Heiress in Red Silk, Hunter, Madeline [good beach reads TXT] 📗

“You are being stubborn,” he said. “Think of your intentions for your life, and for your sister’s life. This enterprise is central to my future, but not to yours.” She could not deny that this marriage would ensure Lily’s future. He offered her his station and pedigree. His blood. There was no comparison between being the grandson and cousin of a duke and being a well-to-do gentleman like Charles. Even if most of society scorned her for her blood, a good number would probably still at least tolerate her, if only to get closer to Hollinburgh. She knew what most women in her position would do.

Most women would grab this chance and hope for the best. But Charles’s face hovered in her mind, and she saw little else when she gazed inward. Her heart yearned to have its way. She did not want to bury her love and walk away from what still might be possible.

She spoke slowly so her confusion and astonishment did not trip up her language. “Your offer is very generous. I will acknowledge that. However, I think it would be better if we kept our partnership as it now stands. If we married, we would probably have numerous rows much like this one about the enterprise, especially because my voice would count for little after we spoke those vows. Thank you, however.”

He did not respond to that. No request that she think about it more. No final arguments.

She stood. “Now, I would very much like to see the invention.”

* * *

She had turned him down. Oh, she had been surprised, perhaps even shocked, but she had recovered soon enough. Her rejection had been damned articulate.

What was wrong with her? In truth the benefits would be more hers than his. Her change in station would last forever while, as she had so bluntly pointed out, his control of the enterprise might come to naught in the end.

Against all logic and her own self-interest, she had turned him down.

There was nothing to do but accept it and retreat with grace. He could hardly make promises of undying love, and admitting how his mind dwelled on her might even make her angrier. What could he say? It would not be a love match, but I desire you fiercely. If you allow me to give you pleasure, you will never regret this marriage.

He escorted her into the house just as his father entered the morning room.

“Ah, Miss Jameson,” he exclaimed by way of welcome.

“Not now,” Kevin said while he sped Miss Jameson through the chamber and along to the staircase.

“Thank you for that,” she said.

“We’ve no time to entertain him.” His father was the last person he wanted to see right now, after having proposed for the first time in his life to no avail. Rejected by the daughter of a tenant farmer, no less. A milliner. I’ll not be needing such as you, sir.

He told himself to stop being a childish ass. In a day or so, his prickling resentment would pass. He might even find himself relieved by her choice.

He guided her up the stairs to the level where he lived, then across the landing to his door. “The engine is in my chambers. Had I known you wanted to see it today, I would have had it moved to the garden and fired it up for you.”

“Would that help me understand the invention?”

“Demonstrations are useful, but I think you will understand my explanation.”

The anteroom to the bedchamber served as his study. One window’s drapes remained closed. He strode over and drew them so light fell on the table set a few feet from the glass panes.

When he turned back, Miss Jameson was gazing down at the miniature steam engine gleaming atop the table, her expression one of deep curiosity.

“Did you make this?”

“Some of it. I had the rest done to my requirements. It is to scale and constructed of the same materials as any other engine.”

Her head angled this way and that while she studied it. “Does it work?”

“Yes. It is a simple design, such as those used to pump water out of mines.” He joined her and pointed to the various parts as he explained. “Fuel burns here. Steam forms here and moves these rods, or pistons, up and down. That makes the pump here work. Steam has tremendous power when compressed the way it would be when contained.”

“Which part is your invention?”

“It isn’t there.”

She took a step back and looked at him. “This is all fine and good, but do not expect me to be bedazzled to the point I forget what I have come to see.”

The row on the terrace echoed behind her terse words. He opened a drawer on the table and removed a tiny, metal cylinder. He set it down. “There it is, to scale for this engine in front of us. Here it is in more normal size.” He removed a much larger example and set it down too. “I was not attempting to keep it from you. I simply thought you should see the engine first.”

She lifted the small version. “What does it do?”

“It permits the emission of steam to be regulated more precisely than is currently possible, by mapping it. It is called an indicator.” He launched into an explanation of how it worked and the value it brought to engines. He rarely had the opportunity to explain the invention’s workings, so this chance led him deeply into his preoccupation with its potential.

He never lost sight of his audience, however. The lovely Miss Jameson claimed a slice of his mind. That portion of his awareness admired her face and form and admitted some regret that she had not accepted his proposal. It also took in her interest and attention, and how her brow puckered when she did not understand some point he made.

When she did not yawn after five minutes, he delved deeper into the mechanics of the improvement.

* *