The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (21 page)

Her arrival in the front hall was heralded by the sounds of a strident shouts.

“I said, put me down!”

A small boy wearing torn and patched trousers, a scarlet waistcoat, and an oddly misshapen hat dangled from Simon’s outstretched arm. The boy’s skinny legs and arms were churning furiously. In one clenched fist, the boy held a thick packet of crumpled papers.

The first sign her day was improving.

Simon looked up, his face tight. “Look what I caught slipping in through the front door behind me. Your butler didn’t even notice his presence.”

Indeed, Steam Mary stood idling by the door, holding Amanda’s hat and cloak, oblivious to the chaos. Their butler, Burton, was rolling away having left the front door wide open to the public.

“It’s quite all right. You may put him down. He’s merely a delivery boy.”

“He’s a gypsy.”

“But still a delivery boy.” She smiled her assurances at Simon. One had to make allowances for such a widespread prejudice. She could disabuse him of his misconceptions at a later time.

Simon lowered the boy to his feet, and he bounded to her side, sliding a dark glance behind him at Simon, who glowered back with suspicion.

“I’m to deliver this directly into the hands of Lady Amanda Ravensdale.”

“That would be me.”

He held up the folded, sealed packet and bowed with a flourish.

“Thank you, young man.” Amanda stuffed the letter inside her reticule and pulled the drawstrings tight. “Now I must pay you for your troubles.

“Steam Mary,” she called. The maid rolled over to her. “Please take this young man to the kitchens.” She turned to the boy. “Will you accept payment in apple tarts?”

The boy gave her a gap-toothed grin and nodded.

Steam Mary puffed off down the hall, and the boy trotted behind her.

~~~

She fluttered her lashes and tipped her head with a smile like Olivia was wont to do in Carlton’s presence.

It did not have the desired effect.

Simon frowned as she took his proffered arm. “Does it not worry you to have a gypsy running free about your home?”

“Not in the slightest.” Perhaps now was as good as any to introduce the concept of having one in the family. “Growing up in the countryside, I spent quite a lot of time with them. Most of my clockwork skills originated under the tutelage of an old clockwork tinker.” Simon was still frowning. “My brother’s as well. He used to call us his apprentices. If not for that old gypsy, there would be no London Steam Orchestra.”

“Ah, I see now,” he said, his voice haughty. “A refinement and elevation of tinker technology.”

It was Amanda’s turn to frown. She didn’t think of it that way at all.

She tucked her hand around his elbow and allowed him to lead her from the house. Outside, the sun shone brightly. Such a day was rare.

“May I inquire as to what model butler you have?” Simon asked, handing her into the phaeton runabout. “He could barely speak. His gears ground and his joints screeched, and all he did was drop my card onto a kind of…‌ table.”

“Burton is an old family favorite.
Father
is quite attached,” Amanda replied politely as Simon settled beside her. She couldn’t afford to alienate him. So she invoked the duke, a sure way to trump any argument.

“I see,” Simon grumbled.

Amanda pressed her hand to his arm and leaned in close, attempting to lighten his mood. “Besides, RT‌—‌the table‌—‌seems quite fond of you, delivering your card directly to my side.”

His free hand caught up hers, and his brow unfurrowed. “I’ve been anticipating our drive all day. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Of course, Simon.” But the look in his eyes as he squeezed her hand tightly‌—‌as though she might suddenly slip away‌—‌gave warning. “Oh! Are those twin compound steam engines for the drive wheel?” Amanda exclaimed, pulling her hand free. She reached for the steering handle and uttered words designed to prick the pride of any man. “May I steer?”

Her suitor was suitably distracted. Grasping the handle, he stammered excuses and began‌—‌without drawing breath‌—‌to point out and manipulate the various gadgets and improvements that had inspired the purchase of this particular model while Amanda made appropriate noises of appreciation.

Then, as the engine chugged to life and lurched into motion with a puff of smoke, Simon crammed his hat down upon his golden curls and grinned at her with bright blue eyes and two straight rows of white teeth, inviting an answering smile.

She did her best, but therein lay the problem, did it not? Rather than a whole, Simon forever appeared to her as a collection of items on the list of husbandly requirements. Handsome? Check. Intelligent? Check. Kind and thoughtful? She thought of the gypsy boy. Simon only thought of her safety. Check. Dependable. Check.

Soon they were deep in the throngs, amidst all the other
ton
out to see and be seen. The latest models of steam carriages were everywhere, polished and painted to showroom perfection, their engines clicking and clacking and chugging along, forced by the crowd to throttle back to a crawl. From time to time, a gentleman passed by riding a clockwork horse. But none lurched to the right on the sixteenth step.

She’d felt Thornton tense just before each lurch and knew his leg pained him, diminishing the initial thrill of having his arms wrapped about her as he held the reins. She suppressed a sigh and glanced at Simon, determined to focus on the man she was with. It was possible her future sat beside her.

Why, then, did her stomach churn?

Overhead, colorful balloons floated in the clear sky above Hyde Park as groups of young people went up to take in the view. Up high, away from chaperones, they could flirt with the dangers of the sky, though carefully tethered below. Enormous, oblong silver balloons of transport dirigibles hovered in the distance as backdrop. All serene and calm. No airship pirates ever threatened London airspace.

What did it say about her that she’d rather be in the windowless room of a laboratory than outside on such a crisp, fall day?

She tried reducing Thornton to a list. Handsome. Unruly curls. Unreadable sapphire eyes. Wide lips. A strong chin. A deep, rumbling and entrancing voice.

But there was much more to admire.

Brilliant. He was the most intelligent man she’d met. Brave. She thought of the confidence with which he’d launched into action at Black’s side. Loyal. He’d stood by Lady Huntley even when her husband proved a traitor. Kind. He’d brought Henri into his circle. Fair. He respected her work, acknowledged its uniqueness and treated her as a colleague, not a convenience. Direct. She knew where she stood.

Amanda sighed. She knew exactly where she stood, and it was not close enough.

Was Henri right? Should she attempt to pry Thornton from his shell when he’d made it quite clear her attempts were unwelcome? Could it even be done?

Yes. She’d felt his resolve weaken during their last conversation. The man was not immune to feminine charm‌—‌or dress. Once, he’d even been engaged to one Lady Anne Grimwauld. How
had
the woman managed it? Amanda might have been tempted to ask did not Lady Anne openly pity Ned’s injuries.

Her hands tightened about her reticule, feeling the papers tucked securely within. Riding about in Simon’s phaeton seemed a sorry use of her time. She desperately wanted to review Emily’s work. Perhaps she had noted something that might be employed as an alternative to the
amatiflora
, something the chemists at Lister could substitute. Something that might help Thornton.

Even a sketch of the “gypsy weed” would be progress.

“Amanda,” Simon spoke, breaking into her reverie. He reached out and traced the path of her bonnet ribbon under her chin, his eyes searching her face. “I’m worried about you, about the vast number of hours you spend in Lord Thornton’s laboratory. Lately, you’ve seemed so…‌ distracted. Tense. Is he making demands you can’t meet?”

No
.

And wasn’t that the problem? He wasn’t making the kinds of demands she wanted to meet.

His demands on her time were extensive, but she relished those hours. On the rare occasions they worked together, side by side, the hours flew by, their like minds finishing each other’s thoughts as the new neurachnid took shape. Never had she made such swift progress. Yet there was something more between them, a spark that flashed every time they
accidentally
touched. But while she stood ready to fan the embers, Thornton carefully doused every flammable moment.

Simon was still speaking. “Ever since you became a student research assistant in Lord Thornton’s laboratory, it seems as though you barely have any time for me.” He was jealous, and rightfully so.

Smoothing his ruffled feathers seemed the wisest course. “It’s not that I do not wish to spend time with you, Simon. I…‌”

He silenced her by reaching out with his hand, pressing it over her gloved one. “Then know I’m looking forward to our evening together at the Symphony House.”

She’d forgotten. Ned’s latest program for the Steam Orchestra was scheduled to debut this week.
And
he was to unveil a new row of automusicians.
That
was why she’d heard him muttering about the delayed coal shipment.

Simon sighed. “Please don’t tell me you planned to spend that evening in the laboratory? I won’t chance another breakthrough keeping you from my side.”

Ned was surly enough. She couldn’t risk missing this performance. “Of course not.” She did her best to smile reassuringly.

He squeezed her hand on the seat between them. “Would you mind if I seek an audience with your father?”

Panic fluttered in her stomach, and she tugged her hand away. No. Not yet. She did not want her marriage contract to be the topic of conversation at next Sunday’s tea. She needed time. Time to consider other possibilities. “So soon?” she asked.

Irritation flickered across Simon’s face, but he mastered it. “Yes.”

Perhaps she could delay. “Shouldn’t we set aside a time to discuss our career expectations first?”

He glanced at her in confusion. “You
want
to finish medical school?”

Amanda had expected to negotiate the hours she would divide between her career and home life, but not this. Did he think her years of study, her years spent building the neurachnid nothing more than passing fancy? Did he think she’d cast it all aside to be nothing more than his wife? Did he know her at all? “Of course,” she answered. Then took a deep breath. “I intend to practice medicine as well as continue my research, though I’m prepared to make certain concessions to the demands of family. A small family.”

Simon yanked on the steering stick, just missing a lamppost as he steered the runabout onto a quieter street. His face was flushed.

“Simon?”

He shook his head. “My apologies. I was under the impression that medical school was a way for an intelligent woman to fill her time while waiting for marriage.”

She swallowed hard, trying to think of a way to salvage this conversation and failed. She’d horribly misjudged him. “You thought…‌”

“All those fashionable clothes. Silly hats. Your insistence upon sitting in the front, clearly an attempt to attract attention. Male attention.”

“You think I enrolled at Lister University to husband hunt?”

Simon sat straight and stiff now. “It is known for accepting a large number of gentlemen. Spare heirs, as it were.”

It was as if someone yanked her corset too tight. She couldn’t breathe. Her stomach hurt. The indignity. The embarrassment. It was too much. Did all her classmates think her nothing but a flirt? Did Thornton? “Please. Take me home.”

Chapter Twenty-One

B
ETWEEN EMILY’S NOTES,
thoughts of Thornton, and the aftershocks of Simon’s not-quite-a-proposal, one that he’d all but retracted, Amanda was unable to sleep, so she wrapped her dressing gown tightly about her nightdress, grabbed the notes and, throwing discretion to the aether, padded down the darkened hall.

Minutes later, she arrived in the distillery, hunting for the dried blooms of a plant Emily had suggested and therefore worth a try. The dried flowers still on their stems hung exactly where Emily had indicated. Amanda doubted anyone had entered the room since her sister’s departure some five months past.

She gathered the blooms in a sack and, barefoot, padded outside into the garden. Tonight, she would distill their essential oils, praying time had not destroyed their potency.

Shadows shifted beside her, and her heart skipped a beat, but it was only one of Thornton’s agents stepping forward into the moonlight, nodding briefly to let her know of his presence before melting once more into the background.

She entered the chicken coop. The hens barely acknowledged her arrival beyond lifting a head to point a gleaming eye in her direction in hopes of a midnight snack, only to tuck their beaks back in warm straw the minute her hands fell on the new, more secure locks Thornton had ordered installed upon the doors of her makeshift laboratory. There were no safer hens in all of London.