Her Own Devices, a steampunk adventure novel

by Shelley Adina

  He smiled at her as if she had done it on purpose. “A grand sight, eh?” He, too, was dressed in white tie, which only succeeded in making his face look more florid. “We shall be the talk of the town.”

  “I was surprised that James did not mention your joint venture in his remarks,” Claire said. “Are you waiting for a more opportune time for the announcement?”

  “We’re waiting for the blasted solicitors to draw up the contracts. Lawyers. Have no-ho idea of the importance of timing.” He gulped his champagne punch as if it were water.

  “That may be all to the good, though,” she said. “Let the anticipation, the newspaper reports, the public approbation build to a fever pitch, and then make the announcement. That will keep the Midlands Railroad uppermost in the public mind.”

  He laughed and patted her shoulder. “You’ve been talking with James, I see.”

  “No, I—”

  “He’s a good man. Sharp. I like a man who gathers good minds around him. Like that Malvern fellow. Sharp.”

  “Like myself and Tigg, as well,” came out of her mouth before her brain could engage and stop the words.

  “Eh? Yes, of course. A good wife is—”

  Again the rush of words, spilling out of her with no semblance of control. “I am not his wife yet. And I must correct a slight misunderstanding, since you will see the patent when it is assigned ... I am the inventor of that movable truss, which creates the motion necessary to build up the kinetick charge.”

  “Eh?” His mouth hung open a little, making him look rather like some of the unfortunates in Bedlam. “What’s that you say?”

  “We must all move with the times, Mr. Stephenson.” She smiled at him. “A woman possessed of a fine intellect is as capable of contributing to the forward march of progress as any man.”

  “You—are you saying that you—a mere girl—? Impossible.”

  “Quite possible. Quite real. And quite a success, as you can see.” The crowd had begun to disperse, chattering among themselves about the breakthrough and all its possibilities.

  “But James—”

  “James concealed my involvement out of respect for your views and feelings, sir. But on this happy night, I only felt it proper that you should know the truth. And one more thing, while we’re on the subject—that power cell on which your whole enterprise depends was invented by a woman. Doctor Rosemary Craig. You may have heard of her.”

  She gave him another brilliant smile and observed that now she had rendered him incapable of any speech at all. Trailing satin, velvet, and triumph, she walked away to inspect the buffet.

  She had no doubt that he would hustle over to James and demand the truth as soon as he could speak. Well, James could just deal with it. She was tired of being shunted into the shadows and demeaned and patronized, and tonight at least, James could do nothing about it. If he so much as looked at her sideways, all of London would take note, and the gossip would be fearsome.

  At five minutes to ten, she was still managing to elude him—not so difficult, since he had spent the last half hour engulfed in a loud crowd of what appeared to be Texicans, if their boots were any indication. The orchestra began tuning up in earnest.

  But the one man whose job it was not to be eluded appeared at her elbow. Did he track down all the prince’s partners and line them up like forks at a place setting?

  “The opening waltz will begin shortly, milady,” Percival Mount-Batting murmured. “If you will come with me?”

  The orchestra played a chord and Prince Albert stepped up to a sound-amplifying horn mounted on a dais flanked by banked flowers.

  “It is my great pleasure to declare the New Sciences Exhibit officially open. Please enjoy yourselves this evening, and marvel with me at the wonder of human endeavor.”

  The orchestra struck up the Treasure Waltz, and Claire slipped a wrist through the loop that lifted her train into dancing position, curtseyed, and stepped into the prince’s arms. His hand was firm at her waist, his other hand lightly grasping hers. He was an exceedingly good dancer, guiding her about the expanse of the arcade as lightly as a fencing master. After the first turn, other dancers swirled into the pattern, and it was safe to converse.

  “I am sorry Her Majesty was not able to accompany you, Sir,” she said. “I understand she enjoys dancing.”

  “She does, indeed, but she is meeting with a delegation from India this evening. Some appallingly boring dinner which she is much better at managing than I am.” Claire could not quite stifle a smile, and he saw it. “This is a treat for me, spending an evening in the company of minds with which I feel a kinship.”

  “I am happy to be part of it,” she said.

  “I understand you have a greater part in certain things than I had been led to believe. That young man said you invented the moving truss. Is that true, Lady Claire?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Admirable. Her Majesty must hear of this. So then I must ask, why is your name not in the exhibit description?”

  “It does not matter to me, Sir. What matters is that my name is on the patent application.”

  He was silent a moment, twirling her out and back in again in a figure of the waltz. “There is some skullduggery afoot here.”

  “No, merely a reluctance to crush a partner’s illusions about the capabilities of women.”

  The prince made a most unprincely sound. “This partner does realize that the greatest empire in the history of humankind is ruled by a woman?”

  “It is a puzzle to me also, Sir.”

  “I will have this situation corrected if you wish it.”

  “No, Sir, though I thank you for your concern. In the larger scheme of things, the patent will last longer than people’s memories of this evening.”

  “An unusual view for one so young.”

  “Youth does not preclude knowledge of people.”

  “In that you are correct. My dear wife could attest to it as well. I see that Percy is signaling us from the sidelines, so I am afraid that our partnership is at an end.”

  He whirled her back to the dais, where the Duchess of Devonshire raised her lorgnette to see who on earth had upstaged her.

  “Thank you, Sir,” Claire said. “For your kindness. And your powers of observation.”

  “I was an engineer before I was the consort of a queen.” He bowed, and she curtseyed, once to him, and once to the Duchess, who lifted her chin and passed her with a nod stiff with frost.

  Claire repaired to the punch bowl, her heart beating fast, both with relief that she had not tripped and embarrassed him, and exhilaration that at least two people outside the walls of the laboratory knew the truth. She had no doubt that enlightening Ross Stephenson would cause trouble of some kind, but the knowledge that the Prince Consort both knew and approved would bear her up during times of trial.

  For she had spoken the truth to him—it was not the public approbation she wanted. James could have his champagne and his crowds. She wanted a career, and it would begin with that patent.

  James found her at the dessert table, savoring a fluffy little bite composed of candied fruit and sheer fancy.

  “Have you had your supper, dear?”

  She had not much experience at galas of this kind, but even she knew a gentleman would have seen that she had all she needed long ago if he had not been wooing his cronies in the crowd.

  “Yes, thank you. Try one of these, James. They are wonderful.”

  He accepted it and popped it in his mouth. “May I have the next?” She picked up another comfit but he shook his head. “I meant the next dance. It is a polka.”

  She ate the comfit herself. “Certainly.”

  He drifted off into the crowd again and she decided to join Andrew and Tigg at the chamber. Tigg saw her coming and pulled her off to the side.

  “’Is nibs is in a fine fury,” he said, stretching up so she could hear him. “If I was you, Lady, I’d stand ’im by the brandy and keep it coming.”

 
He had not looked in a fury a moment ago. “Has something happened, Tigg? Did something go wrong with the chamber after the demonstration?”

  Tigg ducked his head without answering and vanished around the control console as James approached and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  Whatever he was angry about, he concealed it as they merged into the circle and the contagious beat that was all the rage in every capital of Europe took their feet under its spell. But halfway around the third circuit, James changed course and danced her out the end of the gallery into a courtyard garden arranged between the wings. “It is time for a little privacy with my intended,” he said.

  She could not see his face in the dark, so strolled in a short circle, pretending to admire their surroundings, until he was facing the brilliant lights of the exhibit hall. Still, his eyes were dark wells, and some emotion she could not identify sparked there.

  “I hope you enjoyed your waltz with the prince.”

  “I did indeed, thank you. He is a very skilled dancer. And an interesting man of conversation.”

  “It is conversation that interests me, dear, now that you mention it. What the devil are you playing at, to announce your involvement in this project so clumsily to Ross Stephenson?”

  He sounded almost casual. If it had not been for his language and the crispness of his consonants, she would not know he was angry. “It was time he knew the truth.”

  “And you are the one who decides the timing?”

  “When it concerns me, yes.”

  “It concerns more than merely yourself. I was prepared to live with your self-centeredness, Claire, but bullheaded foolishness is quite another matter. It must stop.”

  Self-centered! Bullheaded! These were fine names to call someone who was merely trying to stand up for herself. “I am sorry my behavior distresses you. But I cannot unsay words that have been said.”

  “You may not, but I already have. I told him that you overstepped your bounds and were merely a secretary. That you had twisted filing the designs in your head with actually developing them.”

  “You what?” Claire whispered, so shocked that she was barely able to speak. “You told him I lied?”

  “You put me in this position. Thank heaven I had already blacked out your name on the patent application, or he would have been more confused than he already is.”

  She stared. This second shock rendered her completely mute.

  “Yes. I removed your name from the application.” Gently, he held her bare upper arms in his warm hands. “It’s only a temporary measure, so that Ross isn’t offended. He put down a thousand pounds as earnest money this evening, when we were having drinks in Hanover Square and I showed him the application. It was a necessary measure. But don’t be alarmed—the patent process takes a few months and we can add a name back in at any time. In fact,” he said, drawing her closer, “it would be the perfect wedding gift. I could not think of anything more fitting for my bride.”

  First it had been only until they signed the contract. Now it was only until they signed the wedding license. What would be next? Only until they signed the parish register upon the birth of his heir?

  Every woman has a threshold beyond which she will not go. And at this moment, Claire realized she had reached hers.

  “No,” she said.

  “No?”

  “No wedding gift. You will put my name back on that application, James, or there will be no wedding.”

  “Come now, dear. You can’t tell me that a piece of paper is of more value than our union.”

  “I will tell you what is of value. My integrity. My self-respect. And my happiness. All of which you have battered down, leaving no walls in which to shelter a union.”

  “I think your emotion and offended pride have caused you to exaggerate.”

  “If anything, I am being remarkably civil, since at this moment my actual desire is for a vial of gaseous capsaicin.”

  “How very improbable. Not to mention unladylike.”

  “How fortunate that I have released you from our engagement, then.”

  “I’m afraid you cannot. If you recollect, you are under your mother’s control until October. She and I have agreed on a wedding date, in fact. October fifteenth. The day before your birthday.”

  “Agree on as many days as you like. You will have to find me first.”

  With that, she snatched up her train and left him, her dancing slippers flying. Weaving through the crush, dodging around tables of food, she spotted Tigg next to the chamber gazing longingly at someone’s plate.

  “Billy Bolt!” she whispered as she hurried past.

  Without an instant’s hesitation, he fell in behind her. Andrew looked up from his conversation, mystified. “Claire? Tigg? Where are you going?”

  But even for him, she did not stop. If she did, James would find some way to catch up, to stall her, and she would never escape. With the instincts of rabbits bounding over tussock and bramble for their bolt-hole, they headed not for the main doors, but back toward the open French doors the waiters had been using. Tigg lifted food from tables and plates as he went, stuffing them in his mouth as if he knew he would not get another opportunity.

  The muted roar of conversation and the strains of the next waltz faded behind them as they gained the lawn. “What’s ’appened, Lady?” Tigg panted.

  Ah, there it was. James’s coach stood ready, his coachman lounging in his seat with a glass of ale. “You there!” she called. “Lord James would like you to take me back to Hanover Square. We are to have drinks shortly with some of the Society men and their wives.”

  “At once, milady.”

  She had never stolen a coach before.

  It was much easier than she thought.

  Chapter 23

  Claire directed the coachman to leave her, not on the square where anyone could see, but in the mews behind the house. “I must make quick arrangements with Mrs. Morven,” she told him, and he did not question her. He merely handed her to the pavement, waited for Tigg to jump out, and rattled off down the street, heading back to the exhibition to collect his employer.

  Mrs. Morven had heard the coach, and despite the late hour, met them in the kitchen, tugging her wrap closed at the waist. “Why, Lady Claire! I thought you were at the Crystal Palace with his lordship. Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what ...?”

  James had stolen her reputation and her future from her. A thousand pounds would not be reparation enough. Nevertheless, there were still good uses for it.

  “Mrs. Morven, I know that you are loyal to your employer, but I must beg your help.”

  “Of course, dear. And as for loyalty, I wouldn’t worry your head about that. I was loyal to you and your lady mother for long years before this.”

  Something in her expression made Claire pause. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that at least a woman could earn her keep in the Trevelyan household. His lordship has not given the staff their wages since I came to work for him.”

  Claire stopped edging toward the stairs and gave the woman her full attention. “Why should he do that? He will have a mutiny on his hands.”

  “He’s about to get one. He keeps telling us that once he closes this railroad deal, there will be ample money. Once he marries you, miss, we will have a new home at Wilton Crescent. Once the future arrives, in other words, everything will come up roses, but in the meantime, I’ve got to whip up fancy dinners out of nothing but brisket and potatoes and whatever I can scour at the end of a market day.”

  Suddenly Claire realized why James had insisted on marrying her, when any other man would have abandoned her penniless family and dim prospects long ago. Ross Stephenson was a man susceptible to the lure of a title. He had married a widow to get an entree into society for his children. He had formed a relationship with James, who came of an ancient family, and with her, whose parents had moved in the best circles, so that he could move in those circles, too. The earnest money he had so eagerly lai
d down before the contracts were signed proved it.

  “Lord James has no money, either,” she said, almost to herself. “He has been putting your wages into development of the chamber. If he doesn’t sign the deal with Ross Stephenson, he will be ruined.”

  “I am afraid he is not the catch either of us imagined, miss.”

  “No. That is why I have broken my engagement.”

  “Have you, miss?” Mrs. Morven smiled. “I knew you had some sense, though your lady mother will disagree.”

  “Sense perhaps, but very little time. Would you mind if I ran upstairs to his lordship’s study? Since we are no longer engaged, I cannot in good conscience wear these diamonds. I wish to return them to his desk, where they will be safe.”

  “Of course, miss. Young man, would you like a glass of milk while you wait?”

  She devoutly hoped that James did not have a safe in his study. Perhaps in the bonhomie of having drinks with Stephenson, he would have put the money somewhere as a temporary measure until he got home. It was the work of a moment to rifle through his desk and find a cigar box, and sure enough, there were ten hundred-pound notes in it.

  She had no intention of stealing his money for herself. But Andrew would lose everything once James’s perfidy was discovered, as it surely would be now that he had misplaced his fiancee. She fetched a mailing tube and found a piece of the baronial crested stationery.

  A—

  For you.

  J.

  Hopefully Andrew would not realize the nearly illegible scrawl was not that of his partner until it was too late. She rolled nine of the bank notes into the tube, inserted the note, and the hydraulic system sucked it away into the night.

  Then she unclasped the diamond necklace and laid it in the cigar box, replacing it exactly where she’d found it and erasing all signs of her presence.

  Mrs. Morven nearly fainted when Claire presented her with the hundred-pound note. “You should divide this among the staff. Mrs. Morven, I am going away for several weeks. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I consider you a true friend.”