Page 25 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

She searched through her feelings for the emotions underlying them—and felt her brows rise as she considered what she sensed.

She would defend the invention as if it were…hers, in a way. Hers to protect—like a mechanical child. A mechanical nephew—the fruit of her brother’s brain.

Given her until-recent attitude to inventions, that struck her as odd, yet she couldn’t deny or dismiss the protectiveness that had surged inside her when she’d heard the alarm and seen the man fleeing across the lawn.

She’d known the invention had been attacked, and her response had been instant and instinctive.

She’d been—and still was—prepared to fight to ensure the engine, her father’s last project, succeeded.

Not from any especial devotion to her father or even her brother. Not purely because her future might well hang on the engine’s success. But primarily because someone had dared to attack the engine—and through that, attack them. Her, William John, their household—and Rand Cavanaugh.

Her features eased; she considered that conclusion, then allowed a smile to bloom.

Now, she understood her reaction.

Her people—those she considered her responsibility—had been threatened. Of course she would fight to defend them.

Reassured and feeling more settled, she lowered her arms and turned from the window.

She climbed beneath the covers, lay down, and settled her head on her pillow.

No matter how unthreatening and innocent Clive Mayhew appeared to be, she would continue to be on her guard against him. If he truly was innocent, it wouldn’t matter. If he wasn’t…

She closed her eyes and relaxed into the softness of her feather mattress. She thought of Mayhew’s visit later that day as sleep drifted closer.

On the cusp of dreams came the reflection that she was exceedingly glad that Rand had thought to come to the Hall, that he’d opened her eyes to the reality of what was going on, and she was beyond words relieved that, over dinner, he’d said he would stay, not just until the engine was fixed and running smoothly but until they’d successfully unveiled it at the exhibition.

He would be there, by her side, throughout this unforeseen adventure.

She slid into sleep thoroughly pleased about that.

CHAPTER 6

On his way to the breakfast parlor that morning, Rand paused in the front hall as Johnson emerged from the direction of the kitchen. “Johnson, has that letter I left last night gone out?”

“Indeed, my lord.” With a covered dish in his hands, Johnson half bowed. “I sent both letters off with the stable lad first thing this morning. The post is collected from the village promptly at nine o’clock.”

Rand smiled. “Thank you.” So his letter to Ryder was on its way. Perhaps it was just as well he hadn’t known of the attack to mention it, not if he wanted to avoid a visit from his sometimes-overpowering big brother.

He followed Johnson into the breakfast parlor. Felicia and William John were already at the table. After exchanging a “Good morning” with Felicia, Rand helped himself from the sideboard, then circled the table to claim the chair he’d sat in the previous day—the one facing Felicia. The light streaming in through the windows at his back illuminated her expressive face. He could, he felt, stare at it for hours.

He wasn’t entirely surprised when, once he’d settled and essayed his first mouthful, she shot him a look and stated, “Regarding Mayhew’s visit this afternoon, I’ve decided it would be best to continue to be on guard. We can’t be certain he wasn’t the man who attempted to break into the workshop last night.”

For once, William John was listening. He frowned, his expression suggesting he wasn’t convinced of Mayhew’s involvement.

“I agree.” Rand reached for the mug Johnson had filled with coffee. “But regardless of whether the perpetrator was Mayhew or not, the attack last night is proof incontrovertible that someone—someone in the vicinity—is set on gaining access to the Throgmorton engine. Given how close we are to the exhibition, we have to assume that person’s intent is to sabotage the invention and prevent it from being successfully presented at the exhibition.”

William John grimaced. Pushing away his empty plate, he sank his hands into his trouser pockets and stared at the tablecloth in front of him. “I know Papa had an invention sabotaged years ago, while he was transporting it to the factory that had commissioned it, but he managed to fix it.” William John looked up and met Rand’s gaze. “In that case, the blackguard was a competing inventor. Are there other inventors in direct competition with us over the steam engine? I haven’t heard of any, but since Papa’s death, I haven’t been corresponding with any others in the field.”

Rand took a full minute to evaluate what he knew and how best to explain it. Eventually, after glancing at Felicia and noting that she, too, was waiting for his reply, he said, “I don’t know of any directly competing inventors. As far as I know, the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage is the only such invention being unveiled at this year’s exhibition. In the eyes of most inventors and investors, the concept of a steam-powered horseless carriage has proved unviable—precisely because of the problems you and your father have worked to address. I haven’t heard of any other inventor who is still pursuing that dream—at least, not in England. And I doubt the Throgmorton engine will have come to the attention of inventors on the Continent—not yet.”

He paused, considering, then concluded, “Overall, I think it unlikely that some other inventor is behind last night’s attack.” He drew breath and went on, “That isn’t to say there aren’t others who have a vested interest in eradicating any suggestion that steam-powered horseless carriages might yet be a viable proposition.”

Felicia frowned. “If not other inventors, then who?”

“Other investors—and that’s just one group.” Rand felt his face harden. “With steam-powered vehicles, you would also have to consider the owners and operators of the railways—and they are an exceedingly powerful lot. Then there’s the toll-road operators, who have taken a hard stance against steam-powered vehicles—they would infinitely prefer the notion vanished without trace.” He paused, then met Felicia’s eyes. “And as for the politics…who knows who has interests that such an invention—a successful one—might threaten?”

Felicia studied his face, his eyes, then she tipped her head, and her lips and chin firmed. “It sounds as if it’s pointless to speculate on who might ultimately be behind the attack and what their motives might be. To me, that means we need to maintain our vigilance against any and all further attack—who might be behind such attacks doesn’t change what we need to do.”