by Sally Orr
Parker’s face became bright red, and the other man in Parker’s company seemed to be physically restraining him.
“Enough,” the marquess shouted, stepping between Parker and Charles Henry.
Each of the four men stepped backward, and the crowd hushed.
The marquess faced her father. “I believe you have an ascension to perform. The two of you must have plenty to do.”
Charles Henry strode to the tube containing the gas, now rapidly filling the balloon.
Her father walked over to her in the basket.
“Does Charles Henry want to create a scandal in the newspapers?” she asked. “Why would he do that to me?”
Thomas Mountfloy shook his head. “Charles said some rash things, my dear, but I’m sure he did not mean them. He is in a difficult position and wishes to—deservedly, I might add—discredit his lordship’s claim of giving a well-received speech.”
“Did his lordship claim he presented our discovery that afternoon?”
“Not that I am aware. But he did not refute it either, and he remains the speaker on record that day. We all know his lordship seeks credit where it is not due. Consider the discovery of the Results book. I do not want your name, and hence my name, blackened by Charles’s exposure of his lordships behavior. For many, it remains scandalous for a woman to put herself forward in such a manner. If Charles writes an article for the newspapers, as he threatened his lordship, I fear it will greatly reduce our financial support and goodwill amongst the scientific community.” Her father surveyed the crowd before speaking to her. “Let’s ignore his lordship’s party and get the balloon off the ground. I do not believe the man has anything of importance to say. Do you know the reason why we have the honor of his visit?”
“No, I do not understand why Lord Boyce and his father are here today.” She glanced at Charles Henry, bending over the gas tube filling the balloon, and realized that she could never marry him. Time would not heal her poor opinion of him. She returned to examine Parker again.
He stood surrounded by his father and the other man, all deep in conversation.
The other gentleman, dressed wholly in black, elbowed Parker in the ribs.
“Yes, yes,” Parker said, removing his hat and brushing those curly locks away from his enchanting green eyes.
A mere five feet in front of the basket stood her favorite Tulip of the Goes in his prime—the most beautiful male specimen on earth. Her stomach performed somersaults, but the rest of her body froze like a startled animal’s. All she could manage was a smile that must have appeared as an idiotic one.
“Miss Mountfloy,” Parker pronounced, straightening his shoulders even more. “I seek permission to have a word in private.”
“No chance of that, gov,” someone shouted.
The audience voiced their amusement and agreement. “Speak up, sir!”
Parker glanced around him, evaluating the crowd. “Right ho, Miss Mountfloy. In front of these good people then, I’d like to offer a declaration.”
Did Parker say the word “declaration”? What sort of declaration? She glanced at her father.
Thomas Mountfloy dropped the Results book on a chair and strode to the group of gentlemen lined up in the center of the platform. “Your lordships must leave this minute. You have no business being here, and we have work to complete before our ascension.”
The marquess spoke directly to her father. “I understand you, sir, but I request you show my son the deference owed to a gentleman and allow him a minute or two only. Please, Mr. Mountfloy, let my son speak.”
Surely her father must agree, in deference to Lord Sutcliffe’s consequence.
Her father waved a hand in dismissal. “No, I want the three of you to leave now.” Then he turned to Charles Henry. “Hurry up. Let’s get the balloon airborne.”
A tear began to form in Eve’s eye. She stepped away from the edge of the basket and turned her back to the crowd, hoping everyone would go away. She needed time to contemplate the nature of Parker’s declaration. Marriage declaration? What other type was there? Think, think, think.
“Yes, yes,” Parker said, “my brave aeronaut. I know you are currently thinking hard with that beautiful brain of yours, but listen to me, please.”
After a swipe of her watery eyes, she turned and stepped to the edge of the basket, facing the crowd squarely.
“Do we have enough gas for ascension now?” her father yelled at Mr. Henry.
“Yes, but we won’t get far.” Charles Henry glanced up at the balloon, only a quarter filled. “A few minutes more before we are able to rise safely above the trees.”
Parker turned to face the audience and directed them to stand back. “Lord Sutcliffe, Mr. George Drexel, ladies and gentlemen, prepare to witness my declaration of love,” Parker said, bowing first to Eve and then the audience.
The mob laughed heartily. The women wore smiles, while many of the men slapped their knees and laughed aloud.
Eve’s heartbeat escalated to a million beats per minute, and there was every possibility her lungs no longer functioned. Air became a precious commodity, and for some reason, she could not get enough of it. She needed to clutch both edges of the basket to steady herself.
“Miss Eve Mountfloy,” Parker said, in the tone of a formal pronouncement, “I love you.”
The crowd roared; many clapped.
She forgot her lack of air and became fixed by Parker’s earnest expression. Without doubt, she wore a Cheshire cat smile just as silly as the one on his face.
Parker turned to his father.
The marquess bowed to his son.
Many in the crowd wore foolish grins.
Parker then turned to wink at her. “You will notice that, while I feel like singing, I am not at the moment, my dear, dear Miss Mountfloy. I’m perfectly serious. Will you do me the great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”
The entire crowd erupted in applause and whistles. Many of the men threw their hats in the air. The women clapped daintily, and everyone, old and young, sported broad smiles.
Meanwhile, Drexel laughed so hard, Eve thought he might do himself an injury.
“Stop this! All of you. My daughter is already engaged.”
“Before you give me an answer,” Parker continued, completely ignoring her father, “I must inform you that upon marriage, I will support your father’s current studies. As my wife, I will encourage you to publish your father’s discoveries. I’ll be your publisher and editor, and you’ll write away, like that Mrs. Marcet woman.” He held out his hand. “She taught the world about the wondrous discoveries to be found in chemistry, and you can contribute by instructing us all about the amazing properties of the air around us.”
Parker paused, and the marquess vigorously patted him on the back. “Congratulations, knew you could do it, of course. I’ve never been more proud.”
Parker smiled, nodded, and the two men exchanged congratulatory back pats.
While her heartbeat raced, Eve stood still, amazed that her dreams now dangled before her. Her life could be lived without the sacrifice of her happiness. Parker was the only man who could satisfy both of her dreams. She’d marry the man she loved, and with his promise of publishing their atmospheric results, he presented her with the chance to spread the word of their discoveries beyond her wildest expectations. Of course, upon his mention of Mrs. Marcet, she instantly thought of the title of her book. Conversations on the Atmosphere sounded suitable, but first she would suggest the title Conversations on a Cloud. She smiled at the thought of children rushing to choose a book with that enticing title. She focused on Parker. Despite her overwhelming love for him, and the warm, good feelings now spreading throughout her body, she remained still in a sort of stupor.
Her father climbed into the balloon. “Mr. Henry, give me a shout the moment we can ascend safely.”
Her father grabbed Eve’s arm and spun her around to face him. “Now listen to me. You will politely decline his lordship’s offer and send these people away. Tell them it’s all a mistake.”
“Why? Didn’t you hear him? His lordship will help with our research and pay for us to spread the news of our discoveries worldwide.” She knew this argument would have to sway her father’s resistance. How could her father refuse the accolades and additional support publication would bring? “We need him—I need him.”
Seizing her shoulders, her father shook her violently. “You’re a fool if you believe he’d put forward our discoveries. More than likely, he’d claim them himself. Besides, he’s an aristocrat, remember? Do you honestly believe he will let his wife fly around in balloons? Of course not.”
“If you lay another hand on her, sir,” Parker said in a stern, steady voice, “I’ll—”
Charles Henry began to wrestle with Parker alongside the basket.
The marquess and Drexel managed to pull Parker off Charles Henry, then restrained him.
“This is not your concern,” Parker shouted at the assistant.
Charles Henry bowed at the waist to catch his breath. “Miss Mountfloy has given me a promise that we will marry. She eagerly anticipates our union and understands her duty to both her father and myself.”
“No!” she shouted. “I know my duty, but I must withdraw my consent. We are no longer engaged.”
Thomas Mountfloy shook his head. “This is not the place to discuss such matters, since we are all a little heated at the present. I suggest we wait until cooler heads prevail and continue our flight as if nothing has changed, for all of our sakes.” Her father nodded in her direction. “Right now it is your duty to remain in the basket and help complete our experiments for today. In the future, you will wed Charles Henry. We all know his lordship speaks to gain false praise only. You have realized he is an embellisher of tales before this and that his word is not to be trusted. Refuse him immediately and send him on his way.”
“No,” she repeated, shaking her head. If she were to believe her father, that Parker desired praise above all else, he would have given his speech at the Royal Institute, instead of stepping aside for her. She addressed Charles Henry. “I apologize for my outburst, sir. We will never marry, but my father is right. This is neither the time or place for this conversation.”
Her father’s face reddened. He approached, slower and more measured than before. “Evie, remember what I told you. My failing eyesight demands that you remain here with me and Charles Henry. Think of your mother.”
Her mind cleared; she straightened. “I do think of her—and Tom. Always. I remember her wishes for my future as long as I live. She prepared me well, taught me every talent I needed to be happy as a wife. But most of all, she desired I find happiness with the man I love, as she did.”
Her father stilled.
“She loved you, and her desire for me was to find a man I truly love as a husband—and now I have found him. Please don’t decide my fate on the inevitability of your failing eyesight. If you fear only I can help you, I believe you are wrong. We’ll hire another assistant, so you will not be abandoned. But I will follow my heart and wed Lord Parker. It is the duty I owe to my mother, to Tom, and to myself.”
“Yes, yes.” Parker strode to the edge of the balloon and grabbed her father’s coat from behind. He started to pull him to the edge, and several men joined him to haul her struggling father out of the basket.
The crowd shouted approval, surrounded Thomas Mountfloy, and restrained the aeronaut from climbing back into the basket.
She glanced at Parker, and he gave her a single nod. Her heart soared into the heavens.
Parker started to climb into the basket, but Charles Henry flung himself on his lordship’s back. In one swift, elegant motion, Parker spun and delivered a bare-knuckled facer to the assistant.
Charles Henry fell back on the platform, sporting a bleeding lip.
The crowd cheered.
Drexel pulled the struggling assistant to his feet and restrained him. “Neatly done, Whip. What took you so long?”
Several members of the audience shouted for Drexel to release Charles Henry in heady anticipation of fisticuffs or an out-and-out mull.
Drexel flung the assistant into the crowd. He then ran to the marquess, and together they gave Parker a hand up into the basket with such force, he landed on the bottom in an upside-down lump.
The audience roared with approval.
Parker stood and gave Eve a formal bow. “My lady?” He held out his hand.
She clasped his warm palm and squeezed it. “Thank you.” They remained holding hands, and she clung to this simple, much-appreciated reassurance of his affection. More than likely, they both wore foolish smiles.
Her father managed to free himself and shouted, “Evie! Your duty is to me.”
Parker’s eyes widened. “Duty!”
“Why did you say duty in that startling manner?” she asked.
“Step out of the balloon at once, sir,” her father shouted, heading in their direction.
“Stand fast,” boomed the marquess in the very tone that ordered his ancestors’ troops into battle, the ghosts of those soldiers standing behind him now. His father took one step toward her father, and the men stilled.
Her father wore a menacing scowl, while the marquess held his stiff posture.
“Yes, yes, duty is a troublesome word.” Parker turned her swiftly, lifted her into his arms, and held her high off the floor of the basket, in the same manner as their first tussle over the gas valve in the balloon. “I don’t want to take the chance you will run away.”
“Put me down, madman.”
“Is your lady proving troublesome, gov?” someone shouted. More laughter erupted.
“You shouldn’t hold a lady like that, now should you, sir?” another voice chimed in.
Parker smiled and turned his head to face his audience. “I do beg your pardon. What did you say? Am I holding something?”
A member of the crowd shouted, “You’re holding a lady, sir. In a most indecorous fashion.”
Parker looked down at her and winked. “Well, look at that. Yes, yes, indeed I am holding a lady. And I plan to hold this one until she agrees to be my wife. But all of you are making such a racket. Did any of you hear the lady say yes? I am certain that with all the hubbub, I must have missed it.”
“But the lady could be injured, sir.”
“Put her down at once,” Mr. Mountfloy shouted.
“Hmm, did you hear your father, Eve? I must say I disagree.” He raised his voice. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, as a logical gentleman, I plan to hold her until she agrees to be my wife.”
Her shock wore off, and now the absolute absurdity of her situation started her laughing.
“Are you injured?” Boyce whispered.
She laughed in whoops.
“Are you injured?” Boyce repeated.
She shook her head, unable to stop laughing.
The entire crowd started to laugh.
“Since I am unable to get down on one knee to propose for fear that you will run away, I must ask for your hand once more in this very awkward position. But so be it. Ladies and gentleman, a minute of silence please.”
The crowd became mostly silent.
“I love you, Miss Mountfloy.” Parker then whispered, “Perhaps the words ‘I love you’ are too simple. How about you filled my inky vault of a soul with the living sparks of love?”
Besides his silly words, she detected something else in his voice. A tone, a wish, an intangible sound that rendered the sentiment truthful—he loved her. He truly desired her to be his wife.
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�And just to be safe”—he chuckled—“I love you with my heart, my head, and of course, let’s not forget our Sussex horse, Brutus, my stomach. I’ll even be generous and throw in all of my organs. I love you.”
“Put me down.” When her feet hit the bottom of the basket, she began to sing, “Yes, I will marry you, and together our love will ring true. Gammon tum doodley, I do.”
The audience cheered.
He coughed once. “You’re singing—singing!”
“Yes.” She started laughing again. “I plan to sing every day of my life from now on.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to announce that the lady has accepted my offer.”
The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter. Everyone seemed to rush forward to express their congratulations.
She and Parker leaned over the side, shaking every hand offered.
Her father strode up to the edge of the basket and scowled. “We will speak of this scandalous scene later this evening. Now the two of you must get out of this balloon. We have a flight planned for today.”
“Of course.” She stepped away from the crowd, then perfunctorily reached for an instrument to pack.
Parker nodded in the direction of Drexel, who then whispered something in the marquess’s ear. The two gentlemen separated and headed in opposite directions.
“Evie,” her father repeated, “your lordship, step down immediately.”
Seconds later, the right side of the basket lifted. Her father and Charles Henry moved to stop Drexel from releasing the ropes holding the balloon. Before they could regain the ropes to anchor them, the left side of the basket freed itself. The marquess and Drexel had untied the ropes holding them earthbound.
The balloon gracefully rose upward.
Below them, the audience screamed and shouted and laughed.
Parker held Eve tight, both of them laughing the entire ascension, until their upward movement slowed. “Away from my view fly the world and its strife, the banquet of fancy’s feast is my wife,” he sang.
