Fiona snorted. “Our filing system is a pig-wallow or worse, but none of us has the time to fix it.”
It was the excuse given by everyone who lacked basic organizational skills. Amelia couldn’t help buttsk. “It takes just a few minutes at the end of each day to put things back where they belong.”
Benedict’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. “This coming from the woman aghast at having to make her own bed?”
She sniffed. “I didn’t say thatIwas doing the putting away. But I’m very good at making things happen.”
“Hmph.” Fiona put aside her notebook to really look at Amelia, who felt like a specimen under a glass. Which—given that Fiona was the one in men’s clothing, her hair tied in a queue rather than put up, and clearly at work in a factory—seemed rather backward.
Eventually, Amelia passed muster. “It’s an unexpected pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Fiona said, with no real authenticity.
Hmmm.
“I’m not sure why it’s unexpected, given my husband owns the business, but it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”
Fiona shrugged. “Unexpected because it’s hardly a place for a woman like yourself.”
Amelia wasn’t entirely sure of her place these days, but she did know that only she would determine where that was. “I’m heartily sick of being told what my place is. I would think a woman like yourself, who clearly forges her own path, would understand the sentiment.”
Benedict moved to intervene, but Amelia shook her head. Needing rescue by her husband was not the ideal first impression. This woman needed to understand that, though they might be in a factory, if there was a pecking order, Amelia was still on top.
Fiona stared at her for a long minute before nodding curtly. “Thank you for your creative approach to mending Ben’s shirts. Those flowers have been quite diverting.”
If that was what acceptance looked like from this woman, she would take it. “You’re welcome. It’s nice to know the effort was appreciated.”
“Before we give Amelia any more ideas, why don’t we have some tea?” Benedict said. “Fiona, join us.”
Fiona looked over her shoulder toward the exit. “I really need to find those reports.”
“Please. Join us.” He pulled out a stool and motioned for Fiona to sit, leaving Amelia to pull out her own stool. She couldn’t help but throw him a look as she yanked it back.
“I think the two of you are going to begreatfriends.” His tone was strained, as though he was struggling to convince himself of the fact.
They both stared at him, a synchronous roll of the eyes the only thing they shared.
“It would do you both good. Fi, you work too hard, and Amelia—”
“I what?”
“Never mind.” He went to the stove and removed the kettle from the flame.
That small act made Amelia’s heart thump. With the amount of loose paper around the stove and their obvious lack of care with flammable materials, it was a miracle the whole place hadn’t gone up in flames.
“If you moved the bench with all those doodads to where the bookcase is, the room would feel more open, and there’d be less chance of papers falling out of your…immaculate…filing system and onto the stove.” She turned to Fiona. “I don’t know how this place hasn’t burnt to cinders. I thought you scientists were supposed to have above average intelligence.”
“Nothing has burnt down yet,” Fiona said defensively. “We have everything in hand.”
Benedict placed a chipped cup in front of Amelia. Without saucer or sugar or spoon. Amelia added a tea set to her mental list of things to purchase when she was next in London.
Fiona seemed unperturbed by the lack of basic provisions, lifting her tea and cupping it in her hands to inhale the steam. Her nails were cut short, and there was a long, thin scar that ran across the back of her hand. The smattering of freckles across them matched the freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was quite pretty, in a singular way. Odd, to be wearing a man’s cuffed shirt and plain morning coat, but Amelia could imagine she’d be striking in a light blue dress with her hair pinned up.
Was she eccentric by choice or because life had left her few other options? If it were the latter, perhaps Amelia could help.
“Tell me more about what you do,” Amelia asked. “Benedict says that your project is unrelated to his engine.” Amelia picked up her cup, pretending its faults went unnoticed.
Benedict took the seat next to her. His shoulder brushed against hers, creating a lovely friction that sent sparks twirling down her arm.
There was a long second of hesitation before Fiona answered. “I’m working on something that will make lighting fires easier. The latest prototype has been quite successful. It needs a few small modifications, but we hope to have further financial backing to mass produce it.”
