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

not married for love. He surely hadn’t. As practical marriages went, this was probably better than most. To be jealous over some affair from a year ago was stupid. Childish. It was almost as bad as clinging to the dream of Charles.

Knowing that did not stop the sadness, though. He had said he was never enthralled, so she didn’t mind so much that he was not enthralled with her. Only it seemed he had been, at least once. She admitted that she was jealous mostly because her own feelings had changed. Deepened.

Beatrice had once told her that when a new woman joined them, all of them spent the next month reminding her never to fall in love, never to misunderstand what she was to the patrons. Someone should have done that with her and this marriage. “It is a practical match. A marriage of convenience. Don’t be so stupid as to fall in love with him unless you want your heart broken.”

He had been with that woman for days, but not in a domestic way. She wondered how far they had gotten in the lessons.

“I will explain where I was, if necessary,” he said. “I would be a fool to remain silent.”

“I want your promise about that.”

He turned her face toward him and gently kissed her. “I give you my word as a stupid gentleman.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Rosamund hired a carriage to take her up river. She left from the shop, where she had said she would be all day. In her reticule she carried a note. It had come two days ago from Mr. Lovelace. It thanked her for her help with the mechanical problem and invited her to visit his works. Kevin had not been mentioned, nor had he received his own invitation.

A good wife would probably inform her husband of her intentions. Rosamund did not. This would probably come to nothing, so why encourage storms to form? She had not forgotten about that row when she went to find a man to make her toy. She was curious, however. She had liked Mr. Lovelace and wanted to see just what he made.

The carriage took her through Southwark, then into the countryside. Some farms still flourished, but others had been given over to small factories. They dotted the river bank.

Mr. Lovelace owned one of the larger works. Men moved through a big yard, entering this building or that, some carrying iron objects and others moving coal in wheeled vehicles. She asked the carriage driver to go in and tell the owner that she was outside.

Mr. Lovelace emerged, smiling a welcome. “I didn’t think you would come, but I was hopeful.”

“I am curious about your industry.”

“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

They entered a long building. Men sat at tables, using files and hammers on metal. “They are making parts,” Mr. Lovelace said. “There ain’t a lot of room for error in them. This is not work for a blacksmith. Every wheel, every piston, every cog needs to be as close to perfect as can be made.” He pointed to one group. “They make the molds for cast iron. It can’t be rushed.”

At the end of the building, a group of men fitted parts together. The result was approximating the engine Kevin had shown her, only much bigger.

“I pay for each one I make, to those who hold the essential licenses. Even so, there is enough wanting them that I make a profit.”

“What if something goes wrong after they are in use?”

“I send a man to fix it. Except for one part. It is a secret, and if it looks to be that, Mr. Watt sends one of his men.” He gave her a meaningful look. “There’s been a lot of thieving in this industry, I’m sorry to say. I can’t blame Mr. Watt for being careful. But I’m not happy being beholden to him for both the part and the upkeep. What’s to stop him from stealing too? My patrons, I mean.”

She admired the engine a while longer, then they walked back to the building near her carriage. He invited her to share some refreshments, and they sat on a small, wooden terrace overlooking the river. Barges floated past, as well as one pleasure yacht.

“Mr. Radnor was not happy about my visit, I could tell,” he said.

“Not really.”

“Yet he sent me that explanation of how to fix my problem. A different machine it was, of course. Not an engine.”

“I asked him to help.”

“I thought you might’ve. That’s why I asked you to come here. You seemed interested in what I had to say.”

“It matters little if I am.”

“My thinking is, wives have more influence than they’re given credit for. Mine certainly does.”

Lemonade had been brought, and he lifted one glass in his gnarled, big hands and drank. He surveyed his little place of respite with contentment. “Let me tell you what Forestier said to me, after he told me that he wouldn’t license that gauge to me. He said Mr. Radnor had a better use for it.”

“And he does.”

“He also said that there are inventors and there are makers, and Mr. Radnor was the first. That is why he gave me his name. He said inventors need makers. I’m a maker. I couldn’t figure out how to improve or change the engines I build, but I build them better than anyone. I’ve sent engines to France and one to Russia.” He pointed with his thumb to the building downstream. “Those men know their craft. They work metal like artists. My machines don’t break, because the parts are done right.”

Precision, in other words. Kevin had talked about that, and how important it was.

Mr. Lovelace speared her with a direct look. “I don’t know what he’s invented, but I can guess. Not the look or function, but what it does. He has what is called an indicator, I’m thinking. One that maps the pressure, so it can be seen how the steam is working and whether more force can be sucked