Winthrop stared at the handkerchief, focusing on the embroidered initials Rand held displayed. From tending puce, Winthrop’s face paled to a pasty hue.
“Obviously, you forgot that your handkerchiefs were so distinctive.” Rand returned the incriminating evidence to his pocket. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know where we found it—and its mate. I doubt you could concoct a story that would explain that away.”
Winthrop drew in a shuddering breath, then switched his choleric stare to his nephew. “You ungrateful pup! What have you done?”
“What Mayhew has done, Winthrop,” Rand stated, “is to save you from the Tower and a very bad end.”
Winthrop blinked. “What?”
“If Mayhew hadn’t told me of your attempt at interfering with the Throgmorton invention, and I hadn’t been prompted to check the engine, and in the very nick of time, assisted by Mayhew and Miss Throgmorton, managed to release the valves you’d tied down, then the engine would have exploded.” Rand’s voice hardened; his tone darkened. “Exploded, Winthrop, with the Prince and his advisors, and several other members of the nobility, standing beside it. For your information, the last time the Throgmorton engine exploded, the boiler ruptured—thick copper peeled back like a grape. The carnage...doesn’t bear thinking about. So that’s what your nephew has accomplished—by his redeeming actions, prompted by his better self, he saved others from death and you from being hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
Winthrop’s color had progressively worsened. He looked ill, his jaw slack. “I... I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Scorn rang in Rand’s tone. “Your antipathy toward steam-powered inventions is well known—your ignorance of them can be inferred. Consequently, no one in the investment community or more generally will find our story at all hard to believe.”
A spectrum of emotions flitted across Winthrop’s face, horror, dismay, and panic among them. He shifted, then, apparently, realized there was nowhere for him to run. Nowhere Rand would allow him to hide.
Winthrop cleared his throat. “Wh-what do you want?” When Rand arched his brows, Winthrop clarified, “To...er, help you forget this incident.” He glanced vaguely toward where the steam carriage, with William John behind the wheel and a delighted Albert perched beside him, was rolling smoothly up the hall toward the open doors. “The damned thing’s a raging success. No harm done, and all’s well that ends well, heh?”
Rand studied Winthrop long enough to make the older man shift uneasily and glance at Mayhew—as if gauging his chances of his nephew somehow stepping in and rescuing him.
“I think,” Rand said, drawing Winthrop’s gaze back to his face, “that the first thing you need to do is to show your gratitude to your nephew for his sterling service in protecting your health by paying all his debts. Every last one.”
Stiffly, Winthrop nodded. “Of course.” He shot a look at Mayhew. “You gave me the total, didn’t you?”
His expression one of wonder, Mayhew slowly nodded. “Yes. That’s all of them.”
“When I return to London, I will send you a draft.” Winthrop cleared his throat. “And perhaps, in the circumstances, I should add a stipend—a regular payment?”
Rand fought to hide a grin and inclined his head. “I think that would be most appropriate.” Winthrop thought—possibly correctly—that such a payment would ensure no future mention of his misdeeds within his family.
Mayhew rose to the occasion and half bowed to his relative. “Thank you, Uncle. That would, indeed, be a kindness.”
One all of them were well aware Winthrop could easily afford.
“Now,” Rand said, “returning to the world of inventions, Winthrop, as this incident has demonstrated beyond question that you have not the first understanding of modern machines, I suggest it’s time you admitted as much and retired from investing in this and associated fields.”
Winthrop looked as if he was having trouble catching his breath. Rand arched a coolly censorious brow. “Don’t you agree?”
Winthrop pressed his lips together, then jerkily nodded. “Yes, all right. I hate all this newfangled nonsense—the railways were bad enough.” Glancing at Rand, his peevish gaze indicating he knew what Rand wanted of him, Winthrop continued, “I’ll give it out that I’m retiring from all investments in machines of any kind. If any of my clients wish to invest in such projects, I’ll steer them your way.”
Rand suppressed a satisfied smile and inclined his head. “I believe we understand one another. I will, of course, be leaving a report on today’s incident, along with the evidence”—he patted the pocket in which Winthrop’s handkerchief resided—“with those I trust.”
Winthrop’s expression suggested he’d sucked a lemon, but he forced himself to stiffly bow. “Of course.” Straightening, he continued, “If that concludes our business, my lord, I will bid you good day.” Winthrop nodded sharply to Mayhew. “Clive.”
Then Winthrop turned and, rather slowly, made for the main doors, edging around the crowds lining the central aisle, all excitedly watching the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage being put through its paces.
Rand and Mayhew watched Winthrop go, then Mayhew looked rather wonderingly at Rand. “I say...well, there’s nothing I can say but thank you.” As Rand met his eyes, Mayhew spread his hands. “You could have thrown me to the dogs—”
“But I didn’t.” Rand studied the artist’s open expression; he could understand why Felicia had trusted the man—there really wasn’t any vein of villainy in him. “I didn’t because you didn’t have to stop and confess all to me. You could have come here, told Winthrop you’d decided not to do his bidding, and walked away with a clear conscience. No one could have blamed you for anything that transpired thereafter. But instead, you made the effort to come and clear your slate with me and the Throgmortons. If you hadn’t, I would never have felt the need to check the engine one last time. And if you hadn’t stuck with me and been there—and stayed and kept working even when it seemed the engine might explode—it might well have done so. We needed to get both those valves free, and without your help, we might not have succeeded.” Rand tipped his head toward where cheering could be heard coming from the forecourt before the Town Hall. “And the Throgmortons and all those associated with them would have been devastated in more ways than one.”
Rand studied Mayhew’s face as the other man assimilated those facts. Finally, Mayhew frowned faintly and refocused on Rand’s face. “Still, I did try...”
Rand couldn’t help but smile; Mayhew truly was honest to the bone—in selecting him as his henchman, Winthrop had been blind. Rand turned toward where he’d left Felicia. “If you insist on making amends...”
Mayhew straightened and turned to walk beside him. “I do.”
“Then having seen your sketches, I suggest you send a few of your perspectives of the Hall to Miss Throgmorton and Mrs. Makepeace as peace offerings, and we’ll consider the matter settled and done.”
Mayhew nodded eagerly. “I’ll do that.”
“And now”—Rand looked ahead to where the crowds were still thick around the Throgmorton exhibit—“you had better come with me, because at the end of this exceedingly eventful day, I suspect we’ll have a significant amount of explaining to do.”
* * *
Their eventful day had not yet ended. Rand and Mayhew rejoined Felicia, Mary, and Ryder beside the empty Throgmorton exhibit in time to watch Prince Albert, under William John’s tutelage, drive the steam carriage down the center of the hall, back to its place in the lineup of inventions.
For the attentive and excited crowd, this would plainly be the highlight of their day.
For those associated with the Throgmorton steam carriage, it was a crowning achievement.
Nothing, simply nothing, could be better—could surpass the moment when William John showed Albert how to set the brake
and turn off the engine, and with that done, the Prince looked up, beaming with undisguised delight.
The organizers gathered around, thrilled at the unexpected episode and delighted to support the Prince’s approbation.
Her face wreathed in a smile of incandescent joy, Felicia watched William John deal with all the questions and congratulations with newfound confidence and authority. More than any other there, she could appreciate the vindication he had to be feeling, then he briefly looked her way, and his eyes shone with just that emotion, and, simultaneously, he and she nodded to each other, then William John returned to answering the questions and inquiries that were now coming thick and fast.
Felicia turned her attention to the crowd, observing the intrigued interest that now filled so many faces. When Rand shifted to better protect her from the surge of bodies, she gripped his arm and murmured, “I hope my father—and my mother, too—are looking down and seeing this.”
Rand dipped his head, and she felt his lips lightly brush her temple. “The triumph of the Throgmortons?” he murmured.
She laughed. “Yes. Exactly that.”
And that triumph reached far further, far deeper than the steam carriage. She was, finally, at one with her father and her brother. She’d reconnected with them in a way she had never thought she would. Now, she could accept them as they were—as inventors—because she’d finally found and embraced the inventor in herself.
That was the ultimate triumph here, the change that would give them—her, Rand, and William John—a solid base on which to build their futures. Their inevitably intertwined futures.
Rand had been the catalyst that had brought about the change that had allowed them to get to this moment and secure their triumph; he now was and would forever be an integral part of their whole.
Glancing at Rand, Felicia saw Mayhew standing on Rand’s other side. After having seen Mayhew help Rand to free the valves, she no longer understood Mayhew’s role.
Apparently sensing the questions on her tongue, Rand squeezed her hand where it lay on his sleeve and murmured, “We’ll explain later, but Mayhew’s on our side.”
Across Rand, she met Mayhew’s eyes. “You helped us.”
He smiled rather shyly and bobbed a bow. “I can’t say I wasn’t a trifle flustered at one point, but I’m glad I was able to assist.”
Clearly, there was a story behind Mayhew’s actions, but as Albert reluctantly returned to his duties and moved on to view the next exhibit, and a horde of newspapermen, other inventors, and investors converged on William John, Felicia accepted that Rand was right; he had no time for explanations now.
Rand pressed her hand and unlinked their arms. “I need to help William John.”
Felicia murmured encouragingly; her brother was starting to look a trifle overwhelmed. She watched Rand push his way to William John’s side. Almost immediately, William John’s smile—a smile Felicia knew meant he was reliving his recent drive with the Prince no matter that he was answering people’s questions—returned. Luckily, the newspapermen and the investors quickly recognized Rand as the more useful source and directed their queries to him, leaving William John to the other inventors, who were every bit as vague as he.
Ryder and Mary came to join Felicia; they had been speaking with Shields and the other guards, who had once again instituted a protective cordon about the steam carriage.
Felicia saw Ryder’s outwardly easygoing yet inwardly suspicious gaze rest on Mayhew, who, now Rand had gone, was standing beside her. Rand may not have time to explain, but there was no reason Mayhew couldn’t oblige. She turned to him. “Mr. Mayhew, perhaps you can explain what’s been happening.” Boldly, she took his arm and steered the artist away from the worst of the crowd.
Mary and Ryder moved with them, on Felicia’s other side.
Mayhew looked rather nervously at Ryder. “Ah...”
Releasing Mayhew, Felicia waved at Ryder and Mary. “Allow me to present the Marquess and Marchioness of Raventhorne, Lord Cavanaugh’s brother and sister-in-law. You may speak freely before them.”
Ryder rumbled, “We know of your attempts to sabotage the engine, culminating in your attempt to kidnap Miss Throgmorton.” Ryder’s lips curved in a gesture that was not a smile. “We’re all quite keen to learn what, exactly, has been going on.”
Mayhew studied Ryder for a moment and, apparently, decided the invitation to exonerate himself was not one to dismiss. Briefly, he met Felicia’s eyes, then he drew in a breath and said, “I’m afraid I managed to get myself into quite horrendous debt. My principal creditor isn’t one to balk at violence. And then my uncle contacted me, and—”
Along with Mary and Ryder, Felicia listened as Mayhew unburdened himself of what she judged was a comprehensive confession; certainly, he missed none of the events of which she was aware, and despite Ryder’s looming presence, Mayhew made no attempt to gloss over his perfidy. That he’d been shaken to his senses by the incident in the wood and, subsequently, had recoiled from executing his uncle’s plans rang true. He then explained what had happened earlier that afternoon, in the exhibition hall.
“So Winthrop took your offhand comment to heart and acted?” Mary asked.
Mayhew nodded. “I never imagined he would. I parted from him, then I saw Miss Throgmorton and Lord Cavanaugh and decided I couldn’t just walk away without giving them the explanations I felt they were owed.” He paused, then lightly shrugged. “His lordship thought it best to check the engine, and I went to see, too.”
“I saw Rand and you slip behind the engine.” Felicia looked at Ryder and Mary. “When I found them—” She succinctly described what had gone on in the fraught minutes leading up to the engine settling and performing as expected.
“So that was why the engine made that strange noise at the start,” Mary said.
Felicia nodded. “The pressures were unable to equalize—not until both valves had been released.”
Ryder thought for a moment, then nodded at Mayhew. “So you helped save the day. That’s exoneration enough for me.”
Mary and Felicia echoed, “And me.”
“And,” Felicia continued, “quite obviously, Rand has decided you’re to be excused your transgressions.”
Mayhew seemed to squirm. “As to that, his lordship and I confronted my uncle, and the upshot was that he—my uncle—will cover my debts as he promised and also pay me a stipend.” Mayhew appeared not entirely comfortable with that result, but added, “My uncle also agreed to retire from this arena of investing—henceforth, he’ll send any of his clients interested in investing in inventions to Lord Cavanaugh.”
Ryder grinned. “It seems my brother has ensured that Winthrop pays appropriately for his sins.” Ryder regarded Mayhew, then smiled. “I believe we can consider the incident dealt with and put it behind us.”
Being of much the same opinion, Felicia nodded. She looked to where Rand and William John were still surrounded by the curious.
Mary slid her arm in Ryder’s. “We’re going to stroll some more—I want to take a look at that pen device Rand mentioned.”
Felicia nodded. “I’ll stay here in case they need relief.”
With a smile and a nod, Ryder led his wife away.
Mayhew shifted. When Felicia glanced his way, he somewhat diffidently asked, “I wonder if I might take another look at the engine? I only caught the briefest glimpse before, and I was too tense to take proper notice.”
She studied him for a moment and decided they owed him too great a debt not to let bygones go. With a smile, she tipped her head to the steam carriage. “Of course. Come on.”
She led him past the cordon and a still-suspicious Shields—there would have to be more explanations later—and she and Mayhew walked around the steam carriage to the side away from the crowds. She opened the side flap to the engine compartment so Mayhew could crouch and look inside. Still exp
laining to other inventors, William John had the opposite flap as well as the top cover open, allowing light to stream in and illuminate the gleaming pipes and tubes, the heavy gears and cogs, and the silvery steel housing of the pistons.
Felicia looked at the engine and felt proprietorial pride bloom within her—something she’d never thought to feel over any invention.
Smiling at herself, she shifted her gaze to Mayhew and studied his expression as he gazed at the engine. She sensed the moment something took hold, and Mayhew caught his breath.
Unmoving, he stared as if committing the sight to memory, then, slowly, he straightened his legs and rose. He glanced at her. “Thank you.” He hesitated for a second, then said, “Lord Cavanaugh suggested that to repay you and Mrs. Makepeace for your forbearance and understanding that I should present you with some of my sketches of the Hall—which I intend to do.” He drew breath and, with rising enthusiasm in his voice, went on, “I would also like to do a series of sketches of the steam carriage and especially the engine as a gift.” He caught her eye. “If you’ll permit it?”
Felicia knew that William John and Rand would lodge registrations of the improvements made in assembling the Throgmorton engine, and a pictorial record of the work would certainly not go amiss. Slowly, she nodded. “That sounds like an excellent idea. We’ll need to consult with my brother and his lordship, but once the steam carriage is back at the Hall, I’m sure we can arrange a viewing for you.”
As the words left her lips—to be greeted with eager acceptance by Mayhew—Felicia was thinking of the quality of Mayhew’s sketching and how that would translate if his subjects were inventions... All in all, she thought sketches of that sort might be a unique and valuable resource and getting first call on Mayhew’s skill might prove to be a very good thing.
Mayhew’s face had lit with enthusiasm. “If we can get the light just so—”
She let him ramble. From the other side of the carriage, she could hear William John talking, and Rand was still fielding questions from newspapermen and investors.