“Do you have an ancestral home in your earldom, Lord— Eilian?” the scientist asked when they retired to the parlor for tea and coffee, hoping to move away from death and intrigue.
The archaeologist looked from his uncle to his mother. He had lived in London and Greenwich his whole life. “Do we? I have never been to Dorset.”
“You have never been to Dorset?” Professor Martin sputtered in disbelief. “You have been everywhere but your earldom?”
“I guess.” His cheeks burned red as he took a seat beside Hadley on the sofa. “I did not know we had a house there.”
“We have a manor there called Brasshurst Hall,” his mother explained to Eliza’s father as Mrs. Green, the housekeeper, carefully poured her a cup of steaming tea. “It has been uninhabited for a number of years. My late husband was never fond of the place, but Eilian may find it more to his liking. I have never been there myself. Harland never wanted to travel by the sea.”
“I don’t know… I like my home.”
“Eilian, we don’t have to move there, but since you are the earl now, it may be prudent to introduce yourself to your tenants and at least see your family’s home,” Hadley replied as she met Lady Dorset’s gaze only to receive an approving nod.
“Miss Fenice has a point, but will you go before or after your wedding?”
Elijah grinned as he cleaned his oblong spectacles with his handkerchief. “Ah, yes, when is the fateful day?”
Eilian and Hadley locked eyes for a moment, hoping the other knew the answer, before turning to James and Eliza, who simply shrugged. “We haven’t really talked about it.”
“What about the honeymoon?”
“We haven’t discussed that either.” Out of the corner of his eye, Eilian caught Eliza mouthing an answer. “Maybe Egypt or someplace historical.”
“Well, you must discuss it soon. Miss Fenice and I must start planning as soon as possible.” His mother’s voice, while still controlled, raised an octave at the thought of planning an extravaganza to rival the wedding of her dearest friends’ children. “We have to arrange dinners and guest lists. I will have to throw a party soon in honor of your engagement. Will I need to hire a dance instructor, Miss Fenice?”
Beads of perspiration rapidly collected under her gown, trickling down the back of her neck and the small of her back as the activities she abhorred hurtled toward her. She had only glanced at the entries in her etiquette books about engagement and wedding procedures, but somehow they hadn’t seemed nearly so complicated. Eliza’s engagement wasn’t like this, Hadley thought as she shifted uncomfortably and looked to Eilian, who was equally pale. Then again, Eliza wasn’t marrying into the aristocracy. Her face blanched at the countess’ gaze, which refused to leave her until she received an answer. Reluctantly, she opened her mouth to stammer a half-hearted reply when the trilling buzz of the doorbell offered a refuge. The housekeeper with her pot of tea moved toward the doorway when Hadley leapt from her seat.
“Mrs. Green, tend to the guests. I will get the door. I insist,” she commanded as she nimbly backed out of the room despite the elderly housekeeper’s befuddled frown.
The moment she was out of sight, she let her head fall back against the damask wallpaper with a sigh as her pulse quickened through the arteries of her temples. As the bell let out another metallic warble, she grudgingly pulled herself away from the calm of the plaster and opened the coffered door. The snow spiraled into the hall in frosty arabesques as she stared up into a pair of matching blue eyes and henna brows. The wind swept over her neck, tousling the curls at her ears before embracing her hands and fluttering the hem of her skirts. She couldn’t help but linger on the features she had known her entire existence yet nearly forgot in the space of a two short weeks. Adam examined her face, unsure of her reaction as her hand rested on the doorknob until finally a broad grin enlivened her features. Hadley pounced on him as he groped behind his back to close the door before the snow coated the rug. The glacial slivers moistened her cheeks and dotted her blue velvet dress as she crushed him close.
“I can’t believe you came.”
“I could not let you face your in-laws all alone,” Adam replied with a smile as she pulled back to take his hat and scarf. “I would have been here sooner, but the steamer cab couldn’t maintain a boil in this weather. Everyone may be staying the night if the snow doesn’t stop soon.”
“Luckily, only Lady Dorset and Lord Newcastle are planning on heading back to London tonight. We are staying, so Uncle Elijah can get to know Eilian better and show him around Oxford.” She caught his hand as he reached for the buttons of his coat. “Does this mean you are speaking to me now?”
“Did you tell Lord Sorrell about me?”
“No.”
“Then, yes, we are speaking.” Adam’s eyes travelled to his feet as he shifted his coat off his shoulders and onto the coat rack. “Did— did you mean what you said that day? That you don’t hate me for it.”
“Of course I meant it,” she whispered. “You’re my brother, my twin, and I love you. I thought telling you that I accepted you would bring us closer, not pull us apart.”
“I know, I know. That was my fault. I was scared because you made me wonder how many others knew. If you could see through me, others probably figured it out, too.”
She dusted the ice from his hair and straightened his tie, which had rumpled during the ride up to Oxford. “Well, no one knows you as well as I do, so I’m pretty sure your secret is safe. Let me introduce you to Eilian’s mother and uncle.”
He flashed a charismatic smile as he entered the parlor at his sister’s side. Lady Dorset seemed pleased by his dapper appearance as he was introduced to the two aristocrats and took a seat by his uncle. She interrogated Adam Fenice as she did the others, but he happily told her about his job and the well-to-do banker he worked for. For the rest of the evening, Adam gave the countess his full attention, listening earnestly to her discourse on the books she recently read and even giving a well thought out opinion on several of the titles, which she didn’t scowl at or ignore. Hadley wondered if she and Eilian were the only ones who found talking to his mother daunting.
“How were the roads, Mr. Fenice?” Malcolm Holland asked as his eyes ran over the narrow space between the drapes on the far wall.
“The snow was just starting to stick when I arrived.”
“Well, we had best be off if we want to make it back to town before it gets too difficult to see.”
As everyone said their good-byes to the lord and lady, the countess pulled Hadley aside. “During your stay here, I hope you and Eilian can iron out some details because as soon as you are settled back in town, I’m going to call upon you to figure some of this wedding business out. You don’t have a mother to help you plan this and I don’t have a daughter whom I can throw a wedding for, so I hope you will allow me to fill that role for you.”
“Of course,” she smiled, though she worried it more closely resembled a grimace, “I would greatly appreciate your help, Lady Dorset.”
With a nod, Eilian’s mother disappeared into the night only to be replaced by Lord Newcastle, who took Hadley’s hand and bowed. “Don’t look too worried, Miss Fenice.” He dropped his voice to just above a whisper, “She may be a bit overbearing, but my sister throws a wonderful party.”
***
In what felt like only minutes, the clock struck twelve, signaling to the party of adventurers and scientists that they should head up to bed. As they climbed the stairs and reached the hall, the group paused. There were only three bedrooms.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of pairing you. The girls will have one room, James will take the cot in my room, so Lord Sorrell and Adam will share the last one. I hope you don’t mind having to share.”
Adam’s face paled as his cheeks burned. “I will take the cot, Uncle Elijah. Lord Sorrell and James are friends, and I’m sure they would rather be roommates.”
Before Eilian could tell h
im not to worry about it, Adam darted into the master bedroom and brought James’s bag to him. His future brother-in-law gave them a nervous grin before slipping behind closed doors. The Hawthornes embraced quickly in the corridor, giving each other a good-night kiss that was little more than a cool peck without seeming to care about the separation. Eilian stood in the empty hall as Hadley watched the door close behind her cousin. After a moment of quiet to confirm everyone was tucked away, she drew near and let her body be enveloped in his arms. He ran his fingers through her hair, knocking the pins loose with each slow stroke while holding her close with his prosthetic arm. Sighing against him, Hadley listened to the faithful beating of his heart through his jacket and refused to let him go.
“It feels strange to be together at night and not share a tent,” he whispered between planting soft kisses on her brow.
“That’s what I miss most, being so close.”
“Me too, but it won’t be long before we are together every night and every day.” Eilian cupped her chin as he brought her lips to his, lingering to relish the goose bumps prickling on his arms and neck with her touch. “Tomorrow, let’s figure out the date, so we can count down the days until you can live permanently in Greenwich. We can also discuss the plans for a workshop to be built in the back.”
“Converting the old stables will be perfectly adequate,” she replied as she kissed him on the light scars of his jaw and withdrew from his arms. “Good night, Eilian. I love you.”
“I love you too,” he mouthed as he backed into his room.
James was already asleep with his glasses propped on the bedside table, so Eilian silenced the squealing door and tiptoed over to the other side of the bed. Slipping off his jacket, he carefully disarticulated his arm and laid the pieces on the dresser in front of the window. His titanium arm felt heavier without the springs and bracer, but he brought it to his neck anyway and carelessly pulled off his cravat. The room overlooked the Thames, which reflected the moon’s glow into the second floor, accentuating the threads of scar tissue that wove their way up his arm and across his right side until they disappeared beneath his chin. A dull rumble passed over head, blocking the moon’s rays as the dirigible lumbered by. Eilian smiled as he looked down at his new arm. A year ago he never would have thought his life would have turned out the way it did. What would have been if it hadn’t happened? Would he have selfishly gone on with a futureless, lonely life or would their paths have fatefully crossed somewhere else along the way? No, his arm and his old self had to be sacrificed meet someone like her.
“Thank you,” he whispered to the great ship sailing by as he climbed into bed and dreamed of the wonderful adventures to come.
The Gentleman Devil:
Book Two of the Ingenious Mechanical Devices
To Steph,
Who has been my best friend,
my beta reader, my shoulder to whine on,
my biggest fan, and the captain of the ship
through this whole process.
ACT ONE:
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
-Emily Brontë
Chapter One:
Forget-Me-Not
When Immanuel Winter begrudgingly set off from the dormitories to the bank of the Thames to sketch and label the native flora for his botany class, he never thought the day would have ended in anything more exciting than sunburn. As the blonde man sat tucked under an oak tree with his sketchbook resting on his narrow thighs and the August sun scorching the side of his face, he listened to the voices on the other side of the copse. On the way to his spot near the river, he passed a large picnic of well-dressed families and their servants. At first he thought the merry group may have been the professors and their wives, but then he noticed the banner welcoming the guests to the 1891 Annual Oxford Spiritualist Society Picnic. The young man’s stomach growled at the thought of it. Oh, how he wished the professors were the ones having a feast. With a sigh, he once again applied himself to sketching a stalk of water mint that peeked from the water’s edge. He smiled as he inspected his handiwork. His mother was fond of flowers, and he hoped in a few months when the term was over to send her a great folio of English botanical prints to go along with her collection of German ones.
“I like your necklace.”
Immanuel looked up to find a young woman staring down at him. Her strigine brown eyes and soft porcelain cheeks gave her an inquisitive expression that made her appear more like a child than the young woman she was. As she tucked a curl behind her ear, he followed the girl’s jet hair across her cheek and down to her shoulder where it drizzled onto her white gown. His hand instinctively reached for the chain hanging around his neck. He had always considered the pendant quite ugly, but his mother insisted he wear it to England to keep him safe. It was a vial no bigger than his finger wrapped in curled gold vines and tarnished silver leaves. Etched into the stopper were the words “Intermisceo cum Cruor.” His mother said to use it if he was ever injured, but from the murk of the liquid within and the vial’s ugly exterior, he always joked that it was probably filled with poison.
“Thank you,” he replied, his German accent gone after over three years on English soil.
Her gaze traveled over him, scrutinizing his face and taking in his deep-set blue eyes, angular cheekbones, and sandy hair before migrating to his sketches. “Are you an artist?”
“No, I’m studying to become a scientist.”
She plucked the sprig of blue and yellow flowers from her hair and held it out to him. “What are these are called?”
“Myosotis scorpiodes, true forget-me-not,” Immanuel replied as he flipped to the page where he drew them earlier and held it up for her to see.
“I like forget-me-not better.” As she went to put the flower back in her hair, it was as if she noticed the fabric parcel in her hand for the first time. “My mother sent this for you. She thought you looked hungry.”
He gratefully took the bag of food she dropped into his lap, unable to suppress his shock at the unwarranted act of kindness. “Thank you. Please, miss, tell your mother thank you for me.”
With a nod and a smile, she turned and strolled back to the picnic, running her hands over the trees and grasses as she went. Immanuel untied the linen bundle to reveal a roast beef and a Welsh rarebit sandwich along with a turnover pastry. He ravenously dug into the spread, savoring the rare meat as it bled down his lips with each bite.
The hair on the back of his head prickled. Looking around the trunk of a tree, he spotted a middle-aged version of the young woman watching him from the picnic nearly a quarter of a mile away. She sat perfectly still beneath her parasol in the midst of the prattle and bustle of the other guests, a statuesque queen in white lace and silk. He mouthed, thank you, and held up the remnant of his meal as she gave him a stately nod. Once the remaining sandwich and pastry had been devoured and the evidence licked from his fingers, he went back to his book and weeds.
***
Immanuel stretched, cracking his neck and long fingers, before readjusting the wool coat canopy he created using the reeds and bushes he was sitting between and his jacket. He looked toward the river as a familiar voice sweetly sang and hummed. The owl-eyed woman’s ivory parasol bobbed as she stooped to add wildflowers and pretty weeds to her bouquet before plopping down onto the lawn. As she sat near the bank only a few yards away and picked stray blades of grass and bugs from her hoard, Immanuel lightly sketched her form. For a few moments, his eyes and hand worked in unison, tracing the curves of her hair where they melded with her cheek and back. With his pencil, he darkened in her hair but frowned when the arabesques muddied into a grey graphite clump. Immanuel glanced up from the paper to study the pattern of the lace on her dress when his eyes met only an empty patch of grass and a pile of flowers. His eyes roved from the thickets on both sides of his den to the group of picnickers, but the woman with the curious expression was nowhere to be found.
With a sigh, he slowly
began packing up his supplies to head back to Oxford before dinner. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught something moving. A parasol floated lazily down the river, twirling as it became entangled in the plants at the water’s edge. He abandoned his tools and grasped the ivory handle, but as he brought the umbrella out of the water, the unmistakable flutter of white fabric and dark tresses wafted near the other bank.
“Ach mein Gott!” he gasped as he searched for anyone nearby who could help her but found no one. The words in English suddenly escaped him as his eyes locked onto the young woman’s lifeless form.
Taking a step back, he ran off the edge of the bank and plunged into the brisk water of the Thames. Puffs of silt erupted around him, obscuring his vision, but as the dirt settled, he saw her suspended above him just below the water’s edge. Swimming closer, he found the young woman’s eyes shut and her face a deathly pallor. Tendrils of inky hair and the lace of her gown drifted with the current while her arm still hung above her as if she had reached for the surface before succumbing to the River Isis. Immanuel wrapped his arms around her, but her body refused to budge. With a sharp tug, her foot broke from the roots and reeds, sending out bits of debris and mud. Immanuel’s chest tightened and the urge to open his mouth grew almost too strong to ignore as he kicked toward the surface but was hampered by the weight of her waterlogged petticoat. Closing his eyes, he fiercely writhed toward the warmer waters in one last effort to save them. His lips broke open in a gasp, drawing in not only the Thames’s earthen waters but the thick summer air. Holding her head above the surface, he let the current carry them down to the bank.
The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 27
