Love Engineered

by Jenna Dawlish

  “Quite so. I'll not do it again. But just you remember your promise just now. I won't have you complaining, especially if you have to meet with Robert Adams again.”

  “I can promise you, I will never complain at meeting Robert Adams again, or anyone else.”

  “Is that all?” Ashton asked.

  “For you, yes.”

  Ashton opened his newspaper again and safely placed himself behind it.

  Charles turned to Boyd, who wondered what his admonishment could be. He watched Charles as he took a deep breath and tried to find the words.

  “Yesterday at dinner you deeply offended Miss Thomas. I'm surprised she didn't pull out of the bridge investment there and then.”

  Boyd frowned, then his mouth opened and he went red. “What did I say?”

  Ashton placed his newspaper down. “Tell me she has not changed her mind?”

  “No, when I spoke to her last night, she said she would honour the promise. But that is not the point,” Charles said, then turned again to Boyd. “The workroom you described as elementary belongs to Robert Adams.”

  Boyd closed his mouth and opened it again. “But she is Robert Adams!”

  “Exactly. They are her experiments, her miniature engines, her desk with journals, and she sketched the bridge at the lecture I gave in London all those months ago.”

  He felt a little odd admonishing Boyd for a small misdemeanour when he himself had done far worse to her. But he was unexpectedly overcome with emotion. He wanted to protect her, to make the pain he and Boyd had caused go away. His thoughts were interrupted by Ashton as he tutted and said to Boyd. “Remind me to keep you away from our investors in the future.”

  “Her room?” Boyd said in a strangled tone.

  “Yes. I know enough of her to know that she is unconventional, and that she takes an interest in those things normally reserved for men. I realise it was furthest from your mind that the room was hers. But hers it was and is. She asked me to tell you to not make jest of those who are not as intelligent as yourself.”

  Boyd pulled at his shirt collar. “But, I have to say, I have never thought she lacked intelligence. Quite the opposite in fact.”

  “Nor I,” Charles was proud to say.

  After a pause, Ashton asked with raised eyebrows and a sarcastic tone. “By the way Charles, why was Miss Thomas returning your letters?”

  He was spared from answering by the door to the carriage being opened and two elderly ladies entering.

  “May we sit here?” one of them asked.

  “Of course, please sit down.” Charles indicated the seats next to him. The two women fussed around a bit and placed their bags beside them. Finally, after they settled, one of them sighed and looked around the carriage.

  “First class! My my, I can't remember the last time I travelled first class.”

  “Me neither,” the friend answered, nodding and smiling.

  “It was Miss Thomas's doing of course. I told her I had to go to Exeter and when she found out my ticket was second class, she absolutely insisted on paying for my upgrade. 'My dear', she said, 'I know you have been suffering with a painful back these last few months, and those seats in second class will cause you further discomfort. I cannot hear of you travelling second class.' That is exactly what she said. She's so very kind to me, always has been. So thoughtful. Did you know she was in Paris recently with my niece Lucy?”

  The friend nodded.

  “Lucy wrote to me last week, and told me of their trip, and said that Miss Thomas received three offers of marriage while she was there.” She waved her hand about. “All fortune hunters of course. I'm sure if she ever received an offer from a gentleman who she knew truly loved her she would accept at once, but while she has such a large fortune she can never be sure of a man's true sentiments. It's such a shame she isn't married, she deserves someone to look after her for a change. But I'm not sure such a gentleman exists.”

  The woman leaned forward and whispered loudly. “She told Lucy once that she has received seven offers of marriage all together, not including the ones in Paris, and refused them all!”

  “Really? Seven?” her friend said.

  “Yes, but with those other three in Paris, that makes ten. It's not that unusual though considering what a worthy woman she is. She was a lovely child. I remember when she was born. Her mother loved her so! Always wanted a daughter. Never spoiled her, but always made sure she knew her duty. It's no surprise she turned out so well. Sir Robert was an excellent father too.” The lady sighed again. “It's such a shame she's all on her own in that big house. It isn't fair that she should have nobody to turn to in times of trouble. Of course, I believe she has one friend, her cousin Lord Philip Eldon. He has been a great companion to Miss Thomas, Lucy told me. She said Miss Thomas always speaks fondly of him. It was his apartment they stayed in at Paris. I wonder whether he might do for her? I hear his estate in Northumberland is twice the size of Glazebrook, so all the advantage would be on her side. But then, we wouldn't see her often if she was all that way north! No, better she marry someone more local! But who?”

  Charles looked out of the window and listened with frustrated calmness. Was there nowhere he could escape her? His head was still full of her, and he had hoped that after speaking to his partners he could finally put her out of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand. But the words of praise were not in vain. Mr Boyd started to feel he had done a great deal of harm to such a kind person, and wondered if he should ever be allowed to speak to investors again. Mr Ashton, still amused at the image of Miss Thomas riding her horse like a man, thought it all rather amusing that two ladies would talk about the marriage prospects of their patron in a public place and for anyone to overhear.

  . . .

  A few days later, in London, Jane received her letter from Louise and set about replying as soon as she could.

  My dearest Louise

  I cannot tell you how overjoyed I was to receive your letter. It was such a delight – so unexpected and what I have desired for the last two months. I was in raptures for hours afterwards, Mother will testify to that. I could think of nothing else for some time.

  I'm glad you didn't wait for Charles to write to me first. He can be such a lazy correspondent at times that Mother and I despair of him. He always keeps in touch when he is away but his letters are rushed and not informative. Mother sends her love to you. She is anxious to see you and was as happy as I when she heard you had written.

  After Charles's previous behaviour I wouldn't have blamed you at all if you washed your hands of us Lucases completely. But you're so forgiving and I'm glad but not surprised. Charles takes his role in looking after me so seriously, but fails to realise that most of the time I can look after myself. He does mean well, however. Not that it as any excuse for what he did. If only he listened to Mother and I none of this nasty business would ever have happened.

  Mother wishes Charles would marry and then he will have a wife to fuss over and leave his sister alone. But I should not complain. Despite his inability to judge character he does what he thinks best, and one of my friends, Mary, her brother is such a tyrant to her, I don't know how she copes.

  I'm rambling now, forgive me, and I normally write such well thought out letters.

  I would love to know all about your time in Paris and I can assure you I wouldn't think it dull as you stated. I have been to France twice, but never Paris. Is it very much like London?

  The letter continued on for two more pages, full with news from London – what was playing, who was in town.

  When Jane walked out to post her letter, she arrived back to find her Mother had awoken from her afternoon sleep.

  “Jane dear, were you out?”

  “Yes Mother, I posted my letter to Louise.”

  “I'm glad you were quick in replying. She will know how much you treasure her friendship. Tell me, what did you say?”

  “Nothing of great interest, just that she should never mind Charles
if he does such a thing again, and that we think he should marry so he can fuss over his wife and not me!”

  “Indeed Jane. Did you say anything about who Charles should marry?” Mrs Lucas asked. Jane sat next to her.

  “No. Why would I? I'm sure Charles will never marry. He's too disinterested in ladies and spends far too much time working.”

  “You didn't say that in your letter did you?”

  “No, why?”

  “It’s just that, well . . .” Mrs Lucas paused as her daughter looked inquiringly at her. “You know I love Charles as much as any woman loves her son, and I want him to be happy. But sometimes he doesn't know what is in front of him.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I had rather hoped before all this nastiness with Miss Thomas, that she and Charles would marry.”

  Jane sat open-mouthed.

  “Don't tell me you've never thought of it!” her mother scoffed.

  “No! Yes, I mean. No.”

  “You wouldn't like Charles to have such a wife? Wouldn't you like to have your friend as a sister?”

  “Yes, of course. But Charles certainly has never looked upon her with admiration, and as for her, do you think such a woman would wish to marry Charles, especially after his past behaviour?”

  “I don't know about Charles, but does he have to admire her in order to marry her? As for Miss Thomas, well Jane, I have been in this world long enough to recognise when a lady is in love.”

  “Louise – love Charles?” Jane said incredulously.

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Has she ever said anything to you?”

  Her mother was silent for a few moments, thinking back to the time at the assembly months ago. Should she say anything?

  Jane's reaction to her mother's silence was immediate. “She did say something! What did she say? Did she say she loved Charles?”

  “No, not exactly, but she didn't have to. Every time the two of them met . . . think about it Jane; her eyes were always on him, her cheeks were always slightly flushed and there was something in her eye. Oh, as I sit here now I can see her face the moment he walked into the assembly room that night. It was as though a fire was ignited within her. She didn't say anything directly, only commented that Miss Hunter appeared to admire Charles. I simply replied that Miss Hunter was the furthest in my mind as a suitable match, that we would all wish for a more deserving wife for him.”

  “But I didn't notice her admiration. How can you be sure?”

  “You simply weren't looking. As I said my dear child, I know when a woman is in love.”

  “It's incredible.”

  “It's not incredible that any woman should love my dear Charles.”

  “No, but I can't believe I didn't see it.”

  This revelation caused all sorts of questions in Jane's mind. Was it really true that Louise could love her brother? Was he the man she had spoken about having feelings for? If she did love him, then his admonishment would have made her pain even more acute. Could she still love him after what he did? Jane thought about the two of them marrying. It would certainly be to great advantage for Charles, but he wouldn't be so mercenary. Louise was fast becoming a dear friend. A dear friend whom she valued greatly.

  But no, it would never happen. Charles wasn't an admirer of the gentry. He had always believed them greedy and lazy. His prejudice was too great to overcome.

  Eventually Jane spoke. “Mother, I think you're misleading yourself if you think such a match will happen. I know you want him to marry well but after everything that has happened I cannot see how it could take place.”

  “Oh Jane! Give it time. Already they have started to make amends. Didn't Miss Thomas say that Charles had visited her and apologised and she had forgiven him? Give it time, Jane. We shall see the two in mutual happiness, I'm sure.”

  . . .

  In Plymouth, work on the bridge temporarily banished thoughts of Miss Thomas from Charles's mind. The work progressed well, and in between the dinners given by local dignitaries and other distractions, the two weeks he spent in Devon were not too unpleasant. It was on the last two nights before his departure that he started to wish himself back in London and away from the county she lived in.

  Those two nights, he was woken by separate dreams. In the first he had been walking by a lake and the ghost of a woman rose out of the water. She was beautiful, alluring, her long dark hair flowed over her naked body, but he couldn't see her face. Fully clothed, he waded out into the water. With each step, he grew more desperate to see the woman, but she hid her face as she cried. Finally, he was close enough. He reached out his hand to touch her, to stop her sobbing. He had to stop her sobbing.

  He touched her arm, and she instantly looked up.

  “Louise,” he whispered. Suddenly he was under the water drowning; desperate for air, he could feel himself suffocating.

  He woke himself up, sweat dripping from him.

  The second night wasn’t much better. This time, he was at dinner with Miss Thomas, much in the same way as he had been nearly two weeks before. William Risinger entered the room and grabbed her. He struck her once, then laughed and struck her again and again. Charles tried to stop him, he tried to get to her, but he couldn't. He was paralysed. Risinger was laughing, Miss Thomas was screaming, and again he woke sweating.

  It took him hours to get back to sleep both nights. Was this her punishment to him? To haunt his dreams? The thought of Risinger striking Miss Thomas had never before affected him so. He wished she had never been subject to such terrible behaviour. How he despised Risinger. To do such a thing to a woman. If she were his sister he would have made sure he paid. But she wasn't. She acted as she saw fit and answered to no one.

  Everyone he met who knew Miss Thomas spoke so well of her. How could he have been so blind to her good qualities? Then, he remembered her forgiveness. She shook his hand that night, despite having every right to refuse.

  But it was the workroom that was his undoing. Yet again he thought back to the contents of that room. He imagined her there at all hours, as she worked on experiments, watched the miniature engines, read journals, studied to further her mind. Reading his articles – she admitted to that herself. He liked the thought of her reading his work. It somehow made him feel closer to her, however strange it was.

  Then there was the train journey from Axminster, and the old lady on the train. Did she always do such kind things to those who lived on her estate? He imagined her going around helping anyone she could. She did have a generous heart. She was unusual and independent and at first he had been unsettled by it. But now all he could do was admire her. All other women seemed ordinary compared to her.

  Chapter 17

  The day Lucas, Ashton and Boyd departed from Axminster, Louise busied herself with estate matters, but on more than one occasion looked at the clock and wondered if they had gone yet, or if something could have delayed them.

  “Surely they would have caught the 9.56 train to Exeter, because any later train would make the connection to Plymouth extremely vexing,” she told herself.

  By the afternoon she had convinced herself that they must have left and went for a lonely walk to the coast to try to come to terms with her feelings, only to remember as she passed her workroom that this was the walk that Mr Lucas had taken the day before.

  She entered the workroom and looked around the place she knew so well. She suddenly recalled Mr Boyd’s comments, and with an angry sweep of her hand knocked her engine models to the ground. She went across to another bench and smashed each chemical container one by one. There! She would never again have to endure such humiliation. Without a care for the shards of glass that littered the floor, she crouched down in front of the fireplace and struck match after match until the coals were properly aflame. Hot tears of self-pity and frustration rolled down her cheeks – she couldn't even light a fire competently!

  “I shall always be a child to such men,” she thought sadly as she burnt
each volume of the journals, and her painstaking notes.

  She resolved to never see any of them again, in particular Mr Lucas. She would make sure that when in London, Jane would visit her and she would go out of her way to avoid him. What annoyed her most was that he had only apologised because of the revenue they were going to receive. She couldn't bear it that he was like those other men who courted her because of her money. Curse her money! Curse her estate! It was a millstone around her neck, pulling her down into an abyss of endless loneliness. She would much rather be poor and happy with a large family to cherish her and she them.

  She watched the flames for a while, then stood up and saw on the wall the sketch of his bridge design. She reached out to rip it off, but her hand paused. She couldn't bring herself to burn it. She had drawn it that first day she had met him at the lecture, when he was so amiable. She had sat drinking in everything he said as he spoke to the crowded lecture hall. She remembered the smile on his face while she asked him awkward questions.

  “Why could you not love me?” she said aloud.

  No, she couldn't burn that memory, however much pain he had caused her since.

  Eventually, she left the workroom and vowed never to return to it and have it razed to the ground.

  She walked blindly on to the coast and sat down in her favourite spot, overlooking the sea. It was a rough day and the waves crashed in one after the other even though there was little wind. The crackle of the sea on the pebbles comforted her. There and then she decided when she returned to the house that she must do as she had said yesterday; she must get on with her life and never think about him again. She walked down to the beach and picked up a pebble, then threw it into a wave as it hit the beach.

  “I wish you well, Charles Lucas,” she whispered.

  She picked up another. “I will always love you,” she said as she threw it in. “But I can't let you control my thoughts forever.”

  Shortly after, with sad determination, she made her way back to her house and the responsibilities she had earlier despised. How foolish she now felt in ever having believed that a man such as Mr Lucas could love her. What was she to such a man? She had nothing except her money to attract any gentleman, and he looked for something more than privilege and status. Such stupidity to think he could like her! His angry face flashed in front of her again as she remembered his disdain at the thought of marrying her.