by Regina Scott
She refused to gratify him by complaining. She’d prove to them all that she had tenacity if she had to resew the seams eighty times.
She was fairly sure she was narrowing in on sixty at the moment.
“He is quite brilliant, you know,” Miss Pankhurst said, taking another stitch.
Lydia merely smiled. Worth’s commentary on his work floated up from below stairs from time to time, along with intriguing clanks and bangs. Once a cloud of smoke had drifted past the doorway. Lydia would have been alarmed if it hadn’t smelled like cedar. More than anything, she wanted to sneak a peek, but her position might be compromised if she was caught.
And so, she sewed.
Tea was always a welcome break. They generally met in Charlotte’s study. Today, Miss Janssen eased her bulk into an upholstered chair and picked at the chaff on her skirts, a ruddy brown without ornamentation that made her round cheeks look red. Miss Pankhurst had insisted that she and Lydia bring their work with them. Lydia bundled the fabric in her lap and sat on the sofa as she accepted a cup of tea from their employer. She could not help glancing at Worth, who was pacing back and forth along the bookshelves as if searching for knowledge no one else in the room had found.
“We will be ending early tomorrow,” Charlotte announced as she served tea in the pretty violet-patterned cups. “We have been invited to attend Lady Baminger’s annual ball. I encourage you all to take advantage of this opportunity.”
Worth accepted his cup from his sister with a frown. “Why must we attend? We have work to do.”
It seemed Lydia wasn’t the only one who no longer saw any need to participate in the social whirl.
Charlotte was less forgiving. “Really, Worth,” she chided, balancing her teacup above the journals, maps, and other papers on her work table. “Lady Baminger has been supportive of our efforts for years. She used her influence to locate that German altimeter you wanted last year. The least we can do is attend her annual ball.”
“Lady Baminger has been helpful,” Worth conceded, positively vibrating with energy so that she was surprised the tea didn’t slosh from the cup. “But we cannot repay her kindness by ignoring the work she supported.”
Logical. But then, he usually was.
Charlotte set down her tea. “So you ignore her instead.” When Worth shrugged, she sat taller. “If you will not think of her, think of your staff. You cannot begrudge them this opportunity.”
Miss Janssen blinked her brown eyes, which were as round as the rest of her, as she glanced between Charlotte and Worth. “What opportunities could a lady find at a ball?”
“I suspect Miss Villers could educate us,” Miss Pankhurst said with a titter before sipping from her cup.
“Happy to help in any way I can,” Lydia said, avoiding Worth’s gaze. “Though I have attended quite enough balls for my lifetime.”
“Indeed.”
She couldn’t tell if Worth’s agreement stemmed from his dislike of the event or his judgement of her. She continued doggedly. “As for opportunities, Miss Janssen, many of the preeminent natural philosophers of our day attend Lady Baminger’s ball. In the past, I’ve had the honor of conversing with Sir Joseph Banks, the president of the Royal Society; Sir Humphrey Davy, who discovered the properties of laughing gas; and that wonderful inventor, Lord Stanhope. I’d be happy to introduce you.”
“Oh, my yes,” Miss Janssen said, blushing. “Thank you.”
She allowed her gaze to reach Worth. He appeared to be studying the amber-colored liquid in his cup as if it might hold the answers to all his scientific questions. Why did that disappoint her?
“And will you join us as well, Miss Pankhurst?” Charlotte asked.
“Certainly,” Miss Pankhurst assured her. “I wouldn’t leave you alone, dear Miss Worthington.”
Hardly alone. The attendees at Lady Baminger’s ball frequently numbered in the hundreds. She had to rent a ballroom to hold them all.
Charlotte, however, merely nodded. “It’s settled, then. We will all attend. To minimize the disruption to our work, please bring your finery with you tomorrow. We can all dress and leave from here.”
Worth nodded as if accepting his fate. He downed his tea.
“Lovely,” Miss Pankhurst said, and she reached across to take Lydia’s fabric and began ripping out the stitches again.
Conversation moved to other topics then—Miss Janssen’s quandary over the relative merits of willow or ash branches for weaving a sturdy basket, Miss Pankhurst’s assertion that silk thread was far superior to cotton, all coating aside. Lydia refused to flinch at the reminder of her earlier test. She knew better now. If Worth could keep things close, so could she.
He had returned to pacing the bookshelves, but he had a suggestion for every problem, his mind moving easily from one discipline to another. Yet he never demanded, never criticized. That, she supposed, could be considered commendable.
As they all prepared to depart for their various tasks, Charlotte beckoned to Lydia. “Miss Villers, I could use your assistance this afternoon.”
Miss Pankhurst hesitated on the way to the door. “But my new research plan clearly lays out the role Miss Villers is to play.”
Worth turned from the bookcases and started toward the door as well. “I have the utmost confidence in you, Miss Pankhurst. All your advances came before Miss Villers arrived. I’m certain you will move forward without her.” With a nod to Lydia, he left the room.
Miss Pankhurst cast Lydia a considering look. “Very likely.”
“That’s settled then,” Charlotte said brightly.
Lydia handed Miss Pankhurst the fabric, careful not to let the needle prick the lady, tempting though that thought was, and watched as she and Miss Janssen left for their work.
“How are you and the others getting along?” Charlotte asked, coming to join her on the sofa.
“I hardly see Miss Janssen except at tea,” Lydia said. “Miss Pankhurst has high standards, but I shall persevere until I meet them.”
“Commendable.” Charlotte smoothed her skirts, a deep green today. “Until then, I’d like your opinion on a matter.”
Lydia swallowed her sigh. Very likely Charlotte would ask her advice on which gown to wear to the ball or how to arrange her auburn tresses. Certainly no one in this house expected her to know about more weighty matters.
“As I said,” she told her employer, “I’m happy to help.”
Charlotte met her gaze. “How would you transport fire without combusting the container?”
Lydia stared at her. Immediately her mind began sorting through all the bits of information she’d squirreled away over the years. “How long must it be transported?”
“Hours. Perhaps days. And weight is at a premium, so cast iron will not do.”
No cast iron? “What about brass?” Lydia pressed. “Glass?”
“Brass is likely too malleable; glass too breakable.”
“What other requirements must we meet?” Lydia asked.
Charlotte tapped her chin with one finger. “The container must retain its integrity through changes in elevation over thousands of feet and in temperatures approaching zero degrees by Mr. Fahrenheit’s scale. The space to store fuel is also limited, so we settled on coal. And there must be a way to introduce additional fuel and control the temperature of the flame.”
“Fascinating.” Lydia wiggled on the sofa as thoughts careened through her mind. “I believe I read about a nomadic tribe in Africa that carries fire in hardened leather platters, but I don’t know how long the leather maintains its integrity.”
“Hardened leather,” Charlotte murmured. She rose for her work table, dipped a quill in ink, and noted something in a journal. “Would the change in elevation cause it to shrink, do you think?”
“I don’t believe cows shrink in the Alps,” Lydia said.
Someone coughed at the door, the sound suspiciously like a laugh. Charlotte glanced up. “Worth? Was there something you needed?”
&n
bsp; A thousand tingles ran through her. Politeness required that she acknowledge his presence. She glanced his way with her usual smile and saw only interest on his lean face.
“Miss Pankhurst reports that she has completed her immediate course of study,” he said.
Lydia frowned. “But she hadn’t found a stitch she liked.”
“Apparently she found it shortly after she began working without you,” he said.
His voice was bland. Miss Pankhurst’s wouldn’t have been. Lydia could almost hear her.
I’m sure it was the distraction of Miss Villers’s presence that kept me from the discovery, my lord. And she would titter. Of course she would titter.
“How surprising,” Charlotte said. “But I’m glad she found success after all her struggles.”
“She requested the rest of the day off,” Worth said. “Frivolous waste of time. I asked her to formulate her next course.”
Charlotte’s mouth tightened. “I would have preferred she address the matter with me. Everyone needs time away, Worth.”
He frowned. “Why?”
Charlotte glanced at Lydia as if for support.
“I suppose,” Lydia allowed, “some people grow weary of the work.”
“Interesting hypothesis,” Worth said, frown still evident. “I could imagine it of someone forced into labor he found abhorrent. But the scope of imagination required in natural philosophy alone makes the effort worthwhile.”
She felt the same way. “Yet the tedium of each task, the lack of vision on what we are creating, must exact a price.”
“So does the concentration required,” Charlotte put in before Worth could argue. “We are mere mortals, Worth. We tire on occasion.”
Was that why Charlotte had insisted on accepting the invitation to the ball? Was she tired of helping Worth with his studies? Miss Pankhurst, Miss Janssen, and Lydia left every evening. Charlotte would be here, ready to note whatever he liked, from the moment she woke until the moment she fell into bed.
Lydia rose to go to Charlotte’s side. “Perhaps an afternoon off would do us all good.”
“Agreed.” Charlotte stood and met her brother’s gaze. “We will continue in the morning, Worth. I’ll speak to Miss Janssen and Miss Pankhurst.”
Lydia thought Worth might protest further, but he inclined his head and stepped aside to allow his sister to pass him. Lydia started to follow, but he moved into her path.
“Shall I escort you home, Miss Villers?”
He was smiling pleasantly, as if her company was all he needed in that moment. He didn’t escort any of the others home. She’d been told both Miss Pankhurst and Miss Janssen lived in ladies’ boarding houses an easy walk from Clarendon Square. As Meredith’s home was even closer, and it was still early afternoon, she hardly required protection. Why was he making this offer today? He had no need to apologize again.
“I am capable of walking home, my lord,” she said.
His frown returned. “Of course you are. I merely thought to continue discussing the work.”
Once again she was aware of a distinct disappointment. How silly. The work was why she was here in the first place.
“Happy to help,” Lydia said. She went to collect her things and allowed Worth to walk her out of the house.
“Interesting discussion you were having with Charlotte,” he said as they strolled along. The day was beautiful, the sun sparkling through the trees at the center of the square set leaf shadow patterns dancing across the pavement. Another time, and she would have spent her afternoon under one of those trees with a good scientific treatise. Now she couldn’t help thinking about what Charlotte had asked.
“I found your sister’s questions fascinating,” she admitted. “Though what the ability to carry fire a great distance has to do with the strength of stitches on silk and the tightness of woven reeds for a basket and propulsion…oh!”
She stopped on the pavement and stared at him as realization hit. “Really, Worth? Ballooning? That’s so…so frivolous!”
~~~
Heat rushed up him, followed by an icy cold, as if he’d jumped head first into the Thames on a summer’s day. He’d done everything he could to keep his course of study a secret, from his peers in the Royal Institution, from his friends, even from his team members. Charlotte was the only one who knew, and she would not have confided in Lydia. And that meant, despite all his precautions, Lydia had divined the truth.
And found it less than satisfactory.
He took her elbow. “I must insist that you keep the matter to yourself. And I assure you these studies are not in the least frivolous.”
“If I chose to study ballooning, people would consider it frivolous,” she said, but she fell into step beside him.
“That is because they fail to see its promise,” he told her, releasing her elbow. “Right now, transportation is confined to sailing ships and horse-drawn vehicles.”
“And Mr. Trevithick’s Catch Me Who Can,” Lydia put in.
“Steam locomotives like the one Trevithick invented will have their place,” Worth allowed. “But imagine harnessing the very air to propel you. You could cross mountains, oceans, the icy wastes at the poles, places a steam engine would be impractical. You could transport goods to where they were urgently needed, carry patients to the physician most knowledgeable about their complaint. Families separated by distance could be reunited. Geographic boundaries would become meaningless.”
“You imagine it on an industrial scale, then,” she said. Was that a note of awe he heard creeping into her voice?
“Industrial and international,” he admitted.
“Oh, Worth.”
They had reached the foot of the townhouse steps, and Lydia turned to him with all the wide-eyed wonder he’d once found so compelling.
“My apologies,” she said. “That doesn’t sound the least bit frivolous. It sounds quite admirable. I’m so glad you invited me to participate.”
He should not be so warmed by her approval. “I must caution you again, however, not to speak about our work in public.”
Her admiring look faded. “But why? It’s highly commendable.”
“And highly speculative. Hot air has proven problematic, but the last attempt at combining various gasses cost Monsieur de Rozier his life when he tried to unite hydrogen and hot air.
“But that was nearly thirty years ago, before I was born,” she protested. “Surely we have advanced since then.”
“Not nearly far enough,” he insisted. “Charles reached ten thousand feet, but no one else has matched him. Few flights have lasted longer than an hour or two. No one has sent up weight beyond a couple hundred pounds. If we are to make this more than an adventurer’s hobby, we must do better.”
Lydia nodded. “I see. So what is your goal?”
He drew a breath. This was all written in his journals, but saying it aloud to anyone but Charlotte was a gamble, risking his reputation, his honor. If he was wrong, he forfeited any claim to advancing knowledge. His forebears would be ashamed had they known.
“I intend to build a balloon capable of carrying more than three hundred pounds across mountains,” he said, “sustaining a height of ten thousand feet for at least twenty-four hours as the balloon travels. To do so, the fabric must withstand greater pressures, the basket must be able to carry greater weight, the air used to carry the balloon must remain buoyant much longer, and we must find a way to steer the craft. It is a small achievement in the scheme of things, but a significant advance in the science.”
“A great advance.” She shivered as if she could not imagine it. “When will you demonstrate it at the Royal Institution?”
Worth raised his chin. “We are to present our findings to no less than the His Royal Highness the end of May. Only a few know this. I would prefer the matter to remain quiet until then. I would not want to raise expectations.”
She nodded again. “Of course. Thank you for telling me. I will keep matters to myself, as you wish, but I
will work all the harder knowing what we hope to achieve. Until tomorrow, Worth.”
He inclined his head, and she tripped lightly up the stairs to let herself in the front door, just as a gentleman was coming out. The fellow tipped his top hat to her before stepping onto the stoop.
Worth blinked. “Julian?”
Julian Mayes, who had attended Eton with him and many of the men he still called friends, came down the steps with a ready smile and an extended hand. “Worthington. A pleasure. How go the experiments?”
For a moment, he nearly recoiled, then he realized his friend was merely being polite. Only Lydia, it seemed, had guessed their true purpose.
“Well enough, thank you,” he said, shaking his friend’s hand. “And your efforts?”
“Well enough,” Julian said. His smile was amused, as if he knew neither was completely at liberty to discuss what they did each day. Worth’s work was secret to prevent another betrayal like the last that had jeopardized his hopes. Julian kept the secrets of his many clients. And Worth had heard the whispers that the dapper solicitor was working directly with the Crown on matters of utmost urgency.
So perhaps that meant he knew who owned this townhouse. Worth nodded toward the door. “I didn’t realize you had provided your services to Miss Villers and her brother.”
Julian glanced at the house as well, and his smile warmed. “I see Villers on occasion, but he is not a client. I was here visiting a friend.” He seemed to recall himself and turned to Worth once more. “This is the home of Miss Thorn. Miss Villers is staying with her for the nonce.”
Miss Thorn, the employment agency owner? Business must be good that she could afford to reside on Clarendon Square, though not every family around her would appreciate her presence. But to take in Lydia? Had Lydia’s brother given up all responsibility?
