Her Own Devices, a steampunk adventure novel

by Shelley Adina

Lizzie’s eyes widened and Claire wondered if this was the first time they had ever been of two minds about something. “But you must come. We ent never seen the shore.”

  “I’ll see it tomorrow.”

  “But Mags—”

  “You ’eard what Jake said about what ’is nibs thinks of us. I ent goin’ if he’s goin’. Chickens is much nicer.”

  “What did Jake say?” Claire asked softly, the edge back in her tone.

  “That Lord James don’t want us to live wi’ you. ’E called us a bunch of alley mice.” She turned a pleading gaze on Claire. “You ent goin’ to do what he says, are you?”

  “Certainly not. I made you a promise and I shall keep it.”

  “What if he don’t want to marry you, then?” Lizzie wanted to know.

  “Then I shall bear that sorrow as best I can.”

  *

  Not one of her companions, with the possible exception of James, had ever seen the sea.

  The sand, a pale gold color unique to Cornwall, stretched in a narrow ribbon along the cliffs above the Carrick Roads. With the wind tugging at her hair, Claire tucked up her skirts into her waistband and hung her shoes around her neck. Navigating these cliffs required bare feet, and the reward would be the soft sand. In seconds, Lizzie had followed suit. Maggie had remained with Polgarth, but Claire had no doubt her sister would chivvy her down here tomorrow.

  The path down to the sand was more overgrown than it had been when she lived here, but that did not stop her nimble descent. She, Lizzie, and the boys had run to the water’s edge and let the waves cream over their toes before James and his elegant kid boots even reached the bottom.

  “Lady, you were mad to leave this place,” Lizzie sighed. “It really is bleedin’ fairyland.”

  “How much belongs to you?” Jake asked. He gazed at his feet as the waves sucked the sand from under them and a tiny crab came to investigate.

  “As far as you can see.” Claire waved a hand to the south. “And to the ferry on the north.”

  “Cor,” Tigg breathed. “If you only ’ad proper steam vehicles down ’ere I’d never leave.”

  “Steam vehicles, and a university, and manufactories from which to obtain parts for inventions,” Claire added. “London has its faults, but you must admit it is a good place for putting one’s intellect to work.”

  “But Gwynn Place is for putting one’s knowledge of the land to work,” said Lord James, coming up behind them. “And for restoring the spirit by growing close to nature again.”

  He had not removed his shoes, and placed his feet carefully.

  “You may explore as far as you like,” Claire said to the children. “There are caves about a half mile that way, once used by pirates to smuggle in brandy from France. I used to find silver pieces in there, and—”

  With a whoop, they were off and running.

  “We shall have lunch in an hour,” Claire called after them. When she turned, James had unfolded a blanket on the warm sand and managed to sit on it without bringing even a grain of sand with him.

  She was not so careful. But the sun felt wonderful on her bare feet and on her face.

  “You should have brought a hat,” James observed. “You will be tanned ... more.”

  “The gulls don’t care, and neither do the children.”

  “Ah, yes. The children.”

  “James, if you plan to lecture me again, you may save your breath to cool your tea.”

  “Now you’re beginning to sound like them.”

  “I am simply stating a fact. And here is another. I am very sorry you and I do not agree about the depth of my commitment to them. I mean that, truly.”

  His gaze softened under the brim of his bowler hat. “I am glad to hear it. You had me worried.”

  “Do not mistake me. I shall not change my mind. But I do wish we could have found some common ground.”

  Why was she even drawing out this charade? She had known going in that she did not intend to marry him, so why continue the deception? She must simply break their engagement here and now, while they had both time and privacy.

  When she did, her heart and mind would be free to think about kissing Andrew Malvern. There would be no more guilt, no more shame. At the very least, she had things in common with him. What did she share with James, really, except a common upbringing and an interest in locomotives?

  She must have been mad to accept his offhand proposal, and the worst sort of flirt to behave as his fiancee when she did not intend to be his wife. There was the protection of his name if her underground activities caught up with her, but even that did not seem worth the price.

  And what of his regard for her? She had no idea if it even existed. But even if it did not, she had wronged him the moment she had allowed Andrew to kiss her.

  Oh yes, she could serve up a heaping plate of shame without half trying. She was better than this. Best to have it out now.

  “James?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Do you love me?”

  She could feel him turn to gaze at her, but she faced into the breeze, looking out to sea. “And what has brought this question on now, instead of on the day I proposed?”

  “I have had time to think, and to weigh options, and to look into the future.”

  “It sounded to me as though you had the future planned out, and I was to stand aside and allow you to put the plan into action.”

  Goodness. How soft his tone was, and how cutting. “I do have plans.”

  “Yes, but on close observation, I cannot see that they include me.”

  She was silent, allowing the truth to speak for itself. Then she said, “Shall we call it off, then?”

  “I will of course abide by your wishes, but I must tell you that your mother and I have already come to an agreement. You do not have much in the way of a dowry, but Carrick House is to be signed over to me in lieu of that sum.”

  “I thought you were going to buy it?”

  “No. Your lady mother and I had a little talk last night in her private parlor. She is most anxious to see you settled.”

  So anxious that she would sign over Claire’s lovely house to a stranger. Oh, she would be living there, true enough. But it would never be hers, in her own right, as it would have been before the riots according to the terms of her father’s will. As the cottage was hers now.

  “In fact, she was most insistent that I not allow you to attend university. A wedding by Christmas was the price of the house, in fact.”

  The ropes. Sliding, whispering, snaking around her. Invisible and potent, they would tie her down as a spider tied down a fly until it was convenient to eat it.

  “It would be difficult to agree to such a plan if I were not willing,” she said, her mouth dry.

  “You are not yet eighteen, and therefore under her authority.”

  “I am under no one’s authority but my own, James. Let us be clear on that.”

  “A Wit point of view, to be sure, but one that is not upheld by the law.”

  “I shall be eighteen in October. Her authority will have ended before Christmas.”

  “You will note that I said by Christmas. I understand it is lovely in Cornwall at Yuletide, particularly for a delayed honeymoon.”

  “Delayed?”

  “Yes. October is an unseasonable time to travel, what with the shooting and hunting parties. Much better to save family visits for the winter, when one expects and indeed looks forward to indoor pursuits.”

  Now she did look at him, swinging around so she could see his eyes while these outrageous things came out of his mouth.

  “Are you saying my mother has agreed that we should be married when I turn eighteen, with complete disregard for my plans and hopes and promises to others?”

  “In essence, yes.”

  “I shall not.”

  “I am very much afraid that you must. Come, Claire. You have already agreed to be my wife. Why is that so distasteful to you now, when it does not seem to be four yea
rs hence?”

  “You know why. Lady Selwyn cannot, of course, attend university.” Well, perhaps she could, but not without enormous effort at lifting the heavy, suffocating strictures of society. The Lady of Devices could attend classes and invent and laugh and breathe the free air just as she pleased, with no one the wiser and no one to tell her she could not.

  She was not Lady Selwyn. Not yet.

  “Nor can she act as governess to impecunious children,” James went on. “Or live unchaperoned in a house heaven knows where.”

  He would take from her everything she valued. And for what? What would this accomplish except the acquisition of a wife who hated and resented him?

  “Why are you doing this, James? If you know I wish to be free to pursue my degree on my own terms, why are you risking the utter loss of my regard by forcing the issue?”

  Now it was his turn to look out to sea, as if the answer could be found in the spindrift on the waves. Following his gaze, she saw figures in the distance. The children were on their way back from the pirates’ caves.

  “I want a family, Claire,” he said simply.

  The roaring dragon of her rage sat down abruptly, and coughed on its own flame.

  “I want a woman who is brave and principled and intelligent, so that the best qualities of us both can be passed to our children. I want someone who is not a meringue, who will stand by me and face the adventures of life without flinching. Someone who will raise children who can make their way in a new world that may not run on Blood principles. I have had this list in my mind for years, and until I met you, it was just a list. But now it has flesh and form. It has become a real woman. You.”

  “James, I—”

  “I know you don’t love me yet. I know you don’t like my high-handed ways. But Claire, along with being a Selwyn, I’m also a man of parts. And one of those parts drives a hard business bargain. If I’m too forceful, it’s only because I don’t want to lose what I’ve found.”

  The dragon hung its head, quenched and frowning, tortured by the memory of another man’s kiss.

  And then the children were upon them, shouting something about pirate silver, and the opportunity to answer him for good or ill was lost.

  Chapter 16

  Much to Claire’s relief, when it came time to say goodbye and climb into the carriage for the trip back to the Truro airfield, Lady St. Ives did not bring up the subject of their engagement. Claire was sure that she had hashed it out with Lord James in yet another private tete-a-tete, and trusted him to carry the day.

  Instead, her mother gazed at Willie as Claire helped him mount the steps of the carriage. “Strange,” she murmured. “That child looks so familiar, and I simply cannot place him at all. It has been bothering me since you arrived, and I am no closer to an answer than I was on Tuesday.”

  “Truly?” James was already inside, along with the rest of the children, and Claire stood alone beneath the portico, waiting for a final hug goodbye. “I am quite certain you have never met before this.”

  “As am I,” her mother replied. “But the widow’s peak, the eyes ... depend upon it, I will wake in the middle of the night with the answer, and by that time you will be back in London.”

  “Then you must send me a tube.” Claire leaned in and hugged her, breathing in the scent of lilies. “You must also tell me what develops with Sir Richard,” she whispered. “I saw how he looked at you at dinner the other night.”

  “Oh, pshaw.” Lady St. Ives flushed and shook out the black crystal-pleated chiffon at her wrists. “I am in mourning and it is not appropriate to say such things. Goodbye, dear. I wish you a safe journey.”

  During the flight back, it was almost comical to see how the Mopsies’ attitude toward such a mode of travel had changed. This time, they were the experienced ones—quite possibly experts in the field, if the way they bossed some businessman’s little sons about the gondola was any indication. And Lizzie’s stomach appeared to be equal to the challenge—and the macaroons.

  When they landed at Hampstead Heath and the airship had been moored to its mast once again, Lord James escorted them to the Underground station. “Are you sure I cannot give you a ride in the carriage, Claire? It is hardly suitable for my fiancee to be running about on trains.”

  “I invest in them and so do you. There is nothing wrong with trains.” It was the fact that working people used the Underground that bothered him, not the method of transportation itself. Hmph.

  “You just don’t want me to know where you live. This cottage on the river is either a dream or a disgrace.”

  “It all depends on your point of view,” she retorted with airy ease. “So, then, a fancy-dress ball at Wellesley House tomorrow evening? Shall I meet you there?”

  Surely by then she could think of a way to extricate herself from an emotional tangle that was becoming deeper by the day.

  “Certainly not. You must allow my carriage to fetch you so that we may arrive together, the way an engaged couple might actually do.”

  “So that you may grill your coachman as to my address? No.”

  “Claire, you’re being unreasonable. This secrecy is not only inconvenient, it is ridiculous.”

  She reined in her temper. “I am never unreasonable. Your coach may fetch me at the laboratory at eight, which is neither inconvenient nor ridiculous. Listen—I can hear the train. Into the tunnel, girls, or we shall miss it. Thank you for a lovely trip, James,” she called over her shoulder as, bags in hand, they ran helter-skelter down the tunnel to the platform.

  It was a relief to see the cottage as they walked across the Regent Bridge, and a greater relief to know that the chemists had not burned it down, nor had it been attacked by some South Bank rival in her absence.

  There were, however, a number of chickens in the garden that had not been there before. “Snouts, where did these come from? What a motley lot. And how thin.”

  Before he spoke, he made a show of handing the lightning rifle back to her, as if formally relinquishing command. “Me and some o’ the boys were minding our own business up on the watch platform—”

  “Snouts ...”

  “Honest, Lady. It weren’t our fault some bilge rat decided to take potshots at us from the river—I suspect our friend the Cudgel ’as called in a few chips—and when I returned fire, ’is barge began to take on water.”

  “But the chickens, Snouts?”

  “They was on the deck, Lady, in cages,” Lewis put in. “We barely got ’em off in the skiff afore the old wreck sank.”

  “You sank a barge and stole its cargo?” she said, aghast. “After I gave strict instructions that any birds were to be rescues only?”

  “Lady, if that weren’t a rescue, I dunno what you’d call it,” Lewis protested. “Them bilge rats was swimmin’ for the Chelsea Embankment fast as they could go, never mind that them cages was shut fast and them birds trapped in ’em.”

  “Poor birds was cover, like as not,” Snouts said. “Stolen to make ’em look like an ’armless barge goin’ t’Leadenhall from upriver.”

  Claire took a calming breath. That did make sense. “Then you did well, and I am happy that Rosie has at least a dozen minions to manage.”

  Even as they watched, a big black rooster flinched at Rosie’s flashing beak, and bowed himself to the ground as she passed. The walking coop stumped up and down along the wall, scattering those few birds who had not already learned to keep out of its way.

  “I see the coop is operating.”

  “Aye. Mopsies sent a tube with instructions,” Lewis told her. “Doc said it was to be oiled an’ exercised once a week, or it’d seize up.”

  “Excellent. You all deserve a reward for your heroic behavior. I shall see Granny Protheroe about the prospect of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for dinner tomorrow.”

  The boys grinned and left her to herself.

  Home. It might be humble, but how peaceful it was.

  She settled on a kitchen chair and watched the Mopsies
and Willie catch up to the coop, direct it over to the porch, and cool it down for the night. They removed the ladder from the watch platform overlooking the river—much to the dismay of the boy on watch, who would have to crawl through an upstairs window to go to bed—and leaned it against the door of the coop. As dusk fell, one by one the chickens gathered around the porch, where they could see Rosie in majestic repose up in the rafters. The girls gently persuaded them with handfuls of corn that the coop was the better option, until every one had mounted the six feet of ladder and was safe inside.

  “What about Rosie?” Claire inquired. “She must become used to the coop as well.”

  “Can you reach her down for us?”

  Once up on the chair, Claire could just slip a hand under the bird’s feet. “Come along, your ladyship,” she said, climbing down with her. “It’s time for you to see your new quarters.”

  Rosie went, but only under protest. Soon, though, the fuss behind the closed doors settled down, and Claire waved the girls inside much as they had just done with the birds, while Willie climbed into her lap.

  Lizzie stopped at the door. “I liked that airship, Lady, and your house, and Polgarth and the chickens.” Willie nodded vigorously in agreement. “But I like it ’ere, too.”

  “So do I, me dearie,” she said in her best imitation of Polgarth’s West Country drawl.

  “So we won’t be leavin’, then, to go live in Belgravia?”

  “No,” she said in her own voice. “I am sorry to say that there is no room in Wilton Crescent for a dozen of us and as many chickens. We are forced to stay where we are.”

  Lizzie nodded, satisfied, and went in.

  Willie touched the locket on her chest—one she’d had since childhood but had left in her treasure box at Gwynn Place. Lady St. Ives had put a daguerreotype of Nicholas inside it and pressed it into her hand when they’d said good night the evening before.

  She opened it for him. “See? A picture of Nicholas, so I don’t forget him.”

  Inexplicably, Willie’s eyes filled with tears, and it was some time before she could calm his sobbing enough that they could go in to dinner.