The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set

by Kara Jorgensen

  A thought flashed through his mind. He swallowed hard and checked to make certain Hadley’s breathing was coming in sleepy puffs. Through the coverlet, he could make out the planes and curves of her body. With a hesitant hand, he reached under the blanket and placed his palm on her side where it dipped in beneath her ribs. He waited, expecting her to stir, but she didn’t move. Moving lower, he ran his hand along the firm, fleshy curve of her hip and thigh. It was warmer, softer than he had imagined. When she was awake, he had longed to become acquainted with her form as he would a statue, by touch and sight, but he had been too afraid to ask or act upon his whims. What if she wanted more when all he wanted was to observe? He had never touched or kissed anyone before Hadley, and it felt strange to want to do it and worse to say it aloud. Even thinking this way seemed foreign to him.

  Pulling back again, he kept his eyes locked on her face and lightly rubbed the bare flesh of her upper arms. He skimmed his hand along her strong limbs, over the downy red hairs and slightly rough skin from years of working in her studio. With the edge of his hand, he followed the bend of her shoulders as they slid into her neck, feeling the flesh beneath his fingertips change inch by inch. It was times like this that he wished he had both arms. Then, he could close his eyes and burn the image of her form into his mind through touch, but now, he could only create half the picture. When he looked up from rubbing her neck, Hadley’s light eyes were on his face and her mouth curled into a smile.

  Eilian froze. He had expected her to get out of bed or give him a strange look for what he had done, but instead she held his hand in hers and pulled it close to her breast. Closing the gap between them, Hadley rested her forehead against his shoulder and shut her eyes. She intertwined her fingers with his and kept it close to her heart. He tensed at the warmth radiating from her body against his balled hand.

  “Did I interrupt you?” she murmured drowsily.

  He opened his mouth but the words dissolved on his lips as his cheeks burned. Clearing his throat, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For being presumptuous. I should have asked first.”

  Her grip on his hand tightened. “It’s fine,” she replied, her lips brushing against the rough stubble on his neck. “I told you I would be here if you ever wanted to try anything. I meant it.”

  Rising on her elbow, Hadley pressed her lips to his. His body arched, pressing against her stomach as his foot brushed against hers. Her hand ran through the wayward spikes of his hair while his clamped onto her back. When he began to tip back, she pushed against him, locking her arms around him. She landed on his chest as he rolled back with a smile. Lying on top of him, she kissed his forehead before planting a light kiss on each eyelid. Eilian closed his eyes and held her close. As she moved down his face, he caught her lips, drawing her in with a breath. His hands worked in slow circles over the gauzy fabric of her nightgown, never leaving her back. Swathes of gooseflesh rose over her arms and chest as his lips grazed hers and a soft slip of air blew against her cheek.

  Hadley pulled back, licking her lips and inhaling the sandalwood of his skin. Pushing him too far would only make him retreat, but as she released her hold and sank against his chest once more, his arms cinched around her. He shifted beneath her until finally he let out a contented sigh. She smiled to herself. It hadn’t been much, but in his vulnerable, sleep-addled state, Eilian had let his guard down enough to act on his curiosity. A faint pang of pride bloomed in her chest. At least he was making progress or trying to.

  Resting her head over his heart, she said softly, “I want you to be comfortable with me, Eilian. I know it will take time.”

  “And I’m sorry about that. You probably never thought it would be this way.”

  “No, but I know you won’t make me wait forever. I want you to know that I want you to come to me when curiosity strikes. Somehow, I doubt I will ever say no to you.” She looked up in time to watch his eyes grow wide before turning thoughtful. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Eilian?”

  “I do. It’s just difficult though... to talk about it. I feel as if I shouldn’t.”

  He swallowed hard. Speaking about it wasn’t too difficult, but it left him with the fear of hurting her. Not saying how he felt meant eliminating that possibility. It felt impossible to talk of it though, especially when he lacked the words for how he felt. What did he feel? How could the absence of something be described when he had never felt the alternative?

  His face reddened. “No one seems to speak frankly about these things. It feels odd to finally start.”

  “Yes, but I have seen the problems not speaking can cause. I don’t want that to happen to us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know Adam and I weren’t always on the best of terms. Recently, we have tried to talk more, and it works. We don’t fight nearly as much.”

  “Really? What did you two—?”

  Before he could finish, a knock came at the bedroom door.

  “Your ladyship,” Patrick called, “I hate to disturb you and his Lordship, but Mrs. Rhodes is here to speak to you.”

  She rolled off Eilian’s chest and dramatically fell back on the mattress. “Can you ask her to come back later?”

  “She seems quite distraught, madam. She says she will only speak to you.”

  Twisting her lips, Hadley lay with her arms crossed and stared at the gathered swags hanging above their heads. What did that woman want now? Eilian’s hand wrapped around hers and gently squeezed until finally she released a tense breath.

  “We had to get up some time,” he whispered with a lopsided smile.

  “Yes, but I had hoped it would be for a late breakfast.”

  “Your ladyship, what should I tell her?”

  Hadley sat up and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Tell her I will be down shortly. Make an excuse for me, Patrick.”

  “Should I send up Charlotte to help you dress?”

  “No, I will take care of it myself.” As much as she liked her, the girl was too cautious when handling her gowns and hair and it took her twice as long to get dressed when she was around. “Eilian, can you help me?”

  “Assemble my arm, and I will.”

  Sitting up, she picked the springs and leather pieces off the nightstand as her husband slid a clean cotton stocking up his arm. Without hesitation, she slipped on the couter and fed the spring muscles through the metal rings attached to it.

  “What do you think Mrs. Rhodes is here for?”

  She opened her mouth but then remembered he still didn’t know who stole the Silphium. “I don’t know, but it’s probably nothing. I don’t know what she could be upset about. Why?”

  “I thought maybe you would want help.”

  “You don’t have to stay while I deal with her. I will be fine.”

  He nodded as she affixed the final set of metal coils behind his elbow. “I was thinking of walking up to the dower house to see if Laurence’s journal ended up there. I imagine Nash walked off with them, along with a bottle of wine.”

  “I think I’m making out better then,” Hadley replied with a smile as she hopped off the bed and dug through her dresser for clean drawers. “Dealing with Mrs. Nash is the last thing I would want to do.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Eilian averted his gaze from his wife’s form as she stepped out of her nightgown. A soft laugh escaped her lips, but he kept his eyes locked on the intricate weave of the Turkish rug.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked softly.

  “That you still look away. I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

  Eilian’s cheeks burned. “It’s rude to stare. Would you rather have me gawk at you?”

  A wry smile crossed her lips as she lingered between shifts. “Sometimes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Obligations

  Eilian poked his head out the backdoor of the servants’ quarters. The rainstorm had ended in
the early morning, leaving a film of hip-high fog and coating the countryside in a layer of varnish. The earl eyed his bicycle at the bottom of the steps. If he had been going anywhere else, he would have ridden his velocipede there without a care for how his trousers would look when he reached his destination, but he couldn’t do that. Not today. Mrs. Nash would surely notice if the hems of his trousers were splattered with mud and flecked with bits of gravel. His grey eyes ran between the thick forest of yews and oaks surrounding the path and the bicycle. With a defeated sigh, he tucked it back into the house and shut the door behind him.

  As he cut across the lawn to reach the dirt and stone path, he remembered that the steamer was parked in the old stables. He exhaled, watching his breath condense into a wil-o’-wisp. He could have taken it, but what if Hadley needed it or Patrick while he was gone? No, the steamer was better served at home. If he came rumbling up the drive, Mrs. Nash would see him coming and turn him away without even hearing what he had come for.

  Gravel crunched beneath Eilian’s boots as he followed the trail through his property. A small smile crossed his lips as he drew in a breath and tasted the scent of damp earth and wild flowers. Standing at the edge of the road, he looked back at the house. In the haze, he could make out Brasshurst’s hulking form, complete with spires and bulbous glass protrusions. It still hadn’t sunk in yet that the house and land was his. At any moment, it felt as if his father would appear to take control and send him back to Greenwich. Eilian’s mind faltered before falling silent. That would never happen again.

  Shaking off the thought, he continued on. As he rounded the corner of the copse that hid the family crypt, a familiar noise came from down the path. A steamer hurtled down the road, kicking up a hailstorm of gravel as it barreled toward him. Eilian staggered, his back colliding with the marble of the mausoleum. His hand slid against the slick, algal surface as he struggled to stay on his feet. He cried out as he fell to his knees, sinking into the top soil. Mud sprayed against his legs and hands as the cold air whooshed across his cheeks. Without looking back, the driver disappeared around the bend, fading away until all that was left was the faint chug of the engine and the stillness of its absence. Eilian’s chest tightened as he stood on shaking legs. He clutched his remaining hand to his chest and counted his fingers to make sure they were all intact. The cab’s wheels had been inches away from chopping off what digits he had left.

  As he sunk onto the stone bench, his eyes trailed to the scholars and saints surrounding the mausoleum’s portal, their all-seeing eyes nearly gone after centuries of rain and sea salt. Touching his signet ring, he let his head fall against the wall. Maybe someone was watching out for him after all. Listening for anymore rogue cabs, Eilian continued down the path toward the dower house. The moment the Georgian manor appeared through the trees, he knew something was amiss.

  Where there had once been a walled flower bed stocked with wild flowers and lilies, there now was a smoking pit. Eilian looked for anyone who might stop him before hesitantly stepping closer and peeking inside. Amongst the wood and papers, piles of wool and charred linen appeared through the haze. Grabbing a branch from the garden, he prodded the smoldering pile and pulled out a man’s shirt. The fabric had been all but eaten by the flames, but the sleeve was intact along with a few ribbons of the body. He dropped the shirt and poked around the ash. Spines of books and chunks of leather albums disintegrated at his touch. One lay intact against the edge of the stones. It was charred, but he recognized the book from when he intruded upon Nash in the back parlor. He hoped his great-grandfather’s journal hadn’t made it to the bonfire.

  Eilian turned at the squeal of the front door opening behind him. He had expected to find Mrs. Nash glaring at him from the threshold, but instead, her slight lady’s maid stood watching him with wide, grey eyes. Her face had paled even more than the last time he had seen her, and her face was drawn with fatigue. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name.

  “Is Mrs. Nash at home?”

  “You just missed her, sir.” The maid stared at her feet, her mouth tugged into a bitter line. “She’s left for Poole.”

  “Do you know when she will return?”

  “I don’t know if she intends to return, sir. She left no word.”

  Disappointment settled over his shoulders, sinking him further into the mud as he stared up at the house’s ivy-clad face. With an inward sigh, he turned, calling over his shoulder, “Thank you for your help, miss.”

  “Wait! Is there anything I can do for you? What did you need from the lady of the house?”

  The maid had left the protection of the doorway and stood watching him, studying his open features as he faced her. He was nearly a foot taller than her, which wasn’t unusual considering her short stature, but the urge to cower wasn’t there as it was with most men and women. Her quick eyes flicked to the thick signet ring on his finger. He was the kind lady’s husband.

  “You’re the earl, aren’t you? You’re my master’s cousin?”

  He nodded. “Perhaps you can help me. If you don’t think your mistress would mind.”

  “Even if she did, it’s not as if she would know.”

  A smile crossed his lips as the maid wrung her hands and scowled. “I was hoping you could help me find something. It’s a book.”

  “That may take a while.”

  ***

  “It’s right this way,” the maid called over her shoulder.

  She had led him deep into the house, far from the rooms he had seen during his first visit. The house didn’t seem so large from the outside, but in the winding halls, it was easy to lose his bearings. Drawing an iron key from her apron, Pilcrow unlocked the door. It creaked open, washing the mahogany-paneled hall in sunlight. Eilian stood rooted in the door, his eyes wide as they ran over the endless piles of books and paper that littered Nash’s private study. He had seen a glimpse of the mess when he snuck in to ask him about the silphium plant, but he had never thought it could be worse.

  The room was stacked from table to ceiling with books. Some were placed neatly in the shelves as they should, but over the years a new row had sprouted in front and then on top of them. If there was space, a book had been crammed into it. In spare crevices too narrow for a book, papers jutted, yellowed and cracked from the sun. Sitting on every spare surface were notebooks filled with newspaper clippings and scraps of paper. Much like Laurence’s journals, they were labeled by year and series number but appeared to be laid in no particular order. Eilian’s chest tightened as he stepped into the rows of tables and shelves, the piles looming over him, threatening to fall in.

  “Are you certain it’s in here? I don’t know how we could even begin to find it.”

  “Yes, sir. If it’s something of his grandfather’s you’re looking for, he wouldn’t have kept it where others could find it.”

  Eilian cocked a brown brow.

  “My master was a very private person.”

  Pilcrow watched from the door as the earl carefully walked between the narrow alleys to the desk and pulled out the drawers. With light fingers, he lifted the piles of paper, never looking at their contents. After making quick work of the desk, he moved to the nearest bookshelf, scanning the titles for what he was looking for. She wanted to help him, it seemed like the right thing to do, but she couldn’t imagine laying a hand on her master’s books and papers. A slap of pain rang through the top of her hand as she watched a stick come down over her knuckles. She massaged the sore bones. It had been years since it happened, yet she had never forgotten. Don’t you ever go through my things. Know your place, child. She thought for sure he was going to fire her there and then, but he didn’t. He scolded her, he hit her, then his eyes softened, and he went on like nothing was amiss.

  She could never explain the Nashes behavior. His wife hated her most out of all yet kept her closest. He barely paid her any mind, but sometimes he would show her bits of his history in his grandfather’s papers or some piece of embroidery
his grandmother created. Each time it was done with a proud grin, as if he were passing something important onto her. Of course these history lessons were always done out of sight when, he knew his wife and the other servants were unlikely to walk in.

  Her eyes landed on an oil painting of the manor’s greenhouse hanging on the far wall. She was going to let the earl try to find it, but maybe she should just tell him where her master had hidden his special papers.

  “I know I already asked, but will your mistress be cross with you for letting me in?”

  “I suppose she might.” The words hung on her lips. They still hadn’t sunken in yet. “That is, if she were coming back.”

  The earl stopped pulling books from the shelves and turned to watch the little maid’s thin lips nearly disappear into her face.

  “Mrs. Nash won’t be returning from Poole?” He shook his head. “She couldn’t possibly have abandoned this place. She barely packed up. What did she take? Only her clothing?”

  Pilcrow shifted uncomfortably. “Would you like any tea or refreshments while you look, your lordship?”

  “No, thank you, but I would like it if you would tell me more about Mrs. Nash.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, sir. She’s gone to Poole, and I don’t know when she will be back.”

  “I understand that much,” he replied as he set the books aside and drew closer, perching on the edge of a table. “She didn’t tell you how long she thought she would be gone?”

  She shook her head, her hands trembling as she stuffed them into her apron pockets. “No, sir.”

  “So you’re out of a job now?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I’m the only one left.”

  “What happened to the others? Did she take them with her?”