by Candace Camp
“The bird tweeted,” Con explained, humming a bit of a tune.
“It’s a music box,” Desmond said. “It looks like the spindle came off. Wait a bit.” He set the bird back in Alex’s palm and reached inside his jacket to pull out a slender leather case. Taking a miniature screwdriver from the case, he carefully unfastened the tiny screws holding the golden plate in place.
“I say,” said one of the men authoritatively. “You shouldn’t be fooling about with that. Bad enough the boys broke it, but—”
“Hush,” Kyria snapped, frowning at him. “If you can’t say anything helpful, perhaps you should leave.”
The man looked affronted, but closed his mouth. Desmond handed the metal plate to Con to hold and set the tiny screws on the table beside him. He studied the mechanism for a moment. “Aha, here—see, this became disconnected.”
He showed the twins, pointing with the end of the screwdriver, and they peered down into the box, their former unhappiness gone. Desmond pulled a set of long tweezers from the same slim case, and delicately poked about inside the machine. Fascinated, the twins watched him pick up the spindle and put it back where it belonged. Carefully, he replaced the plate and set the short hollow stem on which the bird sat back onto the spindle.
“There. Now, you have to be careful with it,” he admonished the boys, and they nodded their heads emphatically. “It’s not on there as securely as it was—it needs to be soldered, but it’ll do.”
He closed the lid, then wound the key and opened the box again. The bright little bird popped up and a tinkling tune played. The twins gazed at him in awe, then began to laugh and jump about wildly.
Thisbe’s heart swelled within her chest as she looked at Desmond, who was watching the twins indulgently and chuckling. Kyria’s callers, on the other hand, stiffly took their leave. Thisbe looked at Kyria. “Sorry. I’m afraid we ran your guests off.”
Kyria gave a lazy flap of her hand. “Pfft. They’re deadly dull, anyway.”
Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of sharp voices raised. “Uh-oh. That sounds like Grandmother.”
Kyria nodded and stood up. “Alex, Con, I’m afraid it’s time to face the reckoning. You know you shouldn’t explore in your grandmother’s room.” They nodded, coming down from their high spirits. “You need to explain what happened and give her back the box and tell her you’re sorry.” Kyria took the box from Desmond, and reluctantly the twins fell in with her. She turned back to Thisbe. “I think they may be coming downstairs. If I were you, I’d take this chance to escape.”
Thisbe nodded and jumped to her feet. “Desmond, I think it’s time you had a tour of the garden.”
* * *
BUNDLED UP IN their coats, they went out the rear door. Here, in the middle of the city, lay a small park. There was a formal garden just beyond the house, and beyond that trees and grass all the way to the far wall. No doubt, in summer, when everything was green, it was a beautiful sight. Desmond drew in a sharp breath. It was a trifle hard to believe they were still in the city.
Thisbe tucked her hand in his arm, and they started down the central path. Desmond knew it would be hard for him to feel any more perfect than he did right now. Beside him, Thisbe said, “You were very good with the twins.”
He laughed. “They’re dynamos. Sharp as tacks, too. Did you see how they followed what I was doing to the music box?”
“Yes. There are those who say they’re troublemakers, but they aren’t, really. They’re just lively and curious.”
“And quick,” Desmond added. “You think they’ll be scientists or scholars?”
Thisbe laughed. “Neither would be exciting enough for them, I’m afraid.”
They walked along in silence for a few moments. Thisbe’s hand slid down his arm to take his hand. Desmond glanced at her, smiling, and laced his fingers through hers. “Desmond...thank you for coming to call this afternoon.”
His hand tightened around hers. “I couldn’t have stayed away if I’d wanted to. It was so startling last night that I could hardly think. I can’t help but see the barriers between us, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.” He gazed down at her, his voice serious. “Thisbe, I don’t see you any differently because I know who you are. You are just as you have been—beautiful and intelligent and strong. But others...”
“They’ll talk, perhaps.” Thisbe shrugged. “But everyone already talks about us. They call us the Mad Morelands.”
“Mad? But why?”
“Because we are different. We do odd things. Think odd things. Worse, we say what we think. But, you see, we are so very odd that we don’t care what others think. Mother offends a great number of people. They say I’m peculiar because I mess about with chemicals. They say I blow things up—but it isn’t as if I do that regularly. There was that explosion I told you about.”
“And the one that set fire to your draperies,” he reminded her.
“But that’s only two.”
Desmond laughed. “Such a trifling number.”
“What I’m saying is that I don’t care what society says about me.”
“But what about your family. What they would say?”
“You can’t be serious. You’ve met my mother.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “The duchess was very kind. Tactful.”
Thisbe snorted. “Tactful is the last word anyone would use to describe my mother. She was herself, Desmond. That’s all. She liked you. If she had not, she would have been the same with you as she was with Kyria’s callers. Polite, not saying much. Besides, you saved the Greats from Grandmother’s wrath. Mother would like you for that alone.”
Her grandmother. The dowager duchess. Desmond’s mind skittered away from that subject. “Then you think...it will be all right if I call on you again?”
“Yes, of course. It’s far better than the British Museum.” She turned down another path, taking them away from sight of the house. “I must apologize, too, for not telling you about my family. It was wrong—I shouldn’t have kept Papa’s title hidden. It was just...everyone acts so differently when they know who I am. They become formal and distant or horribly ingratiating. Women suddenly want to befriend me and introduce me to their friends and invite me to everything. Men tend to flee or act as if I’m someone different. Kyria says she cannot tell which men actually like her and which just want her money and connections.”
“Thisbe, I would never—”
“I know.” She smiled at him. “I never thought that of you. But I was afraid my name would color your perception of me. It’s hard enough for me to be accepted as a scientist because I’m a woman. I think it would be impossible if everyone knew I was a duke’s daughter. I feared that you might think me just a dilettante like Mrs. Burdett-Coutts.”
“No. No. I know you’re not just dabbling.”
“I realize that now, but I couldn’t be sure of that when I met you.”
“I understand. You’re right. I admit I wouldn’t have felt so at ease with you if I had known the truth. One hates to contradict Shakespeare, but I fear there’s a great deal in a name.”
She stopped and turned to him. “But I should have told you before now. Once I knew you better. But by then, it was awkward. I was afraid you would be angry with me because I’d kept it a secret, which is a very foolish reason, I suppose, for continuing a deception. But I was afraid of losing you.”
“Thisbe.” He took both her hands, gazing down into her eyes. “You won’t lose me. I have no idea what’s going to happen, and I fear what could happen, but not seeing you again is not an option.”
Thisbe smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Desmond turned his head, and his mouth met hers. For a time, all else ceased to exist. He had no worries, no uncertainties, no entangling guilt. There was only the softness of her body in his arms, the touch of her mouth on his. Their kiss turned hungrier, d
eeper, and he pressed her body into his.
There was an awareness somewhere deep in the back of his brain that he shouldn’t be doing this, that it was dangerous, inappropriate, absolutely mad, but he ignored it, too caught up in the pleasure to pay attention to anything else.
When finally he lifted his head, his eyes glazed, his heart pumped, the blood running like fire through his veins. He gazed down into Thisbe’s face, as softened and dazed as his own, and realized how close he was to losing all sense. His arms loosened around her, then fell away as he took a step back, drawing in a deep breath as he tried to quiet the rampaging hunger inside him.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—We mustn’t.” For the first time, he glanced around them. They were out of sight of the house, thank heavens, though Lord knew anyone could have walked up on them at any time in the last few minutes. He had been too wrapped up to notice. That would certainly have put an end to his hopes with Thisbe. No parents, no matter how easygoing or egalitarian, would look kindly on a man seducing their daughter in the garden. “I—I should go.”
“Very well.” Thisbe nodded, looking no more inclined to leave this moment than he was. “When will you come back?”
“Tomorrow,” he replied instantly. “No, I suppose that wouldn’t be correct, would it?”
“It sounds fine to me,” Thisbe replied. “You can meet the rest of my family.” She glanced in the direction of the house. “I suspect my grandmother will be downstairs now. I won’t subject you to her just yet, or you might not return.”
Again he felt a frisson of unease at the mention of her grandmother. Thisbe had been apologizing for not telling him who she was, and all the while he was hiding something worse. But he quailed at the thought of revealing to her that he was a thief—or, at least, a would-be thief. He would feel ashamed before her gaze, small.
And after she’d just said that people always wanted something from her! Even if he were able to convince her that he had not known of her connection to the dowager duchess, Thisbe would surely have doubts about his goals. She would be bound to wonder if he really wanted her, or her grandmother’s possession.
So he said nothing when she linked her arm through his and led him back up the path. Skirting the garden, Thisbe went around to the gate in the wall he had noticed last night and opened it. She turned to him, and he bent to kiss her goodbye, then kissed her again.
This wasn’t helping him leave. He pulled back reluctantly and took a step away. The way she was looking at him didn’t help, either. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded, and finally, with an effort of will, he whipped around and left the yard. He couldn’t resist, however, looking back. She was standing in the open gate watching him, and that sight alone was enough to warm him even in the January chill.
CHAPTER TEN
DESMOND WAS IN no hurry as he walked to Professor Gordon’s laboratory. Even though he had told the man that he wouldn’t break into the house last night, he suspected that Gordon would be hoping he had. The professor would want a report from him—and he would be anything but pleased when Desmond told him the whole thing was off.
Gordon was waiting, clearly eager to talk to him, but fortunately the presence of the other students kept him from running to question Desmond. Desmond sat down at his table and began to work, but between thinking of Thisbe and feeling Gordon’s intent stare, it was difficult to concentrate. His tablemate, Carson, glanced over at him curiously once or twice. Desmond endeavored to look as if he were deep in thought.
He could not hold off his mentor all evening, however, and after the others left, Gordon hurried to lock the door, then swung around to Desmond. “What did you find?”
Desmond took a breath. “I’m not doing it.”
“What?”
“I can’t. The dowager duchess is Thisbe Moreland’s grandmother. It’s the house where Thisbe lives. I can’t break into it and steal something.”
Gordon stared at him blankly. “Who in the name of heaven is Thisbe?”
“Aside from being the Duke of Broughton’s daughter, she’s...a friend of mine.”
“A friend?”
“Yes. I met her at a lecture. She’s a wonderful person, and her family, what I’ve seen of it, are nice people. Good people. I cannot steal from them.”
“You know the duke? The dowager duchess?” Gordon’s eyebrows soared upward. “Desmond...is this a jest?”
“No, I haven’t met the duke or the dowager duchess, but I met the duchess and three of Thisbe’s siblings.”
His mentor continued to stare at him. “I can’t believe it.”
“I was rather taken aback myself,” Desmond said drily. “I was lurking outside the house—which, I must tell you, is unbelievably enormous. No one could ever search all through it. As I stood there, thinking what a hopeless task it was, Thisbe came out the door.”
Gordon plopped down on a nearby stool, looking stunned.
“Professor, I know how much this means to you, but—”
His mentor brightened. “But that means...you don’t have to steal it, do you? You can simply ask the duchess for it.”
“Ask her to give me the Eye? I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You’re a friend of the woman’s granddaughter—she won’t feel the same as she did about handing it to a stranger. You can talk to her, explain how important it is. Tell her we need to study it.”
“The dowager duchess will have no reason to give it to me. She knows nothing about me.”
“Then have your friend ask her. The woman wouldn’t refuse her own granddaughter now, would she?”
“Professor, I can’t. Miss Moreland will think I had ulterior motives, that I cultivated our friendship to get to the Eye, and I won’t have her thinking that. I refuse to ask her for anything. I’m sorry. If you want me to leave the study, I understand, but I—”
“I don’t want you to leave. I want you to get the bloody Eye. You don’t have to ask her. You could simply bring your friend by the laboratory one day. Let her see the work we’re doing. I’ll talk to her, explain how important it is. You said you met her at a lecture—she must have some respect for science.”
“She more than respects it. She is a scientist.”
“A girl?”
“Yes, she is a woman. That’s not the point. Miss Moreland is not likely to be swayed by your argument. She doesn’t believe in this sort of thing.”
“But we can show her, convince her.”
“I doubt you can, but that doesn’t matter. If I bring her here, and you start talking about the Eye, she’ll suspect that I have been using her to get the Eye. And if I did that, I would be using her, using our...friendship. I won’t do that.”
“Blast it, boy, think!” Gordon’s face reddened. “This is bigger than you or some silly friendship. This is important. It’s vital I have the Eye. You know what this means to me, to you, to all of us. This is the chance of a lifetime, and you’re throwing it away for some girl?”
“She’s not just ‘some girl,’” Desmond retorted hotly.
“What? You think you love this girl? Are you daft?”
“I may be,” Desmond admitted.
Gordon gaped at him. “Do you think there’s a chance in this world that you can marry into nobility? Not just nobility, a duke! Why don’t you aim for a royal?”
Desmond flushed. “I didn’t say I thought I could marry her. I know that’s foolish.”
“Foolish doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Gordon went on harshly. “Have some sense, lad. Even if you can convince her for some mad reason to do it, her father would never allow it. If you tried to elope, he’d send men after you in a second, and even if you were lucky enough to escape with your hide still intact, the marriage would be annulled. You have no money. No name. Your father a crim—”
Desmond looked up sharply at him. Gordo
n knew about his father?
Gordon had the grace to break off his words. He stepped back, crossing his arms. “Are you really this selfish, Desmond? This unreasonable? To deny science the opportunity to study the Eye? To use it? Just because you are suddenly head over heels about some girl!”
Desmond rose to face him. “Yes. I think I am exactly that selfish and unreasonable. Perhaps you’re right, and the study of the Eye is more important than my heart. Perhaps I should care more for scientific discovery than I do for Thisbe. But the truth is, I don’t. I am not giving up Thisbe.”
Grabbing his jacket, he turned and started for the door.
“Wait! Desmond, please.” Gordon hurried after him, adopting a wheedling tone. “All right, I accept that you feel you cannot ask for it, that it would break her trust in you. But, surely, while you’re there, you could look around for it a bit. Couldn’t you?”
“So that you could steal it?”
“No, no,” Gordon said hastily. “Not to steal it. You are probably right—it would be impossible. But to just...see it.” His eyes took on the glow of a visionary. “Desmond, think...to know that it actually exists, to know what it looks like. You could describe it, draw it. Maybe we’d be able to replicate it. But even if we can’t... I have been looking for this my whole life—I want to have proof that I haven’t been chasing a fool’s dream. Not to show to others, just for me. Even if no one ever acknowledges it, I would know in my heart that I hadn’t wasted my life, that I hadn’t ruined my reputation for nothing.”
Guilt and sorrow twisted Desmond’s gut. How could he destroy the man’s last hope? All he asked was for Desmond to keep an eye out for the instrument in Thisbe’s house. Gordon wasn’t suggesting Desmond steal it or ransack the place. Perhaps it was in plain view. Perhaps the dowager duchess even carried it on her person.
Desmond sighed, already regretting his words, but was unable to say anything else. “Very well. I will look for it.”
* * *
THISBE HAD NOT really considered the problem of her grandmother until after Desmond came to call. Desmond was bound to meet her; she could hardly introduce him to the rest of the family without introducing him to her grandmother, as well. For one thing, the dowager duchess frequently served as chaperone for Kyria’s afternoon callers—causing the less brave of them to cease calling. Thisbe feared that the woman would have an even worse effect on Desmond.