“I heard one of Harvel’s creations killed him.” Nettie arched an eyebrow. “Was that you?”
He only wished he could lay claim to that achievement. “No. His first experiment, Gideon, killed him. And rescued the rest of us.” All Guardians owed a life debt to Gideon.”
Nettie slapped the arm of her chair. “Good. He deserved it for what he did to you and the others.” She cocked her head, her sharp gaze noting every detail of his appearance. “Do you have the droll’s memories then, as well as your own?”
“Vague ones. More like shadows of memories. My own returned to me over time.” The first one had been that of a woman’s face. Smooth skin and brown eyes. Dark hair and an enigmatic smile. Lenore.
Nettie’s knuckles whitened where she gripped her glass, her features drawn and stiff. “You should have come to me,” she said in a low voice that quavered faintly. “The second you remembered, you should have come.”
Nathaniel rose, placed his glass on the desk and knelt in front of the woman who had been more a mother to him than the one who birthed him. He reached for her free hand, lacing his fingers with hers, trying to ignore the ghastly difference between the natural hues of her skin and his own deathly pallor.
“And you would have believed me just like earlier?” he said. “Look at me, Nettie. You just said it yourself. It’s difficult to accept this is the Nathaniel you remembered.”
Her fingers tightened on his. “Lenore doesn’t know.”
“No, and you can’t tell her.”
Her brief smile lit her eyes for a moment. “No worries there, lad. You have to be the one to bell that cat.”
Nathaniel shook his head and stood to resume his seat. “And I never will. Nathaniel Gordon is dead. My appearance alone should make that obvious.”
“Don’t be a fool. You might be keeping company with cold meat now and wearing some dead bloke’s body, but under all that you’re Nathaniel Gordon, and Lenore misses you as hard now as she did when she first heard the news of your dying five years ago.”
He crushed the swell of hope threatening to engulf him. “She’ll forget and love someone else.”
Nettie rolled her eyes and snorted. “Obviously your little journey to the underworld and back has made you a touch beef-headed.”
“I’m not here to talk about Lenore,” he snapped.
Another disbelieving snort. “Is that so? ‘I’m here regarding Lenore Kenward,” she repeated in an affected accent. Your words, lad, not mine.”
Nathaniel ground his teeth. “You know what I mean. Your crew members are experienced fighters. Each one has fought at the Redan at least twice. None of them are sheltered inventor’s daughters whose only close call with death was an accidental fall into the Surrey Canal when she was four years old.”
Nettie sipped her brandy, licking her lips in approval of the taste. “More than a few mites have drowned in the Camberwell Death Trap.”
“Even more have been rescued from it by vigilant nannies and parents.” He raked a hand through his hair. “That’s a ridiculous rebuttal and not at all amusing.”
Her chortle echoed in the room. “It’s funny as hell, lad.” She set aside her glass and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “By my lights, you’re asking a great deal and giving nothing in return. You don’t want Lenore knowing you’re alive because you don’t want to what? Interfere? Hope she’ll forget and turn her affections to another? Yet you travel from London to Maldon just to tell me not to allow her on thePollux. You’re sounding just like a husband—alive, well, and dictating what Lenore Kenward—not Gordon mind, Kenward—should be doing.”
Nathaniel scowled. “You missed your calling. You should have been a barrister.”
Nettie gave an unapologetic shrug. “Not likely. I look terrible in a wig.”
He might have laughed if he weren’t so frustrated. He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, and sighed. “I wanted more than anything to have her as my wife. She rejected my suit.”
Nettie straightened in her seat. “I’ve a strong suspicion that had nothin’ to do with her not loving you.”
“But everything to do with her not trusting my character.” Five years earlier, he’d sworn to himself he’d return from his trip to the Redan and beg her to explain her rejection of his proposal. But he hadn’t returned, at least not as he’d left, and that chance was lost to him now. “Ours is a permanent estrangement,” he said. “I can accept that as long as I know she’s safe.”
Nettie scrubbed at her eyes. “Lad, any number of things can kill us at any time without ever leaving our doorsteps. The churchyards are full of people dead from consumption and the Irish fever. However, if it eases your mind, I’ll tell you what I told Lenore. I’ll think about it. ThePolluxsails with theAndromedato the Redan. I have time to make my decision.” She paused and frowned.
Curious, Nathaniel leaned closer. “What is it?”
Nettie shook her head. “I’d not be telling this to anyone else, mind. This request for a post? It isn’t a lark for her. Arthur was a fine man, but he left his family with crushing debt and almost no income except a pittance inheritance for that starched up widow of his. Lenore must seek out service. Governess, companion. Airship crewman.”
Nathaniel reared back in his seat, shocked. Nettie’s revelation cast a different light on Lenore’s request and his own stringent objections to it. The Kenwards were a middle class family of means. Their house in Camberwell, with its many rooms and spacious front and back gardens, was the envy of its neighbors. Arthur’s funeral had been a lavish affair. No one could accuse Jane Kenward of besmirching her husband’s memory on that front. What had Arthur done to place his wife and daughter in such dire financial straits?
“Her knowledge of design and repair would be wasted trying to teach a baronet’s brats their letters and numbers.” He ignored Nettie’s knowing smirk.
