His foreman’s cheeks turned pink beneath the grime.
“I’m going to introduce her to the team,” Benedict said, guiding Amelia away.
He took her around the outskirts of the room, introducing her to the men working at each station and letting them explain their role in the production. Shockingly, she was in her element. It was blatantly apparent why she was such a popular figure of theton. She listened, asked questions, and men relaxed under her apparent interest. She seemed at home, as if this were a ballroom and she was making chitchat with potential acquaintances. If she were uncomfortable, no one would know it.
Eventually, they walked through the giant doors that comprised one side of the building. Outside stood his pride and joy, rocking slightly and shooting steam.
Jeremy was feeding the engine with coal, his hands black from the sooty, sandy material, black streaks across his forehead and cheeks where he’d wiped away sweat.
Benedict had become accustomed to the buffeting force of heat near the engine, but Amelia shrank away, putting her hands up against the hot air.
He bent close to be heard over the roar. “This is Ten Tonne Tessie.”
“Tessie? You’ve named it?”
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. “At the moment, we’re focused on increasing the pressure of the engine. We’ve already succeeded in reducing her size.”
“And this is what the contract’s for? Is it safe?” Amelia yelled.
“Usually.”
Her head spun toward him, her eyes wide. “Usually?”
“There were a few issues during the development phase, but she’s been running for days this time. She’s looking good, isn’t she, Jeremy?”
The apprentice stoker didn’t answer. Instead he gave Amelia a withering stare and continued shoveling coal. If she had noticed the slight, she didn’t show it, thankfully. Benedict would speak with Jeremy later about his rudeness, when he wasn’t introducing his wife to the thing that took up every moment of his time not spent at home.
“Upstairs is where I work mostly.”
He took her back inside and up to the mezzanine that ran the perimeter of the room, lined with shelves stacked with books, paper, miniature prototypes, and curiosities he and his comrades had picked up over the years. A large office took up one corner.
John, his friend since the days of Eton and Oxford, was at a desk sketching with charcoal. He’d clearly been tackling a puzzle—his hair stuck up in a myriad of different angles. Benedict could always tell how far along his friend was in a project by the state of his hair.
John stood when they entered, fingers twitching at his side. Talking to people—particularly Amelia’s type of people—was not something he was comfortable with.
Benedict put a reassuring smile on his face as he said, “Lady Amelia, Mr. John Barnesworth. You might know his mother, Lady Harrow.”
Amelia proffered her hand. “Mr. Barnesworth, what a pleasure to meet you.”
“The p…p…pleasure is mine.” He bowed over Amelia’s hand with a lithe fluidity and grace that contradicted his awkward appearance and speech.
Benedict had always envied John his ability to look the part of a gentleman, even if his speech faltered when he was anxious. Benedict could dress in the finest attire, take every damned dance class, and still never look anything but a lumbering footman’s son.
Amelia stepped toward the desk and turned her focus to the sketches. “What are you working on?” she asked with the same easy grace as if she were asking about the weather.
“The thermal insulation properties of different lagging compounds. Nothing a lady would be interested in.”
Amelia’s polite smile tightened at the edges. “You could try me. I’m not entirely feather-headed.”
John flushed. “I d-d-didn’t mean…That is to say…I d-d-didn’t—”
“Relax, John.” Benedict sent Amelia a please-be-kind glare.
“Yes, well, I h-have to go.” He grabbed a handful of papers, crumpling them in his fist as he left the room.
Amelia watched him leave with surprise. “Well, that was unexpected. Really, did he think I was going to bite?”
“You do have a reputation.”
