Wrexford made a mental note of the fact. “Do you perchance know where?”
“I don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Does Monsieur Montaigne have a special interest.”
“Bridges,” answered Brunel without hesitation. “His background is engineering, but he’s also apparently very talented in mathematics and is interested in creating bridges with longer spans, which would give greater flexibility in routing roads through rugged terrain.”
“A possibility that is far more momentous than it might sound,” observed Wrexford.
“Indeed.” Brunel took a moment for reflection before going on. “Important transportation projects, like Telford’s ambitious Ellesmere Canal, often run into monetary problems because the terrain demands lengthy detours which may make the cost prohibitive. New technological innovations can help us conquer those obstacles.”
“Is Monsieur Montaigne here tonight?” asked the earl.
“I have not yet spotted him or any of his delegation,” answered Brunel. “However, if it is bridges which interest you, I would recommend you focus your main attention on Isabelle Benoit, who is secretary of the Society for Practical Science.”
“A woman as an officer?” he mused.
Brunel quirked a faint smile. “You have no great regard for the intellectual powers of the fairer sex?”
“On the contrary, I happen to think that women are every bit as smart as men, but we give them precious few chances to prove it.”
“That’s exceedingly enlightened thinking, milord.”
“Some might call it exceedingly radical,” replied Wrexford. “Be that as it may, I’m aware that France is more liberal than our country, where most intellectual societies don’t permit women to be members, much less to serve as officers.”
“Allowing women to have both rights and responsibilities was one of the few good legacies that Revolutionary France left to the country. It allows the best minds to flourish regardless of sex.”
A pause. “So if it is bridges that interest you, speak with Mademoiselle Benoit. Her expertise in mathematics is even more impressive than that of Montaigne.”
Brunel once again surveyed the crowded drawing room with his sharp-as-steel gaze. “Ah, I still don’t see Montaigne. But that is Mademoiselle Benoit over by the bust of Julius Caesar, conversing with the lady wearing the smoke-blue gown.”
The engineer’s eyes remained riveted on the Frenchwoman’s companion. “Would you like me to introduce you to mademoiselle? The lady in blue is unknown to me—”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” said Wrexford. “The lady in blue happens to be my wife.”
* * *
“Here I go away to school for a month and already the family is involved in another murder investigation,” observed Peregrine. “Do you think that His Lordship has concocted some sort of special magnetic solution that draws him to dead bodies in need of someone to find justice for their souls?”
“Ha, ha.” Hawk gave a weak laugh. “Don’t ask me to explain the chemistry. I think it just naturally happens.”
Raven looked up from the mathematical puzzle he was trying to solve. “I heard Tyler say to Mac that Wrex was very much looking forward to an interlude of peace and quiet in the country.”
“Wrex does seem unsettled about something,” said Hawk. “I wonder what it is?”
Harper, who was stretched out in sleep by the front of the hearth, opened one eye and gave a gusty sigh.
“Nooo, I don’t think Wrex is hungry, Harper. Though perhaps he’s worried because you are eating him out of house and home,” quipped Raven, which drew a chortling from the others.
But it quickly died away as he set down his notebook and frowned in thought. “M’lady did mention to Aunt Alison that Wrex has been thinking about fathers and sons . . . and said something about him feeling that he hadn’t been very good in either role.”
“I wonder what makes a good father?” mused Hawk. Abandoned in the slums of the city as children, he and his brother had only had each other.
Raven raised his brows at Peregrine. “What do you think, Falcon? You’re the only one of us who has had a real father.”
“That’s not entirely accurate,” drawled Peregrine. “But I understand what you mean.” A sigh. “I don’t remember much about my real father. Just fleeting moments.”
Looking thoughtful, he tilted his head to gaze out the darkened schoolroom window, where a sliver of star-dotted sky was just visible above the rooftop silhouettes.
