by Regina Scott
“Much like the last threatening note,” Worth realized. “I wonder, if we compared the handwriting, would yours be a match?”
“Very close,” Charlotte put in, blinking as if suddenly coming into the light. “I should have recognized it from her journal entries.”
Miss Pankhurst’s tiny mouth worked, but she kept her head high.
Lydia nodded. “I suspect the earlier notes you mentioned may have come from someone on Mr. Curtis’s staff, but I wonder how much Miss Pankhurst knows about peat.”
“Or a brick in the night,” Worth mused.
Miss Pankhurst sniffed. “Oh, come now. I wasn’t anywhere near the Royal Institution that night.”
Worth met Lydia’s gaze. “Or in the garden when I explained to Charlotte what had happened. But someone told you.”
“Curtis,” Charlotte grumbled. “The weasel.”
Lydia turned once more to their traitorous colleague. “It seems you have much to atone for, Miss Pankhurst. What was your aim with this latest attempt at blackmail? A reference from Charlotte so you can continue your games in some other family? Certainly you wouldn’t earn Lord Worthington’s regard. That is what you hoped in the beginning, wasn’t it, before you succumbed to Mr. Curtis’s lures? Like Miss Janssen, like myself, you fancied yourself in love, and you thought you could endear yourself to him.”
Miss Janssen flamed and dropped her gaze. Miss Pankhurst glared at Lydia.
“You are a wicked girl,” she pronounced. “I knew the moment you came into this house you would be trouble. What gentleman can resist those flaxen curls, those big innocent eyes? Well, I am on to you, miss. You may think you’ve won, but Lord Worthington is clever. He saw through you once, and he will again.”
Once he had disregarded Lydia, not realizing the gem he held. Worse, he had judged her on the word of another. What slim evidence. He knew the danger of relying on the word of one person. Each contributor to a project brought a bias, however unrealized, to the work. That’s why experiments had to be replicated, results validated. He’d had such poor evidence of his own abilities that he had easily believed he had been wrong again. The fault hadn’t lain with Lydia. It had always been inside him.
And what evidence did he have now?
His own skills had not much improved. He had missed Miss Pankhurst’s perfidy entirely. He hadn’t noticed that both she and Miss Janssen had set their caps at him, though he supposed that was to his credit. At least he wasn’t vain. But he hadn’t realized that Curtis was digging away at the edges of his work, like a rat trying to find its way into a storeroom.
Still, now he understood Lydia better. Forced to compete on the marriage mart, she had done so with goodwill and charm. She had never set out to harm anyone. Since she had joined their team, she had worked beside him, never puffing herself up, always seeking answers. She had been kind and helpful to Charlotte, Miss Janssen, and even Miss Pankhurst, despite that lady’s ongoing efforts to discredit her. She had attempted a reconciliation with Curtis, thinking only to advance their studies.
He may have a ways to go when it came to seeing true intentions, but he would be an idiot not to love a woman like that.
“Once more you are in error, Miss Pankhurst,” he said, and they all looked at him, surprise evident in raised brows, open mouths. “Miss Villers has proven herself nothing but a godsend—to this work and to my life.”
Lydia blushed, dropping her gaze to her hands. Miss Pankhurst’s hands balled at her sides.
“You have no power over us,” Worth told her. “Depart, and tell John Curtis, if he deigns to see you again, that he will have no part in our triumph. You’ll both have to do your own work for once.”
Miss Pankhurst rose, lips trembling. “My lord, you wouldn’t be so unkind as to turn me away.”
“If he doesn’t,” Charlotte said, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling in a neat imitation of Worth’s bodyguard, “I will. Shall I have Mr. Bateman escort you out?”
The red that had inflamed Miss Pankhurst’s cheeks fled with her bravado. “No need,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I’ll go.”
She hurried from the room.
“You might want to follow her,” Lydia advised Charlotte. “She may cause more trouble on the way out.”
“And count the silver,” Miss Janssen put in.
Charlotte rose and went after her former companion.
Miss Janssen sighed. “Such doings! Who would have thought her so devious?”
Lydia smiled at Worth. “Not everyone can see the wolf inside the fleece. It helps to have been raised with one.”
Her brother’s reputation had made it all too easy for him to believe the worst of her. Society had believed the worst as well. Though he and Lydia had had no time to discuss his proposal last night, he had begun to question the reason for her refusal. Indeed, he had ample evidence she felt strongly for him: the way she had reacted to his kiss, the look in her eyes when he’d bandaged her hand, her own admission that she had cared a year ago and still did.
So, why refuse him?
Did she doubt him as much as he’d doubted her? He’d given her ample evidence, not the least of which was his summary dismissal last year and his treatment of her when she first began working with his team. Miss Pankhurst wasn’t the only one who had much to atone for.
They had weeks to prepare the balloon for the demonstration to the prince. The task was staggering. But his most important work would be to find a way to prove to Lydia once and for all that he loved her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lydia stood with Charlotte on one side and Miss Janssen on the other as His Royal Highness and his retinue approached the balloon in the Green Park two weeks later. It had been a mad rush to repair everything and make ready for the demonstration.
Worth and Bateman had retrieved the balloon and set it up in the rear garden on the laboratory side. Once Charlotte and Worth had assured Miss Janssen her position was safe, she had set about rebuilding the wicker basket with a will. Charlotte had worked on expanding the brazier to accommodate a longer heating period, while Lydia took over management of the envelope.
“A poor use of your talents,” Worth had said in apology. “But you have the most experience working closely on that task.”
“And years spent on embroidery,” Lydia had reminded him with a laugh. “Don’t worry, Worth. I’m glad to be of use.”
He’d given her a look, as if he’d longed to say more, but there had been no time for apologies or commiserations. After their adventure, it was clear the balloon required more lift, which meant not only a larger fire, but a bigger envelope.
Charlotte convinced the manufacturer to weave a large enough piece to add another panel, this time a vivid blue.
“Alas, they had no more of the scarlet,” Worth had told Lydia when it had been delivered.
“I like it,” Lydia had said, running a hand down the soft fabric. “It adds dash.”
Worth had laughed.
She could grow to love that sound. A shame she could not convince herself he returned her love. The knowledge was a constant ache against their growing list of accomplishments.
Still, she had persevered, until everything was exactly as Worth had decreed. They had moved all the components to the Green Park near the top of Constitution Hill and reassembled them here only yesterday afternoon. Miss Janssen had helped Lydia spread the scarlet silk with its bold blue stripe across the green grass like a carpet. Through the trees that lined the distant edges of the sloping park, the red brick towers of St. James’s Palace stood proud. No more proud than Worth as the envelope began to inflate. He and Bateman had stayed through the night to see the inflation completed.
Now the balloon stood tall, straining at the moorings, as a cavalcade headed their direction. Leading the way was a white-lacquered landau, hood pulled back and golden appointments gleaming, drawn by two perfectly matched white horses. Yeoman guards in their red and black uniforms marched on either side, pikes
at the ready. Since the assassination of the prime minister, they appeared to be taking no chance with their illustrious liege. Other fine carriages followed. They all drew up a little way from the balloon.
Miss Janssen clutched Lydia’s arm. “That’s the prince!”
Indeed it was. Corpulent and slow-moving, His Royal Highness descended from the landau, navy tailored coat with a high collar framing the jowls of his face. Other men began appearing from the other carriages, and Lydia recognized several members of the Privy Council along with Julian Mayes, with whom her brother had worked on occasion on matters of utmost secrecy.
But it was the fellow hovering at the prince’s elbow who gave her pause.
“What is Mr. Curtis doing here?” Charlotte demanded as that gentleman murmured something to the prince.
“Leeches always find something to cling to,” Bateman predicted, tipping the last of the coal into the brazier with a puff of black dust.
Miss Janssen released Lydia. “I did not know leeches came in pairs.”
Lydia followed her gaze. There, among the more than five dozen people staring at the balloon stood Miss Pankhurst, dressed in dainty ruffled muslin with a lace-edged parasol over her head, its tall point glinting in the sun. She looked entirely frivolous.
Lydia did not. She had dressed her best for the occasion, in a gown of fine muslin striped in lavender and white and sprigged with clusters of violets. Enid had flattered her curls into a bun behind her head and covered it with a narrow hat of purple velvet with a white ostrich plume in the lavender satin band. She rather thought she looked like someone to be reckoned with. She could only hope their audience, including Miss Pankhurst, would agree.
Worth, in a black coat and dun trousers, consulted his new chronometer, then snapped shut the gold case and stepped forward to address the group.
“Your Highness, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today. With His Highness’s kind encouragement, we have been working to advance the science of ballooning.”
“Distance and weight,” John Curtis put in a few feet away from the prince and his guards. “I saw them as key from the beginning.”
Charlotte glared.
“Ingenious,” the prince said, gaze going to the balloon. Charlotte nudged Lydia, and all three ladies dipped curtseys. The prince inclined his ponderous head before turning to Curtis. “And you’re certain it’s safe? I’ve read of some nasty explosions in France.”
“In France,” Curtis said with a curl of his lip. “I can assure His Highness that no English balloon under my leadership will ever explode.”
“An excellent promise,” Worth said. “Remind me to come see the balloon built under your leadership.” He turned to the prince. “Your Highness, the balloons that exploded were filled with hydrogen. We used hot air only.”
“English air,” Curtis qualified.
Worth ignored him. “With your kind permission, I would like to make known the members of my team.”
Once more the prince inclined his head. “Delighted.”
Worth nodded toward their group. Lydia, Charlotte, and Miss Janssen stood taller. So did Bateman.
“You will remember my sister, Miss Worthington. She worked tirelessly to ensure the fire would warm the air to fill the envelope. Miss Janssen wove our fine basket, capable of carrying no less than three hundred pounds aloft for hours.”
His Highness looked impressed. Mr. Curtis shifted. Lydia could only hope he was squirming like the worm he was.
“To the side, there, is Mr. Matthew Bateman,” Worth continued. “He provided invaluable service to support all our efforts.”
The prince squinted at Bateman, then brightened. “I say, I know the fellow. The Beast of Birmingham, what? I’ve seen him fight.” He raised his voice. “Well done, Beast. The fellow deserved what he got.”
Bateman grimaced and managed a bow.
“And finally,” Worth said, “I give you the woman who is the heart of all we do. She helped construct the envelope you see before you and devised a way to more efficiently heat the fuel. Miss Lydia Villers.”
Everyone was staring at her. Lydia felt as if she was as light as the balloon and as ready to soar.
“Ah, Miss Villers,” Curtis said. “Yes. She and I met to discuss the balloon. I’m glad to hear she passed on my recommendations.”
Before Lydia could respond, Worth drew himself up. “Miss Villers’s contributions started long before she spoke to Mr. Curtis. Indeed, our work spans far beyond his expertise. We set out to improve each component: fuel, envelope, container, and control. Everything we have accomplished has been carefully documented, and my paper on the subject will be published in the next issue of Philosophical Transactions.”
That set Charlotte to grinning. Lydia too. Take that, Curtis! She had never been prouder of Worth. And it seemed that, against all odds, he was proud of her too. Perhaps they had a chance for a future together after all.
~~~
Worth caught Lydia’s eye and smiled. The color in her cheeks, the light in her eyes, her radiant smile, all said she was proud of what they’d done. Together, they had fulfilled all his dreams.
He thought he saw Curtis flinch at the news that Worth was publishing about the effort. For once, Worth’s contributions would be noted as his own, and Charlotte and the others would be given their due.
But the weasel recovered and nodded. “Excellent. My work has been published there many times. Glad to have you join in, Worthington.”
He refused to let the man’s interference rattle him.
“As for today,” Worth continued to the rest of his audience, “I will enter the container, which my associate Mr. Bateman has filled with bags of hay approximating one hundred and forty pounds. You may verify the weight if you like.”
His friend Julian was smiling. Nice to have someone in his camp besides his team. Several of the ministers nearest the prince exchanged glances, but His Royal Highness waved a white-gloved hand. “No need, Worthington. I trust your word.”
“Ah, but natural philosophy requires a witness, Your Highness,” Curtis advised him. “If you would allow me?”
The prince nodded him forward.
Worth held himself still as the fellow approached. But Curtis wasn’t done with his insults. He turned and held out a hand. “Miss Pankhurst, would you assist me? I believe all these fine gentlemen will recognize you as a disinterested party.”
“Rubbish,” Bateman muttered.
Charlotte shushed him.
“An honor, sir,” Miss Pankhurst said in her high-pitched voice. Twirling her ridiculous pointed parasol that was far too large and long for her diminutive stature, she minced over to the balloon within inches of Worth as if he were no more than another of the trees that edged the park. She peered over the rim of the basket. “I see seven bags.” Moving around the basket, one hand on the ropes, she reached in and poked each with her parasol. “They appear to be rather densely packed. You would have to estimate the weight, Mr. Curtis. You are much more well versed in such matters.” She tittered appreciatively.
Curtis’s patronizing smile should have warned the woman he had no real interest in her. “Of course, my dear. With bags of this sort, I would estimate a stone a piece, for a total of one hundred and forty pounds. And I believe you weigh upward of eight stone, my lord.”
“One hundred fifty-seven and three-quarter pounds in the clothing I am currently wearing,” Worth said, but he addressed the prince and the crowd instead of his rival. “Verified this morning on the scale at Berry Brothers and Rudd, before witnesses.”
“Excellent,” said the prince, rubbing his meaty hands together. “That would make the weight of the container nearly three hundred pounds.”
“Did the calculation all by himself, did he?” Bateman muttered. This time Charlotte elbowed him into silence.
“Precisely,” Mr. Curtis said, though there was nothing precise about the prince’s statement. “That should give Your Highness a good sense of the cap
ability of ballooning, at least as far as Lord Worthington has been able to advance it.”
“An idea of the capability of this balloon,” Worth corrected him. “We believe the components scalable. A larger envelope and basket, a more intense heat, and you should have greater scope for transportation.”
The prince’s gaze traveled over the balloon, and a frown gathered on his brow just as Worth noticed a shadow rippling across the crowd.
“Is it supposed to do that?” His Royal Highness asked.
Charlotte gasped, even as Worth spun to face the balloon. The envelope was beginning to sag, just as it had the day the peat had clogged the fire. Worth’s gaze darted to the brazier, which glowed as red as it should.
“What have you done?” Mr. Curtis cried, starting around the balloon for Miss Pankhurst’s side.
Miss Pankhurst merely widened her eyes, all innocence, as the weight of the envelope began to collapse. But from the tip of her parasol hung a piece of scarlet silk. Worth’s stomach dropped faster than the envelope.
“She’s popped it!” Lydia cried.
Beyond them, the crowd began scattering amid gasps of dismay. They were so intent on escape they buffeted the yeoman guards back from their place beside the prince. Curtis left Miss Pankhurst and ran off to one side. Worth had other concerns. He turned and grabbed Lydia’s hand. She took hold of Charlotte, who took hold of Miss Janssen, and together they pulled away from the balloon. His Royal Highness stood, more stunned than defiant Worth thought, as the warm silk descended toward him.
“Look out!” Bateman launched himself across the space. He hit the prince midsection, wrapped his arms about the fellow, and dragged him away from the danger.
The envelope thudded as it struck the ground where the prince had stood, then began puddling on the grass, the air hissing out like an angry snake.
The yeoman guard surrounded Bateman, pikes lowered and gazes fierce. He released the prince and held up his hands.
“He assaulted my person,” the prince declared, tugging on his coat with hands that shook. “I’ll see him hang.”
