Rust and Steam by Anne Renwick

Author:Anne Renwick [Renwick, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781948359122
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Epilogue

Alice—flanked by both Ben and Mr. Jackson —followed the duke’s antiquated steam butler, Burton, wondering why no one bothered to oil his rusty jaw. But it was not her place to inquire. She rubbed her finger over the drawstring of her reticule in nervous excitement, then forced herself to stop. Only the most proper behavior must be on display this morning. And that included suppressing the overwhelming desire to smile at the loyal—if exhausted—man who had accompanied her from the train station directly to the duke’s doorstep.

Upon their arrival at King’s Cross, Clara had clapped her hands. “Thank goodness,” she’d whispered in Alice’s ear. “I was afraid I might find myself related to Lady Delphinia. Alas, it’s far too early an hour to properly celebrate. We’ll have tea soon.” Grinning, Ben’s sister had adjusted her hat, then climbed into a separate steam carriage.

Alice and Ben had been celebrating their engagement all night, but she was anything but tired. Pure excitement and anticipation galvanized her.

Her mouth twitched. Affianced to the very man the duchess had instructed her to abandon, their next stop would be her parent’s London townhome, where Mother would be promised anything she wanted, provided it hastened their wedding without attracting negative speculations as to the reason why.

All that remained was to secure herself a position of favor with Her Grace’s husband, the Duke of Avesbury.

Burton rolled to a stop before the great man’s door, and Alice’s stomach flip-flopped. Unclenching her fingers, she smoothed her skirts. She’d chosen a modest, russet-striped day gown with a high necked and pleated bodice—edged by two simple rows of buttons—and an overskirt that swept back into a high bustle to highlight the triangular-toothed russet accents of her skirts. All very tasteful. A shame her oversized reticule did not precisely match. If Her Grace was present, she would note the faux pas. Alice was counting on Watson’s brilliance—and the captured clockwork insect—to distract the duke from any disapproval his duchess might insinuate.

Ben gave her hand a furtive squeeze and whispered, “Good luck!” Then took a step back, prepared to wait as long as necessary while she met with the duke.

“My lady.” Burton waved her into the study.

Alice lifted her chin and preceded Mr. Jackson into a wood-paneled room lined with shelves of books. Traditional gas jets helped the windows to illuminate the room. The great man himself stood behind a large, wooden desk. Alas, Her Grace did indeed sit in a wing-backed chair beside the fireplace. She did not look up from her needlework.

Alice swallowed and tamped down her concern. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Your Grace.”

“Lady Alice,” the duke replied, inclining his head. “And Mr. Jackson. To what do I owe this additional pleasure?”

“A would-be thief provided us both some… difficulties last night,” she began. “Mr. Jackson was good enough to help detain him so that your agents might question him.” She took a deep breath. “Perhaps he might provide his report first? The device which I hope to demonstrate is, as you know, of a rather sensitive nature.

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