Adam rose early the next morning. He had stayed up late trying to complete his design. It was nearly finished, and he was looking forward to speaking with Trenton’s business partner, Sullivan Andrews. Apparently, the man was the genius behind the business, the man who understood the inner workings of the operation of the plant. He had been successful in other endeavors but had never had the interest or the knowledge in running the business operations, according to Rebecca. He and Trenton had grown up with one another, and when Trenton began his businesses, he and Andrews could mutually benefit from one another’s expertise. Hence, the partnership was born.

Trenton was rather surly at the breakfast table, while Rebecca kept her eyes downcast, not saying much at all. Adam wasn’t sure what it was about, but he could feel an underlying tension in the room. He tried to catch Rebecca’s eye, but she would scarcely look at him. A slight uneasiness crept over him, but Adam tried to push the feeling aside, wondering if perhaps he was reading too much into this, and he returned to his room to gather his plans and his prototype.

He and Trenton took a carriage to the plant. Adam tried to spend the ride focused on the plans on his lap and not so much on the many people, horses, and vehicles around him. Just get there, do your business, and leave, he told himself. His thoughts were interrupted by Trenton’s voice.

“Tell me, McDougall, do you have a woman back home in the Highlands?”

“I do not,” Adam replied, uncertain as to where this conversation was going.

“I must tell you that I am glad you are here, but I must make one thing clear,” he said, his eyes taking on a steely glint. “I have seen the way you look at my daughter. She, however, is not for you. Do you understand me?”

Adam was shocked at the man’s words, thinking he knew nothing of the understanding between the two of them. “Did Rebecca say something to you?” he asked, though he was fairly certain she had wanted to wait some time before speaking with the man.

“She didn’t have to,” he said. “She only told me she had no wish to marry Thompson any longer. She will not, however, have a choice. This is the way it is to be, and the sooner both you and my daughter realize that, the better.”

Adam sat stunned for a moment, unsure of how to react or what to say next. “But Trenton, I—”

Before he could say another word, the carriage drew to a halt and Trenton had flung open the door, walking down the steps to the stone building in front of them.

“The plant,” he said simply, by way of explanation, though it was fairly clear to Adam where they were. Trenton led him inside as Adam’s thoughts whirled around his head. He realized saying anything now would only further turn Trenton against him. He would concentrate on business for the moment and resume their discussion of Rebecca at a later time.

It was fairly loud inside, as Trenton led him around the floor, which was filled with sweat-soaked men. They finally stopped at the back of the plant, where there sat a scarred oak desk, and behind it a man deep in concentration, his head bowed over plans spread out in front of him.

“Andrews,” Trenton called out, causing the man to look up suddenly, startled out of his concentration. “This is Adam McDougall, the man I was telling you of. He’s brought with him plans for wind power that could be of great benefit. Spare us a minute? McDougall, this is Sullivan Andrews, my business partner.”

The man stood, and Adam reached out to shake his hand. Where Trenton was short and wide, Andrews was tall and broad, clearly much more used to physical efforts than Trenton. His face seemed kindly, however, and the smile he gave Adam was genuine. It was somewhat a relief after his dealings with Trenton, though he would see what it was like actually working with him.

Trenton led them into a workroom, where he bid them both to sit.

“Now, McDougall has a design that he’s nearly finished. I think we — of course, more so you, Sully — can help him complete it, and of course we have the means of distribution. Together, gentlemen, we can provide power to all the countryside — what do you think of that? Now, McDougall, do you think you can provide us those plans you were working on?”

Somehow, it didn’t feel quite right to simply hand over his designs to the man, although wasn’t that why he had come all this way?

“Oh come, now, how are we supposed to get anywhere if you keep them hidden away in your bags?”

Adam sighed, realizing perhaps he did have to let go. He nodded, then pulled them out, spreading them out on the desk in front of him. He saw Andrews’ eyes light up as he looked at them, and the man gazed at the paper in front of him over his glasses, admiration coming over his face.

“How intriguing,” he said, running his finger over some Adam’s sketches. “Where did you think to create such a design?”

“Have ye ever been to the Highlands, Mr. Andrews?” Adam asked and the man shook his head.

“No need for formalities. Call me Sullivan, everyone does. The answer is no, however. Unfortunately, I have not had the pleasure. I’m a slave to my work, you see, and she is an unyielding mistress.”

“Well, the wind blows through the Highlands with the same frequency that you and I breathe. It’s a part of life. I had recently read an article in a journal about power plants, such as the one you have here yerself, and I was racing through the wind one day and my mind began work, trying to determine how we could process this energy into something else, some kind of power source. You’ll see where I’m stuck, however, do ye not?”

“I do,” said Andrews, nodding his head, and as he began to generate ideas to help solve the problem,

Trenton began retreating to the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then gentlemen. We will all convene soon!” And with that, he was out of the workroom, and Adam had an instant sense of how this business operated. He was somewhat glad to be rid of the man, however, and spent the remainder of the day entrenched in the workroom, deep in conference with Andrews. He was impressed with the man’s knowledge and the way his mind worked, and the time passed quickly. He nearly forgot all of his worries regarding his future with Rebecca and the fact that her father — and Thompson — stood so firmly in their way.

* * *

A slight breeze rustled her skirts as Rebecca walked along Bond Street, her spirit lifted by the wonderful array of wares on display in the windows of all her favorite shops. The Highlands held so much wondrous beauty, and yet there was something about the thrill of a new bonnet or a beautiful dress that called to her. She met her friend, Eloise Griffith, and together they entered the shop of their favorite dressmaker.

“Oh, but would you look at this fine silk,” Eloise said, her eyes lighting up as she trailed her fingers along a bolt of fabric hanging by the door. “What a beautiful gown this would make, would it not?”

Rebecca smiled at her in agreement, before coming to stand beside her. “It would look most becoming on you, Eloise,” she said. “Perhaps it is meant to be yours.”

“Perhaps,” her friend said, a smile upon her lips. Eloise’s father and Hardwick were acquaintances. He was one of the newly rich, a man her father had been trying to impress for years.

Rebecca and Eloise had met at a function both of their families were attending. They had gotten along fairly well, and while they would never have a deep friendship, they had bonded over their affinity for beautiful things and their love of the latest fashions.

“You must tell me about your travel to the Highlands,” said Eloise. “What were they like? What type of houses did they live in? Was it all rather rugged?”

“It was … intriguing,” said Rebecca. “I’ve never seen such beauty as the countryside, and I saw everything from castles to basically shacks that looked as if they were made of the earth. It’s like anywhere I suppose — there are differing ranks and classes. The people there, however, were likely the loveliest I’ve ever met. No matter how rude or horrid a remark was made to them, they were lovely and gracious.”

“Our fathers — rude?” Eloise laughed, then added with a sly grin, “And did you have some time to better get to know Vincent Thompson?” Rebecca knew that Eloise could not understand her hesitancy toward the man, and continued to push the match on Rebecca nearly as much as her father did.

“You will never believe this, Eloise,” she said, feeling rather justified now in her opinions of the man, “But Vincent shot me.”

“He what?” Eloise whipped around and Rebecca nearly laughed at the look on her face. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I accompanied them on a hunting excursion, and Vincent got it in his mind to go off on his own. He lost track of his surroundings and took a shot that went right into my leg.”

Eloise stared at her as if she had grown another nose on her face.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am. I am still limping some.”

“Why, I did not even notice. Why ever would you go on a hunting excursion?” she asked, irking Rebecca.

“Why ever not?” she countered. “What would you expect? That I would sit inside all day while the men went out? I wasn’t even hunting, I was just sitting there on my horse!”

“Still,” said Eloise, her nose in the air. “I do not understand it. Surely you cannot fault Vincent for that.”

Rebecca shrugged, finished discussing this with Eloise. “I cannot say I blamed him, but nor was he completely faultless,” she said. “Regardless, I was well looked after and all is now fine.”

Eloise moved on from the subject as she walked toward the next dress that caught her eye. “And tell me, are you and Vincent any closer to setting a wedding date? Or, at the very least, an official betrothal?”

Rebecca felt a twinge in her stomach at the subject. Since the conversation with her father she had, of course, thought of little else than her future. She had always been so sure that there was nothing to truly bind her to Vincent besides her father’s preference. And now … she felt guilt at thinking of anything but her father’s arrangement, and yet she was also equally pulled to Adam and all he had to offer her. Everything her father proposed made sense, from a practical side, and she owed her father for keeping her, for raising her when her mother did not. Her heart, however, had other ideas. Which was she to follow?

She sighed.

“No,” she said simply. “I must be going, Eloise. Can we revisit the shop on another day?” She had, suddenly and certainly surprisingly, lost all interest in the dresses before her, and wanted nothing more than to leave Eloise and her probing questions and return home once more.