Gossamer Wing by Delphine Dryden

Author:Delphine Dryden
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2013-09-26T04:00:00+00:00

A STEAMRAIL COACH, BOUND FOR PARIS, FRANCE

“IT WAS BUILT for a larger person, that sub. It was the same when I used to try to drive my father’s steam car,” Charlotte grumbled, staring out at the passing scenic blur. The private steamrail coach was luxuriously fitted, but the ride was still tedious after the initial interest died off. They had already dined, then toured the saloon car and found nobody of interest there. There was not much to do, although Charlotte had spent a few minutes idly prodding at the curio box without any success. And now, with dusk falling, even the scenery was fading from view.

“You couldn’t reach the pedals?”

She shot him a haughty glare. “It was not built to accommodate my unique specifications. Even though it was a relatively small car, because Father wanted my mother and me to learn to drive it, the controls weren’t designed for a small person. It’s almost as though the manufacturers can’t really quite believe there are short people who might want to drive things. Sometimes it even happens when I’m having something custom-made. They have to do it over because they make it too big the first time even though I’ve told them . . .”

“Well, you are very tiny.”

“You never did that,” Charlotte pointed out. “All the things you’ve made for me, you never ignored the specifications like that.”

Dexter smiled and shrugged. “I’m empirical. I confess I never really considered how very small a woman those measurements implied. I took the numbers at their face value. It’s a weakness of mine.”

The opposite of Reginald, Charlotte supposed. Reginald, who took no numbers at face value. To whom all symbols represented something other than the thing they first appeared to represent.

“Not a weakness. An inclination, rather.”

“A tendency.”

“Exactly. Mister Woolly Bear.”

His eyebrow pricked up at the teasing tone. “Have you solved your puzzle box yet, dumpling?”

She gave him a little frown, a pretty pout of displeasure suitable for the Lady Hardison of shipboard life. Whether for the reminder about the box, or the implication that she was dumpling-shaped, she would never let Dexter know.

“I have not.”

“Would you like me to show—”

“I would not, thank you, snookums. I’ll get it.”

“I’m sure you will, my little cinnamon scone. In the meantime, about that reevaluation?”

In the silence following his question, Charlotte heard the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the rails, the huffing tension of the steam engine that propelled them, and the beating of his own heart. She felt turned to stone, her eyes trained obediently out the window and her expression giving nothing away. She waited long enough to speak that her response, when it finally came, seemed to take Dexter by surprise.

“What, precisely, do you propose?”

“Propose? I didn’t really intend a formal negotiation, you know. I don’t have terms.”

Charlotte kept her eyes glued to the passing twilight view as though she could will herself into it. As though, if she concentrated hard enough, she might find herself outside the steamrail coach altogether and away from Dexter Hardison and the conversation he wanted to have with her.

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