“You’re quite the talented young man,” Admiral Huntley commented. “You’re proposing innovations never attempted or thought about, and you’re confident they’ll work.”
“I realize some of the concepts are radical, but I’ve worked out the calculations and I believe—”
“I’m convinced it’ll work. I wasn’t criticizing. Where did you get your training? You must be a university man.”
Jim hesitated. If this elite group bothered to look into his past, they wouldn’t like some things and the contract might be lost.
“Mr. Ferguson’s been working for Wolfston Steam Works for the past few years, and I’ve found him to be a first rate designer and engineer on all our projects.” Edmund skillfully re-directed everyone’s attention, knowing Jim wouldn’t want to discuss where and when he developed his skills. “As a matter of fact, he’ll continue to lead this project in every way, as my father is still abroad and my time is divided between the steam works and my family’s shipping interests.”
“No objection from me,” Admiral Huntley said in a way that disallowed any other objection. In the pause following, the tick under Jim’s left eye that thrummed when he was nervous sent ripples through his skin. He hoped it wasn’t visible.
“We should discuss finances at this juncture. Is this your proposed expense?” The sixth man in the room, Sir MacLean, a Scotsman who oversaw the Royal Navy’s money spoke for the first time in several minutes. “I’ve never seen an estimate this high. Three hundred thousand pounds?” He injected a note of incredulity into his voice.
“This ship will be unlike anything ever produced here or elsewhere.”
“You’re saying we should accept the price based on the ship’s uniqueness?”
“Yes.” Jim knew the exact cost of every rivet, every piece of metal, every hour of labor that would be used to construct the ship. Despite the size of the undertaking, Jim was completely confident in his figures. “Once completed, the ship will impress the population, send a clear message to our enemies, and defend us if necessary. It’s the perfect ship for the future of the Royal Navy.”
For a second, he wondered if he’d gone too far with his declaration. Who was he, son of an innkeeper, to sit amongst the elite in this ostentatious setting and suggest they spend such an enormous quantity of money? He kept his eyes on Sir MacLean, sensing if an objection came it would be from that quarter.
“I believe I’d like to see this scale model,” Sir Maclean said. “I want to know exactly what I’m getting for the government’s money.”
“I propose we meet on October fifth in London. At that time we’ll decide definitively to move forward with the plans for the ship, which we are tentatively calling The Iron Lady, or not.” Lord Uxbridge resumed control of the meeting. “Is that acceptable?”
Jim nodded his head in agreement despite his internal churnings. He’d have less than three weeks to create the scale model and refine some sketches for the prototype he’d promised for December. He desperately wanted to tug at the tight neck of his jacket, nervousness making the collar feel like a noose.
He relaxed slightly when he realized the attention shifted away from him to a silent communication between the admirals and other gentlemen. They seemed to be coming to an agreement, each giving a nod to Lord Uxbridge. The Scotsman was the last to indicate his approval and only did so when Uxbridge stared him down.
“We have one additional area of concern,” Uxbridge’s eyes swept over the gathering. “Wolfston, I know you and your associate have taken measures to ensure the security of this project. We must ask you to be even more cautious as we move forward, especially if you are awarded the contract.”
“Naturally,” Edmund assented. “Is there a concern?”
“We have intelligence suggesting a credible threat against the project.”
“From the French?” Jim asked. The race between the nations for the strongest navy and best ships would drive international espionage.
“We are unable to say more,” Lord Uxbridge said, “but we need your assurance that every reasonable precaution will be taken. We want nothing to hinder the success of this ship.”
“You have our word.” Edmund answered for both of them although Jim wasn’t sure his word was worth much in such lofty company.
Chapter Six
A serving girl gave Jim a saucy grin when she placed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table.
“Why’d you get the attention?” Edmund looked after the girl who smoothly moved between the tables in the crowded pub.
“Might have something to do with the wedding band on your finger and the happily married glow coming off you.” Jim poured them both two fingers of the alcohol.
“Do I have that?” Edmund laughed, swirling the liquid in the glass before taking a drink.
“Yes.” Watching his boss and Annabelle interact made marriage seem like an appealing idea, but their kind of happiness was beyond his ken.
“You could too.”
“I’ll be happy after this meeting in London.” Jim stretched his legs out and loosened his cravat, the familiar surroundings of an inn’s pub making him relax. “You know we could be doing all this planning for nothing. Might be a huge waste of our time when we have other ships in production at Bristol.”
“We’ll need to hire men when we get the contract and buy more manufacturing space,” Edmund said, ignoring Jim’s observation.
“If we get the contract.” Jim put the brakes on Edmund’s planning. “Not sure we were that convincing.”
“They’re just being cautious. The Iron Lady is ours to build.”
“What if they investigate me?” He finally asked the question bothering him all day.
“They’ll find you’re a successful man who knows his business.”
Jim had been careful to be completely honest about his past, yet Edmund tended to ignore anything that might cause trouble. “That’s not all they’ll find.”
“Stop worrying.”
“Maybe if I took a more silent role,” Jim suggested. “I don’t want to jeopardize the company’s future.”
“No good. You’ve got to be lead on this. I don’t have the knowledge or the time.”
The serving girl returned with bowls of stew and a loaf of bread. Again, she leaned over Jim, giving him a view of her cleavage and an inviting look.
“If you were my brother-in-law, the committee would be less likely to question anything from your past, and your wife could help convince you to take the partnership I keep offering you. Girls like that might even leave you alone.” Edmund waved at the girl who regarded him coolly.
“I’ll consider the partnership when this project is complete.” By the year’s end if the ship was safely underway, he might agree to the partnership. Not before.
“You can have it today. You don’t have to prove yourself if that’s what you still think.”
“Yes, I do.”
“What about Ella? You can’t leave her hanging until then.”
The bread he’d just eaten stuck to the roof of his mouth. He took a long swallow of whiskey before answering. He didn’t want to talk about Ella with Edmund or anyone else. “None of this has anything to do with Ella.”
“Of course it does. If you’re a partner in Wolfston and Ferguson Steam Works,” Edmund stressed the second name, “you don’t have an excuse not to marry her. You’ll be as successful as I am and nothing in the past will matter.”
“I’ll still be a Mister.” Jim resumed eating, mechanically getting through the meal and pushing down the other concern regarding his name. Lacking a title was only part of the problem.
“No one gives a damn about a title,” Edmund continued the conversation.
“You’re wrong. People care very much about those little words before a name. You’ve been addressed as ‘my lord’ since you were in the nursery. You don’t understand.”
“No one in Antigua gave a damn about my position in the peerage.” Edmund referred
to the four years he’d spent on the island revitalizing his family’s sugar plantation.
“We’re in England,” Jim said bluntly. “Look around. You are different from everyone else in the room.” The other diners were mostly loafers or farmhands with a few travelers mixed in.
“Dammit, Jim, stop being so stubborn.” Whether Edmund meant about Ella or about the partnership, it mattered little since they led to the same problem.
If Jim wed Ella, people would assume he intentionally married into Edmund’s family to get ahead in the business. Edmund would never believe that sort of slander, but others would. What was he thinking? Marrying Ella was as likely as waking up the crowned prince tomorrow. Nothing he could do would change who he was or his past. Steering clear of Ella was his only choice. He wasn’t good for her or good enough for her.
“Is that Spencer?” Edmund focused on a horseman in the inn’s yard. Through the dirty windowpane, Jim watched a well-dressed rider mount a horse he recognized from Richard’s stable. The rider’s profile and body type matched Spencer’s.
“Looks like it,” Jim confirmed, recognizing the bright green of Spencer’s riding coat.
“What’s he doing here? I thought he was hunting with the other gentlemen today.”
“Not dressed for hunting and they wouldn’t be done this early in the day. I wonder…” Jim let the suspicion dangle. Just then, the rider glanced over his shoulder, giving the uncomfortable shrug people do when they believe themselves watched. The glance confirmed Spencer’s identity for Jim.
“I’ve wondered quite a bit about him since our arrival,” Edmund commented, “like how he has so much cash at the moment. He’s been playing for high stakes against Baron Edgeton.”
The card games often concluded about the same time Jim and Edmund finished work for the night. “I noticed that too,” Jim added. “Why is a supposedly indigent peer suddenly flush with cash and willing to gamble?”
“He could be trying to create the illusion of wealth to mislead Ella into accepting a marriage offer,” Edmund suggested, probably more to irritate Jim than as a serious proposition.
“Not bloody likely. Richard’s too smart to fall for that,” Jim snapped, disliking any idea in which Ella married Spencer. “But I think we should be concerned. He has been hanging about whenever I come out of my room.”
“And according to Richard, someone tried to break into his study after we stored the plans there yesterday. File marks around the lock. I suspect our Lord is on someone’s payroll, but whose?”
“Could be what the committee was alluding to.” Jim wanted to suspect Spencer of treason, see him locked away forever where he could never again offer one of his obsequious smiles to Ella or harm the innocent. But there was no proof as yet, just some erratic and suspicious behavior.
“I think we need to be very cautious in the next weeks or we’ll risk losing this opportunity,” Edmund said, his thoughts seemingly running in the same vein as Jim’s. “I propose you come to London and work at my house. We’ll shut the place down like a fortress.”
“What about the current projects at Bristol?”
“McGregor can handle them.” Their foreman, who motivated the men through a combination of bullying and cajoling, knew how to get the best out of every worker and, in truth, could handle the daily operations for an extended period.
“I’ll go to Bristol to check on progress before meeting with you in London. I can leave tonight.”
“No good.” Edmund shook his head. “You can travel to Bristol after the ball this weekend and be in London by next Wednesday.”
“Seems silly to go to a ball when so much is riding on this.”
“Sometimes you need to have some fun, my friend.”
“Watching Ella dance with other men isn’t fun.” Damn, he thought, he shouldn’t have said that.
“Then dance with her yourself.”
“Can’t,” Jim said. Edmund understood him well enough to know why and didn’t bother to ask.
****
“My colors never come out the right shade,” Ella complained, stepping back from her easel and twisting her head to the side. Perhaps her painting would be stunning viewed from a different perspective. Alas, no. She dipped her brush in water dissolving the last of the ineffective hues.
“You pile on too much paint. The secret of watercolors is to work in thin layers.” Sophie lectured her while gently applying a wash of grey to the underside of a cloud on her own painting, instantly giving it depth and texture.
“I haven’t the patience to do that in paint. Give me words and I’ll create a vivid scene.” Six ways to describe the rich green of the lawn where they painted raced through her head, but she’d never represent them on canvas.
“All young ladies should be accomplished in art. My own daughters could paint bowls of fruit so life-like one’s mouth watered.” Lady Bedham’s voice rolled out from under her parasol. The older lady rose, swishing her gown’s bright orange train like the dragon she was. Why did Annabelle let the old dame wear such ridiculous colors? Her own mother, demurely dressed in black, slept on her lounge chair. Exactly as mothers should.
“Ummm.” Lady Bedham glared at Ella’s work. “I would not wish to go there.” The painting, a fall scene of a hillside in the country, was supposed to have cascading leaves and galloping dogs to add interest. Instead, her leaves resembled mud balls and the dogs, blotches on legs. “Ummm.” Her critic repeated and moved to view Sophie’s canvas. “Ah, much better. I can feel the sunny country lane and the cool autumn breeze you evoke.”
“Thank you, Lady Bedham.” Sophie accepted the praise graciously but winked at Ella.
“Your mother has seen you properly prepared for marriage, although I wonder at her traveling when you need her most. How are you expected to make a good match without your father to negotiate for you?”
“I’ve no intention of marrying so young.” Sophie adopted her mother’s tone managing to sound both haughty and amused. Ella diligently cleaned her brushes to avoid making eye contact with either of the other ladies. Although her friend’s interest in marriage was as keen as Ella’s, annoying Lady Bedham was her task at the moment.
“With excellent candidates before you, I’d think you’d take advantage of the situation.”
“None of the gentlemen are to my taste. I’ve yet to meet a man who suits me.”
“Sir Eliot is the choice for you,” Lady Bedham decreed. “Your father’s connections amongst the lords and in business would be immensely useful to a man like him who is pursuing a political career.”
“I prefer to marry by my choice, a man I can love and admire. I do not wish to be a pawn in anyone’s political chess game.” Sophie signed her name on the painting’s corner with a flourish like a knight wielding a sword, blocking further opposition.
“Your companion refuses my guidance.” Lady Bedham turned to Ella who drew an “X” in charcoal across her canvass, obliterating the balls and blobs. “I have your mother’s permission to offer my assistance.”
“Since I am unable to paint an acceptable landscape, I fear I may be unsuitable for marriage this year.” Ella tried for a sincere, sorrowful tone but faltered when Sophie stuffed her painting rag in her mouth to suppress her mirth.
“Marriage is no laughing matter—a successful one that is,” Lady Bedham insisted. In their journal, Sophie and Ella found much humor in the Bedham’s marriage. But viewed candidly, the pair seemed happier than most married couples. “Baron Edgeton is my choice for you, Ella. I’ve already discussed the match with your mother and brother. He’s from an old and respectable family with a significant fortune and country estates where you can perfect your painting skills.” Lady Bedham measured herself against Ella’s superior height. “He is somewhat shorter than you. You must admit you are excessively tall for a young lady. I’ve spoken to your mother about this on numerous occasions.”
“Did you advise that I shrink?” Ella asked, amused by Lady Bedham’s concern abo
ut height.
“What? Such nonsense. No, you must learn to bend your knees in receiving lines and the like to avoid appearing taller than your husband. It’s a simple enough trick. Here.” Lady Bedham dropped down several inches, keeping her back perfectly straight. “You must be careful to arrange your skirts appropriately. Now try it. Come on, girl, shrink.”
Ella bent her legs while trying to retain excellent posture in her upper body.
“Not bad. Now, you must practice to avoid wobbling. Begin with fifteen minutes at a time and increase it in increments until you can last the length of an evening entertainment.”
“Thank you, Lady Bedham, I shall—”
Lord Spencer strode around the tall hedges and was suddenly upon them in their little alcove of the lawn. Ella popped up to her full height as he halted near her, his green coat flapping as his rapid movements stilled.
“My apologies, ladies,” he said, seeming to greet them out of reflex and not sincerity. His expression, before his social mask of charming dimples and a jauntily quirked eyebrow claimed his face, suggested anxiety and guilt. “Have you had a pleasant afternoon?”
“Quite, young man. I hope you have spent a productive day.” Lady Bedham shooed him away like a fruit fly that hovered over her peaches. “We shall see you at dinner.”
As though happy to be dismissed, he mumbled, “until dinner then” and gave them a forced smile before disappearing amongst the hedges.
“Lady Ella.” The dragon poked Ella with her parasol’s point. Until then, Ella hadn’t realized she stared after him. “Lord Spencer is not for you. I have made that clear to your mother and brother. You have been paying far too much attention to him while Baron Edgeton picks up only a smile or two.”
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 196
