A Study in Silks (28 page)

Alice gave another laugh, but this time it was high and nervous. “Very true, but he will have to live with my father. He will have to be a very strong man to dare that.”

Evelina could well believe that. “Then when he comes along, you will have to snap him up.”

“That sounds very carnivorous.”

It was Evelina’s turn to laugh. “My grandmamma told me the marriage mart is not for the fainthearted.”

“Well, then,” said Alice, “let us break out the cutlery and have at it.”

IMOGEN EYED STANFORD
Whitlock uneasily. He was nice to look at, but had the unhappy habit of licking his lips. The sight of that large pink tongue reminded her of a mastiff they’d once owned. She was tempted to toss him a hunk of beef just to see if he would catch it in his teeth.

“But you see,” piped Percy Hamilton, who kept moving forward an inch with every breath. He was very close to crowding her against the tea table. “Buttercup was the favorite
in the fourth race. She had a beautiful gait, she did. I was sure she could take Rake’s Flagon by at least a head.”

“And did she?” Imogen asked politely. “How fared the gallant Buttercup?”

“Disconnect me if she didn’t throw a shoe on the curve, and I lost my last shilling that day,” Percy said cheerfully. “But I got it all back at the next meet. It’s all a matter of trusting the numbers will come your way again.”

Imogen didn’t entirely disagree. Unlike Evelina, who planned for every last contingency, she was more patient with the universe. However, Imogen had also learned that life could be fleeting, and ought not to be wasted on irritating young men.

If he said “Disconnect me” one more time, she was going to shriek.

Percy inched forward again, and her bustle connected with the table. There was a faint rattling of teacups. “Mr. Hamilton, would you please be so kind as to withdraw a few steps?”

Before he could reply, Whitlock grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him backward. Percy made a faint gargling sound as his feet bobbed above the ground.

“Better?” Whitlock asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Imogen returned brightly, scanning the horizon for Evelina to come to her rescue. She was beginning to feel fatigued. She’d never been unduly strong, and the stress of the last few days was wearing on her. “You may set him down now.”

Whitlock released his grasp and returned to his former stance. Stolid. Wordless. Imogen felt herself growing tense even as Percy launched into a new tale of equine glory. She was beginning to think of Whitlock as The Stare. She wondered if this was what rabbits felt right before a fox bagged them.

“Miss Roth.” A third voice made her start. She turned to her left. Bucky Penner was grinning down at her. He always had the look of a man planning an outrage, and right now it was directed at her.

“What may I do for you, Mr. Penner?” she asked a bit
tartly. He was Tobias’s longtime friend, and familiarity—not to mention his ceaseless pranks on his best friend’s sisters, like the time he had glued the edges of Poppy’s shoes together when she had fallen asleep under the pear tree—had rubbed away the top layer of good manners between them.

“Your furbelows are blocking access to the tea.” He stared pointedly at her bustle.

“Indeed, sir.” Only he could make a factual statement sound so improper. “Are you even certain of the definition of a furbelow?”

“I know they are an ornament prized by ladies in all conditions of life, and that they have come between me, a humble supplicant of the teapot, and the object of my desire.”

The only thing to do with Bucky was to hand his impudence right back. “Like a goddess of old, perhaps I demand obeisance before letting supplicants pass.”

“Is this man being a bother?” The Stare demanded, proving he could actually speak.

Ignoring him, Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Are you truly going to deprive me of my refreshment, Miss Roth?”

“You cast yourself in the role of supplicant, Mr. Penner. I would like to witness some groveling, if you please.”

“You are a cruel deity, madam, to sport the fair and innocent visage of Venus and yet possess the unforgiving temper of a Juno.”

Imogen folded her arms, starting to enjoy herself at long last. “How badly do you want your tea, Mr. Penner? Homage must be rendered when and where it is due.” And she prepared to stare him down.

Which was a mistake. He shamelessly stared right back.

Imogen’s stomach fluttered and heat rose up her neck and cheeks. How mortifying. She knew her pale skin showed every blush like a bright red flag. Still, she refused to budge.

“I say,” began Percy uncertainly, but no one paid him the least attention. As far as Imogen was concerned, Percy and Whitlock might as well have been struck by a thunderbolt and dissolved to dust.

Imogen had never noticed how delicious a shade of brown Bucky’s eyes were, like the very best dark Belgian chocolate. Or how his hair curled at the tips, begging her fingers to smooth it down. Or how the corners of his mouth quirked with ready laughter. Bucky Penner had always struck her as Tobias’s foil—not as handsome, not as adventurous, but the one with his feet planted firmly on the ground. Now she saw that was only half the truth. Everything about him was full of life.

She was elated by the discovery, as if one part of her soul had figured out what the other half already knew. And she was dismayed, because she wasn’t quite prepared for this. The Season hadn’t even begun. Her heart was supposed to remain in its white tissue wrapping a little longer.

Don’t be a goose. This is Bucky. Even his name is ridiculous
. Imogen wanted to withdraw from their contest of wills very badly, but wasn’t sure how to do it without making a cake of herself.
Ugh!
If this kept up, she might finish by actually
liking
Tobias’s best friend. Now that would be embarrassing.

Almost as bad as the moment when Bucky swept off his hat and fell to one knee, for all the world like a suitor begging for her hand. “My glorious goddess, you have carried the field. I declare myself undone by your majesty. Is there something you would like me to kiss as part of my supplication? Your hand, or perhaps your feet? I believe I saw that once in a badly rhymed poem—though perhaps we could manage something more befitting your furbelowed glory. An offering of lemon ices and love letters to be spread upon your altar?”

“Mr. Penner! Get up at once!” Imogen gasped, looking about in abject mortification. Bad enough that a young man was pretending to propose, but it was
Bucky
. Everyone would know he was mocking her. “Stop this foolery and get your wretched tea!”

He was up in an instant, diving for the cups so fast their bodies collided. She felt the solidity of his like a warm, hard wall as she let out a faint “oof!” He caught her arm, steadying her before she fell into the cream.

“Are you all right?” he said, laughing.

“I’ll survive.” Her skin tingled as if he’d doused her in a magnetic field. The heat of her embarrassment gathered in her belly and grew … well, as odd as it sounded, the feeling was rather nice.
Lemon ices and love letters
. Yes, she had to admit, it sounded rather pleasant.

She gathered as much dignity as she could muster and looked around. Percy and The Stare were gone. She tried to regret the fact, but couldn’t quite manage it.

When Bucky looked down at her this time, the grin had turned to something far more speculative and intriguing. “Be sure when you begin a conquest, Miss Roth, that you actually mean to win.”

Imogen swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry and it felt like she had a croquet ball stuck halfway down her throat. “It’s a question of standards, Mr. Penner. I may not be a real goddess, but even so I expect flowers before a kiss, even if it is only my feet involved.”

He narrowed his eyes, one corner of his mouth curling up. “I’ll remember that, Miss Roth.”

“
MR. KEATING BROUGHT
toys,” Imogen said to Evelina a few minutes later.

Evelina noticed she was flushed, but in a way that spoke of excitement rather than fever. She somehow didn’t think it had anything to do with the Gold King, and she wondered what had gone on while she was talking to Alice.

One of Keating’s spaniels was setting up some sort of scientific equipment. “Let’s go over there to get a better view,” Evelina suggested.

Imogen made a face. “I’m sure it’s going to be dull. No one ever brings anything fun if Papa is around. It’s probably something to do with that new gallery of Keating’s. A lot of Greek pots, from what I hear.”

“Let’s go anyway.”

They wandered across the lawn, Evelina a pace or two behind her friend. Imogen stopped next to Tobias.

The sight of him made Evelina’s stomach twist with an
unpleasant mix of regret and anger. She instinctively veered to the left, keeping Imogen between them. After their scene by the clock, she had no desire to be anywhere in his vicinity.

He stiffened as she approached, his shoulders as rigid as the knot in her gut. That just annoyed her more. She wished she could take back that kiss. No, that wasn’t right. She wished she could make it mean something to Tobias beyond a bump to his pride.

She’d been watching him all afternoon. She’d seen him arguing with Lord B earlier, then talking earnestly with Dr. Magnus. Whatever Magnus had said had acted like a tonic. Tobias stood with his shoulders squared, an air of barely contained energy wrapping him like a cloak. Something was afoot.

But now the doctor was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Lord B and Magnus hadn’t come within a dozen yards of each other, but that was no surprise.

The mouse had come to her room a good half hour after she’d left Tobias last night and reported that Magnus wanted leverage with Jasper Keating. There was something he thought Keating possessed, or was about to possess, and Magnus wanted Bancroft’s help in getting it. Bancroft had refused, but Magnus had been insistent. According to the mouse, the doctor had eventually backed down with the air of someone playing the opening hand in a long game. The mouse had heard no open references to the automatons.

Her thoughts were broken by the fact that the man setting up the curious contraption appeared to be finished. He dusted off his hands and trotted back to Keating’s side with an eager expression.

“What’s going on?” Imogen asked her brother.

“The Gold King’s man, Jackson, is about to give a demonstration of some kind. They have an enormous dry cell battery.”

Evelina’s gaze traveled from Jasper Keating to Lord and Lady Bancroft. They all stood only a few sociable feet apart from each other, and yet the air between them seemed to crackle with enough tension to combust. Although it was
politically expedient to invite the Gold King, the pall it cast on the company hardly seemed worthwhile.

“Ladies, gentlemen.” Jackson opened his arms in a gesture reminiscent of Old Ploughman about to announce the high-wire act. “Gracious hostess.” He turned and made a bow to Lady Bancroft, who gave a graceful nod.

Evelina quickly catalogued the items on display. Battery. Wires. A pair of glass globes flickering with crazy arcs of electricity.

“Some fool is going to get a nasty shock,” Tobias muttered under his breath.

Evelina glanced up, realizing the buffer between them was gone. Imogen had sidled to a different position and was frowning at Bucky Penner, who was chatting with two other young bucks. Evelina wondered what nonsense Bucky had got up to now, and returned her attention to the unfolding drama.

“For those who do not know me, my name is Mr. Aragon Jackson, and I am fortunate enough to be in the employ of Mr. Keating. My purpose at Keating Utility is to come up with new ways to make gas, steam, and other types of power a useful part of your households. Today, ladies and gentlemen, I have something entirely new!”

Evelina half expected Jackson to whip out a bottle of cure-all tonic.

He pointed to the crowd, making a slow arc to capture them all in his gesture. “I ask you, who here has rung and rung the bell for lazy servants who never came?”

With an inward groan, she wondered if they were about to endure another new model of automaton.

“Who here has waited for refreshments, or the newspaper, or for the lights to be adjusted? Who can bear to bother with dull and inattentive servants one more day?”

A murmur rippled through the party. Evelina cast a nervous glance at the staff standing still as wax figures around the periphery of the crowd. Three of their number had just been murdered. This was not the time to persecute them.

“This invention is the answer!” Jackson swept an arm toward his creation. “I require a volunteer.”

Two of Keating’s men dragged forward a maid in black and white. Evelina’s stomach clenched. It was Dora. Jackson strapped something to her arm, then placed an odd-looking circlet on her head. It had a pair of antennae sticking up that reminded her of a bug. A wire ran from the headgear to the armband, another from her wrist to the enormous battery sitting on the lawn.

“What is this?” Tobias growled under his breath.

“Using the very latest in wireless radio transmission, your summons can be communicated directly to staff on duty.” He pointed to what looked like a telegraph key sitting on a table beside the battery. “No more pulling on a bell rope only to have your desires lost in an empty servant’s hall. Now they have no excuse to ignore your wishes.”

Jackson leaned over and tapped the key. Dora cried out, fingers flying to the wristband.

Evelina started, looking around for an explanation. “What’s happening?”

Then she realized she was the only one who spoke.

“Yes,” Jackson announced to the suddenly silent audience. “This new invention wirelessly delivers a soundless summons anywhere within your house. No more shirking, no more hiding. All that is required is the equipment you see here, with the addition of one of our new patented portable energy cells, small enough for an active servant to strap onto her waistband. Obviously, the staff can’t be tethered to a large battery such as the one you see here.”

He paused, waiting for a polite chuckle to ripple through the crowd. Then he tapped the key again. Dora yelped a second time.