Read Online Magnificent Devices 01 - Lady of Devices by Shelley Adina - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shelley Adina
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anything, but her mother did not need to know that.
“I’ll not have a daughter of mine begging for rooms in the street. Stop this at once, Claire. You’ll come down to Cornwall as planned, and I’ll do my best to find a suitable match for you once our period of mourning is concluded. It is obvious that your active mind needs to be engaged with the running of a home instead of these wild schemes.”
“But I don’t want a—”
“Claire.” For a moment her mother’s face softened into grief. “Please do not talk of separating yourself from me. I cannot bear it. We must stay together. For now.”
It was the softening that cooled Claire’s resentment into compassion as her own heart reproached her for adding to her mother’s burden. “Yes, Mama. For now,” she said at last, and turned away to pull in another trunk from the hall.
It was fortunate that now was a very flexible concept.
Chapter 10
The great engine of the Flying Dutchman, capable of eighty-nine miles per hour and therefore making it the fastest train in the world, huffed out an enormous puff of steam at precisely nine o’clock and began to pull slowly away from platform number four at Paddington Station. Gorse tugged his cap from his head and waved it as Claire lifted a gloved hand. “Good-bye! Safe journey!”
Lady St. Ives, of course, did not lean out of the window, but Silvie did, her elegant black-gloved hands waving with such emphasis that Claire shot Gorse a sudden look of comprehension. “Gorse, is something going on between you and Silvie?”
“Was, miss.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with sudden effort. “Not so sure about now, though.”
“Why on earth didn’t you say something? You could have gone down to St. Ives with them instead of the second footman.”
“They’re still driving carriages in St. Ives, miss. I’m much more likely to get a place here.” His gaze never left the train and the distant black flutter of Silvie’s glove. “I have an interview at Wellesley House this afternoon, as a matter of fact. Word is that his lordship is soon to be the owner of a four-piston laudau.”
“No! I don’t believe it. That family would never give up its horses.”
“Times change, miss, as we are living proof.” They stood upon the platform until the last of the Dutchman’s carriages disappeared around the bend. “Would you like to drive home, miss?”
“No, you may. Perhaps it will help take your mind off Silvie.”
“Not much possibility of that.” He guided her outside and waited until she had climbed into the landau, proud possessor of only two pistons. Two was all anything but a steambus needed. Four was ostentatious. How fast did Julia’s father’s driver propose to go? Or—yes, that was it—he obviously planned to enter the races at Wimbledon. She snorted, then resumed watching the road like a hawk on a fence post.
The truth was, after Mr. Arundel’s information on Wednesday, she looked at London with new eyes—eyes that saw the unrest, that found menace in a crowd surging to board a bus, that calculated distance now in terms of safety rather than convenience. She was no coward, but all the same, Claire was content to let Gorse navigate the turn into Park Lane and skirt the boundary of Hyde Park, where beyond the trees she could hear the roar of a crowd.
Gorse heard it, too, and applied a little more steam. “Let her stretch her legs a bit.”
“There must be a demonstration of some kind.”
“Likely the orator of the hour getting folk stirred up.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s what it must be.”
Her breath did not come easily until they had turned into Wilton Crescent and hurried into the safety of their own mews. Once upstairs, Claire dragged the brass-studded trunk, which she had thus far resisted filling, out of the hall and into her room. A warm coat, trimmed in the latest Art Nouveau vinery. Three sensible dresses in dark colors, and five pretty embroidered white waists.
“I’ll not have a daughter of mine begging for rooms in the street. Stop this at once, Claire. You’ll come down to Cornwall as planned, and I’ll do my best to find a suitable match for you once our period of mourning is concluded. It is obvious that your active mind needs to be engaged with the running of a home instead of these wild schemes.”
“But I don’t want a—”
“Claire.” For a moment her mother’s face softened into grief. “Please do not talk of separating yourself from me. I cannot bear it. We must stay together. For now.”
It was the softening that cooled Claire’s resentment into compassion as her own heart reproached her for adding to her mother’s burden. “Yes, Mama. For now,” she said at last, and turned away to pull in another trunk from the hall.
It was fortunate that now was a very flexible concept.
Chapter 10
The great engine of the Flying Dutchman, capable of eighty-nine miles per hour and therefore making it the fastest train in the world, huffed out an enormous puff of steam at precisely nine o’clock and began to pull slowly away from platform number four at Paddington Station. Gorse tugged his cap from his head and waved it as Claire lifted a gloved hand. “Good-bye! Safe journey!”
Lady St. Ives, of course, did not lean out of the window, but Silvie did, her elegant black-gloved hands waving with such emphasis that Claire shot Gorse a sudden look of comprehension. “Gorse, is something going on between you and Silvie?”
“Was, miss.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with sudden effort. “Not so sure about now, though.”
“Why on earth didn’t you say something? You could have gone down to St. Ives with them instead of the second footman.”
“They’re still driving carriages in St. Ives, miss. I’m much more likely to get a place here.” His gaze never left the train and the distant black flutter of Silvie’s glove. “I have an interview at Wellesley House this afternoon, as a matter of fact. Word is that his lordship is soon to be the owner of a four-piston laudau.”
“No! I don’t believe it. That family would never give up its horses.”
“Times change, miss, as we are living proof.” They stood upon the platform until the last of the Dutchman’s carriages disappeared around the bend. “Would you like to drive home, miss?”
“No, you may. Perhaps it will help take your mind off Silvie.”
“Not much possibility of that.” He guided her outside and waited until she had climbed into the landau, proud possessor of only two pistons. Two was all anything but a steambus needed. Four was ostentatious. How fast did Julia’s father’s driver propose to go? Or—yes, that was it—he obviously planned to enter the races at Wimbledon. She snorted, then resumed watching the road like a hawk on a fence post.
The truth was, after Mr. Arundel’s information on Wednesday, she looked at London with new eyes—eyes that saw the unrest, that found menace in a crowd surging to board a bus, that calculated distance now in terms of safety rather than convenience. She was no coward, but all the same, Claire was content to let Gorse navigate the turn into Park Lane and skirt the boundary of Hyde Park, where beyond the trees she could hear the roar of a crowd.
Gorse heard it, too, and applied a little more steam. “Let her stretch her legs a bit.”
“There must be a demonstration of some kind.”
“Likely the orator of the hour getting folk stirred up.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s what it must be.”
Her breath did not come easily until they had turned into Wilton Crescent and hurried into the safety of their own mews. Once upstairs, Claire dragged the brass-studded trunk, which she had thus far resisted filling, out of the hall and into her room. A warm coat, trimmed in the latest Art Nouveau vinery. Three sensible dresses in dark colors, and five pretty embroidered white waists.
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