As for Mr. Carberry’s brother-in-law, the Reverend James Piercebridge of St. Lucy Head on the English Channel, he kept his opinions to himself, an unexpected blessing, Whit said later. But before they left, Vicar Piercebridge said to Alex in the Carberry entrance hall, “You look very familiar, young sir, but since you hail from the Ukraine, and are thus a foreigner, I must doubt myself since foreigners from places like Ukraine are not thick on the ground.”
Still, Alex was aware the vicar continued to stare at him until he walked out the Carberry front door and into the rain.
As for the six sons, they were not seen. As for Lady Carberry, a placid lady swathed in purple, she was seen, but as Whit had said, she didn’t say a word.
CHAPTER 11
It was well past midnight when Alex stretched out on his back in bed, a soft feather pillow beneath his head. The rain had turned to a light drizzle, dripped down the window. The skinny moon sent a weak shaft of light through the window, hitting Alex on the face. He was wide awake, so excited, so filled with plans, with hope, he couldn’t calm his mind for sleep. He found himself listening to the rhythmic patter of the light rain. So much was happening so quickly and all because his guardian Ryder knew Lord Whitsonby who knew Lord Carberry with six hopeful, expensive sons. Both gentlemen were smart and experienced, rich and ready to invest and bring his ideas to reality. But what if his ideas, his designs, his experiment were somehow flawed? What if they wouldn’t work? No, he knew to his bones each adjustment and change he’d make were right. Were there other rich men interested in investing? Of course there were. He thrummed with excitement.
Like Alex, most men believed trains would crisscross England and indeed most of the world in the next decade. He planned to be one of the men who improved those trains, made them more efficient and safer, made them morecomfortable for passengers. He easily pictured the thousands upon thousands of passengers in the future.
He remembered when six months before he’d read about the American Henry Worthington’s invention of the boiler feed water pump to replace the fire-tube boiler meant to generate steam in a series of tube walls running through heated water. It worked, but the heat produced could cause problems. Worthington’s water pump was amazing and Alex had written to him. Worthington had actually written back to him and their written discussions concerned how to keep the water more regulated in the boilers to prevent one of the inevitable catastrophes—explosions. He’d suggested adding another copper tube or maybe changing to iron, wouldn’t both smooth out the steam and make the boiler work more smoothly and efficiently? Worthington agreed. And there were the problems of clogs and heat spots caused by the actual water itself, and why was that? And how to avoid excessive heat? Yet another problem to be solved.
Alex remembered with a smile how the children at Brandon House had gathered around him when he’d told them about Heron of Alexandria who lived in the second century BC. “He put several tubes in a vessel of water, heated the water until steam came billowing out of the tubes and there you have it—the first steam engine invented. And this was even before there were huge white wigs and knee britches.” And he’d given them a demonstration.
Then, suddenly, uninvited and shoving aside boiler improvements and Heron of Alexandria, was Camilla Rohman, real as life and grinning up at him, but not all that far up for she was tall, long-legged. When she walked her stride was long, easy, no mincing with tiny steps to make a man slow to a near crawl, and her neck was ever so graceful and—graceful? Alex blinked into the dark. He’d never thought of a girl’s neck being graceful before in his life. All right, perhaps that wastrue, her long neck was graceful, like a flower stem and—he nearly gagged.
Alex fluffed his pillow, turned onto his side, but there she was with that wonderful white-toothed smile of hers, and her hazel eyes sparkling behind glasses once the sun made a brief appearance. She looked really quite fine in the glasses. If he took off her glasses, would he be a blur to her?
No, no, he couldn’t think about her now, he needed to keep refining his improved boiler ideas—examine the excessive heated water problem, find a better material for the tubes, write Worthington, not have Camilla Rohman take over his brain, but it was not to be so he gave it up. For the past decade he’d had his share of female attention in Upper Slaughter. He was used to young ladies being charming to him, vying for his attention, it wasn’t anything new, merely something he took in stride. When Ryder had first brought him to London after he’d come down from Oxford, he’d taken Alex to balls, soirees, excursions to Richmond, al fresco luncheons, even one masquerade ball where he’d been a masked highwayman, ever so dashing he’d overheard one young lady say. It seemed to Alex Ryder was invited everywhere, not only for his charming company but the fact he was the brother of the powerful Earl of Northcliffe, a gentleman who’d intimidated Alex until he’d smiled and buffeted his shoulder, complimented him on the improvement for the gardener’s scythe, a simple matter really, shortening the shaft or snath for the short lad responsible for the south lawn of Northcliffe Hall, filing down the hook and whittling down the shaft for Benji’s smaller hands. Ryder had grinned at Alex later when they were alone. “Well done. My brother will very likely back you, Alex, so consider you already have one investor in the pocket. Now it’s off to London.”
Alex had always loved London, but this time was different. He met gentlemen at the Royal Academy of Science, somesmart, thoughtful men, others so old their beards dipped into their tea. He’d met wealthy peers at Ryder’s club, White’s, gentlemen who could change his life with their groats and commitment to his vision. And other venues, for amusement, surely, but again Alex met even more gentlemen with wealth and privilege.
Ah, and the ladies. He hadn’t really thought about it, but he discovered the young ladies were just like the girls in Upper Slaughter. They sought him out, flirted with him and waltzed with him, their white hands soft in his. But none of the myriad quite pleasurable activities in London had ever diverted his busy brain and brought it to a standstill before Lady Camilla Rohman—Cam—a lovely name that suited her.
Graceful neck and vivid hazel eyes behind her glasses. He punched his pillow and gave it up. It wasn’t like he’d never see her again except at balls since he’d be dealing with her father, Lord Whitsonby. Well, unless she was forced to go to Bath to Aunt Deveraux with her trumpet and tales of Napoleon’s hand up her skirts.
Alex grinned into the darkness. Boilers and Cam—given the way his brain worked, they were both problems to be solved. He had to figure out why this one girl with her bright smile and clever mouth and long, graceful neck was invading his brain with no effort at all. Over the years when he had a problem that confounded him, he’d speak to Ryder, but what would he say to his guardian about a girl he’d just moved right into his brain with no effort at all?
CHAPTER 12
Whitsonby House
Ormond Square
Wednesday evening
Cam’s brain squirreled around as she paced her bedchamber, up and down, up and down, not excessively tiring since her room wasn’t all that big. She kept thinking of the nearly two hundred pounds she’d saved, more than most families lived on in a year. Better than the groats, she had a brain. She would make do. But make do at what? And then, uninvited, she saw Alex Ivanov clear as day, saw those brilliant blue eyes of his dance with amusement at something she said. No, no, he was a chimera, a fantasy, a single hour of amazing delight on a rainy afternoon, nothing more.
She stopped pacing and settled in on the soft-cushioned window seat. She banished the wild blue eyes. It was time to come up with possibilities—where she would go, what she would do, how she could get there, what story to make up for as yet unmet ears—but her brain didn’t want to cooperate.
Not a minute later, her sister came into her bedchamber without knocking, as she’d done forever.
Cam raised her head, looked toward her sister to see the familiar impatience in her gray eyes, slanted slightly upward like their father’s, the disapproval in her pursed lips when she looked at Cam, really pretty lips full and soft, many times pouting for effect. She was pretty, slender, glorious blond hair always perfectly arranged in a fat chignon.
“Why are you mooning about, just sitting there, your skirts all tangled, your hair a mess, and look, there’s a tear in your stocking and one of your shoes has fallen to the floor?” Eliza shrugged. “I know, you’re dreaming about all the charming gentlemen Aunt Deveraux will gather for you, line them right up for you to examine and then you can decide which one to hit in the nose, for no good reason, like poor Teddy Jewel.”
Cam saw indeed there was a hole in her left stocking. Who cared? She said, “All she has to do is call them from her bedchamber window, the entire city of Bath will hear her and send over possible candidates.”
Was that a smile? If so, it was quickly gone. Eliza’s voice became a bit conciliating, not much, but a bit, and that was a surprise. “Listen to me, Bath is perfect for you, Camilla, if you’d but accept it and leave. Even with an apology I doubt Teddy Jewel will be interested in you now. And there’s Pilcher Gayson in Bath.” She paused. “But if I know you, you’re thinking about taking the money you’ve managed to squirrel away and traveling to Venice to live. But of course, the money wouldn’t last that long, would it? And then what would you do? Starve or come home and do what you were supposed to do in the first place. So forget that. Time for you to be reasonable, time for you to behave and do as you’re told.
“Since Teddy is very likely out of the question, you’re going to Bath. You will be allowed to return in time for my wedding since I have no choice but to have you as my maidof honor, not Cecily Talmadge, as I wished.” She frowned. “I will have to wear white since the queen did at her wedding and it’s now the fashion. I would prefer a soft cerulean blue that makes my eyes sparkle and my skin glow. Averil believes yellow will be perfect for you, although she did allow it might make you look sallow.” She tossed aTattlermagazine on Cam’s desk. “Read it. You will learn how a proper lady behaves at a wedding.”
Cam said without much interest, “I know how to behave, Eliza.”
Eliza regarded her sister for a moment. “Given your recent performance, I doubt it very much. Listen to me. You will smile and keep your smart mouth shut, Camilla. You will not engage gentlemen in discussions that will render them uncomfortable, possibly insensible. You will be shy and modest. You will defer to me in all things. If I ask you to fetch something for me, you will do it immediately. Do you understand?”
Cam cocked her head at her sister. “Do you love Winstead?”
