Page 86 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

And when, with what was, for William John, a remarkably graceful gesture, he invited the Prince to step into the carriage for a drive down the hall, the excitement that gripped not just Albert but the entire audience was wonderful to behold.

After a moment of further discussion, Albert accepted.

William John spared a triumphant glance for Felicia and Rand, then turned back to show the Prince to the steps to climb up to the carriage’s bench seat.

Thrilled and eager to witness such an event, the crowd was quite orderly in falling back to clear space for the carriage to turn out of its allotted spot and then roll up the hall.

Rand doubted he would ever again know a moment like this—the first time an invention he’d backed had been given such a clear stamp of approval from the monarchy. As he and Felicia, together with Ryder and Mary, stepped back with the rest of the onlookers, Rand felt the white silk band still wrapped around his fingers. Releasing Felicia’s arm, he unraveled the remnants of the silk square.

It was monogrammed. For several seconds, Rand stared at the entwined HW. Then he tucked the handkerchief into his pocket and glanced over his shoulder. As he’d instructed, Mayhew had remained close. “I suggest,” Rand said, “that with all attention on the steam carriage, now would be a good time to find your uncle and have a quiet word.”

Mayhew arched a brow. “He would have waited to see what happened.”

“Indeed. Let’s catch him before he realizes nothing is going to mar the Prince’s enjoyment and does a bunk.”

Rand bent his head and whispered to Felicia, “Mayhew and I need to speak to the man who tried to get him to sabotage the engine. You need to stay here in case William John needs any support when he returns. We should be back soon after.”

She shot him a look, one that stated she was torn, but in the end, she nodded. “All right. Just as long as you tell me all later.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “I promise.”

“Do you need help?” Ryder murmured, his gaze fixed on the steam carriage.

Rand thought about it. “Not at this point.”

Ryder nodded, and Rand turned to Mayhew. Rand tipped his head toward the main doors. “Come on. I would wager your uncle’s still watching and waiting, and I believe he owes us all several boons for preventing the assassination of Prince Albert by his hand.”

Mayhew blinked, then his eyes widened. “Good Lord! I hadn’t thought of that.”

Rand smiled grimly, yet predatory satisfaction glimmered in his eyes. “Indeed. I doubt Winthrop did, either, and, in this instance, his handkerchiefs are as good as a calling card.”

They found Winthrop at the rear of the crowd, not far from the main doors. As they approached, he was scowling and rising up on his toes in an attempt to see what was happening over the intervening heads. His peeved expression stated very clearly that he was utterly perplexed as to why the engine—only just audible at this distance—was still running.

Rand approached from behind Winthrop and dropped a heavy hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Winthrop.”

Winthrop stiffened, then whirled. For a split second, his expression was aghast, but he immediately recovered, summoning a tight smile and drawing himself up in a vain attempt to look down his nose at Rand.

Rand simply waited.

Eventually forced to it, Winthrop inclined his head and managed a rather stilted bow. “Lord Cavanaugh.”

As he straightened, Winthrop noticed who was standing by Rand’s side, and his expression faltered. “What…?” Then he swallowed and glared. “What are you doing here, boy?”

Clive smiled. “If you recall, we met earlier, Uncle.”

Winthrop’s color rose.

Before he could splutter at Clive, Rand drew Winthrop’s silk handkerchief from his pocket. “I believe this is yours, Winthrop.”

Winthrop stared at the handkerchief, focusing on the embroidered initials Rand held displayed. From tending puce, Winthrop’s face paled to a pasty hue.

“Obviously, you forgot that your handkerchiefs were so distinctive.” Rand returned the incriminating evidence to his pocket. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know where we found it—and its mate. I doubt you could concoct a story that would explain that away.”

Winthrop drew in a shuddering breath, then switched his choleric stare to his nephew. “You ungrateful pup! What have you done?”

“What Mayhew has done, Winthrop,” Rand stated, “is to save you from the Tower and a very bad end.”

Winthrop blinked. “What?”