STEAMPUNK ROMANCE: An Innovative Clockwork Steampunk World Adventure: The Complete Collection Boxed Set (Mystery Suspense Romance Short Stories)

by Haven, Rose

  © Copyright 2015 by Rose Haven - All rights reserved.

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  Introduction

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  Steampunk Romance

  Gas Light

  Book One

  Rose Haven

  Steampunk Romance: Gas Light

  Chapter One

  I was nearly asphyxiated the morning Father gave me the news.

  In my defence, I was wearing the gas mask I’d built myself after the airborne cyanide incident. The rubber had apparently become brittle during my experiments with liquid nitrogen, and I hadn’t realised until the carbon monoxide from my prototype steam engine had begun to make me light-headed.

  I was bent over the machine, watching the pistons whirring and feeling the heat on my exposed cheeks, when I realised my mistake. The combination of fumes and an empty stomach sent me teetering forward and nearly plunged me face-first into the exhaust fan.

  “None of that now,” I scolded myself, dashing over to the window to let some fresh air into the room. “Can’t be having fainting spells on the brink of an important discovery.” My stomach growled. I tried to remember when I’d last eaten. Yesterday? Probably yesterday evening. I hadn’t had the time for breakfast that morning and I didn’t think I would have time for lunch either. I was so close to making this work.

  My male colleagues preferred to work in basement labs, but I’d always preferred a cool breeze in the afternoons, and so I’d set up my personal laboratory in the attic of my father’s house. The window overlooked beautifully maintained flower gardens and pristine lawns which adorned his home – an exercise in indulgence I’d never understood no matter how often he tried to explain the importance of ‘keeping up appearances’. He would have preferred to see me heavy with children instead of tinkering over clockwork with my corsets loosened, but as my mother always said, we cannot have everything our hearts desire. So he’d set aside room in the attic for me to continue my work and, as far as I knew, encouraged rumours that I had taken ill in my early years and had never quite recovered.

  Since then, I’d tinkered and toyed with different inventions. Some mornings I would wake up with my mind bursting with fresh ideas, and I would need to rush to a desk and scratch them onto paper before they vanished into the ether. Some mornings it would be pictures, or vague half-imaginings which would need extra time to draw out into genuine ideas, or even the complete schematic which would pour out of my pencil like wine from a decanter. Every day I would experiment with different chemicals, different metals, and different techniques. I didn’t know what I was searching for, but I knew that I would know it when I found it.

  While the carbon monoxide was draining from the attic lab, I took a moment to breathe in the scent of freshly mown lawn wafting in from below. It was delightfully warm that spring morning, and I was a little bit upset that my experiments would keep me indoors for most of the day. The attic could often become stuffy on hot days, with its low ceilings and unadorned stone walls.

  A knock on the door brought my head back inside the window. I kept it open so that the noxious fumes couldn’t build up again and called out: “Enter!”

  My father opened the door and poked his head inside, perusing my many workbenches and beakers with disdain. “Good morning, Rosalie,” he said. “For God’s sake, tie your corset,”

  “Father, I’m in the middle of –”

  “I don’t care to hear about whatever nonsense you’re playing with today, Rosalie,” Father replied, cutting me off. He had a large chest and imposing demeanour, and his nose turned upwards like a man who is used to getting his own way. I could see his nostrils flaring as he stared at my steam engine. “What sort of monstrosity is that?”

  “It’s a steam engine, Father,” I replied, trying to keep my tone jaunty despite the flicker of worry in my chest. Father only came upstairs to fetch me when there was an important man I was expected to meet. “Very soon they will power half the country.”

  “Just like your indoor-illumination globes, I take it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and looking pointedly towards the pile of discarded globes on one of the workbenches in the corner.

  “It was a minor setback –”

  “You nearly set the house on fire.”

  “If I could just figure out a way to strike the wire from inside the globes –”

  “Rosalie,” and here Father began to rub his forehead. He did that sometimes when something he cared about wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. My heart always felt easier when I saw him rub his forehead – it meant he still cared about me, despite how frustrating he found me and my interests. “We need to talk.”

  “Of course, Father,” I replied, tightening my corset and running a hand dutifully through my long black hair, tucking any wayward curls into the bun at the back.

  I turned to check my appearance in the mirror, removing the gas mask hastily and rubbing at the smudge of soot on my nose. I thought I looked quite plain by modern standards, though I knew that my father’s enormous wealth rendered me a great deal more attractive in the eyes of most bachelors under fifty. My father did everything he could to encourage these men. They would often come to the house to see if I was worth the trouble of marrying, but so far I had managed to put them off – doing everything from pouring hot tea into their laps to laughing too loudly. I had more important things to do than simper after some awful man who was more interested in my father’s bank account than he was in me.

  “What seems to be the trouble?” I asked, turning back to grace Father with a smile.

  His lip twitched as if he meant to smile back, but decided against it at the last moment. “I am leaving next week,” he said. “And you’ve yet to make a decision.”

  I rolled my shoulders, suddenly feeling the strain of bending over for hours. “I have made a decision, Father. I made my decision years ago.” It just isn’t the one you want me to make, I thought.

  But he’d never taken the time to understand why I preferred to work in my lab instead of primping and preening for balls and parties. Perhaps if he’d ever asked why I do what I do, he might have understood why the thought of marriage made me cringe. He might have understood the way my mind lit up with the intoxicating possibility which came with crafting new inventions and pushing the boundaries of science.

  Father pursed his lips and looked critically at me. “Rosalie, I need to know that you are going to be taken care of.”

  “Father, you are going to France, you are not dying.” />
  “But I will be dead someday,” he replied. His forehead was creased and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to grip my shoulders and shake me. “I won’t be able to remind you to eat forever.”

  My stomach – the traitorous little beast – growled when he spoke, as if to confirm his concerns. I crossed my arms over it and tried to keep my voice even. It wouldn’t do to let myself get worked up and come across as a child.

  “Father, I do not wish to marry simply to have someone keep my schedule for me,” I said. “I cannot love any man the way I love my work.”

  He rubbed his forehead again, but he must have known that I would respond this way. I always did. He’d been pushing me to find a husband to remind me to eat and sleep instead of losing myself in my work – but he’d forgotten that men were not the ones who traditionally cared for their women. It was the other way around, and I had no interest in neglecting my experiments to play nursemaid.

  “I know you believe that,” he said slowly. “But perhaps the right man –”

  “Father, please,” I said, trying desperately to keep the begging tone out of my words. “You know how I feel about this. Besides –” I added when it looked like he would try to convince me again, “I do not believe that any decision can be made before your trip, can it?”

  Our family, the Lapointes, had migrated from France decades ago to settle in London. The house my grandparents had built was close to the city, but far from the smog and filth which seemed to cling to its inhabitants like barnacles on a ship. We still owned property in Normandy, which my father devoted several months a year to visiting and maintaining. I got the impression that he planned to send me to Normandy someday – preferably with a husband and some children – but I could not imagine it. However would I get my experiments over the channel? The steam engine prototype was much too delicate to move in its present state.

  “I know that,” Father replied. “Which is why I have taken the liberty of engaging a manservant for you.”

  “A manservant?” I asked, frowning. “What about Jenkins?”

  “He will be accompanying me.”

  “What about the maids?”

  “You will not listen to the maids,” Father replied. “And they are too afraid to come up here since you set that rabid racoon on them!”

  “Henry was not rabid, he was in the later stages of a divorce –”

  “The point –” Father said, raising his voice and talking over me. “Is that you require a firm hand. The new manservant will see to it that your needs are taken care of, but you will still be allowed to do your… nonsense… I trust that you will be attentive when he asks you to be?”

  I sighed. The new manservant sounded like a nuisance. I hadn’t meant to scare the maids so badly that they would never come into the attic, but it did have the additional benefit of giving me peace and quiet to conduct my research. If this manservant had instructions to coddle me like an infant, then I might never get any work done at all!

  “If that is what you wish, Father,” I said, knowing that any resistance on my part would only make him double his efforts.

  Father nodded quickly. “Good,” he said. “He will be arriving on Friday morning to learn his duties.”

  And then you will leave on Friday afternoon, I thought. Hopefully Father would not have time to train the new manservant in all of his duties before Father left the country.

  “And what is his name?” I asked as my father turned to go.

  “His name is Edmund Price,” he replied.

  He closed the door behind him and left me to my work.

  Chapter Two

  Over the next week, my father prepared for his trip to France and left me in peace. That turned out to be a good thing, as the steam engine still caused me trouble – periodically releasing poisonous carbon monoxide gas which would make my eyes water even after I’d repaired the mask. I had to rig up a fan which drew air through the room and out the window just to keep the attic habitable.

  On the day my father’s was to leave for France, I was pacing the attic in frustration while the steam engine prototype sat spitefully in the centre of the room. I’d tried everything to get the pistons to strike on command, but I couldn’t figure out how to get them to do it automatically after the initial strike.

  There was a knock on my door. “Enter!” I called.

  My father opened the door a crack and grimaced at me. “Rosalie, make yourself presentable.”

  “Father, I’m at a very important point in my work,” I replied, half my mind still on the problem. “Can this wait?”

  “No, it cannot,” Father replied. “I have Mr Price with me.”

  That demanded all of my attention. It had been years since anyone but father had come up to the attic – and they had all been maids. No man had ever entered my domain. Father must have been terribly keen to keep me on a tight leash.

  “One moment,” I said to cover up my distress. I quickly tightened my corset and pulled my mask off, glancing up at the fan to make sure that it was working and I wouldn’t be breathing in anything I shouldn’t. I even unstrapped my tool belt and slung it over the back of a chair. When I was presentable, I nodded to my father to let Mr Price in.

  The man who entered was not at all what I’d expected. I’d expected an older, more distinguished and sterner version of my father. Someone who could happily bend a wayward woman to his will. The man who stood before me couldn’t have been more than a few years older than I was. He had an interesting bone structure which could have been considered unattractive by most, but was rendered quite lovely by his wide, intelligent eyes. He wore a simple tweed suit with a watch chain attached to one pocket which he fiddled with as he gazed around my attic, taking everything in. As he entered the room, I realised with a jolt that he was walking with a long, ebony cane.

  “Rosalie, this is Mr Edmund Price,” my father said. “Mr Price, this is my daughter, Rosalie Lapointe.”

  Mr Price ceased his perusal of my lab and turned to me, smiling nervously as he held out a hand. “Miss Lapointe,” he said. His voice was deeper than I’d expected, and richer than caramel.

  Well this won’t do at all, I thought. This man was distractingly good-looking. As I shook his hand I could feel myself becoming less interested in the problems which vexed me only moments ago. Instead, I found myself marvelling at the softness of his hand and the way his voice felt like music pounding through my veins.

  “Mr Price,” I said. My voice was remarkably steady. “I’m terribly sorry that I do not have the time to attend to you, but I have very pressing matters –”

  “Rosalie!” my father said sternly.

  “I can see that,” Mr Price said pleasantly. His gaze slid off of my face and onto the prototype steam engine.

  “Mr Price will begin his work immediately,” Father said. “He has been informed of your schedule.”

  “What schedule?”

  “I trust you will do as he asks?” Father said, speaking over me.

  I chewed the inside of my lip, trying my very best not to glare at him. He knew how important my work was to me – and yet he insisted on bringing distractions like this into my workspace. It was if he wanted me to remember –

  I bit down hard on my cheek to distract myself from those thoughts. If I lingered too long on my memories, I would be rendered completely unproductive for the rest of the day.

  “Of course, Father,” I replied, already plotting out ways to get around this latest attempt to control me. Mr Price did not strike me as a tyrant, but I knew that Father must have had a reason for hiring him.

  Mr Price was eyeing my steam engine with some interest. I wondered suddenly if he may be a fellow inventor, and felt my protective instincts perk up.

  “I would be careful if I were you,” I said, stepping forward so that I could intervene if he tried to meddle. “That’s very delicate,”

  “What does it do?” Mr Price replied with interest. He took a cautious half-step backwards.
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  “So far, all it has done is produce poisonous gases,” I said sadly. “But I have high hopes for it.”

  “Poisonous gases?” Mr Price asked. “Are we quite safe here?”

  He did not look concerned. He had an eyebrow quirked up in amusement, even if his tone of voice was solemn as a preacher during a funeral. Father could not see Mr Price’s raised eyebrow, and so he nodded approvingly behind the new manservant’s back.

  “It’s terribly unsafe,” I replied, just as solemnly. “Deadly, without the proper precautions.” I tapped the mask which was hanging around my neck.

  Mr Price’s eyes flickered to it but his amusement never wavered. “Mr Lapointe,” he said, turning to speak to Father. “I believe I’ve seen everything I need to. Would you mind terribly going over Miss Lapointe’s schedule again? I would hate to inconvenience you by forgetting anything,”

  Why would it inconvenience him? I thought. But my father simply nodded and indicated for Mr Price to follow him out of the attic. Mr Price bowed to me before allowing my father to lead him out.

  “I leave in two hours, Rosalie,” Father replied as he went. “I expect you to come bid me farewell.”

  “Of course, Father,” I said.

  When I was alone, I allowed myself to take stock of what I was feeling. It was terribly inappropriate to be attracted to one’s manservant – even I knew that. What had Father been thinking hiring a man so close to my own age? Did he think that I would respond better to someone young with distractingly intriguing features?

  A thought crossed my mind, briefly, that the distraction was Father’s intention. Could he be hoping that I would become so preoccupied by Mr Price that I would forget my work and devote myself to a life of childrearing and wedded bliss instead? As soon as the thought entered my head I discarded it. Mr Price was not a handsome man by conventional standards, so Father could not have known that I would be so affected. He was also a servant. However desperate my father became, he would not wish to see me wed to a man who was well below my station.