He shrugged—producing an immediate frown from her.
A possibility he didn’t much like occurred to him, producing a frown of his own.
He and Lady Artemis were in this together.
He and this woman hadn’t been in anything together in ten years.
His frown deepened.
Sir Abstrupus cleared his throat. “I suppose you’ve heard of Sir George Cayley?”
The name was vaguely familiar.
“Oh,” said Lady Artemis, her mouth widening into a smile.
Bran had forgotten this—the infectious power of a Lady-Artemis smile. Simply, when she smiled, the world became a brighter place, even in the deep, small hours of night.
Actually, he hadn’t forgotten.
“Rake was mildly obsessed with his discoveries one summer,” she said. “Every morning at breakfast and every evening at supper, he read aloud from Cayley’sOn Aerial Navigation.”
In this contest, the advantage would go to Lady Artemis.
That much was clear.
Somehow, Sir Abstrupus managed to look both pleased and mildly perturbed. “Then you are acquainted with his ideas about flying machines.”
Lady Artemis looked rather satisfied with herself when she replied. “I am.”
“Perhaps you would spare an explanation for the uninformed,” said Bran, dry as the desert.
Sir Abstrupus tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat in the manner of a man preparing to expound at length. “As we don’t have all night to read a three-part treatise, what applies to you, Lord Branwell, is that Cayley put forth the idea of a flying machine.” He let that extraordinary concept settle into the air for a moment. “Think of a bird with its wings extended, floating on the air. But the bird is, in fact, heavier than air, so how does it achieve this marvelous feat? Well, Cayley has some theories about that. Without getting into the weedy details, he found it has to do with weight distribution and a concept involving lift, drag, and thrust.”
Once it became apparent Sir Abstrupus had finished, Bran was the first to break the silence. “What has that to do with us?”
He’d dreaded the answer, even as he’d asked the question. A sense of foreboding precipitated by the smugness that now tinged Lady Artemis’s smile.
“Oh, his principles very much apply to you,” returned Sir Abstrupus. “You’re going to each construct a flying machine from the paper before you—or a glider, rather.”
Bran glanced down at the table. “From a single sheet?”
“That’s all you shall need.”
Doubt stirred through the air.
“Then once your gliders are finished, they will be tested to see whose flies farthest.”
On that final note, Sir Abstrupus took a seat in the favorite leather armchair that he’d had transported into the garden and steepled his fingers before him.
Bran considered the white rectangle of paper. He’d never held an ounce of interest in the precepts or possibilities of flight, even for all his blue-sky gazing. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Artemis bend a corner of her paper and make a precise fold, skating her thumbnail along the edge to sharpen the crease.
Lady Artemis might know what she was doing.
Rake was mildly obsessed with his discoveries for an entire summer.
From what he knew of the Duke of Rakesley, he did nothing by half measures.
There lay her advantage.
