Her resolve, her agreement, dispersed his lingering uncertainty—his nebulous need to seize and hold and make sure of her above all else. Slowly, he nodded. “When this rather major distraction is over, we’ll focus all our energies on defining our future.”
“Done.” She snuggled down, curling into his side. “Let’s leave our personal discussion until the exhibition is over, and you and I have done everything we can to ensure our efforts reap the ultimate reward. Then we can turn to ‘defining us’ with utterly clear consciences.”
He smiled, because in that—in needing to feel their duty properly done—he and she were also alike.
The exchange had settled them. Their way forward decided, their minds finally relaxed, along with their already lax limbs.
He drew her fingers to his lips once more and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “To success,” he whispered.
“To success,” she breathed.
And they closed their eyes and let Morpheus take them.
CHAPTER 14
Felicia had had no idea that viewing inventions had become such a popular pastime with the general public.
When she, Mary, and Ryder, along with Shields and the other guards, arrived at the Town Hall a few minutes before one o’clock, it was to discover an eye-openingly large crowd thronging the foyer before the exhibition hall’s doors.
There were ladies in bonnets leaning on the arms of gentlemen attired for a day about town. There were merchants in their best suits, their wives sliding glances at other ladies’ gowns, as well as many men Felicia took for tradesmen, in less well-fitting jackets and with many sporting flat caps. She spotted more than a few apprentices in their coats; along with everyone else, their expressions stated they were eager to get through the doors and look upon what lay inside.
“Good gracious!” Mary blew out a frustrated breath and came up on her toes to peer around. Then she tugged at Ryder’s sleeve and pointed to the side. “There’s a secondary door over there. Perhaps we can slip in.”
Tending grim, Ryder obliged, and, with a glance commanding their men to follow, he escorted Felicia and Mary in the right direction. “I don’t like this,” Ryder stated. “Rand will need our men in place before these people, one and all, descend.”
It transpired that Rand had had the same notion. As they approached the secondary door, it started to open.
From the other side, still out of their sight, some man squeaked, “Lord Cavanaugh—I must protest! Everyone is supposed to come through the main doors so that we may count heads.”
“Indeed?” Rand’s tone was even, yet chilling. “Am I to take it that the committee is prepared to assume full responsibility for any damage the crowd may do before the guards I have organized, who are somewhere in the foyer, reach our exhibit and get into place?”
An irascible mumble came in reply.
“I thought not.” Rand hauled the door fully open.
“We’re here.” Ryder drew Mary and Felicia to one side and waved the men in. “Go and get into position.”
Rand held the door open and pointed. “That way. You’ll find the steam carriage and Mr. Throgmorton close to the end of the aisle.”
The men ducked their heads and streamed past Rand and on down the hall. Felicia, Mary, and Ryder brought up the rear.
Just then, others outside noticed them vanishing into the hall. There were cries and people came running.
Rand slammed the door shut, and Ryder whirled to help him throw the heavy bolts.
Ignoring the thuds on the door and the muffled demands for it to be opened—that it was almost time—Rand turned to the official, now distinctly choleric and inclined to view them all severely. Coolly, Rand waved at Ryder and Mary. “The Marquess and Marchioness of Raventhorne.”
The official goggled, then paled.
Felicia glanced at Ryder and Mary and struggled to swallow a laugh. She’d never seen either look so coldly and arrogantly aloof. They both looked down on the official—quite a feat for Mary given her lack of height—then Mary glanced at Rand. “I take it the inventions are farther along.”
Dismissing the official with an extremely distant nod, Ryder placed his hand at the back of Mary’s waist. “I believe that’s correct, my dear. Shall we see?”
As they stepped toward the central aisle—and the officious official exhaled with poorly concealed relief—the clock in the Town Hall’s tower chimed, tolling for one o’clock. To their left, other officials hauled open the main doors, and the crowd streamed in.
Just ahead of the first wave, Rand, with Felicia’s hand tucked in his arm, followed by Ryder and Mary, swiftly strode down the aisle to where their men had taken up their positions in front of and flanking the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage.
The four of them halted before the exhibit. Felicia took in the gleaming steam carriage, with William John, remarkably neat and wearing a spotless gray coat, standing proudly before it, and felt tears prickle. She blinked rapidly. She clutched Rand’s hand; her gaze on the sight before her, she said, “Papa would have been so very proud.”
She felt Rand’s gaze on her face, then he ducked his head and murmured, “You should tell William John.”
She swallowed the lump emotion had set in her throat, drew her hand from Rand’s, stepped up to her brother, and did.
William John’s face creased in a fond smile. He met her gaze, and for just a second, she glimpsed the big brother who had played with her in the workshop all those many years before.
Then two well-dressed gentlemen came forward, clearly wishing to speak with William John.
Felicia smiled at the pair and stepped back, releasing her brother to them; she supposed this was one of the major purposes of such an exhibition—to spread word of the invention far and wide.
She walked the few paces to where Rand, Ryder, and Mary stood a little to the side; the brothers, both tall enough to see over most heads, were apparently scrutinizing the security arrangements of other exhibitors.
“The cordons help,” Rand said.
Felicia looked and saw that most exhibits had been cordoned off by thick gold-colored ropes suspended from metal stands.
Ryder humphed. “Looks like you were the only one able to get your guards in ahead of the crowd.”
In front of many of the larger exhibits, guards were still pushing their way out of the body of the crowd and climbing over the golden ropes to take up their positions.
“Obviously,” Mary said, “all inventors take the business of protecting their inventions seriously.” She glanced inquiringly at Rand. “While I can understand the threats to the steam carriage, I hadn’t realized the problem was widespread.”
“It can be a cutthroat business,” Rand replied. He’d been watching William John deal with the gentlemen who had approached, and who had now been joined by several others; Rand and their group were close enough to hear William John’s confident explanation of the improvements made to Russell’s design and the changes to the controls.
Felicia shifted closer to Rand and murmured, “He’s in his element.”
Rand smiled, then looked down at her. “If you’ll wait here for a moment, I’ll just have a word with him.”
She nodded. Mary and Ryder were looking at the next invention in line. Felicia watched as the gentlemen who had been speaking with William John moved away, and Rand stepped up to William John. They spoke, then William John smiled a smile of transparent happiness and nodded—although the nod was delivered in her brother’s usual vague way.
William John turned to another group of gentlemen, along with one lady, who were waiting to approach, and Rand returned to her side.
“He said he’s happy to deal with all the inquiries for the next hour or so.” Rand took her arm. “I thought we might take a quick look around, and then I’ll return to spell William John.”
Felicia laughed and slid her arm into Rand’s. “We’re talking of William John—he’s in his version of heaven when speaking of his inventions and explaining how they work. He so rarely gets a chance to speak with an audience of interested people, I very much doubt you’ll prevail on him to let you take over.”
Rand acknowledged the comment with a wry smile. “There’s no denying he’s earned his moment here. If it weren’t for him and his never-say-die pursuit of success, we’d never have got the steam carriage here. But I’ll at least offer him the chance to take a break—whether he takes it or not can be his decision.”
After they collected Ryder and Mary, who had been fascinatedly studying the printing machine that was the twenty-fifth exhibit, the four of them eased into the swelling crowd. As the bulk of the crowd seemed to be heading down the central aisle toward them—presumably following the numbers on the exhibits—they went in the other direction, crossing the wide central space to examine the inventions numbered twenty-six and on.
While Rand and Felicia dallied to more closely examine the latest steam-powered loom, Ryder and Mary continued up the line. Felicia asked several technical questions of the loom’s inventor, much to that older gentleman’s discomposure; that a lady would know to ask of valves and pressures thoroughly rattled him, and he struggled to answer.
Felicia wasn’t impressed; as she moved away on Rand’s arm, she murmured, “I hope you haven’t put any money into that invention.”
“No. I haven’t.” After a moment, he added, “There are too many decent steam-driven looms about already.”
She humphed. “I doubt he’s run his engine for longer than ten minutes. Fifteen, and I would expect it to blow a pipe or a gasket—his configuration suffers from the same problem the Throgmorton engine originally had.”
The reason he hadn’t invested in the steam-driven loom was because of the established competition—not because he’d known it wouldn’t work.
The idea that had quietly wormed its way into his brain regarding one aspect of his and Felicia’s joint future grew clearer, taking more definite shape.
They strolled on, pausing here and there to more closely question various inventors. Rand met and stopped to chat with several investors, mostly competitors of sorts. All congratulated him on his prescience in supporting the Throgmorton project at such an early stage; several inquired whether there might be a chance to buy in at some point. Rand smiled easily, said he would let them know, and left it at that. Now they’d had a chance to see the steam engine and consider its points, that more investors were declaring interest suggested that they, too, thought the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage had a definite and lucrative future.
While he’d chatted with his peers, Felicia had drawn her hand from his sleeve and drifted to speak with a nervous young inventor whose very small exhibit was wedged between two much larger and showier machines. Hardly anyone seemed to have noticed the poor man, but Felicia appeared to be deeply immersed in the explanation the young inventor was proffering.
Drawing nearer, Rand saw that Felicia held a slim rod in her hand. A channel had been scored down its length and a stoppered glass vessel fixed in the space. At the other end of the rod from the elegant metal stopper was a small piece of burnished metal. Rand halted beside Felicia, and as she lifted the rod to show him, he realized the metal addition was a very fine nib.
“Mr. Finlay”—Felicia nodded at the young man—“was just explaining that the pen works via a combination of gravity and capillary action. See?” She set the nib to a piece of paper the inventor had laid atop a traveling writing desk mounted on a pedestal and swiftly scribed numbers and letters, capital and lowercase. “It’s remarkable—no more open pots of ink or splotches.”
Rand looked at the young man. “I’ve seen pens like this in Paris. What makes yours different?”
Mr. Finlay leapt to explain. “If I could, miss?” Tenderly, he took the pen from Felicia, then, with a fingertip, directed Rand’s attention to the detail of the stopper. “I’ve made changes to the seal to make it more airtight. I’ve also altered the vessel—it’s really an annulus of glass with air in the central shaft. I discovered that makes the flow of ink more even. Then I’ve worked with the local steel mills to refashion the nib. This one gives a steady and even line and will outlast anything presently on the market.”
Rand knew Birmingham foundries were setting themselves up as manufacturers of all sorts of steel products—from the largest and heaviest to the smallest and finest, apparently. Rand reached for the pen, and Finlay let him take it from his hands. Rand held the pen up at eye level, studying the stopper, then the glass vessel, then, in very close detail, he examined the nib. The work was unquestionably fine and quite different to what he’d seen in France.
He looked at Finlay. The man returned his regard hopefully; Rand judged him to be as honest and as earnest as the day was long. Rand handed the pen back to Finlay, then looked at Felicia and arched a brow.
She didn’t smile, but her attention returned to the pen, her gaze almost covetous. “It seems a very fine piece of work. I can’t think of any point of its design that could be bettered.”
Finlay blinked at her, then, realizing she’d paid him a compliment, smiled shyly.
Rand reached for his card case. He extracted a card and handed it to Finlay.
The man took it, read it, and his eyes went wide. He looked at Rand. “You’re Cavanaugh?” He glanced again at the card, then looked up, patently stunned. “Lord Cavanaugh?”
Rand hid a smile; from the corner of his eye, he saw Felicia grin. “I am. And after the exhibition, I’d like you to come to London and demonstrate your pen to some other like-minded gentlemen. I’d like to explore what arrangements we might contemplate to make the most of your inventive modifications.”
“Oh yes—of course, my lord. I will be happy...well, thrilled to set up a demonstration in London.” Finlay looked across the aisle and down the hall. “I heard you’re backing the Throgmorton steam engine. I didn’t think you’d be interested in”—he looked down at the pen, lying in his hand—“something so small.”
Felicia put her hand on Finlay’s arm. “Smaller inventions often make the biggest difference and just think of how much people write.”
Finlay smiled back.
“One thing,” Rand said. “If anyone else approaches you with a view to backing your pen, I and my syndicate would appreciate having the first opportunity to consider supporting your work.”
“Absolutely, my lord—you have my word.” Finlay looked at Rand’s card.
“Send a letter to that address tomorrow,” Rand advised, “detailing the scope of your work and where you can be contacted. I’m out of town for the next few days, so it may be a week or more before I’m there to read it, but you can expect to hear from me within a few weeks.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Finlay was clearly still in awe of his own luck.
Rand nodded, as did Felicia, and Finlay swept them a bow. As they moved away, Felicia smiled and looked up, meeting Rand’s eyes. “You’ve made his day—his exhibition.”
Rand quirked his brows. “It’s perfectly possible he’s made mine—well, at least looking beyond the steam carriage. Speaking of which”—he halted, letting the crowd part and flow around them—“I should get back and relieve William John.”
Felicia tilted her head. “If you don’t have need of me—and I’m sure William John won’t—I rather think I’ll wander farther and see what I can see.”
Rand nodded. “By all means do.” If it hadn’t been for her, he would very likely have missed seeing Finlay. Even if he had noticed the man with his small and unprepossessing exhibit, as until now Rand hadn’t seen much to interest him in the latest pens, he might not have ventured close enough to speak to the inventor and recognize the value of what he’d produced.
Unlike him, Felicia was com
ing to the field of inventions with an entirely open and highly educated inventive mind. He squeezed her hand, then released her. “Wander, study, and investigate—and let me know if you see anything you think I should look into.”
She smiled and graciously inclined her head. “If you wish it, I will. Have fun with William John.”
He chuckled, and they parted, she continuing up the line of inventions while he made his way across the aisle and back to where the Throgmorton steam carriage stood proudly displayed—with a long line of people waiting to ask questions of its inventor.
Rand grinned at the sight and made his way to William John’s side. The Throgmorton steam engine was creating an even bigger stir than he’d hoped.
* * *
Clive Mayhew threaded his way through the crowd clogging the wide aisle of the exhibition hall. He moved slowly—carefully—keeping his eyes peeled for any of the denizens of Throgmorton Hall. The crowd reassured him; as long as he remained alert, it was unlikely anyone from the Hall would spot him among the jostling throng. And if they did, he would have time to flee and plenty of other bodies for cover.
Besides, Clive doubted Miss Throgmorton or Mrs. Makepeace would have made the journey; of those Clive had met at the Hall, only Cavanaugh was likely to be there, and as Clive understood things, his lordship would almost certainly remain close to the Throgmorton invention, which Clive had learned was at the far end of the hall.
All Clive wished to do was find his uncle and tell old Horace that he had had enough. Regardless of his dire need of the ready, Clive was finished with his uncle’s grubby schemes.
At that moment, Sir Horace Winthrop was parading up the exhibition hall, projecting his customary and—to his mind—entirely appropriate superior air. He was the most established leader of investing syndicates in London, and, as such, he was recognized by many and was determined to be accorded all due deference. He inclined his head to the two older inventors who, on seeing him eyeing their exhibit—one involving modifications to a horse-drawn plow—bowed low.