“He had a wonderful laugh. It sort of wrapped around you like sun-warmed honey.” A smile. “And very broad shoulders. I felt as if I could have touched the sky as we walked with me perched on his shoulders, and he regaled me with stories of all the places in the world he had visited.”
Peregrine then lapsed into a meditative silence for several long moments. “But I guess what I remember best is that no matter what we were doing, he made me feel . . .” A watery sniff. “I suppose what fathers do is they make you feel very loved.”
Hawk looked at his brother and blinked. “That’s how Wrex makes me feel,” he said in a small voice. “I know we’re not related by blood, but it feels like he’s my real father in every way that matters.”
“Oiy,” agreed Raven. “M’lady is always saying that love is an even stronger bond than blood.” He grinned at Peregrine. “Which means we’re all family now.”
“Oiy,” echoed Peregrine with a solemn nod. “And we don’t need any fancy bits of paper to tell us that.”
“That goes for you, too, Harper,” added Raven.
The hound thumped his shaggy tail and gave awoofof approval.
“So if Wrex is feeling blue-deviled,” said Hawk once their giggles ceased. “What can we do to cheer him up and make sure he knows thatheis loved?”
“As to that . . .” Raven thought for a moment. “I have an idea.”
* * *
“Do introduce me to your companion, my dear.”
Charlotte looked around at the earl’s approach. “With pleasure, Wrex. Mademoiselle Benoit, this is my husband, Lord Wrexford.”
“Mr. Brunel has been singing your praises, mademoiselle,” said the earl, “and he strikes me as a man who is not easily impressed.”
“Dear heaven, you now have me completely intimidated, milord,” murmured the Frenchwoman as Wrexford bowed over her hand.
Charlotte had a feeling that very little cowed Mademoiselle Benoit. But as she knew well from her own experience, it was often a useful ploy for a lady to pretend to be less intelligent that she really was while assessing an unexpected situation.
“I doubt that I shall be able to manage a coherent word, given your august reputation in the scientific world,” added the Frenchwoman with a tremulous quiver of her mouth that didn’t quite come across as sincere.
“Be assured that I don’t bite,” he murmured.
Not without cause, thought Charlotte.
The remark drew a genuine laugh. “In that case, I shall endeavor not to disgrace myself.”
“You need not worry, mademoiselle,” Charlotte quickly added. “Nothing pleases my husband more than conversing about scientific subjects with a fellow expert.”
“Even if that fellow is a woman?” challenged Mademoiselle Benoit.
“I’m considered highly eccentric by Polite Society for having unorthodox views on a great many subjects,” responded Wrexford. “One of which is that a lady’s intellect is inherently equal to that of a gentleman.”
“Eccentric, indeed,” said Mademoiselle Benoit. “In that, it seems we are kindred souls, sir.”
“I was just asking Mademoiselle Benoit about her particular field of interest—” began Charlotte.
“And I was boring your lovely wife about bridges.”
“On the contrary,” she protested. “I assure you that I found your explanations very interesting.”
Mademoiselle Benoit’s brows shot up, and then her surprise gave way to a knowing laugh. “Ah, you are just being polite. There is no need—I am used to being considered odd.”
Charlotte merely smiled.And I am used to the assumption that all aristocratic ladies are featherheads.She and Wrexford had decided beforehand that she would ask deliberately shallow questions in hope of piquing the Frenchwoman into revealing more than she might wish about her work and her relationship to Milton.
“Mr. Brunel was just telling me about bridges,” said Wrexford, “and how the key challenge for engineers these days is figuring out how to build longer ones.”
“Precisely, milord!” Her obvious passion for the subject softened the Frenchwoman’s prickly demeanor. “Few people understand the significance of that. It will effect fundamental changes in how people and goods are able to move from place to place.”
