneously, he and she nodded to each other, then William John returned to answering the questions and inquiries that were now coming thick and fast.
Felicia turned her attention to the crowd, observing the intrigued interest that now filled so many faces. When Rand shifted to better protect her from the surge of bodies, she gripped his arm and murmured, “I hope my father—and my mother, too—are looking down and seeing this.”
Rand dipped his head, and she felt his lips lightly brush her temple. “The triumph of the Throgmortons?” he murmured.
She laughed. “Yes. Exactly that.”
And that triumph reached far further, far deeper than the steam carriage. She was, finally, at one with her father and her brother. She’d reconnected with them in a way she had never thought she would. Now, she could accept them as they were—as inventors—because she’d finally found and embraced the inventor in herself.
That was the ultimate triumph here, the change that would give them—her, Rand, and William John—a solid base on which to build their futures. Their inevitably intertwined futures.
Rand had been the catalyst that had brought about the change that had allowed them to get to this moment and secure their triumph; he now was and would forever be an integral part of their whole.
Glancing at Rand, Felicia saw Mayhew standing on Rand’s other side. After having seen Mayhew help Rand to free the valves, she no longer understood Mayhew’s role.
Apparently sensing the questions on her tongue, Rand squeezed her hand where it lay on his sleeve and murmured, “We’ll explain later, but Mayhew’s on our side.”
Across Rand, she met Mayhew’s eyes. “You helped us.”
He smiled rather shyly and bobbed a bow. “I can’t say I wasn’t a trifle flustered at one point, but I’m glad I was able to assist.”
Clearly, there was a story behind Mayhew’s actions, but as Albert reluctantly returned to his duties and moved on to view the next exhibit, and a horde of newspapermen, other inventors, and investors converged on William John, Felicia accepted that Rand was right; he had no time for explanations now.
Rand pressed her hand and unlinked their arms. “I need to help William John.”
Felicia murmured encouragingly; her brother was starting to look a trifle overwhelmed. She watched Rand push his way to William John’s side. Almost immediately, William John’s smile—a smile Felicia knew meant he was reliving his recent drive with the Prince no matter that he was answering people’s questions—returned. Luckily, the newspapermen and the investors quickly recognized Rand as the more useful source and directed their queries to him, leaving William John to the other inventors, who were every bit as vague as he.
Ryder and Mary came to join Felicia; they had been speaking with Shields and the other guards, who had once again instituted a protective cordon about the steam carriage.
Felicia saw Ryder’s outwardly easygoing yet inwardly suspicious gaze rest on Mayhew, who, now Rand had gone, was standing beside her. Rand may not have time to explain, but there was no reason Mayhew couldn’t oblige. She turned to him. “Mr. Mayhew, perhaps you can explain what’s been happening.” Boldly, she took his arm and steered the artist away from the worst of the crowd.
Mary and Ryder moved with them, on Felicia’s other side.
Mayhew looked rather nervously at Ryder. “Ah...”
Releasing Mayhew, Felicia waved at Ryder and Mary. “Allow me to present the Marquess and Marchioness of Raventhorne, Lord Cavanaugh’s brother and sister-in-law. You may speak freely before them.”
Ryder rumbled, “We know of your attempts to sabotage the engine, culminating in your attempt to kidnap Miss Throgmorton.” Ryder’s lips curved in a gesture that was not a smile. “We’re all quite keen to learn what, exactly, has been going on.”
Mayhew studied Ryder for a moment and, apparently, decided the invitation to exonerate himself was not one to dismiss. Briefly, he met Felicia’s eyes, then he drew in a breath and said, “I’m afraid I managed to get myself into quite horrendous debt. My principal creditor isn’t one to balk at violence. And then my uncle contacted me, and—”
Along with Mary and Ryder, Felicia listened as Mayhew unburdened himself of what she judged was a comprehensive confession; certainly, he missed none of the events of which she was aware, and despite Ryder’s looming presence, Mayhew made no attempt to gloss over his perfidy. That he’d been shaken to his senses by the incident in the wood and, subsequently, had recoiled from executing his uncle’s plans rang true. He then explained what had happened earlier that afternoon, in the exhibition hall.
“So Winthrop took your offhand comment to heart and acted?” Mary asked.
Mayhew nodded. “I never imagined he would. I parted from him, then I saw Miss Throgmorton and Lord Cavanaugh and decided I couldn’t just walk away without giving them the explanations I felt they were owed.” He paused, then lightly shrugged. “His lordship thought it best to check the engine, and I went to see, too.”
“I saw Rand and you slip behind the engine.” Felicia looked at Ryder and Mary. “When I found them—” She succinctly described what had gone on in the fraught minutes leading up to the engine settling and performing as expected.
“So that was why the engine made that strange noise at the start,” Mary said.
Felicia nodded. “The pressures were unable to equalize—not until both valves had been released.”
Ryder thought for a moment, then nodded at Mayhew. “So you helped save the day. That’s exoneration enough for me.”
Mary and Felicia echoed, “And me.”
“And,” Felicia continued, “quite obviously, Rand has decided you’re to be excused your transgressions.”
Mayhew seemed to squirm. “As to that, his lordship and I confronted my uncle, and the upshot was that he—my uncle—will cover my debts as he promised and also pay me a stipend.” Mayhew appeared not entirely comfortable with that result, but added, “My uncle also agreed to retire from this arena of investing—henceforth, he’ll send any of his clients interested in investing in inventions to Lord Cavanaugh.”
Ryder grinned. “It seems my brother has ensured that Winthrop pays appropriately for his sins.” Ryder regarded Mayhew, then smiled. “I believe we can consider the incident dealt with and put it behind us.”
Being of much the same opinion, Felicia nodded. She looked to where Rand and William John were still surrounded by the curious.
Mary slid her arm in Ryder’s. “We’re going to stroll some more—I want to take a look at that pen device Rand mentioned.”
Felicia nodded. “I’ll stay here in case they need relief.”
With a smile and a nod, Ryder led his wife away.
Mayhew shifted. When Felicia glanced his way, he somewhat diffidently asked, “I wonder if I might take another look at the engine? I only caught the briefest glimpse before, and I was too tense to take proper notice.”
She studied him for a moment and decided they owed him too great a debt not to let bygones go. With a smile, she tipped her head to the steam carriage. “Of course. Come on.”
She led him past the cordon and a still-suspicious Shields—there would have to be more explanations later—and she and Mayhew walked around the steam carriage to the side away from the crowds. She opened the side flap to the engine compartment so Mayhew could crouch and look inside. Still explaining to other inventors, William John had the opposite flap as well as the top cover open, allowing light to stream in and illuminate the gleaming pipes and tubes, the heavy gears and cogs, and the silvery steel housing of the pistons.
Felicia looked at the engine and felt proprietorial pride bloom within her—something she’d never thought to feel over any invention.
Smiling at herself, she shifted her gaze to Mayhew and studied his expression as he gazed at the engine. She sensed the moment something took hold, and Mayhew caught his breath.
Unmoving, he stared as if committing the sight to memory, then, slowly, he straightened his legs and rose. He glanced at her. “Thank you.” He hesitated for a second, then said, “Lord Cavanaugh suggested that to repay you and Mrs. Makepeace for your forbearance and understanding that I should present you with some of my sketches of the Hall—which I intend to do.” He drew breath and, with rising enthusiasm in his voice, went on, “I would also like to do a series of sketches of the steam carriage and especially the engine as a gift.” He caught her eye. “If you’ll permit it?”
Felicia knew that William John and Rand would lodge registrations of the improvements made in assembling the Throgmorton engine, and a pictorial record of the work would certainly not go amiss. Slowly, she nodded. “That sounds like an excellent idea. We’ll need to consult with my brother and his lordship, but once the steam carriage is back at the Hall, I’m sure we can arrange a viewing for you.”
As the words left her lips—to be greeted with eager acceptance by Mayhew—Felicia was thinking of the quality of Mayhew’s sketching and how that would translate if his subjects were inventions... All in all, she thought sketches of that sort might be a unique and valuable resource and getting first call on Mayhew’s skill might prove to be a very good thing.
Mayhew’s face had lit with enthusiasm. “If we can get the light just so—”
She let him ramble. From the other side of the carriage, she could hear William John talking, and Rand was still fielding questions from newspapermen and investors.
Ryder and Mary returned, joining her and Mayhew in the relatively uncrowded space behind the exhibit.
As she exchanged a smile with Mary, Felicia felt a sense of peaceful calm—a recognition of pending contentment—steal over her. They had done it—they’d succeeded in all they had come there hoping to achieve. After all the ups and downs, the near-disasters, and after staring down looming failure, they’d made their mark in a way none of them had even dared to dream.
Despite Winthrop’s attempts at sabotage, everything had turned out resoundingly, amazingly, astonishingly well.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the urgent interest in the Throgmorton steam carriage had abated to a level such that Rand felt able to leave William John to handle the inquiries on his own.
After asking Shields for her direction, Rand found Felicia with Ryder, Mary, and Mayhew behind the steam carriage. When he insisted he needed to spend some time examining the other exhibits with Felicia, the other three waved them on, then fell in behind them, ambling and chatting in their wake.
They avoided the knot of people still gathered about the Prince, who had almost completed his circuit of the hall. As Rand steered Felicia toward the inventions Albert had examined before reaching the Throgmorton display, he heard Mary quizzing Mayhew. It appeared that, having understood that Mayhew was talented—both Felicia and Rand had mentioned the quality of his work—Mary had also realized that Mayhew was in need of a patron.
Rand glanced over his shoulder and met Ryder’s gaze and was allowed to briefly glimpse an expression of long-suffering resignation. Grinning, Rand faced forward. Both he and Ryder knew where Mary was heading, but, all in all, there was no reason to rein her back.
Rand had his own female brain to pick; he guided Felicia to an invention he’d glimpsed earlier—a novel alteration to a printing press. “What do you think?” he asked.
She moved forward to examine the exhibit.
The inventor recognized Rand, but was quick enough to sense that Rand was waiting on Felicia’s opinion; despite her being a lady, the inventor sidled closer and, when she pointed and asked questions, gave her his undivided attention.
Eventually, Felicia smiled and thanked the older man, then rejoined Rand.
She took his arm and surreptitiously pushed; he nodded to the inventor and led her on. Once they’d left the exhibit behind, he dipped his head and asked, “No?”
She shook her head. “I’m fairly certain the weight of the upper panel will very soon wear out the gears—there simply isn’t enough support for moving that much weight. Ten passes—maybe as many as a hundred—then the gears will give and the upper plate will collapse onto the lower. That’s not a commercial proposition.”
Looking ahead, Rand smiled to himself, murmured in agreement, and led her on.
Somewhat to his surprise, she diverted to look at an invention he hadn’t thought warranted their attention. It was still in the early stage of development and seemed to be a different sort of loom. He stuck to Felicia’s side and, by listening to her questions and the inventor’s eager answers, realized it was a knitting machine.
Felicia and the inventor went back and forth for some time. Eventually, Felicia thanked the man.
Rand nodded a farewell as Felicia retook his arm. Once they were strolling again, he asked, “Is that a project in which we should consider investing?”
Faintly puzzled, she glanced at him. “We?”
He met her gaze, but they’d drawn level with the crowd around the Prince and now was not the time. “I’ll explain later, but there’s a proposition I would like to put to you, one I hope you’ll find attractive.” He smiled. “A proposition other than marriage—or rather”—he hurriedly amended—“in addition to marriage.”
“Oh?” She was intrigued.
Before she asked for more details, he waved at the displays across the hall. “At the moment, we’re here, and so are all these inventors and inventions—we need to learn what we can, while we can.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgment, despite her curiosity—or perhaps because of that—ready enough to fall in with that suggestion. As they wended their way across the aisle to the other side of the hall, she murmured, “To return to your earlier question, I do think the knitting machine is worth a closer look. He’ll need to make changes to that assembly of pins, and the gears need a better degree of control, but I definitely believe it holds promise.”
“If the results are what he claims, then there should be a market for both the invention and its product here and in other countries, too.”
She inclined her head. “One would imagine so.”
He’d already noted that she tended to evaluate inventions on the basis of whether they could be made to perform properly, rather than in terms of financial return. Luckily, the latter was something for which he possessed a knack. He steered her on to the next exhibit. “What about this one?”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, the deeply resonant bong of a gong rang out over the exhibition hall.
Briskly, the organizers called the still-considerable crowd to attention, insisting the inventors come forward and gather in front of a small dais that had been pushed into place before the open main doors.
William John walked up from the end of the hall. He grinned at Rand and Felicia, then took Felicia’s other arm and dragged the pair of them with him. “Come on.”
There wasn’t time to remonstrate that William John was the true inventor—and Rand wasn’t about to deny that Felicia fully deserved to go forward as well. He wasn’t so sure of his place among those gathered to the fore, but this was not the moment to make a scene.
The venerable chairman of the committee—a member of the Royal Society who had officiated at such events for years—climbed onto the dais and, in ringing tones, announced, “His Highness, Prince Albert, has graciously consented to present our prestigious award of Most Promising Invention of the Year.” The announcement caused a stir; the Prince’s imprimatur would mean the award carried even more weight than it normally did. The chairman continued, extolling the illustrious history of the event and the award.
Before the audience grew restive, the chairman invited Albert to join him on the podium, along with another gentleman bearing the heavy silver statuette that signified the award. The chairman spoke briefly with Albert, then turned to the audience and announced, “Without more ado, the unanimous selection of this year’s committee to receive the award of Most Promising Invention of the Year is the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage!”
Cheers and applause erupted from all sides, even from the inventors surrounding them.
William John turned to Felicia—he threw his arms around her and hugged her hard.
Felicia laughed. She felt tears fill her eyes.
Still holding tight, William John whispered, “I wish Papa had lived to see this.”
Felicia patted his back. “He didn’t do this—you did.” She knew it was the truth, knew how much of their father’s original design he’d—they’d—changed.
William John released her and met her eyes. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” He looked at the man beside her. “Without you and Rand.”
The organizers were urging William John to come forward. With a huge smile splitting his face, he headed for the dais, towing Felicia behind him. “Come on,” he commanded, including Rand with his gaze.
On the dais, Albert stood holding the statuette and smiling. When William John stepped up, after a few well-chosen and mercifully brief words, the Prince handed William John the statuette.
With a reverent expression taking hold, William John accepted the award. The audience cheered, clapped, and whistled. After a moment, he faced the crowd, waited until they’d quieted, then said, “Inventors are generally solitary, but by the most amazing luck, I was blessed to have more help and support than most ever find.” He glanced at Felicia, then reached out, caught her hand, and tugged her up beside him. “I had my sister, who knows more about concept and design than I ever will, to guide me past the inevitable hurdles”—his gaze moved to Rand, standing beside the dais—“and I had Lord Randolph Cavanaugh and his syndicate of investors—people who understand the vagaries of inventing—to smooth our way and keep us progressing over those hurdles to a successful end.”
William John looked back at the crowd and raised the statuette high. “On behalf of the team who worked on making the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage a success, I thank Prince Albert and the organizers for this recognition—and wish that, for all the other inventors here today, they find the right teams to support them so that they, too, achieve success.”
The crowd roared. Everyone was smiling, even the inventors passed over for the award.
Rand shook Albert’s hand and those of the committee members. Then he turned to find Felicia and William John waiting, identical smiles wreathing their faces. Rand smiled back, spread his arms, and hugged them both.
Success, at long last, was theirs.