When a Rake Falls (23 page)

His father straightened. “Now I'm quite worried about that young lady. You must stop her from getting into the basket now and forever. Pull her out of the basket if you have to.”

Boyce smiled and shook his head. “I cannot do that. It's her life's wish to prove females can contribute to the pursuit of knowledge. My fears for her safety are not reason enough for her to end that dream and ask her to step out of the basket.”

“Wasn't it enough that she demonstrated female worth when she gave a successful afternoon lecture at Royal Institute?”

“Perhaps. But you were right earlier when you said I had to think of what I might offer her, and I must do it quickly.” He stood and grabbed his coat. Even if Eve refused him, he must tell her of his love and that she would always have it. “Regardless of whatever assistance I may provide, I cannot force her to accept me. She has to be the one to decide. By your analogy, she must be the one to take that step out of the basket.”

Boyce asked his father to show himself out, ran upstairs to his room, tidied himself up as best he could, and then flew downstairs.
Thank
the
inky
heavens
above
that
love
is
blind
. His collar, waistcoat, and cravat had been set to rights, and he even managed a quick, if not thorough, shave of his troublesome beard. All of these ablutions he completed in fifteen minutes. His appearance failed to meet his usual standards, but he hoped his efforts were sufficient to propose to the woman he loved. Hopefully, if equally blinded by love, she should be able to forgive him for the current, deplorable state of his coat.

When he reached the first-floor landing, his father surprised him in the vestibule. “If you do not mind, I will join you on your journey.”

“I prefer privacy.” Boyce struggled into his coat, hiding his irritation. What sane gentleman wanted his father to witness his proposal? Eve had been as slippery as an eel when he mentioned the subject of her engagement before, so she might even do the unthinkable and refuse him.

The marquess chuckled. “I doubt you will find privacy around a balloon preparing for ascension.”

His father's point rang true, although he really did not want to contemplate an audience for his declaration. “All right, then.”

Before the duo headed for the stables, Drexel opened the front door and entered. “Ah, decided to join the living?” He caught sight of the marquess. “Beg your pardon, Lord Sutcliffe. I didn't see you behind this great lump here.”

“George, I am delighted to see you again. I certainly thank you for the hospitality your family has shown my youngest lump.” The over-wide grin on the marquess's face, normally marked by numerous lines of experience, caused him to appear like a much younger man.

“Youngest lump?” Boyce spun to glance at his father.
The
pater
joking? The world must be coming to an end.
He pointed. “You made a jest.”

His father ignored him.

“And you,” Boyce said, addressing Drexel, “have been gone for weeks. I thought you must've abandoned that bridge and attempted a last chance effort to win the earl's race.”

“No, the bridge is still in the works, but my father and mother needed my assistance. Besides, haven't you noticed the city of London is empty of young gentlemen?”

“Um, I don't understand.” Boyce coughed, wondering if his days spent in his cups had affected his brain.

The marquess whispered to Drexel. “Inebrious lump for days.”

“So I heard.” Drexel laughed. “Explains his coat. Look at yourself, Whip. You let your standards down.”

Boyce waved Drexel away from the hallway. “I am not going to stand here and listen to the two of you. I have plans for today, so you must excuse me.”

Drexel stepped aside. “What's this rush all about then?”

The marquess winked at Drexel. “This day is a significant one in Boyce's life.”

Boyce snatched his hat and gloves from the pier table in the vestibule. “Enough!”

Drexel leaned close to Boyce's father's ear. Then in a fake whisper, he loudly said, “Grumpy too.”

The marquess's eyes gleamed. “In this day of Boyce's life, you might even say his very life is at stake. But it's a day every man, even you, George, must eventually face.”

“Hmm,” Drexel ruminated. “I doubt it. Whatever it is, I plan to avoid it, because just look at what it's done to him.”

Boyce damned his shaking hands; closing the last button on his waistcoat seemed impossible. “Yes, yes, all very well. You two have had your dramatic moment. Now I must leave immediately—preferably alone. There is something I must do.”

Drexel looked at the marquess. “I'll wager you know what this is. Tell me.”

“Let's just say his future happiness is at stake.”

“I've had enough of you two.” Boyce closed the buttons on his coat.

The marquess laughed. “Do you think you'll have steady hands, George, on the day you openly declare your love to a woman?”

“No! Well, I'll be damned. I am too old for that fustian, sir.” He shuffled awkwardly about. “I'm made of different stuff altogether. Troublesome things, females—not like a bridge—all emotions a fellow can never understand.”

Boyce did a final check of his appearance in the pier glass next to the door. “I cannot offer marriage to the woman I love dressed like this.” He turned and held out his hands. “Look at me. Stains on every piece of clothing and half-shaven. She'll run away at first sight.”

“Yes, I would if I were her. You're very ugly,” Drexel said.

“You could come home,” the marquess said, “and have your man do a proper job of it. Of course, Miss Mountfloy's ascension may take place before you are finished.” He lifted an eyebrow.

Boyce's heartbeat began to gallop. “I'm wasting my time. Where's Charity?”

“Saw her in the stables when I arrived,” his father said. “George, are you ready?”

Ignoring his father and Drexel, Boyce headed downstairs in the direction of the mews.

A rushed twenty minutes later, and the three men galloped out of London, toward Islington.

Once they slowed to give their horses a rest, Boyce embraced his optimism created by the glorious, sunny day. How could she justly refuse his suit with such a beautiful world surrounding them? The sun warmed his face; the grass field shone that distinct bright green no paint could reproduce—
the
perfect
backdrop
for
a
song
on
a
journey
to
propose
to
the
woman
you
love
. “‘The fair of my fancy whisk'd into the room, All lovely she look'd like a May morning's bloom. Her form was, but forming a simile's flat, think all that you can think, and she was all that.'”

Drexel twisted around to shout at the marquess. “Lord Sutcliffe, what do you think this foul songbird did with the money?”

The marquess brought his horse up even with the two men. “I beg your pardon, George, I don't understand. What money?”

“The money you gave him for the voice tutor.”

“Ha, ha,” Boyce said. “Very amusing.” He refused to let anything dampen his spirits. “Drexel, the day you tell a funny jest is the day rocking horses poop.”

“Jingle brains.”

“Dulpickle.”

“Gentlemen, please,” the marquess said as they turned down Frog Lane.

Boyce once again found himself surrounded by vegetable gardens. Up ahead, he could see a crowd gathered around the wooden platform built for balloon launches. Nothing seemed to have changed from last month. A young boy and Mr. Henry fiddled with barrels and tubes, while Mr. Mountfloy stood in the basket and shouted directions. He didn't see Eve at first, but when they grew near, he noticed her in the basket fiddling with the ballast bags.

With his first sight of her in the balloon, Boyce feared he might be ill.

His father chuckled. “You should see your face, Son. It's the color of white soup. I knew you failed to understand my point about courage. What you are about to do takes courage, because now you risk your life's happiness, and failure here is irreversible too.”

Drexel whistled. “There is no possible way for you to steal a private moment. All I can say is, it takes bollocks to declare yourself in front of a crowd. And from the looks of the rabble in front of us, a large number of people will more than likely thoroughly enjoy your declaration.”

Eve distinctively heard her father swear. She stood up to discover him shielding his eyes from the sun and looking into the distance. Glancing past the crowd and the vegetable field in front of her, she saw three men on horseback approaching the platform.

“Looks like that lordship of yours has come to witness our flight. I hope he has no intention of interfering with our research again.”

Eve gulped and focused on the three men. At this distance, she could not identify any of the riders, other than getting the impression that they were gentlemen. “How do you know it's Lord Boyce approaching the platform?”

He ignored her and continued to scowl at the riders.

She forgot her preparations for the ascension and strained to identify the three men. It did not take long before she realized her father was right. Parker was indeed one of the horsemen, along with another large, tall man she had never seen before and his father, the marquess.

The three gentlemen dismounted, tied their horses next to the others, and then strode through the grass. They stepped onto the corner of the wooden platform, a mere ten feet away from her.

Charles Henry approached Parker. “Your lordships must leave this instant.”

“Yes, yes,” Parker said, smiling, “just a word with Miss Mountfloy for a minute, and then we'll be on our way.”

“I urge you to leave now.” Charles Henry glanced at Eve, scowled, and addressed Parker again in a lowered voice. “You have repeatedly stolen the acknowledgments rightly owed to me. If you don't leave here immediately, I will take measures to ensure your reputation as an honest man is ruined forever.”

Parker and the other man wore frowns and stepped close to Charles Henry.

The marquess rose his brow.

Charles Henry continued to address Parker in a voice too low for Eve to hear.

Eve could not take her eyes off Parker. Their lovemaking had created days and days of the utmost despondency. No longer cherishing any hope of finding happiness with the man she loved, she clung to the knowledge that, with time, she might become a suitable, more good-humored wife for Charles Henry. Now she stood mute, drinking up the rich sight of Parker standing before her. She greedily committed it to memory and stored it alongside so many others: she'd never forget him.

“I hope for the sake of our experiments today,” her father said, leaning forward to hear the men's conversation, “their lordships are not going to interfere with our flight. I am going to find out what this is all about.” Her father stepped out of the balloon and joined the four men in heated conversation.

Then Charles Henry said something, and the blood drained from Parker's face.

The large, tall man Parker called Drexel became restless and appeared to be barely restraining himself. “That's blackmail, sir.”

“You will do no such thing,” her father shouted to Charles Henry. “No account of her speech will be told to the newspapers. We do not want to lose the precious support we gained that evening.”

“But the man is a failure, sir,” Charles Henry yelled in reply. “To this day, he takes credit for giving a successful speech when he obviously did not. He's done this before, taking credit where it is not due. It's wrong, and he must be exposed as a fraud. Of course, I wish no harm to your daughter, but the truth must come out. She did behave in a scandalous manner by stepping onto the stage that evening, so she must bear the consequences too. Surely even you do not believe a gentleman's daughter should speak before the public.”

All of the gentlemen started shouting at each other.

Eve could hardly believe Charles Henry, a man who claimed her as his fiancée, would expose her to censure and scandal. Perhaps she heard wrong, because she knew him to be an honorable man, but his threat did not sound honorable in the least.

Parker's face became bright red, and the other man in Parker's company seemed to be physically restraining him.

“Enough,” the marquess shouted, stepping between Parker and Charles Henry.

Each of the four men stepped backward, and the crowd hushed.

The marquess faced her father. “I believe you have an ascension to perform. The two of you must have plenty to do.”

Charles Henry strode to the tube containing the gas, now rapidly filling the balloon.

Her father walked over to her in the basket.

“Does Charles Henry want to create a scandal in the newspapers?” she asked. “Why would he do that to me?”

Thomas Mountfloy shook his head. “Charles said some rash things, my dear, but I'm sure he did not mean them. He is in a difficult position and wishes to—deservedly, I might add—discredit his lordship's claim of giving a well-received speech.”

“Did his lordship claim he presented our discovery that afternoon?”

“Not that I am aware. But he did not refute it either, and he remains the speaker on record that day. We all know his lordship seeks credit where it is not due. Consider the discovery of the
Results
book. I do not want your name, and hence my name, blackened by Charles's exposure of his lordships behavior. For many, it remains scandalous for a woman to put herself forward in such a manner. If Charles writes an article for the newspapers, as he threatened his lordship, I fear it will greatly reduce our financial support and goodwill amongst the scientific community.” Her father surveyed the crowd before speaking to her. “Let's ignore his lordship's party and get the balloon off the ground. I do not believe the man has anything of importance to say. Do you know the reason why we have the
honor
of his visit?”

“No, I do not understand why Lord Boyce and his father are here today.” She glanced at Charles Henry, bending over the gas tube filling the balloon, and realized that she could never marry him. Time would not heal her poor opinion of him. She returned to examine Parker again.

He stood surrounded by his father and the other man, all deep in conversation.

The other gentleman, dressed wholly in black, elbowed Parker in the ribs.

“Yes, yes,” Parker said, removing his hat and brushing those curly locks away from his enchanting green eyes.

A mere five feet in front of the basket stood her favorite Tulip of the Goes in his prime—the most beautiful male specimen on earth. Her stomach performed somersaults, but the rest of her body froze like a startled animal's. All she could manage was a smile that must have appeared as an idiotic one.

“Miss Mountfloy,” Parker pronounced, straightening his shoulders even more. “I seek permission to have a word in private.”

“No chance of that, gov,” someone shouted.

The audience voiced their amusement and agreement. “Speak up, sir!”

Parker glanced around him, evaluating the crowd. “Right ho, Miss Mountfloy. In front of these good people then, I'd like to offer a declaration.”

Did
Parker
say
the
word
“declaration”?
What
sort
of
declaration?
She glanced at her father.

Thomas Mountfloy dropped the
Results
book on a chair and strode to the group of gentlemen lined up in the center of the platform. “Your lordships must leave this minute. You have no business being here, and we have work to complete before our ascension.”

The marquess spoke directly to her father. “I understand you, sir, but I request you show my son the deference owed to a gentleman and allow him a minute or two only. Please, Mr. Mountfloy, let my son speak.”

Surely her father must agree, in deference to Lord Sutcliffe's consequence.

Her father waved a hand in dismissal. “No, I want the three of you to leave now.” Then he turned to Charles Henry. “Hurry up. Let's get the balloon airborne.”

A tear began to form in Eve's eye. She stepped away from the edge of the basket and turned her back to the crowd, hoping everyone would go away. She needed time to contemplate the nature of Parker's declaration. Marriage declaration? What other type was there?
Think, think, think
.

“Yes, yes,” Parker said, “my brave aeronaut. I know you are currently thinking hard with that beautiful brain of yours, but listen to me, please.”

After a swipe of her watery eyes, she turned and stepped to the edge of the basket, facing the crowd squarely.

“Do we have enough gas for ascension now?” her father yelled at Mr. Henry.

“Yes, but we won't get far.” Charles Henry glanced up at the balloon, only a quarter filled. “A few minutes more before we are able to rise safely above the trees.”

Parker turned to face the audience and directed them to stand back. “Lord Sutcliffe, Mr. George Drexel, ladies and gentlemen, prepare to witness my declaration of love,” Parker said, bowing first to Eve and then the audience.

The mob laughed heartily. The women wore smiles, while many of the men slapped their knees and laughed aloud.

Eve's heartbeat escalated to a million beats per minute, and there was every possibility her lungs no longer functioned. Air became a precious commodity, and for some reason, she could not get enough of it. She needed to clutch both edges of the basket to steady herself.

“Miss Eve Mountfloy,” Parker said, in the tone of a formal pronouncement, “I love you.”

The crowd roared; many clapped.

She forgot her lack of air and became fixed by Parker's earnest expression. Without doubt, she wore a Cheshire cat smile just as silly as the one on his face.

Parker turned to his father.

The marquess bowed to his son.

Many in the crowd wore foolish grins.

Parker then turned to wink at her. “You will notice that, while I feel like singing, I am not at the moment, my dear, dear Miss Mountfloy. I'm perfectly serious. Will you do me the great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

The entire crowd erupted in applause and whistles. Many of the men threw their hats in the air. The women clapped daintily, and everyone, old and young, sported broad smiles.

Meanwhile, Drexel laughed so hard, Eve thought he might do himself an injury.

“Stop this! All of you. My daughter is already engaged.”

“Before you give me an answer,” Parker continued, completely ignoring her father, “I must inform you that upon marriage, I will support your father's current studies. As my wife, I will encourage you to publish your father's discoveries. I'll be your publisher and editor, and you'll write away, like that Mrs. Marcet woman.” He held out his hand. “She taught the world about the wondrous discoveries to be found in chemistry, and you can contribute by instructing us all about the amazing properties of the air around us.”

Parker paused, and the marquess vigorously patted him on the back. “Congratulations, knew you could do it, of course. I've never been more proud.”

Parker smiled, nodded, and the two men exchanged congratulatory back pats.

While her heartbeat raced, Eve stood still, amazed that her dreams now dangled before her. Her life could be lived without the sacrifice of her happiness. Parker was the only man who could satisfy both of her dreams. She'd marry the man she loved, and with his promise of publishing their atmospheric results, he presented her with the chance to spread the word of their discoveries beyond her wildest expectations. Of course, upon his mention of Mrs. Marcet, she instantly thought of the title of her book.
Conversations
on
the
Atmosphere
sounded suitable, but first she would suggest the title
Conversations
on
a
Cloud
. She smiled at the thought of children rushing to choose a book with that enticing title. She focused on Parker. Despite her overwhelming love for him, and the warm, good feelings now spreading throughout her body, she remained still in a sort of stupor.

Her father climbed into the balloon. “Mr. Henry, give me a shout the moment we can ascend safely.”

“Of course. Not long now.” Charles Henry nodded and continued to hold the tube entering the bottom of the balloon.

Her father grabbed Eve's arm and spun her around to face him. “Now listen to me. You will politely decline his lordship's offer and send these people away. Tell them it's all a mistake.”

“Why? Didn't you hear him? His lordship will help with our research and pay for us to spread the news of our discoveries worldwide.” She knew this argument would have to sway her father's resistance. How could her father refuse the accolades and additional support publication would bring? “We need him—I need him.”

Seizing her shoulders, her father shook her violently. “You're a fool if you believe he'd put forward our discoveries. More than likely, he'd claim them himself. Besides, he's an aristocrat, remember? Do you honestly believe he will let his wife fly around in balloons? Of course not.”

“If you lay another hand on her, sir,” Parker said in a stern, steady voice, “I'll—”

Charles Henry began to wrestle with Parker alongside the basket.

The marquess and Drexel managed to pull Parker off Charles Henry, then restrained him.

“This is not your concern,” Parker shouted at the assistant.

Charles Henry bowed at the waist to catch his breath. “Miss Mountfloy has given me a promise that we will marry. She eagerly anticipates our union and understands her duty to both her father and myself.”

“No!” she shouted. “I know my duty, but I must withdraw my consent. We are no longer engaged.”

Thomas Mountfloy shook his head. “This is not the place to discuss such matters, since we are all a little heated at the present. I suggest we wait until cooler heads prevail and continue our flight as if nothing has changed, for all of our sakes.” Her father nodded in her direction. “Right now it is your duty to remain in the basket and help complete our experiments for today. In the future, you
will
wed Charles Henry. We all know his lordship speaks to gain false praise only. You have realized he is an embellisher of tales before this and that his word is not to be trusted. Refuse him immediately and send him on his way.”