Whit admired Ryder Sherbrooke, a fine-looking man, a smile usually on his face, a jest on his lips. Mayhap before Averil he’d admired his wife a bit more, Sophie, a lovely name. She was charming, kind, attentive. And the stories he’d heard from others who’d visited Ryder’s two grand houses in Upper Slaughter in the Cotswolds—one for all Ryder’s rescued children. He’d been told how all Ryder’s children clustered around him to vie for his attention, which he freely gave them. He loved them, took care of them, educated them so if some were criminals, as some believed, they at least spoke like gentlemen and ladies. He even educated the girls, something he couldn’t imagine until, after Cam had begged him for a solid three months, he’d agreed to hire a tutor. Mr. Watts was short and thin nosed, with lovely white teeth and newly down from Cambridge. It had paid off, for Cam had found mistakes in Whit’s own calculations for a new time-watch. Mr. Watts had informed his lordship that his sixteen-year-old daughter was smart, mayhap smarter than he, a difficultadmission for a young scholar to admit. In odd moments Whit bemoaned the fact she wasn’t a boy and off to Oxford like her much older brother, Bryant, his heir, but it wasn’t to be. Cam was of marriageable age and what was he to do? In addition to a splendid dowry, she was blessed with her mother Tansia’s beauty. Ah, and she made him laugh, singing him ditties made up on the spot about his cronies and the lords in Westminster. He flinched remembering how he’d heard Cam say to Mrs. Willig, “No laughter now, Mrs. Willig, not after AA—” After Averil. Whit knew he should remonstrate with her for that impertinence, but he hadn’t. Oil and water, he thought again, and sighed.
Whit cursed under his breath remembering his promise to Averil wrung out of him after he’d collapsed from pleasure, sprawled on his back in the middle of his century-old feather tick:If she doesn’t apologize to Teddy, you know he won’t offer for her and it’soff to Bath she goes, my lord. You promised.
Ryder said from the doorway, “Whit, you look like one of my children, little Rory, ready to burst into tears whenever he’s chewing over a difficult problem and he can’t immediately figure it out.”
Whit snapped back, managed a smile and rose. Was he so obvious? He regarded his longtime friend in his immaculate evening clothes. Always sought after, was Ryder, popular with men and women despite his peculiarity of housing children he’d rescued. They shook hands. Whit said, “Problems seem to multiply the older my children get. Does little Rory cry, or does he solve his problems after sufficient chewing?”
“Usually Rory figures out his problems on his own. The most recent problem he faced was how to coax a sparrow into eating from his hand.” Ryder grinned. “He ended up using a long branch with a saucer tucked in on the end with grain in it. It worked. Every day the branch got shorter. Ittook a week, but the sparrow was eating out of Rory’s hand. Come, Whit, you’re looking on the constipated side.”
“Ah, that’s a lovely thought.” He shrugged. “I’m no more concerned than usual. Homelife, you know, always there to make a man want to pull his hair out. Suffice it to say, children are the very devil.” He pulled his grandfather’s watch from his vest pocket. It was getting late. “Where is your ward, Ryder?”
“I believe I hear him now.”
CHAPTER 10
Both gentlemen turned to see Alex Ivanov walk into the drawing room, dressed flawlessly, a shining young god with thick dark brown hair and eyes a vivid blue. Whit tried to remember if he looked like a god when he was young Ivanov’s age. Had Tansia believed he did? An unexpected bolt of grief seared through him. Then he remembered clearly how he’d felt when they’d been newly married and looking to the future, hopeful life would be very fine indeed. And it had been, for a good while, at least.
Alex said, “Good evening, my lord.”
Whit met the young man in the middle of the drawing room and shook his hand—a strong hand, and did he feel calluses?Had this young man believed his daughter too forward, believed she exercised too much wit at his expense?
Whit said as he searched the young man’s face, drawn again to his striking blue eyes, “My daughter wished me to tell you she much enjoyed meeting you even though she shouldn’t have gotten within ten feet of you without a chaperone.”
Alex grinned. “It was the rain, sir, it came on all of a sudden and mine was the only umbrella in sight. I found yourdaughter quite—”Delightful—no, not the word for a father to hear. “I found her quite invigorating.”
Was that a compliment? What did it really mean? Boxing and rounders were invigorating, but a young girl sitting with you on a bench under an umbrella? Imagine this young man was the son of a Ukrainian count and did that translate to an earl in England? Ryder believed him very smart indeed. Was he perhaps as verbally facile as his daughter and thus wasn’t put off by her? He said, “Cam told me you were quite unexceptionable, and she smiled wicked as a bandit until—”Averil had marched into the entrance hall, red-faced, ready to draw blood.
Alex waited patiently.
“Well, until she was off again to read her newest book,The Mysteries of Udolpho.” Pathetic, but his brain had stalled. Thankfully he’d seen the book lying on her shawl in the drawing room the day before.
“An exciting adventure story,” Ryder said. “I read it to my children to the accompaniment of shrieks and moans and entreaties for just one more chapter before bed.”
Whit waited until Ryder had given his ward a snifter of brandy, then said, “Let me tell you about Lord Carberry. He has six boys and thus he is always looking for new investments to increase his coffers. I know he would be perfect for this project,” and Whit pulled a folded paper from his breast pocket, handed it to Alex. “Please read the major points I’ve written down on the current manufacture of such train components as the smokebox, the sand dome, and most important for me at the moment, the fire-tube boiler. Building railroad tracks is well and good, but you’ll see my focus is on the trains themselves. As you know, we are in the middle of what I think of as the railroad mania—there are so many competing train expansion schemes, all vying for access into the heart of London. Lord Carberry has suggested a Royal Commission be formed to forbid further building in centralLondon. However, your guardian and I know that such a commission will take its good time to come to actual recommendations.
“In short, I have no wish to scramble to build more lines, here in London or throughout England. Ryder has told me this is your interest as well, Alex, better and more efficient parts for trains of the future.”
Alex couldn’t believe his ears, everything he wanted—would this really happen? He could only nod, so excited he could scarcely contain himself.
Whit smiled. He knew excitement when he saw it. “Review my points and give me your suggestions and recommendations.”
Alex looked down at the page Lord Whitsonby had given him. It was written on both sides in a forceful hand. He moved to the branch of candles on a soft-as-satin mahogany marquetry table at least two centuries old and read points both concise and to the point. His heart began to thrum. After he’d read both sides of the page twice, he raised shining eyes to Whit’s face. “Actually, sir, to build a plant in Manchester to manufacture train parts with emphasis on fire-tube boilers rather than water-tube—it is an excellent plan. There are far too many maintenance problems, even explosions with water-tube boilers in the current design. Actually, I’ve drawn designs on how to keep the supply of boiler water more regulated so the firebox metal doesn’t become too hot. But like you, I believe fire-tube boilers are best because, as you know, they’re smaller, more compact. I’ve done experiments and it appears the use of clean water is key, avoids contaminants that cause clogs and hot spots—ah, of course you know all of that already, forgive me for prosing on.” And Alex closed his mouth. His embarrassment fell away when Lord Whitsonby gave him a big smile.
“Clean water, something I don’t believe anyone’sconsidered. Everyone has always simply piped in water from a canal believing water is water, after all. This is very clever, Alex.”
Whit then handed the page to Ryder. After a moment, Ryder raised his head. “The cost will be steep, of course, finding an appropriate building, outfitting it properly, hiring and training men, bringing in the materials necessary—but of course you already know this. Let me say with Alex’s improvements on the fire-tube boiler he’s already designed and experiments already made, I believe if we move quickly we could begin production by the end of the year. I too, of course, will be investing in this project, Whit.”
Whit said, “End of the year, huh? That’s optimistic, Ryder, but possible”—he paused, grinned like a madman—“since I’ve already located a suitable building in Manchester.” Whit rubbed his hands together. “We will assemble fire-tube boilers for the dozens of trains being planned and built. I imagine you have other ideas for improvements on existing parts just as I do.” He paused, looked at each of their faces, and raised his brandy. “Gentlemen, I predict we will be wealthy men.” The three men shook hands, toasted one another.
Ryder said, “I believe Lord Carberry will be eager to invest.” He grinned. “Mayhap even offer up several of his sons to work in the factory.”
Whit laughed. “We will mention it, see if he laughs or gives it serious consideration.”
Ryder smiled complacently. He’d found the right man to partner with Alex, the right man to introduce him to other rich men eager to be part of an England soon to be crisscrossed with hundreds of miles of train lines. He couldn’t wait to see how Alex dealt with Elijah Hallou, Lord Carberry, an interesting man, Ryder had always thought, whiskers all over his face, a wife who never said a word, and those half-dozen sons all eager to bankrupt him. Ryder remembered Carberrysaying one night at White’s, “If I can’t keep adding to my groats, however will I be able to educate and civilize my boys so they can be loosed onto the world?”
On the carriage ride to Lord Carberry’s townhouse on Mulberry Square, Ryder listened complacently to Alex and Whit discuss the benefits of using coal rather than wood and which would be as efficient and have the added benefit of saving the forests of England. Sophie had told him several years before she knew Alex would make his mark and not just a little barely noticeable mark, but a giant one. She was right.
The evening at Lord Carberry’s cold, large tomb of a house went as hoped, and Ryder, Alex and Whit left the Carberry townhouse in fine spirits. They’d secured a major investor who’d pounded his fist on the table in his enthusiasm, knocking over his port.
