A Riveting Affair (Entangled Ever After)

by Candace Havens

  “I’m sure you could, darling. As the boy is twelve if he’s a day.”

  He chuckled then shook his head, smiling at me. “He was a cheeky little bastard wasn’t he? You’d think Putnam would have made sure he had a bit more respect toward the nobility.”

  “I think the boy assumed, since we are fleeing England in disgrace, that our social standing is perhaps a bit more fluid.”

  “Perhaps.” He was scowled. “I still say he’s a cheeky bugger. If I’d have behaved that way at Eton toward a peer they’d have caned me and my father would have held the headmaster’s coat as he did it.”

  “I’m sure your father would have urged the man to hit you harder, but you’re not a ship’s boy either. I’d argue that young man is going to win a fair amount off the other apprentices for daring to make that comment.”

  Julian laughed suddenly, and his face broke into a brilliantly mischievous smile. “You think the boys wagered about it?”

  “I think it is almost assured with engineering apprentices. A terrible lot of gamblers, engineers. We’re all prone to wagering on even the most trivial things.”

  “I shall keep that in mind and keep you away from the card tables,” Julian said, still smirking, as he tucked my arm through his and gave my hand a pat. “Who knows what type of fortune we shall find ourselves in possession of when this is all said and done?”

  “Who knows, indeed?” I said, watching the ship’s apprentices toss over the sandbags before dropping anchor.

  Our future depended entirely upon Lord Capshaw’s reaction to the news of his son’s elopement. If he accepted it with public equanimity and private outrage, our futures were secure. Relations would be tense, but our fortunes would be safe. However, if Lord Capshaw publicly disowned Julian, we would find ourselves in a much more tenuous position. We would be social pariahs; Julian would be relegated to the merchant class along with my family and friends, working for Putnam and Sons while I continued on as head engineer at Mulvaney’s Emporium. Or even worse, we could find ourselves exiled from England, cut off not only from his fortune but also from our families and our home.

  “What are you thinking about?” Julian asked as the dirigible alighted softly on the landing strip and the apprentices laid out the gangplank.

  “How we will go about finding Putnam’s French cousin?”

  There was no point in taking the chance of riling my new husband before his rather important meeting with the man who could be a much needed ally, and employer, to him here in France. “Do you think they’ll know at the travel office?”

  “I’m sure there will be someone to tell us,” Julian said, leading me down the gangplank. I felt my knees wobble when I made contact with solid ground again after our overnight journey.

  “Lord and Lady Capshaw?” A man in a somber black suit came forward and bowed his head gravely.

  “Yes.” Julian wrapped an arm around my shoulders to help support me while I regained my bearings.

  “Mr. Putnam sent an etherographic scan to let us know you were coming.”

  “Pardon?” I asked, looking between Julian and the driver. “He sent a what?”

  “An etherographic scan,” Julian said, “one of the more practical applications of my research. It is a machine to send messages across the ether from one machine to another so people can communicate easily over long distances.”

  “I see.” I nodded and tried to sound nonchalant. Julian had perfected a way to communicate over the ocean by using etherospheric particles? I was a master engineer, yet I found this concept almost impossible to contemplate. I wondered if he would be willing to allow me to take the machine apart and determine how it worked one evening. Or perhaps allow me to help him build one of our very own?

  “If you’ll please follow me?” The man motioned toward the carriage and a footman hopped down from the back, opening the door and bowing slightly. “Master Terrence requested to see you the moment you arrived.”

  “Of course.” Julian took my arm and led me toward the carriage.

  Once inside, we sat quietly beside each other, and I let my eyes close. We hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and the additional nervousness of meeting someone who would play a deciding role in our future increased my exhaustion. If Terrence Putnam had no work for us, we could find ourselves in truly dire straits until spring came and we could book passage to some other destination.

  Two more unemployed scientists searching for work in France—a society that regarded technology as a less than desirable necessity of the modern world.

  Julian nudged me an hour later, and I shifted, rubbing my eyes and patting my hair while the carriage rolled to a stop. Julian opened the door, not bothering to wait for the footman. He stepped out and reached in to assist me while I hurriedly smoothed the skirt of my dress. Giving him my hand, I stepped into the door of the carriage and looked up at the imposing white brick townhouse behind black wrought iron gates, inhaling sharply.

  “Are you ready darling?” Julian asked squeezing my hand and I look down at where he was standing on the street.

  “Yes,” I blew out the breath I’d been holding. I stepped decisively onto the dirty Parisian street, skirting a pile of manure and lifting my chin. It was time to make our future. Whether we liked it or not.

  Chapter Seven

  “And you are?” The stern English butler sneered at us from beneath his waxed, silver handlebar mustache as he let his gaze sweep over my rumpled dress.

  Julian took in a sharp breath, causing me to squeeze his arm lightly in warning. It wouldn’t help our case if he offended our host by calling out his butler before we’d even made it to the sitting room.

  “Viscount and Lady Capshaw,” Julian said, his voice icy. “We’ve come to see Mr. Terrence Putnam.”

  “If you’ll follow me, my lord?” The butler motioned toward the sitting room. “I’m sure my lady will be more comfortable in the kitchen. Madam Parshaw is not much of a hand at tea, but she can make a basic breakfast of potatoes.”

  Brilliant red splotches formed on the side of Julian’s neck, and the color was high in his cheeks. His fists were clenched and I could tell, even though I’d never seen him angry before, that if Terrence Putnam’s butler didn’t take us directly through to the sitting room my new husband might lose his composure entirely, bloodying the man’s nose and ruining our chances here in Paris before we ever had a chance.

  “Bledsoe!” A stout, red-cheeked man roared, stomping down the stairs while jerking on his waistcoat, his cravat still undone. “Enough of your rubbish. Go through and arrange for our breakfasts. Do it now, man, or it’ll be back to the long haul flights to India for you.”

  “My apologies of course, Lord Capshaw, your Ladyship.”

  “Not necessary,” Julian said, his voice still stiff.

  “Good, let’s go into the solarium. I’ve a problem I need Lady Capshaw’s rather formidable expertise to help solve. Bledsoe will bring breakfast there.”

  “Sir.” The butler nodded his head with a sneer and stalked toward the back of the house where I assumed the kitchen was.

  “Apologies about that,” the muscle-bound bear of a man said, then stuck out one of his meaty paws for Julian to shake. “Terrence Putnam, Head of Continental Operations for Putnam and Sons. Welcome to France.”

  “Julian Capshaw.” Julian took the other man’s hand, shaking it briskly. “And my wife, Lady Aida Mulvaney Capshaw.”

  “Ah, seems I’ve lost two pounds to my cousin Putnam then.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “He swore that our young Viscount here had married the Aida Mulvaney of the Mulvaney Emporium, but I refused to believe him. Now come, come, my new wind turbine won’t fix itself, young lady.”

  “That’s true enough.” I laughed, staring into the twinkling blue eyes that must be a Putnam family trait.

  “If I’m being honest, my lady,” Putnam said, “I simply couldn’t believe that a woman such as you would marry down by joining the n
obility. Although, if you must take one of those horrid, thin blooded aristocrats, Capshaw would be the best of them. He, at least, knows the difference between a butter knife and a clockwork probe.”

  “It’s good to know I’m not a complete failure in your eyes,” Julian said while the man led us into a chaotic laboratory set up in what I assumed was originally a lady’s parlor once upon a time. I looked over to see him grinning at me and, once he’d caught my eye, he winked.

  “Hardly a failure,” Putnam said over his shoulder as he ushered me farther into the mess. I spotted the miniature piece of equipment sitting by itself on a wooden workbench, obviously a prototype. I reached out to touch the small propeller blade with my finger and it didn’t move. That wasn’t good. I reached for a screwdriver and narrowed my eyes at the device. Whatever had jammed the works, I was going to find it.

  “Rather you amaze me if I may be so bold,” Putnam said as I removed the screws that held the turbine’s outer cover in place.

  “It’s exceedingly rare to hear of an aristocrat even dirtying his hands for amusement. Yet, some of the most wonderful discoveries coming out of Putnam’s labs have your signature on them, or your theoretical work as the basis behind their design. I’d almost say you’re a match for Miss Mulvaney’s—excuse me, Lady Capshaw’s—inventiveness. Speaking of, my lady, do you think you might be able to fix it?”

  “I don’t know.” I lifted the cover and peered into the gears, trying to see if there was an obvious flaw.

  “If it can be fixed, then Lady Capshaw is the one to do it.” Julian gripped my shoulder, giving it a brief, encouraging squeeze. “While my own machinist skills are not quite up to par with an engineer’s, I hope to not be considered completely worthless to your firm. Especially since I assume your cousin’s message did explain a bit of our circumstances?”

  “You’ve married, on an airship, the daughter of your father’s sworn enemy, and the wedding was officiated by a drunken vicar dressed as a werewolf? And my assumption is that now you’ve little more than a few pounds in your pocket with which to make your way in the world?”

  “Excuse me.” Julian’s voice crackled with anger and I turned to see his eyes blazing and his jaw clenched tight for a moment before he spoke again. “I had been under the impression our arrival wouldn’t be considered an inconvenience. Perhaps your cousin was mistaken?”

  “Of course this is an inconvenience,” Putnam said. “While it’s true you’ll be an excellent addition to our laboratory, we can’t be publicly seen to employ you until we know what the Queen’s response to your elopement will be. We have our patent to think about.”

  “So you cannot help us?” Julian asked and I immediately dropped my screwdriver, turning my back on the turbine and looking between them.

  “Wait a second.” I laid my hand on his arm and gave Mr. Putnam my most patient you know how prickly nobles can be so please have patience with him expression. “You said that you couldn’t be publicly seen to employ my husband if the Queen is displeased with him. Does that mean you’ll employ him in secret? Off the official ledger books, as it were?”

  “It’s not in my nature to skulk,” Julian said.

  “Well it’s not in my nature to starve.” I glared at him and lowered my eyebrows. “Especially not for someone else’s pride. Now, find me a steam powered generator and a Lochman’s probe. Long and skinny thing, looks like a needle with a forked end.”

  “I know what a Lochman’s probe is,” Julian said, his voice tight, but stepped away from Putnam long enough to start rummaging on a nearby tool bench to find the device I needed.

  “I won’t work in secret. If you can’t find a position for me, I’ll find work elsewhere.” Julian glared first at Mr. Putnam and then me before handing over the Lochman’s probe. “No worries, dearest wife, I have little fear that you’ll starve.”

  I took the probe from him and shook my head. “Darling—”

  “Fine.” Mr. Putnam threw up his hands. “Have it your own stubborn way then! It’s not like my cousin has given me a choice in your employment anyway. But if we lose that bloody woman’s patronage, it will all be on your poncy English head—yours and that stubborn cousin of mine. I’ll speak with the board when we meet after the New Year so they can approve the hire.”

  “Mr. Putnam.” I patted my husband on the arm to soothe his ruffled feathers before their bickering led to things they would both later regret. Or not regret, perhaps. I turned back to the turbine. “Can you please come and explain to me why you’ve wired your rigging this way? It seems a rather frightful mess.”

  “Messes are something I think you’d be accustomed to.” Putnam shifted to stand next to me and then pointed into the turbine. “You see, we’ve rigged the ether lines to use a highly oxygenated steam generated by our ether combustion engine and that will—”

  “Internal combustion?” I asked absently as I poked at the copper-clad steam lines with the probe, searching for leaks.

  “Of course, your husband’s newest design,” Putnam said. “But as I was saying—”

  I stepped around him and began poking at the engine, humming as I inspected the parts. I thought it was a rather clever piece of machinery and I knew clever pieces of machinery like I knew how to lace my corset to guarantee myself the ability to still work without fainting. “Did you make this?” I asked Julian, not bothering to turn around.

  “I did.”

  “It’s good work.”

  “I’m pleasantly surprised that you approve of it,” Putnam said. “But if we’ve exhausted the subject of your husband’s future endeavors, could we now discuss the more serious situation that you might find yourself in personally Lady Capshaw?”

  “What situation will that be?” I asked, still poking around at the engine, looking for anywhere that the hoses might have sprung a leak.

  “The very real possibility that old man Capshaw will send the gendarmes for you,” Putnam said, “for kidnapping his heir.”

  “Kidnapping?” Julian asked. “Don’t be ridiculous. If anyone could be accused of kidnapping the other it would be me kidnapping Lady Capshaw, hardly the other way around.”

  “Oh really?” Putnam’s voice sounded tense and I looked back up at him as he turned to square off with Julian. “Have you recently tried to elope with another member of the merchant class? Caused a scandal that had the great and good—and here in the fleshpot that is Paris—gossiping behind their hands?”

  “What?” Julian drew his back up and lifted his nose, the very picture of affronted grace. “Of course not! What are you suggesting?”

  “He’s suggesting that prior to our marriage I was rather infamous,” I said quietly and turned back to the turbine, moving behind Putnam’s turned back to inspect the flexible steam lines that moved toward the turbine’s propellers and noticed something seemed out of place. “Because of Leopold.”

  “That’s…” Julian trailed off. I wiggled my hand down inside the turbine and began searching with my fingers for what I’d seen a moment before.

  “The truth,” I said as my hands brushed across a tiny piece of wood and I managed to slip it free of the back of the propeller’s windlass. “I am the notorious female engineer who tempted a prince, and to make things worse I’m an Irish commoner as well.”

  “Who’s now disappeared with a man whose father is your father’s sworn enemy,” Putnam said. “A man you’ve known less than a day.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’ve been coerced,” Julian said.

  “But you may have been ensorcelled or drugged.” I held up the wooden chock block for Putnam to see. “This would be your problem, Mr. Putnam. Safety block to keep the propellers still during initial setup was left in place.”

  “Should have looked for that first.” Putnam shook his head. “The boys always seem to forget about those.”

  “Easy enough to do.”

  “I was not drugged,” Julian said and we both turned to look at him. “Nor am I a child who could be so ea
sily seduced into a rash act.”

  “Well obviously, darling.” I smiled at him and tried to keep my voice from sounding patronizing.

  “If anyone was seduced it was you,” Julian said. “I was the seducer.”

  “One exposure to your ample charms and I was weak kneed and completely discombobulated.”

  “Exactly.” Julian nodded. “Wait…”

  “Calm yourself, darling.” I reached out to take his hands in mine and squeezed them. “You and I both know that I didn’t trick you into marriage. We’ll just have to make sure that society and, if need be, the courts, knows that as well.”

  The door thudded open and the butler stormed into the room pushing a tea cart, and instead of waiting to serve us, bowed once to Mr. Putnam, turned promptly on his heel, and left without another word.

  “Don’t mind Bledsoe.” Putnam looked after the other man and shook his head. “He’s a disagreeable fellow but the only man who can starch a collar properly and make a decent pot of tea in this whole damned country. Pardoning my language of course, my lady.”

  He motioned us toward a nest of mismatched chairs and a settee near the fireplace, and turned to the tea trolley. “I never thought it possible to ruin tea but give it to a Frenchman…” He poured three cups and then, balancing them carefully between his hands, joined us in front of the fire, sitting in one of the chairs, across from Julian, while I made myself comfortable on the settee.

  He handed me a cup first, and I took a sip as he and Julian sorted themselves. The tea hit my tongue, the perfect temperature, brewed to the exact strength that I preferred, and the taste was like pure ambrosia to my overworked nerves. “This is exceptionally good tea,” I said and both men laughed. “Worth keeping a miserable butler for certainly.”

  “Quite right,” Putnam said. “Now, what will we do about your particular situation?”

  “Do we know for certain that my father will go to the Scotland Yard?” Julian asked.