by Lenora Bell
Mari nodded. “Er . . . yes. I was . . . retrieving a ball that had rolled into the shrubbery.”
Mari nudged Adele and she curtsied.
Michel bowed.
“What pretty children,” said Lady Blanche. “How old are you, my darlings?”
“We’re nine,” said Adele.
“And what were you doing?” she asked.
“Telling fortunes and charming snakes, apparently,” said the handsome man Edgar had called Westbury. He pointed at the chalk lettering.
“Will you tell my fortune?” asked Lady Blanche.
The parsonlike Lord Laxton pursed his lips. “We really ought to be going, Lady Blanche. Someone might see us.”
“Nonsense,” said Lady Blanche. “I want to know my fortune. I have many questions about my future.”
She held out her hand to Adele. The parasol that was hooked over her arm knocked Trix’s basket and the lid came off.
Mari moved closer, intent on replacing the lid, but, sensing his opportunity, Trix seized the day and slithered away.
“Is that a snake?” Lady Blanche turned white, tottered for a moment on her heeled slippers, and fainted dead away, rather suspiciously falling squarely into Lord Laxton’s arms.
In Mari’s experience, fainting spells were rarely so well aimed.
“Come back, Trix,” Michel shouted, diving after the snake. Adele followed.
Lord Laxton lifted Lady Blanche into his arms. “Make way, make way. She’s fainted. She needs air.”
“She’s in a park,” said Mari.
Banksford gave her a warning look. He didn’t look too pleased about his golden-haired lady falling into another man’s arms.
Something like this would have to happen. What if he’d been going to propose to Lady Blanche and Mari had ruined his plans? She realized she had no idea whether the duke was marriage-minded.
He should be thanking her, if that were the case. Lady Blanche wasn’t a suitable mother for the children at all. She was . . . a fribbling milksop, if ever there was one.
Ruffled skirts. French-heeled boots.
Fainting at the sight of snakes. Her corset was probably laced too tightly.
“I’m escorting her home. Don’t try to stop me, Banksford,” said Lord Laxton.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said the duke.
Laxton left with the still-limp Lady Blanche in his arms.
Westbury touched the brim of his hat and grinned rakishly. “Very nice to meet you, Miss Perkins. I hope we may become better acquainted.” He gave Banksford a military salute. “Well done, you.”
He hurried after Lord Laxton and Lady Blanche.
“I’ll fetch the children,” said the duke.
Mari quickly rubbed away the chalk lettering with one of the curtains.
The duke emerged from the shrubbery with a twin in either hand.
“T-Trix has left us,” said Michel.
“Trix,” said Adele, starting to cry.
“He didn’t like living in a water jug, did he, Miss Perkins?” The duke turned desperate eyes to her. Obviously, he didn’t know what to do with sobbing children.
“B-but we didn’t have a chance to say good-bye,” wailed Adele.
“Please don’t be sad. How about a nice goldfish?” the duke asked with a panicked look. “Or what about a parakeet?”
Mari wasn’t going to help him out of this one.
“How about another snake,” he said. “I know, I’ll buy you a python. They’re very rare. And very long. They can swallow a whole goat.”
Michel gaped at him. “A whole goat?”
Bravo, Banksford. Gruesome topics as a distraction.
She almost felt like clapping.
Adele wiped her eyes. “I d-don’t think Mrs. Fairfield would like that very much, do you?”
“A snake that could swallow her whole?” Mari sniffed. “I should think not. Come along, children. Best foot forward. Trix will be much happier in the park. Our experiment is concluded for the day but I shall expect a written report tomorrow morning.”
The duke raised both of his eyebrows as if to say there will be no tomorrow for you, Perkins.
Mari held the children’s hands as they followed the duke up the stairs of Number Seventeen.
The limp in his left knee was very pronounced, she realized. Why didn’t he use a walking stick?
Michel and Adele exchanged worried glances.
Adele mimed slitting her throat. “Vous êtes à la guillotine,” she whispered to Mari.
“I’m not going to the guillotine, dear.”
“You’ll be dismissed and that’s sure,” Michel whispered.
“Dismissed?” replied Mari, bending closer to the boy and putting her hands on his shoulders. “I’m never dismissed. You’ll see. Don’t worry about a thing.”
She honestly didn’t think the duke would go that far. She trusted him not to throw her out. But he did have an ominous expression on his face.
She’d humiliated him in front of his friends.
Michel’s smile fell away. “I hope you’re right. We didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”
Mrs. Fairfield appeared on the steps. “Did you have a nice outing?” she asked.
Then she saw the duke’s face.
“Whatever is the matter, my dear?” she whispered to Mari.
“I’ll explain everything later.”
They followed Banksford into the house. In the entranceway, Michel turned troubled eyes on his father. “Are you cross with us, Father?”
“No, I’m not cross.” He ruffled Michel’s hair. “Why don’t you and Adele see if Miss Martin made any pastries?”
“The most delicious smells have been issuing from the kitchens all day,” said Mrs. Fairfield.
The children cast doubtful glances at Mari, but the promise of French pastries was more than they could withstand. They left with Mrs. Fairfield.
Mari began to back slowly out of the room. Perhaps if she just quietly went about her business he’d forget about her and she would live to see another day.
“And just where do you think you’re going, Miss Perkins?”
Damnation.
“You and I are going for a ride,” he growled.
Chapter 12
“Baa,” said Mari.
“Did you just bleat, Miss Perkins?”
“Yes. Because you’re herding me like I was a sheep.”
“Get in the carriage.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Just get in.” He helped her step up into his curricle, setting her down a little too forcefully on the peach velvet upholstery.
She swished her skirts into place.
He landed beside her with a thud that shook the entire frame of the curricle, and took up the reins from his groom, who had been holding the spirited pair of brown bays at the ready.
They set off from the mews at such a fast clip that Mari had to hold on to her bonnet with one hand, and the edge of the curricle with the other.
“Where are we going?” she shouted over the noise of the wheels and the wind whistling under her bonnet.
“You’ll see.”
“You can’t just kidnap me. It’s not civilized.”
“What I just witnessed was hardly civilized.”
“You gave me permission to ascertain the children’s talents and interests and to direct the content of their educational program accordingly.”
“In the privacy of the schoolroom, Miss Perkins. Not in Hyde Park.”
“Not in front of your friends, you mean to say.”
He stared at the horses, gripping the reins in his gloved hands, his profile stern as a granite cliff. “That was the Duke of Westbury, Miss Perkins. And he holds the future of my railway venture in his hands.”
“He didn’t look too scandalized,” said Mari. “I thought he was rather friendly and accommodating.”
“That’s because he was making eyes at you,” the duke said. “Like he was a wolf and yo
u were a little lost lamb.”
“How peculiar.” So it was only dukes that found her distracting.
“Westbury’s my friend, but if you chance upon him when you’re out, I want you to walk right by, as though you’ve never been introduced.”
“Humph,” said Mari. “You can’t dictate whom I speak with on my own time.”
“He’s not a fit companion for a respectable girl.”
“I’ll wager he’s a great favorite with the ladies. He’s very handsome.”
“Don’t let those gilded locks fool you, Miss Perkins. He’s a notorious rakehell.”
“Wicked as sin?”
“Dangerously depraved. And best avoided.”
“Maybe I like wicked,” she said archly.
He jerked on the reins and the horses whinnied, slowing their gait. “Stay away from Westbury.”
If there was any time to be meek and subservient, it was probably now. But she just couldn’t seem to resist goading him.
Some devilsome urge drove her.
It was too much fun watching him lose his sangfroid.
“Why?” she asked. “Are you jealous?”
“Of Westbury? Not a chance. He’s sunk low of late. His sister is worried about him. She’s asked me to be a steadying influence.”
“His sister?”
“Lady Blanche.”
“Ah yes, Lady Blanche. The perfect pink-and-golden lady. Tottering on heeled slippers, hanging on your arm, and flapping her eyelashes. She’d make a terrible mother for the children.”
His lips quirked and he gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re not jealous, are you, Miss Perkins?”
“Of a lady who faints at the mere thought of a snake? Not a chance.”
He chuckled. “That actually worked to my advantage, her swooning.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue and the horses increased their speed.
“I thought it had ruined your romantic tryst. Sent her into another man’s arms,” said Mari.
“Ruined it? More like saved it. Lady Blanche falling into Laxton’s arms was the plan all along.”
So he hadn’t been interested in Lady Blanche. Why did that make her heart lift? “So you’re not angry with me then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
The carriage halted in front of a huge brick building on New Road. Several chimneys and one very tall column rose from the roof, belching black smoke into the air.
A groom opened a gate and they rode into a paved courtyard.
He tossed his reins to the groom and helped her down from the curricle. She tried not to notice the way he lifted her so easily.
He was upset with her, so she was upset with him. Tit for tat.
“We’re here,” he said.
“We’re where?” she asked, though she’d already guessed.
“The Vulcan.”
“If you dispose of my body in your place of business, someone’s sure to find me. Hadn’t you better drown me in the Thames, instead?”
His tall black hat blocked out the sun for a moment as he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “What I should do is bundle you right back to your registry and ask for a new governess.”
Mari’s heart sped. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
Maybe she’d pushed him too far.
“Didn’t I hire you on a trial basis?” he asked.
Hell’s bells. She smoothed out her skirts. “One minor wrinkle in an otherwise perfect record of employment—”
“Minor wrinkle, you call it? My offspring were telling fortunes and charming snakes in the middle of Hyde Park during the fashionable hour.”
“First of all, the season is finished and so there were few witnesses, and second, we were not in the middle, we had chosen a quiet, grassy area, and third—”
“You don’t understand. My foundry stands on the brink of a major innovation in high-pressure steam engines. We’re making history here.”
“Oh I understand perfectly, Your Grace. You care more for your reputation than your children’s happiness.”
She pushed open the door of the foundry and swept inside.
“That’s not true.” He followed her, raising his voice over the sudden noise of clanking hammers and whistling steam.
“It’s not?”
“Do you see these men, Miss Perkins? These apprentice founders, journeyman founders, assistant engineers, and pattern makers?”
“I see them.” There were men everywhere, some in leather aprons and gloves, feeding coal into chimneys. Some with barrows filled with sand.
“Every single person in this foundry is relying upon me to build the railway so that our engines will have somewhere to roam. They are also relying upon me to win a contract with the fire brigades for a new kind of fire engine. My name, my offspring, my governess, and every last thing associated with my foundry must be upstanding and beyond reproach. Synonymous with strength, power, respectability, and reliability.”
She stopped walking abruptly. “You’re a duke. Isn’t the battle already won?”
“My reputation was tarnished by—”
“Your Grace.” A good-looking, dark-haired man shrugged into a coat as he approached. He ran a hand through hair damp with sweat. “I didn’t know you were bringing a visitor today. I apologize for my appearance, my lady.”
“Miss Perkins, this is Mr. Grafton, my chief engineer,” said the duke in a clipped voice.
“Delighted, Miss Perkins.” Mr. Grafton bowed.
“Miss Perkins is my governess,” the duke said.
“Aren’t you a bit old to have a governess, Your Grace?” asked Mr. Grafton with an admirably bland expression.
Mari grinned at the engineer. She liked him already.
“My children’s governess,” amended the duke.
She could practically see the steam rising from his ears. Most gratifying.
“Shall I give you the tour, Miss Perkins?” Mr. Grafton held out his arm.
Mari accepted it. “A tour would be delightful, Mr. Grafton. What is your role as chief engineer?”
“I create the initial designs, with the help of the duke, who has been one of the innovators in the area of high-pressure steam engines.”
He led her through the open, well-ventilated area. “Here is where the iron is melted and cast, Miss Perkins. We won’t walk too close to the cupola furnace, it generates the enormous heat we need.”
The men feeding the furnace wore leather aprons and gloves to protect them from the immense heat shimmering from the tall, vertical furnace.
“And here is the assembly room.” They moved into another large room, this one with long workbenches and clamps holding the cast metal parts.
“It’s a very formidable operation, Mr. Grafton.”
“Extremely.”
“I’m quite relieved, you know,” she said, loud enough for the duke to hear. He was following them and looking quite put out.
“And why is that, Miss Perkins?”
“I had thought the duke meant to get rid of me today.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Grafton sent a confused glance in the duke’s direction.
“Oh yes, but now I know he won’t.”
“And why is that?” asked Mr. Grafton, playing into her hands perfectly.
“Because he’s obviously trying to impress me, instead.”
“Trying to impress—” Edgar fumed, following after Miss Perkins and Grafton, like a carriage’s bloody fifth wheel.
Dukes were never fifth wheels.
“You see, Mr. Grafton,” Miss Perkins gave his engineer a teasing smile. “I laughed at His Grace’s miniature engine the other day, and now he needs to impress upon me the grandeur of his foundry.”
“Compensating for something, is he?”
“I’ve no idea,” she laughed.
Edgar saw red. Grafton was going to pay for that one later. He stalked into place beside them. “Don’t encourage her.”
She sallied forth, hand resting lightly on Grafton’s arm.
Miss Perkins in battle mode was a sight to behold.
Her cheeks pink, her eyes blazing like sapphires, her jaw firm and set, her little feet marching along to a military tattoo.
Every single man in the place was stealing glances at her and pounding metal, or pushing carts, that much faster, that much harder.
They were all trying to impress her.
Was that really why he’d brought her here?
Just so he could show her there was nothing small about his ambition . . . or himself?
Some primal display of manhood?
“And this is where the pattern-maker works to create the molds,” said Grafton.
Mari lifted one of the beeswax molds from the table. “Is this how you create your miniature engines as well, Your Grace?”
He nodded, showing her how the two halves of the beeswax mold fit together. “I make them first with sand and clay, and then I add metal overlay.”
“Grafton,” someone shouted from the other room.
Grafton bowed over Miss Perkins’s hand. “I’m needed elsewhere, I’ll let His Grace continue the tour.”
“Well? Are you going to show me your fire engine?” Miss Perkins asked Edgar.
He led her to the back room, where they were assembling the new prototype for the engine.
“So many locks,” she observed as he unfastened a series of locks to the large open room with windows set high in the walls and carriage doors leading out to the yard.
The noise of the foundry receded when he shut the door behind them.
“We maintain the utmost secrecy here,” he said. “We don’t want anyone stealing our design.”
He caught hold of the edge of a heavy canvas and dragged it away from the new engine.
Her eyes widened. “It’s massive.”
“Too massive. It’s still too heavy and needs more than one horse to pull it. I’m working on a design for a lightweight boiler system.”
She studied the engine, her hair catching fire in the sunlight.
“The coal will be fed here.” He indicated the copper vat. “And the steam will escape here.” He pointed to the black pipe sticking up on the side. “The delivery hose attaches here, and the water will run through the hose, powered by the steam pump, instead of by the parish fire brigade.”