Page 49 of An Unfamiliar Duke

He hesitated. It was a reaction born of years of keeping innovation secrets to himself. Rosalind caught his reluctance to speak and took another step back. He reached for her hand, relieved when she did not pull away. “This is someone else’s project,” he said. “If it were my own, I would gladly share it with you. As it is, I am honor bound to say as little as possible.”

“This is the one that came from Scotland the day we arrived at Finley Park,” she guessed.

“Yes. A colleague requested my assistance in discovering whether an error in calculation is preventing his invention from functioning as he believes it should.” He looked at the scattered sheets of paper and frowned. “Unfortunately, if there is one, it continues to elude me.”

“When does he wish the papers returned?”

“He asked that I send them back by courier within a fortnight,” Sebastian said. “I will make every effort to review all the computations by then, but I will be glad to have the papers safely back in the original creator’s hands afterward.”

A vision of Andrew Meikle bent over his table in the drafty workshop in East Lothian entered his mind. “I wish you could see how many of Britain’s brightest gentlemen live. They barely acknowledge their shabby accommodations because they spend every waking moment and every brass penny on developing new inventions. Every one of them works feverishly to break through an earlier barrier in industrialization or innovation, fully aware that someone else is racing toward the same goal.

“For a select few, the knowledge that their name will be forever associated with a new product is enough. For most, however, years of work without an end prize can be dire. If they do not see the financial remuneration that comes from being the first across the line, they face destitution.”

She was listening intently. “Which is why you feel so much pressure to do your part in a timely fashion.”

“Yes. And why I tell no one what I am about. For the sake of the inventor and the safety of his plans, it is better that any assistance I offer remains anonymous.”

“What concerns you most, the possibility of a document’s loss or its theft?”

“Both are heavy burdens, especially as either one could occur at Finley Park or in transit.”

“Do you truly believe that someone in your own household is capable of such a crime? Is that why you keep the door to your workshop locked?”

He caught the shock in her voice and hastened to clarify the situation. “I trust every one of my employees. If I did not, they would not work here. But this is not a case of preventing someone from stealing a design the way one would abscond with a painting or a set of candlesticks. I lock the door to protect anyone in the house from seeing something written on a piece of paper that would appear harmless to a casual observer, such as the name of an engineer or the working title of the machine they are trying to produce.

“My association with engineers and innovators is well known. Unfortunately, there are those with sufficiently unscrupulous morals who would lower themselves to extracting information from innocent staff members simply to get ahead. I lock the door in an effort to deny them that possibility.”

“Thank you for explaining.” She seemed sincere. He hoped he had said enough. She glanced at the scattered papers again. “How many pages do you still need to work through?”

He grimaced. “Forty-three, by the last count.”

“Then I had best let you be about your calculations.” She started toward the door.

“Rosalind.”

She stopped and turned to face him.

“Would you have dinner with me again tomorrow?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

He released a tense breath. “And breakfast?”

Her smile widened. “What time do you take breakfast?”

“Whenever you do.”

Her laughter cleared the air between them better than his explanation had. “Nine o’clock.”

“Nine o’clock,” he repeated. “I shall look forward to it.”

She reached for the doorknob. “Good night, Sebastian.”

“Good night,” he said, and the door clicked closed behind her.

* * *

Rosalind sat at the writing desk in her bedchamber, staring sightlessly at the glowing coals in the nearby fireplace. The rain had not abated all day, and the raindrops were maintaining a rhythmic tapping against the windowpanes. She glanced at the clock. It was quarter to eleven, and there had been no sound from the neighboring rooms. Sebastian must have become lost in his work again.