She numbered the many startling contrasts of Lord Anthony, adding up to a complex mix of confidence, idealism and stubborn persistence. A pang of longing shot through her.
To be with such a man.
Invisible chains dragged her down…she couldn’t yoke Anthony with her shame. She couldn’t allow herself to fall in love with him because she would drag him down and ruin his brilliant career.
His jaw flexed. “I think by alternating the zinc and iron we will have some success in storing energy. Let’s try more plates. Can you get me more from the cabinet?” She fixed her gaze on the cabinet at the side of the room, hiding her discomfiture behind a carefully arranged mask of serenity.
Before the near rape, she had been the delight of Boston. No longer. When she recovered people treated her different. Men stared, women whispered gossip. With her parents dead and her brother and cousin off privateering, she had been alone, facing a cruel world. Good men, who had shown interest before, now made excuses. Even though she’d done nothing wrong, she’d felt like a pariah, and her heart ached at the unfairness.
Agnes Quick, a wealthy widow and neighbor had seen the problem for what it was and had made it her mission to put Rachel back on the map. Afterwards, the ladies of Boston became more generous and invited her to social events. Yet, the desirable men were still put off. The invisible social barrier remained steadfast.
Not once did Anthony take his eyes off her sojourn to the cabinet and back. She moistened her lips as she handed him the discs. His hand glided across hers, warm and confident, as he accepted them from her.
She took a deep breath. “Hydraulics and electricity are similar sciences. I believe all energy flows along a path,” she said, putting every bit of crisp, Yankee efficiency she’d gained over the years into her voice, quieting the tremors.
He lifted a brow. “Yes, I know.”
She blinked. Anthony’s calm calculation had returned. Had what she’d seen been a trick of the firelight? He finished the disc arrangement, inserted the assembly in a bowl.
She poured the salt solution over the discs. “How did Duke Cornelius come to possess a glass eye? An injury, or an anomaly at birth?” She picked up a quill, dabbed it in the inkbottle, and recorded notes on their progress.
“Lost his eye in a sword fight.”
She breathed in Anthony’s scent, chemicals and sandalwood. He wrinkled his forehead, engrossed with his task and did not notice how close they were working together. She rather liked his warmth and nearness. But they were friends, working toward a goal. No need to muck it up with romantic inclinations.
“He was in a swordfight with my father, a fight over my mother.”
Rachel’s head snapped up, her pen creating a loud scratch against the table. “That is an interesting anecdote.”
“My mother married my father and all was forgiven years later.’’
Rachel did not possess the same feeling of the tall, dark-featured, Duke Cornelius. He may have made amends, been a close family friend, but he reminded her of a giant shark her brother had caught…the same cold black unblinking eye and, for a moment, she imagined gill slits on the side of his head.
“We are ready for the test.”
Rachel held her breath and prayed it would work.
He stuck a wire to the ends of the discs. A small charge flared and faded away, vanishing into nothingness. “Damn.” He raked his fingers through his hair and turned away. “I will never succeed.”
Rachel sagged, watching him pace back and forth. “Don’t give up.”
“The charge is not enough.”
“Allow the million little defeats to be the rungs on a ladder, each one that you climb to success. Persistence and patience will stand the hallmark of your triumph.”
The door shoved open. Rachel swung around to see a visitor.
Anthony’s voice came low, as if he were growling. “Aunt Margaret.”
A servant escorted a petite, plump, grey-haired woman to a chair while another deposited a tray on a side table. An animal horn lay drooped on the older woman’s chest.
“Time for tea, Anthony. Come here, dear boy and introduce me to the lovely Miss Thorne who I have heard so much about from Abby’s letters.”
Anthony gave his matronly aunt a kiss on the cheek, made introductions, and then pulled up two stools, one for Rachel and one for himself. A crude seating arrangement, but charming none the same while a servant poured tea, and then departed. It was afternoon and the culinary delights made Rachel’s stomach rumble.Creampuffs. She tonged two of the flaky pastries onto her plate and a small flan. Her mouth puckered with the sweet-sour of a gooseberry tart. She let out a moan.
“It is so nice to meet you,” Rachel said.
Aunt Margaret reared back horrified. “I would never beat you.”
