Her Own Devices (23 page)

“I’m sure she will,” she said, and turned away to go down the steps.

It wasn’t until he went to number another sketch that he realized how distant the words had sounded.

As if she hadn’t meant herself at all.

The grand opening of the new exhibit wing at the Crystal Palace was the social event of the Wit season. Even the Bloods, whose tolerance of new technologies extended only to securing the newest versions of the mother’s helper when they came out, could not stay away. Every newspaper in England seemed to be represented, and the
Times
of New York had sent a reporter over by airship so there would be no time lost between the unveiling of a new engine and its subsequent reproduction overseas.

The evening before the opening day, when the general public were to be admitted, a reception and ball were held under the sparkling glass panes of the exhibit hall. Between the huge iron support pillars and the potted palms, tables of food and refreshment had been set up, and down at one end, an orchestra tuned up its instruments. Everyone Claire greeted seemed to be in a tizzy of excitement.

“The Prince of Wales is expected, you know,” someone told his partner immediately behind Claire. Since he had been expected at the Wellesley’s fancy-dress ball and had not come, Claire did not put much stock in this.

She was, however, presented to His Royal Highness Prince Albert, who was representing Her Majesty, and whose particular project was the entire Crystal Palace itself.

“Your Royal Highness,” James said, “may I present my fiancee, Lady Claire Trevelyan.”

She dipped into her lowest curtsey, thankful that the poker players had had a particularly good week and she had been able to buy a new gown for the occasion. A deep sapphire blue, it had the barest suggestion of cap sleeves and was pleated tightly in a vee on the bodice that arrowed down to a tiny waist, with a satisfying long train faced in black velvet trailing out behind. The Mopsies had pounced on a pair of kid opera gloves at Portobello Road, with only a tiny stain on the palm of the left one, and to her astonishment, James had presented her with a diamond necklace when she had climbed into his coach at the laboratory.

“To celebrate your triumph,” he had said simply. “It was my mother’s, and now it is yours.”

To remind you of our agreement
, she heard.
You will act like a Blood and not a Wit
.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear,” the prince said. “Please accept my belated condolences on the passing of your father, the viscount.”

“You are very kind, Sir,” she said. “I know he held you in the highest esteem for your support of England’s position at the forefront of industry. Sir, may I present Mr. Thomas Terwilliger?” She clutched Tigg by the back of his brand-new morning coat before he could dodge behind the chamber. “He is Mr. Malvern’s laboratory assistant and was instrumental in the initial construction and subsequent redesigns of the Selwyn Kinetick Carbonator.”

His face as pale as his coffee-colored skin would allow, his eyes enormous, Tigg bobbed a bow. “Sir,” he whispered.

“This young boy?” His Highness said in some astonishment. “Helped to construct this chamber? Why, he can’t be more than thirteen.”

“He did, Sir.” Andrew stepped away from the control console and gripped Tigg’s shoulder as if to say,
Courage, man
. “I predict a bright future in engineering for him.”

The Prince gazed down at him, and Claire feared that Tigg might actually faint under the royal regard. “Young man, when it comes time to apply for university, I hope you will send me a note. It is my honor to be patron of the Royal Society of Engineers, you know, and if what Andrew says is true, I would be pleased to provide a letter of recommendation for you.”

“For me?” Tigg gulped. “You’d do better to give the Lady one, Sir. It were she wot invented the movable truss.”

The prince blinked, and before anyone could say another word, Lord James moved in, smiling and guiding His Highness around to the other side of the chamber, where Claire heard him say that there would be a demonstration of the chamber’s power in less than an hour.

“Bravely done, Tigg,” she murmured, pretending to adjust the lie of his coat. “Ineffective, but very bravely done, and I thank you for it.”

“’E were only funnin’ me, weren’t he, Lady? He didn’t really mean it about the letter.”

Lord James, it would seem, had tainted more than one person’s faith in the promises of others.

“On the contrary. Prince Albert’s word is as good as a gold guinea. If he instructed you to send a note, then depend upon it, he will write a journal entry to that effect. His memory is prodigious—and his journals are even more so.”

“Cor,” Tigg breathed. “Who’d ’ave thought?”

“Tigg,” Andrew said, coming around the side of the chamber, “I require your assistance if we are to make the demonstration on time.”

Claire stood back, watching them load coal into the chamber and secure the cowling and pipes. They had modified the design so that the entire engine would be relatively portable, making it more attractive to the railroad men, who would not have to build new edifices to house it. It also meant that, unlike some of the engines in the exhibit, which had to depend on schematics to explain their workings, theirs could be demonstrated on the spot, to spectacular effect.

“Lady Claire Trevelyan?”

Claire turned to see a man in white tie at her elbow. “Yes?”

“His Royal Highness Prince Albert requests the honor of the first waltz, milady, to open the dancing at ten o’clock.”

She devoutly hoped her astonishment did not show on her face. By order of precedence that honor should go to the most senior lady present, which in this case was the Duchess of Devonshire, holding court over there by the champagne punch.

“I am Percival Mount-Batting, personal secretary to His Royal Highness,” the man went on. “What answer may I convey to him?”

Ah. One of Robert’s cousins, said to be in line for a baronetcy for his service to the Crown. He must be a very good secretary indeed.

“Please offer him my thanks and tell him I would be deeply honored,” she said.

Dear oh dear. Perhaps he would not notice the spot on her left glove.

Perhaps the entire female contingent at the ball would not notice, either.

But she would be noticed. It would be in the papers tomorrow that she had danced with the Prince Consort. Goodness, how Julia and Catherine and the rest would fume!

No, no. That kind of thinking had got her so deeply in trouble that it was all she could do to stay afloat. She must leave off thinking like a schoolgirl.

What would she talk about with a prince as they waltzed among the sparkling pillars and under the fronds of the palms? She had no talent for small talk, and no personal details she was prepared to divulge.

Engineering, of course. That was it. Had he not just said he was the patron of the Royal Society? What a relief!

If it had been the Prince of Wales she would have to go and seek out the smelling salts. He was such a randy-dandy that no woman of virtue was said to be safe with him. This was probably why he was so madly popular among the titled set, and why nabbing him for her guest list was every hostess’s dream.

While she had stood there woolgathering, Andrew and Tigg had prepared the chamber, and a crowd had gathered.

“Please stand back,” James advised them. “And shield your eyes—the power of this device can blind you for several seconds.”

He gave an introductory speech, which mentioned neither Claire’s part in the development of the chamber nor the impending deal with the Midlands Railroad Company. They must have appropriated her idea and were waiting for its fame to go far and wide before they made the announcement, in order to get the most publicity.

At last it was time.

Andrew activated the chamber and the movable truss. The familiar hum sounded even over the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses. When it reached its operating pitch, Andrew raised an arm, then lowered it sharply. Tigg shoved the levers up and a flash of light caused men to gasp and ladies to cry out.

When the smoke cleared from the chamber, everyone surged forward to look, while James explained the coal’s new properties and what it could accomplish. Claire moved back against a pillar, cradling her glass of punch, and realized a moment too late that she had put herself in the company of Ross Stephenson.

He smiled at her as if she had done it on purpose. “A grand sight, eh?” He, too, was dressed in white tie, which only succeeded in making his face look more florid. “We shall be the talk of the town.”

“I was surprised that James did not mention your joint venture in his remarks,” Claire said. “Are you waiting for a more opportune time for the announcement?”

“We’re waiting for the blasted solicitors to draw up the contracts. Lawyers. Have no-ho idea of the importance of timing.” He gulped his champagne punch as if it were water.

“That may be all to the good, though,” she said. “Let the anticipation, the newspaper reports, the public approbation build to a fever pitch, and then make the announcement. That will keep the Midlands Railroad uppermost in the public mind.”

He laughed and patted her shoulder. “You’ve been talking with James, I see.”

“No, I—”

“He’s a good man. Sharp. I like a man who gathers good minds around him. Like that Malvern fellow. Sharp.”

“Like myself and Tigg, as well,” came out of her mouth before her brain could engage and stop the words.

“Eh? Yes, of course. A good wife is—”

Again the rush of words, spilling out of her with no semblance of control. “I am not his wife yet. And I must correct a slight misunderstanding, since you will see the patent when it is assigned ... I am the inventor of that movable truss, which creates the motion necessary to build up the kinetick charge.”

“Eh?” His mouth hung open a little, making him look rather like some of the unfortunates in Bedlam. “What’s that you say?”

“We must all move with the times, Mr. Stephenson.” She smiled at him. “A woman possessed of a fine intellect is as capable of contributing to the forward march of progress as any man.”

“You—are you saying that you—a mere girl—? Impossible.”

“Quite possible. Quite real. And quite a success, as you can see.” The crowd had begun to disperse, chattering among themselves about the breakthrough and all its possibilities.

“But James—”

“James concealed my involvement out of respect for your views and feelings, sir. But on this happy night, I only felt it proper that you should know the truth. And one more thing, while we’re on the subject—that power cell on which your whole enterprise depends was invented by a woman. Doctor Rosemary Craig. You may have heard of her.”

She gave him another brilliant smile and observed that now she had rendered him incapable of any speech at all. Trailing satin, velvet, and triumph, she walked away to inspect the buffet.

She had no doubt that he would hustle over to James and demand the truth as soon as he could speak. Well, James could just deal with it. She was tired of being shunted into the shadows and demeaned and patronized, and tonight at least, James could do nothing about it. If he so much as looked at her sideways, all of London would take note, and the gossip would be fearsome.

At five minutes to ten, she was still managing to elude him—not so difficult, since he had spent the last half hour engulfed in a loud crowd of what appeared to be Texicans, if their boots were any indication. The orchestra began tuning up in earnest.

But the one man whose job it was not to be eluded appeared at her elbow. Did he track down all the prince’s partners and line them up like forks at a place setting?

“The opening waltz will begin shortly, milady,” Percival Mount-Batting murmured. “If you will come with me?”

The orchestra played a chord and Prince Albert stepped up to a sound-amplifying horn mounted on a dais flanked by banked flowers.

“It is my great pleasure to declare the New Sciences Exhibit officially open. Please enjoy yourselves this evening, and marvel with me at the wonder of human endeavor.”

The orchestra struck up the Treasure Waltz, and Claire slipped a wrist through the loop that lifted her train into dancing position, curtseyed, and stepped into the prince’s arms. His hand was firm at her waist, his other hand lightly grasping hers. He was an exceedingly good dancer, guiding her about the expanse of the arcade as lightly as a fencing master. After the first turn, other dancers swirled into the pattern, and it was safe to converse.

“I am sorry Her Majesty was not able to accompany you, Sir,” she said. “I understand she enjoys dancing.”

“She does, indeed, but she is meeting with a delegation from India this evening. Some appallingly boring dinner which she is much better at managing than I am.” Claire could not quite stifle a smile, and he saw it. “This is a treat for me, spending an evening in the company of minds with which I feel a kinship.”

“I am happy to be part of it,” she said.

“I understand you have a greater part in certain things than I had been led to believe. That young man said you invented the moving truss. Is that true, Lady Claire?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Admirable. Her Majesty must hear of this. So then I must ask, why is your name not in the exhibit description?”

“It does not matter to me, Sir. What matters is that my name is on the patent application.”

He was silent a moment, twirling her out and back in again in a figure of the waltz. “There is some skullduggery afoot here.”

“No, merely a reluctance to crush a partner’s illusions about the capabilities of women.”

The prince made a most unprincely sound. “This partner does realize that the greatest empire in the history of humankind is ruled by a woman?”

“It is a puzzle to me also, Sir.”

“I will have this situation corrected if you wish it.”

“No, Sir, though I thank you for your concern. In the larger scheme of things, the patent will last longer than people’s memories of this evening.”