FIELDS OF AIR
A STEAMPUNK ADVENTURE NOVEL
SHELLEY ADINA
MOONSHELL BOOKS, INC.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Praise
Available now
Coming soon
Copyright
INTRODUCTION
Book 10 in the Magnificent Devices steampunk series!
Her father started a war. She intends to stop it.
Her father may have sacrificed his own life to save hers, but heiress Gloria Meriwether-Astor is finding it difficult to forgive him. After all, how many young ladies of her acquaintance will inherit wealth, beauty, and a legacy of arms dealing? Now the Royal Kingdom of Spain and the Californias is about to declare war on the Texican Territory and Gloria simply will not allow it.
In company with Alice Chalmers and the crew of Swan, along with a lost young Evan Douglas seeking reparation for his own sins, she takes to the air. Her intention—to stop the train carrying the final shipment of monstrous mechanicals into the Wild West. But they should have known that making a deal with air pirate Ned Mose in exchange for his help could never end well.
What is a lady of principle to do? For the lives of thousands may depend on her ability to stop the war … even if it means losing everything and everyone she has come to love …
* * *
“IT’S another element I love about these books; from Claire to Gloria to Alice to Lizzie and Maggie to Lady Dunsmuir, the women in this series generally like and respect each other. Other women are not required to be lesser—weaker, more cowardly, less intelligent—in order for Claire to be awesome. She is not an exceptional woman, she is an awesome woman among awesome women.” —Fangs for the Fantasy: The latest in urban fantasy from a social justice perspective
* * *
For KC Montgomery and Sandy Sliger,
and with perpetual gratitude to Elly and Nancy
CHAPTER 1
Philadelphia, the Fifteen Colonies
January 1895
She had not even been home a month, and she’d already had two proposals of marriage. This, it seemed, was the difference between being the heiress to a fortune, and the actual possessor of it.
Gloria Meriwether-Astor, guest of honor at a private ball hosted by the Main Line Hadleys, declined yet another offer of punch from a gentleman whose name she could not remember, and accepted the hand of Mr. Elias Pitman, one of the senior members of her father’s board of directors, for the next dance.
“Thank you for the rescue,” she said with a smile as he held her very properly and turned her about the ballroom floor in a sedate waltz. “One more offer of punch and I fear I might turn it over the poor man’s head.”
“You are the guest of honor, my dear, and one of the wealthiest young women in the Fifteen Colonies,” he told her. “You could turn the entire bowl over his head and the newspapers would merely report that he had been impertinent to you. Tell me, are you tempted to accept either of the offers presently in hand?”
To shudder would be dramatic, but her rejection of such an idea was real, considering the sources. “Heavens, no. I have far too much to do to be side-tracked by matrimony.”
“But you will be twenty-four in the summer.”
Gloria struggled to keep her expression pleasant for the benefit of all who were watching. “You speak as though that were the end of the world,” she said through a smile.
“Perhaps not, but the quarter-century may mark the end of such fine expectations as you enjoy now.”
“Mr. Pitman, I have no doubt that my expectations, as you call them, have more to do with the depth of my pocketbook than of my wrinkles.”
“You are a long way from that, my dear.”
“Then let us have no more discussion of the subject.” He turned her in front of the orchestra and whirled her back down the length of the room. “Instead, I wish to know what to expect on Tuesday, at the board meeting.”
“Now?”
“Time is of the essence, and I wish to know your private thoughts, not those you may feel it is appropriate to express in front of others.”
He was silent a moment. “Have you heard from your young cousins?”
“Not a word since Egypt.”
“The pigeon carrying our notice of the board meeting did not find them in Gibraltar, to my knowledge. Despite quite astonishing advances in technology, one of the drawbacks of traveling so extensively is that communication becomes increasingly difficult. That will work in your favor, I believe.”
Gloria missed a step, and he covered for her admirably. “Why do you say that? Do you not like Sydney and Hugh?”
“I like and admire them both. However, Sydney would vote with Carmichael and Adams against you, and Hugh, regardless of his opinions, does not have a vote.”
“Do you really believe Sydney would vote against my confirmation as president?”
“Since he has no hope of that position, and the entire board knows it was your father’s wish that you take it up, I do not think there will be any difficulty on that score. No, my concern is for the changes you propose to the business once you are confirmed. I observe you have lately been a very busy young woman.”
“I have,” Gloria said rather proudly. “If we are to get out of the arms business, the foundries and the people who work there must have other employment. We shall turn our swords into ploughshares, as Mrs. Pitman so aptly put it, and the Meriwether-Astor Munitions Works will become Meriwether-Astor Manufacturing and Transport. I have already assigned our undersea dirigibles to trade and transportation on the eastern seaboard, and as I have explained to all the board members, I plan to extend that business further. I have also drawn up extensive plans to redirect the foundries into production of parts for bridges, waterworks, and buildings. Since you, Mr. Stevens, and Mr. Bidwell have agreed in our private meetings over the last few weeks that my plans have substance, I see no reason why Carmichael and Adams should not agree as well.”
“Carmichael may not entertain reason,” he cautioned her. “I have been working on him, but he cannot forget the glory days of last year, when, thanks to the Viceroyalty, arms shipments exceeded all our projections by such a margin that he lost his head and purchased a house on the Upper East Side in New York for his wife’s use.”
Gloria might have been no great shakes at mathematics in school, but her exposure to the business in the years since had given her a keen understanding of profit and loss. And of the dangerous art of speculation.
“He is overextended.”
“Yes, and with the failure of the French invasion of England, coupled with the disastrous closure of the English markets to the Meriwether-Astor ships as a result, he stands to lose it before his wife even has a chance to choose wallpaper.”
Mrs. Carmichael was a horrible snob who deserved to lose her house and its wallpaper just on general principles, but Gloria would never s
ay so. Instead, she smiled at that lady as they passed, and received a stiff nod for her trouble.
“Can he be won over with a loan to stave off the immediate threat?”
Mr. Pitman’s wrinkles creased into a smile above his high collar. “Spoken like a true Meriwether-Astor. How much would you propose?”
“Ten thousand ought to cover the wallpaper, at least.”
“If it does not, then it would certainly stave off the jitters until the commercial shipping on the seaboard begins to bear fruit.”
The waltz ended, leaving Gloria feeling more informed and slightly more nervous about Tuesday. For she had not confided even to Mr. Pitman about the proposal she planned once the lesser votes had taken place. They all knew of her feelings about supplying arms to other countries, of course. But what they did not know was that she planned to shut down the entire relationship with the Royal Kingdom of Spain and the Californias before the last shipment left the rail yard. She had read in the newspapers of the death of the Viceroy and the accession of his young son to the viceregal throne in San Francisco. Now would be the perfect time to sever ties with that nation permanently. Recompense would have to be made, of course. But there was money in the coffers for it, and to what better use could it be put?
No one but Claire knew of this. And once Gloria was declared president, no matter what anyone said, she would do everything in her power to stop the conflict brewing on the frontier of the Wild West. A conflict ignited and prodded into existence by the pride of one man and the greed of another could not be permitted to flame into open war.
“And here is the Viceroy’s ambassador,” Mr. Pitman said, “ready to claim the next dance upon your card. He arrived only yesterday, bringing the last payment in order to take possession of the final shipment in person.”
“In person?” Gloria’s heart sank.
But there was no time to learn anything more. Mr. Pitman bowed and thanked her for the waltz, and then she found herself in the arms of Senor Augusto de Aragon y Villarreal. She had not known exactly who he was, when the young gentleman whom she now realized was his secretary had filled in his name on her card. She had only been amused that his name was so long it had run off into the margin.
She breathed deeply, attempting to convince her galloping heart to calm itself.
Senor de Aragon was a very handsome man in his early forties. He was dressed according to the custom of his country, in a short black bolero jacket liberally encrusted with gold and silver embroidery, a shirt and cravat of dazzling whiteness, and trousers with silver medallions connected by fine chains extending down the outside of the leg. His black hair lay upon his forehead and neck in romantic curls that had never seen macassar oil, and his eyes were so deep a brown that they looked nearly black in his tanned face.
“Miss Meriwether-Astor,” he said, his voice a melodious bass. “I am honored to meet you at last in this so beautiful setting, which is still not enough to do justice to such a jewel.”
Gloria blushed at the extravagance of his compliments. “You are too kind, sir. The Hadleys’ home is very lovely.”
“Your father did not tell us that he had a daughter so beyond compare. Please allow me to express my condolences. His death was a great loss to us all—the late Viceroy wore black ribbons for an entire day upon hearing the sad news.”
“How very gracious and kind of him. And what a loss for your nation. We have only just heard of his death.”
Technically, she was supposed to be swathed in black for another four months out of respect for her father, but what would that signify? She could not honestly say that she mourned him, despite his last heroic moments in giving his life for hers. In England, before Christmas, she had been mistaken for Alice Chalmers by a Venetian assassin sent to kill her friend, and if it had not been for Gerald flinging himself into the path of the bullet, Gloria would not be here now. Nor could she say that the world was a poorer place for his death. In fact, none of her confused sentiments regarding Gerald Meriwether-Astor could be expressed to anyone—not even Claire.
So as was her habit, she expressed herself through her clothes. Her gown was lilac, the color of the final stage of mourning, with a nod to society’s expectations in its black lace and ribbon trim upon the bodice.
She was not even supposed to be out in public. For that reason, because of the recent nature of her bereavement, the ball was a private affair. But Mrs. Hadley, who had been her late mother’s closest confidante, was far more concerned about marriage than mourning. And once one had Mrs. Hadley’s approval, one had that of all of Philadelphia, and black crepe could go to the devil.
“You were personally acquainted with my father, sir?”
The Viceroy’s ambassador swept her into the turns with a flair that suggested the swirling of a cloak rather than a woman. “I was indeed. He was a man of intelligence, of bravery, and of vision. He and the late Viceroy spent many hours together, strategizing, conversing, and shooting. I suspect that in him, His Highness found the closest thing one may to a brother.”
Lovely. Two warlike peas in an iron pod.
“Tell me of his vision,” Gloria begged. “I am sorry to say that in recent years, I was not with him as much as I wished to be, and I regret the loss of such conversations as you describe.”
He smiled down at her. Goodness, he really was very handsome.
“Ah, but lovely though you are, it is not likely a man such as he would have taken a woman into his confidence.”
Keep smiling. “But I should still like to hear what he envisioned for the company. If I am to act as its head, I would hope that I might continue his legacy in many respects.”
“A noble aspiration, to be sure.” He gazed over her shoulder, but whether he was looking into the past or into the crowd, Gloria could not be certain. “You are familiar with the political situation in our glorious kingdom?”
“No, but I am anxious to learn, if you will tell me.”
“Let us withdraw from the floor, then. These matters are somewhat complex, and require more attention than dancing will allow. Will you permit me?”
“Certainly. Let us walk in the conservatory.”
Propriety dictated that she be chaperoned in the company of a gentleman, but Gloria’s need to know as much as possible about the situation in the Wild West trumped such considerations. She hoped that Mrs. Hadley would not miss her for some time—at least until she had enough of the facts in hand that she could make good decisions on Tuesday.
In contrast to the snow and cold outside, and the crowded ballroom with its brilliant lights, potted palms, and chatter, the conservatory was warm and humid and silent, filled with all manner of flowers, vines, and ferns. A row of round orange trees set in the south windows were heavy with fruit that scented the air.
“Please. Be seated.” Senor de Aragon indicated white wrought-iron chairs on either side of a breakfast-table, and Gloria seated herself gracefully, her back straight, her expression interested as she arranged her silk skirts.
“I will share with you as best I can what your father learned in his visits to us, and you will see how important his role has been in the safety and prosperity of the people of the Viceroyalty.”
Of certain people, at least. Rich people, who want to become richer.
“You have heard of the Texican Territory?”
She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. Alice Chalmers hailed from there—a town called Resolution. Gloria had looked it up and not found it, but she knew it lay south of the capital of Santa Fe. The town’s claim to fame was its geography—set in the middle of a flash-flood plain, it had been left alone by settlers and government alike. Alice’s stepfather, Ned Mose, found that this suited him very well, air pirate that he was. The town made its living wrecking airships, and the absence of both settlers and law, Alice had once confided, made the uncertain landscape both appealing and profitable.
“Perhaps you did not know that, two hundred years ago, most of the Texican Territory belonged
to our glorious King?”
“No, I did not.”
“Gradual incursion by movement west from the Fifteen Colonies has resulted in the Territorials setting up their own upstart government, intermarrying with once-loyal Spanish families, betraying the Church, and the entire Territory seceding from Spain. All that is left now of a great kingdom is the thin strip of fertile land down the west coast, into the isthmus between the continents of the Americas, and on to the great southern subcontinent.”
“Is that not enough for His Majesty?”
“When one has had the entire plate, it is difficult to satisfy one’s hunger with only a slice of bread.”
“And is His Majesty hungry?” Gloria asked the question with a twinkle of humor to soften its impertinence.
The Viceroy’s representative twinkled back, clearly appreciating her femininity, if he did not appreciate her mind. “In a certain sense—if one remembers the legends saying the Texican Territory is rich with gold.”
Gloria’s eyebrows rose. If that were so, why was Ned Mose not waylaying miners in the mountains? “Legends?”
Fields of Air: A steampunk adventure novel (Magnificent Devices Book 10) Page 1
