lay in her past, any more than he could do anything about what lay in his.
Experience had taught him that forward was the only practical way to go.
He raised his head, studied her for an instant, then quietly said, “Just for the record, although I might fund inventions and intend to work alongside your brother in bringing his current project to fruition, I would definitely notice if the house started to crumble in even a minor way.”
She glanced at him sidelong and briefly met his eyes. “You’re an investor, not an inventor.”
He smiled tightly. “Indeed.” He didn’t want her tarring him with that brush.
She gave a small humph and turned back to snip another dead rose.
Rand studied her face, the flawless complexion—milk and honey with a golden tinge courtesy of the summer sun—framed by a wealth of tumbling red-gold locks that made his fingers itch.
And I would definitely notice if you were unhappy or distressed or under pressure of any sort, especially if it was due to something I’d done.
The words remained a quiet statement in his mind; he was too wise to utter them.
He straightened and caught the swift glance she threw his way. “Thank you for confiding in me.” He held her gaze. “I can’t promise that this will pan out as we all hope, but rest assured I will do everything I can to ensure the weight of your father’s last invention is lifted from you, your family, and the household as soon as possible.”
Openly, she searched his eyes. “Do you think it’s possible? That at this late stage, William John can sort out the mechanisms that to date have eluded him?”
He didn’t look away. “I can’t say. However, I can guarantee that our only option is to forge ahead and do everything possible to assist William John in that endeavor.”
She looked toward the house. For a moment, he thought she would merely nod in dismissal, but, instead, she raised her chin and said, “Thank you for the assurance of your support.” She paused, then went on, “While I might not be overjoyed about the project continuing, I understand the situation and accept that it must. That, as matters stand, we all need this invention to be a success.” Finally, her eyes touched his again, and she gracefully inclined her head. “Rest assured that I’ll do nothing to make the road to success more difficult.”
Rand tipped his head in response. “Thank you.” That was the assurance he’d come to the rose garden hoping to get. He stepped back. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
She murmured an agreement and returned to trimming the roses.
Rand turned and walked out of the rose garden, then he slid his hands into his pockets and strode across the lawn. On his way to the rose garden, he’d passed the still-open doors of the workshop; a breeze had sprung up, and the sulfurous fog had almost cleared. He turned his steps west. Circling the house would afford him time to sort through his thoughts as well as giving him the lie of the land.
Speaking of which, he should learn Miss Throgmorton’s given name. Not that he expected to get all that much closer to her, fascinating creature though she was. She was intelligent, prickly, and capable—more than clever enough to manipulate any man.
Precisely the sort of clever lady he’d long ago barricaded his heart against.
And if his heart wasn’t involved...given the circumstances, pursuing any sort of relationship with her was entirely out of bounds.
Yes, he was aware of the visceral tug he felt in her presence, but that didn’t mean he had to do anything about it.
Aside from all else, he was there, walking the lawns of Throgmorton Hall, for one burningly urgent reason. He had to ensure the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage made its debut in appropriate style at the upcoming exhibition.
If he failed...
Unlike the Throgmortons, he wouldn’t be ruined, but the setback would be severe.
Clearly, he and William John would get no active help from Miss Throgmorton, not that he could imagine how she might actively assist. But she’d agreed to manage the household around them, around the completion of the invention, and that was really all he could hope for from her.
He walked on, boots crunching on the gravel of the forecourt as he approached the front door, through which he’d left the house.
As he started up the porch steps, he inwardly admitted he would have preferred Miss Throgmorton to be more engaged with the project—to be an invested supporter, rather than a highly reluctant one.
But he’d gained a clear statement of commitment, and having heard the reasons behind her attitude to inventing, that was realistically all he could hope for.
It’s enough to go on with. The words rang in his mind as he opened the door and walked into the front hall.
Felicia swept through the door of the breakfast parlor at her customary hour of eight o’clock. Dinner the previous evening had been an entirely uneventful and rather stiff affair; she’d still been grappling with the ramifications of the revelations Cavanaugh’s arrival had brought, William John had been frowning and muttering over what had caused the explosion, and Cavanaugh had seemed disinclined to push further regarding the invention, perhaps wanting to wait until he’d seen it. He’d spent more time chatting with Flora than with anyone else.
As usual, Felicia found William John already at the table, frowning direfully at several diagrams while he sipped his coffee, but she nearly jumped when Cavanaugh rose from his chair farther around the circular table.
Her eyes wider than she would have liked, she managed to smile with reasonable composure and wave him back to his chair. “Good morning, my lord.” I didn’t expect to see you before noon. “I trust you slept well?” She headed for the sideboard.
“I did, thank you.” He resumed his seat. “The bed was comfortable, and after the constant noise of the capital, the silence of the country at night is a welcome relief.”
She glanced briefly his way. “You live in Mayfair?” Why had she asked that? She didn’t need to know. She gave him her back and concentrated on helping herself to a portion of kedgeree—and tried to drag her wits away from their sudden obsession with whether her bodice was straight and her hair properly pinned.
“I have lodgings in Jermyn Street.”
Of course he did. The street inhabited by all the most fashionable bachelors.
“That said, I spend most of my time in my office in the City.”
Turning, she approached the place opposite him. Johnson arrived with a teapot and a fresh rack of toast; he quickly set them down and pulled out and held her chair for her. She thanked him with a smile, sat, then glanced again at Cavanaugh. “I suppose you have to meet and discuss projects with your investors.”
He lowered his gaze to his plate of ham and eggs. “That, and meet with my contacts so that I hear of any new inventions looking for funding.”
