Rachel was not used to the cloaked nuances of the Duke and Anthony. She was an American and Americans came out and said what they thought. She popped a cream puff in her mouth and closed her eyes. Had she gone to heaven? A servant filled her rose-patterned teacup from a silver gleaming teapot.
“Sugar? Cream?” He solicitously gestured to the foamy fresh cream and lumps of cubed sugar. The dressmaker would have to let out the waists on her gowns.
The Duke of Rutland put down his teacup. “Anthony, did I mention that Lady March has departed and your great Aunt Margaret is coming to visit? She loves your scientific mind and insists on sitting in your laball day.”
Anthony slapped his hands on the arms of his chair. “Impossible. She is the farthest away from any scientific thinking. Never has she set one foot in my lab and never will she. I cannot have the interruption. I must concentrate and cannot afford to babysit Aunt Margaret.”
The Duke cut his smoked salmon in three even pieces, put his knife and fork down, and then looked at his son, his meaning well-communicated. “She would like to meetMiss Thorne.”
This time Rachel understood the doublespeak. To slither beneath the Persian rug had appeal. The Dukeknewthey had been working alone in the laboratory. He was protecting Rachel’s reputation by making a chaperone available. He was thinking of her.
Anthony protested. “Aunt Margaret has fits of narcolepsy and snores loudly. Very loudly. She doesn’t even know what planet she is on half the time.”
The duke smiled. End of discussion. “Perhaps Aunt Margaret can work on your attire.”
Anthony’s blue eyes blazed. “What is wrong with my attire?”
“You have a predilection to be dressed for the day, cravat white, suit impeccable, yet two straight hours in your laboratory, you look like you’ve been through two wars. And get a shave.”
Anthony rubbed the dark stubble on his handsome chin. “No time.”
“It’s a mandate, not a request.”
With the preciseness of a Japanese samurai, Anthony cracked his quail egg. “I’ll get it taken care of.”
Before two volcanoes erupted, Rachel intervened. “I was thinking of the Parthian Battery.”
Anthony tilted his dark head considering, then whipped out his notebook from his coat pocket. “The prehistoric battery using a clay jar that holds an iron rod surrounded by a copper cylinder and then filled with vinegar?”
The Duke interrupted. “About your shaving—”
“What of it?”
His father scowled. “I want it done daily.”
“I’m not talking of shaving. I am responding to Miss Thorne. It is not effective for the type of battery we seek…produces little current.”
Like keeping two badgers apart. She tried again although how much of a deterrent she would be, before father and son ended in a major verbal dispute would be a miracle. “The Babylonians employed a galvanic technique, using grape juice to apply gold plate to stoneware.”
Anthony let out a loud breath. His hair tumbled down his forehead and she had the urge to sweep it up with her fingers. “I do not want gold plated stoneware.”
Oh, the man was so stubborn. Couldn’t he see what she was proposing? Rachel tilted her head back and skewered him with her eyes. “That is not my point. You use saltwater. Perhaps we need to try other solutions to harness a charge like the Babylonians accomplished, using grape juice.”
“Not possible.” Anthony rose and pulled out her chair.
“Do you ever allow your valet to shave you?” The duke’s words were articulated in a short strong sentence but seemed so far away. At this moment, she was bursting with ideas and needed to see them through.Now.
Rachel placed her hands on her hips. “And why not? There must be something else we haven’t explored. You have already linked a set of glass-coated capacitors with metal deposited on each surface. Those capacitors were charged with a static generator and discharged by touching metal to their electrode, giving a stronger discharge. I’ve been thinking about making different electrochemical cells?”
“I have been thinking of using different metals.”
“Now the wheels are turning. Like what?”
“Maybe zinc and iron?”
“Interesting. What is your theory?” Rachel nearly swooned thinking of the possibilities, Anthony grabbed her wrist and refused to let go, hurrying her out the doors.
* * *
