by Regina Scott
Worth cocked his head. “Really?”
She raised her chin to allow her gaze to meet his, the soft green surprisingly hard. “Really.”
Charlotte made a face. “A few can be exciting, Lydia, but most are dull as ditchwater. These fellows tend to prose on and on about their accomplishments.”
He’d never found them all that dull. Lydia seemed to agree with him.
“I assure you,” she insisted, “it would be no imposition to attend. I love to hear what other natural philosophers are studying.”
“Why?” Charlotte demanded.
Worth frowned at his sister. Why would Charlotte question her? Did she have reason to doubt Lydia just as Worth was beginning to believe in her?
Lydia didn’t take umbrage. Indeed, she seemed to expect more opposition to her request. “Because,” she said, “when one part of science advances an inch, others may build on the idea to advance feet, miles. Take our work, for example. Being able to measure time more accurately could show us which parts of the process require additional study. Why focus on the fire when it’s the expansion of the fabric that holds us back?”
“Precisely,” Worth agreed. “Or is it the very act of shoving coal that slows the process?”
Lydia wiggled her lips. “It might at that.” She brightened. “Perhaps we need an automaton, something that regulates the amount, size, and timing of fuel addition. That would have prevented the incident with the peat.”
“Yes, excellent idea,” Worth said, pacing back and forth in front of them as the idea settled in. “We can start on that tomorrow. I seem to recall a fellow who creates automatons for the king. Make a note of that, Charlotte.”
“Delighted,” Charlotte drawled. “As soon as you agree to attend the lecture with Lydia.”
Worth stopped. Lydia beamed. Glancing between the two of them, he felt his own smile forming. Why not?
He bowed to Lydia. “Miss Villers, would you do me the honor of attending the lecture at the Royal Institution this week?”
She curtsied. “I would be delighted, my lord.”
“Excellent.” He straightened and regarded his slowly rising balloon. They were behind schedule and now had a new task to add to the scope of work.
So why did he feel insufferably pleased with himself?
~~~
Julian strolled through London’s famous gentleman’s club, White’s, attuned to every sound. He kept his smile pleasant, his look vague. No one would have guessed he was listening. But listening, he had found, was far more advantageous to his career than speaking.
In truth, he hadn’t been sure what sphere to pursue when his parents had sent him to Eton. The son of some of the most respectable gentry in his part of Surrey, he’d grown used to associating with the titled and wealthy. One of his best friends then was now the Duke of Wey. Friends Harry Orwell and Carrolton had also ascended to their titles.
And here was Julian, still untitled. Unless he found some miraculous way to distinguish himself, he always would be.
Thus, he listened—for problems he might solve, for needs he might meet. Even for secrets that could be shared with the right person for the right reason.
“Penny for your thoughts, my boy.”
Julian drew up at the sight of the older gentleman standing in his path. Lord Hastings might look like a jolly good fellow with his brown hair and walrus mustache, his tailored coat and spotless trousers. But he led an aristocratic team of intelligence agents, listeners like Julian. Julian had assisted him from time to time, including with the recent case of the French agent sent to capture Yvette de Maupassant, now Countess of Carrolton. But he had never officially joined Lord Hastings’s cadre.
“I fear my thoughts tonight aren’t worth your copper, my lord,” he allowed.
Hastings wasn’t deterred. He took Julian’s arm. Anyone looking would be warmed by the fatherly gesture. Julian felt the steel in those fingers.
“Now, you let me be the judge of that,” he joked. “Come along, my boy.” He led Julian to the back of the room, where two cozy armchairs braced a small table and glowing lamp.
Julian sat across from him on the soft leather. “How might I be of service, my lord?”
Hastings leaned back, the side wings of the chair framing his lined face. “Always to the point. I like that about you, Mayes. Have you spoken with your friend Worthington lately?”
Was the old codger having him followed? Julian hadn’t noticed any of Hastings’s men dogging his steps, but that meant nothing. One never knew exactly how many men he had. And nothing said they couldn’t have set some street urchin on his tail.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Julian told him.
“And how goes his work?”
Was that what interested the spymaster? What had Worth gotten himself into?
“He reports his work is going well,” Julian acknowledged.
“Excellent. His Highness will be attending a demonstration shortly. I’ve arranged for you to accompany him.”
Interesting. “And what profit to you is Worthington’s work?”
Hastings smiled. “I find natural philosophy fascinating. And I’d like your assessment as to how these advancements might be useful in our work.”
Julian nodded. “Happy to oblige.”
Hastings leaned forward. “You’re well-known for being obliging. Watch that it continues to benefit you.”
The room felt colder. “Have I offered offense, my lord?”
“You?” Hastings laughed. “I’ve heard nothing but praise for you, my lad, and in high circles. That’s why I’m offering you this opportunity to impress the prince.”
It was an excellent opportunity. Once drawn to His Royal Highness’ attention, Julian might find additional opportunities to shine. The prince had to approve the nomination for honors, after all. It wasn’t unknown for his friends to advance.
“Thank you,” Julian said, inclining his head.
“See that you use the opportunity wisely,” Hastings said. “A fellow is known for the company he keeps, male, female, or feline.”
Julian stilled. “I don’t take your meaning,” he said, though he feared he understood it all too well.
As always, those brown eyes missed nothing. “I think you do,” Hastings said. “A certain cat-toting beauty has come to the attention of the wrong people. Can’t have a poor relation profiting from the death of a family member. Where would we be?”
“I assure you the lady is innocent,” Julian said, hands tightening on the arms of the chair.
“Of murder? Nothing was proven. But you cannot deny her fortune came from her mistress’ death. That sort of scandal stays with a person.”
Before Julian could respond, Hastings rose. “I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this demonstration. Until then.”
Julian rose and bowed, watching as England’s spymaster continued his stroll through White’s. Listening, just like Julian.
For once, he could not like what he’d heard. It seemed Meredith was becoming as well known as Hastings.
Julian had worked most of his life to reach his current position in Society. He had curried favor with some of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the Empire. He had earned respect from most. He was so close to the recognition he craved he could almost see it, like a shining city on a hill.
But never once had he considered he might have to choose between his dreams and the woman he loved.
Chapter Fourteen
Lydia almost didn’t get her wish to attend the lecture. The afternoon before, the Prime Minister was assassinated in the lobby of Parliament, throwing London into turmoil. Rumors of conspiracy raced through the aristocracy like wildfire. Worth sent everyone home, while Gentleman Jackson requested Bateman’s aid in subduing the mobs gathering. Though Clarendon Square was far from the trouble, Lydia and Meredith stayed away from the windows, and Fortune divided her time between them, offering cuddles.
By Tuesday, however, calm had been restored, and the murd
erer, a disturbed man named Bellingham, had been imprisoned to await trial. The group that gathered at the Royal Institution lecture appeared determined to put a good face on matters. In fact, Lydia could hardly sit still as she and Worth waited for the lecture to start.
The Royal Institution had a splendid lecture hall, with tiered padded seats in a semicircle around an expansive desk and more seating in galleries above. She was glad to be wearing her darkest gown, a spruce green wool with a high collar. She wasn’t the only lady in the room, but she was the most seriously dressed. She wanted no misunderstandings as to her purpose here.
She wanted to learn anything that might help Worth improve his balloon.
It had taken seven hours for the envelope to inflate after the peat incident, two more than Worth had wanted. But the balloon had stayed aloft for eighteen hours, nearly reaching his goal.
“Next we try it with weight,” he’d said after congratulating the team.
Since then, they’d been refurbishing the various components for reuse. Charlotte had gone over the coal order with Bateman to remove any possibility of peat reappearing. Miss Janssen had noticed a deterioration of the reeds closest to the brazier and set about reweaving them and coating them to prevent further trouble. Miss Pankhurst rechecked every stitch in the envelope and reinforced a few. Of course, she ascribed them to Lydia.
Lydia couldn’t care. She had been too busy working with Worth to determine whether an automaton could serve as a coal feeder. They’d interviewed the collier who supplied the house and discovered he had a lever to tip the coal into the chute and down into the storage bin. Lydia had immediately seized on the idea of using a similar lever attached to clockwork. They’d tried the first mockup this afternoon, but keeping the coal high enough in the basket to be dispensed had posed a problem for balance, and the dispenser had quickly overwhelmed the brazier, burying it in coal.
“Timing again,” Lydia had said, and Worth had agreed.
Now they sat among so many of the scientists whose work she had read about and admired. How interesting to see whether they looked as she had imagined. Somehow, she’d thought Sir Humphry Davy older, but the newly married chemist was surprisingly boyish, with curly brown hair and bright eyes, as if he was as delighted as she was to be in such company. Sir Joseph Banks, on the other hand, was a craggy fellow with grey hair and jowls like a bulldog. She hadn’t realized he was confined to a wheeled chair now. A special place had been made for him near the front. She had convinced Worth to introduce her to him.
Sir Joseph had nodded his heavy head. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Villers. You are exactly what we need, charming young ladies taking an interest in natural philosophy.”
“A great interest,” Lydia had assured him. “I read your Circumstances Relative to Merino Sheep. I promise you, I will never look at wool the same way again.”
He blinked. “Well, certainly. That is…who are you again?”
Lord Battersby had been less complimentary when he’d stopped by their seats to greet Worth.
“What do you mean by bringing Miss Villers to a lecture?” the earl had demanded. “You’ll merely bore the chit. See? She’s already looking about for better game.”
Worth’s arm had tensed against hers. Lydia had met the earl’s gaze. “I certainly am. I came tonight hoping to discuss scientific advances. If you prefer social commentary, I’d be happy to direct you to Lady Jersey’s set.” She’d batted her lashes for effect.
The earl had leaned closer, a decided curl to his lips. “Scientific advances, eh? What would you know about any scientific endeavor?”
She had been ready to answer him, but Worth had stood to face the fellow, his height far exceeding the earl’s.
“Miss Villers assisted Augusta Orwell in inventing the salve that cured your daughter’s skin affliction, my lord,” he had told the earl. “Charlotte said you praised it the last time she saw you. You might want to thank Miss Villers rather than making an assumption. We both know the effect an assumption can have on the scientific process.”
“Yes, well.” He had taken a step back. “Excellent work, Miss Villers. Dolly made her first appearance in Society after weeks hiding at home. I’m sure she’d be delighted to thank you in person. Feel free to call any time.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Lydia had said. “And I do hope you’ll be willing to show me what you’re currently working on in identifying new elements.”
He had glanced from her to Worth and back again. “I look forward to it.”
So did she. Opportunity seemed to be crowding on all sides. She couldn’t wait to hear the lecture.
But even as she sat up taller to gain a better view of the lectionary, she became aware of Worth moving beside her. He shifted back and forth on the seat as if considering jumping up and running away. If he adjusted his cravat one more time the thing would probably fall right off his neck.
“What’s the matter?” Lydia whispered, mindful of the people in front, behind, and on either side on the sharply sloped theatre.
His smile was tight. “Nothing of import to our work. Forgive me. Let’s just enjoy the lecture.”
She intended to and was not disappointed. Lord Halston had a pedantic way of speaking, as Charlotte had predicted, but his comparisons between the marine chronometers and the standard watch set her mind to humming.
“We must ask him to recommend a manufacturer,” she told Worth as the lecture ended and everyone prepared to leave.
Worth nodded, gaze on the group surrounding the lecturer. “If you’d stay here a moment, I’ll see if I can beat my way to his side.”
Lydia waited, thoughts churning. To be able to stabilize the watch against movement, as chronometers did at sea—how perfect for balloon flight! Worth wouldn’t have to depend on those on the ground. He could time various aspects within the balloon itself.
Assuming, of course, he chose to fly the balloon. She frowned. He had said weight. Surely that meant a person at some point. Someone needed to pilot the balloon, turning his propellers, working the bellows. That tingle shot through her—oh, to have such an opportunity!
“Did you enjoy the lecture, Miss Villers?”
Lydia turned to find John Curtis beside her. He was dressed more conservatively tonight, in a navy coat and tan breeches, as if he sought to impress as well. His hair had been combed over the bald spot on his head. The blond tresses gleamed with pomade. His smile was equally shiny.
“Yes, thank you,” she said. “And you?”
“Oh, of course. Having a movement-hardened watch would be very useful in my chemical experiments.”
“Lord Worthington’s too,” she assured him.
His brows rose. “Worth is back working in chemistry? I thought he was determined to perfect ballooning.”
She blinked, then realized that Worth must have told him. The pair had worked together once. True, there was some antipathy between them now, but surely Worth would have sought his mentor’s advice.
“You know?” She beamed at him. “Oh, how delightful. I’ve so wanted to discuss our progress with another natural philosopher, but Lord Worthington has been determined to hold things close.”
“Understandably,” he said with a commiserating smile. “His work carries such promise. Industry will no doubt latch onto any advances he makes, and I understand the military is keenly interested in using balloons for observation purposes. I’d be delighted to help in any way I can. Perhaps we could meet at Gunter’s tomorrow afternoon and discuss the matter further.”
In the past, the treat of eating at the famed confectioner’s would have thrilled her no end. Now, all she could think about was the amount of work ahead of them if they were to be ready for the demonstration to the prince.
As if he saw her indecision, he leaned forward. “And I could share some recent studies of my own on heat conductivity.”
Oh! That could be just the thing to speed their work.
“I’ll ask Lord Worthington,” she promised.
/>
He leaned back. “Alas, Lord Worthington seems to have taken me in dislike. He has chosen to make our work a rivalry, I fear. I would love to mend the rift. Perhaps you could help.”
Perhaps she could. She knew a great deal about navigating Society, when to placate, how to play the fool. And if Mr. Curtis and Worth reconciled, they’d have another scientific mind to help advance the work.
“Very well, Mr. Curtis,” she said. “I am due for a half day. I will meet you at Gunter’s tomorrow. Shall we say eleven?”
~~~
Worth finished his discussion with Lord Halston and turned to retrace his steps to Lydia’s side. Her smile was bright, as if she couldn’t wait for what lay ahead. She’d been nothing but a delight all night.
Even if some of his fellow philosophers had not thought as much.
Lord Nampton had been the worst. “What a pretty little ladybird,” he’d murmured to Worth as the two of them had waited to speak to the lecturer. “Must be the patient sort to sit through one of Halston’s lectures.”
“More patient than I am,” Worth had assured him, “particularly when I hear a lady slandered. I will have your apology, sir.”
Nampton had stared at him, porcine face glistening in the lamplight. “My apology? To a tart?”
Worth gritted his teeth. “Your apology to the lady, sirrah, or the name of your second.”
The marquess had drawn back. “My apology then. But for pity’s sake, man. That’s Beauford Villers’s sister. Why would you threaten a duel over the likes of her?”
“I suggest,” Worth said, hands bunching at his sides, “that you consider the answer to the question yourself, while you examine your behavior. Good night, sirrah.” He’d turned his back on the fellow.
Just remembering fueled his steps now. Did every gentleman on the ton look at her and see nothing but the fluff of a dandelion, blown on the wind of her brother’s avarice? Was this the sort of thing she’d endured the last few years? Small wonder she found solace in science.
