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Authors: Carolyn Jewel
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the savings.”
He rocked back on his heels and smiled again. “The household can yet bear the expense of actual coffee. There’s no need for substitutes.”
“Perhaps you’d like to give your cook a better method of stuffing a goose.”
He gazed at her, torn between thoughts of kissing her senseless and informing her that his household ran perfectly well under his supervision and Doyle’s.
“No?” she said. “Another means of making excellent ink? There are several, and I mean to try them in any event so it’s no trouble at all.” She smiled again. “I’m happy to report the results to you and recommend the best.”
Nigel fidgeted and said, “Miss Wellstone?”
“What experiment are you performing?” Mountjoy asked. Some of his wits returned, and he realized everyone except Lily was wary.
“Ah. Yes.” She stopped waving the quill and held it up between them. “A phosphorus pencil.”
“Phosphorus?”
“Miss Wellstone!”
She turned on her chair. “How may I assist you, Lord Nigel?”
“The quill must be kept wet.”
Mountjoy saw her blink and glance at the phial of water in her other hand. He frowned. “A phosphorus pencil? Are you mad?”
“Oh.” She blinked again. “Lord Nigel, I do thank you for the reminder. Your grace, I’m quite sane, but thank you all the same for your concern.”
“The water,” Nigel said.
“Yes, yes. Phosphorus, as I am sure you know, your grace, ignites on contact with air. Hence the precaution of keeping the quill wet. The instructions were quite explicit on that point.”
Mountjoy watched her hand. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. “I am well—”
Light flashed at the head of the quill. Nigel shouted and that made Miss Wellstone startle. Her reflexive jerk sent sparks showering over the sheet of paper. At the same time, she dropped the phial of water. The container struck the edge of the table and broke, scattering glass and the contents onto the rug. His Axminster rug, valued at several hundredpounds in the most recent inventory and originally installed by the second Duke of Mountjoy.
“Miss Wellstone!” Nigel leaned in, reaching for the burning quill. Ominous dark spots appeared on the paper.
Eugenia and Jane cried out.
“Good God.” Mountjoy swept up the smoldering paper and threw it into a large Chinese vase fortuitously within his reach.
“The pencil!” Nigel said.
Mountjoy stopped Nigel from snatching away the quill. “You’ll burn yourself, you fool.” He whipped off his coat, prepared to wrap Miss Wellstone’s arm and the now flaming quill in the garment.
“There is no need for panic.” Miss Wellstone, holding the quill by the feathered tip, walked briskly to the vase. The paper he’d tossed into it had fully caught. A strong smell of smoke and burning phosphorus permeated the air. The light was intense as flames appeared above the rim of the vase and continued to burn all out of proportion to a single sheet of paper. Miss Wellstone tossed the burning quill before she quite reached the vase.
Not that he blamed her for doing so since she might otherwise have severely injured her hand. But Mountjoy, with visions of the quill missing the vase and setting fire to the carpet and thence to the room, roared, “No!”
The quill, half in flames, seemed to dance through the air. It made a graceful arc and landed.
In the vase. The flames and light intensified, and they all held their breath while they waited to see if the fire would stop or continue to a conflagration that required an evacuation of the house. The flames sputtered, then died down.
No one said anything. Except for Miss Wellstone, who had her back to him and could not see his black expression as could Nigel and the others. She dusted off her hands. “That’s that, then.”
Chapter Seven
“M ISS W ELLSTONE .”
Lily turned. Without
He rocked back on his heels and smiled again. “The household can yet bear the expense of actual coffee. There’s no need for substitutes.”
“Perhaps you’d like to give your cook a better method of stuffing a goose.”
He gazed at her, torn between thoughts of kissing her senseless and informing her that his household ran perfectly well under his supervision and Doyle’s.
“No?” she said. “Another means of making excellent ink? There are several, and I mean to try them in any event so it’s no trouble at all.” She smiled again. “I’m happy to report the results to you and recommend the best.”
Nigel fidgeted and said, “Miss Wellstone?”
“What experiment are you performing?” Mountjoy asked. Some of his wits returned, and he realized everyone except Lily was wary.
“Ah. Yes.” She stopped waving the quill and held it up between them. “A phosphorus pencil.”
“Phosphorus?”
“Miss Wellstone!”
She turned on her chair. “How may I assist you, Lord Nigel?”
“The quill must be kept wet.”
Mountjoy saw her blink and glance at the phial of water in her other hand. He frowned. “A phosphorus pencil? Are you mad?”
“Oh.” She blinked again. “Lord Nigel, I do thank you for the reminder. Your grace, I’m quite sane, but thank you all the same for your concern.”
“The water,” Nigel said.
“Yes, yes. Phosphorus, as I am sure you know, your grace, ignites on contact with air. Hence the precaution of keeping the quill wet. The instructions were quite explicit on that point.”
Mountjoy watched her hand. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. “I am well—”
Light flashed at the head of the quill. Nigel shouted and that made Miss Wellstone startle. Her reflexive jerk sent sparks showering over the sheet of paper. At the same time, she dropped the phial of water. The container struck the edge of the table and broke, scattering glass and the contents onto the rug. His Axminster rug, valued at several hundredpounds in the most recent inventory and originally installed by the second Duke of Mountjoy.
“Miss Wellstone!” Nigel leaned in, reaching for the burning quill. Ominous dark spots appeared on the paper.
Eugenia and Jane cried out.
“Good God.” Mountjoy swept up the smoldering paper and threw it into a large Chinese vase fortuitously within his reach.
“The pencil!” Nigel said.
Mountjoy stopped Nigel from snatching away the quill. “You’ll burn yourself, you fool.” He whipped off his coat, prepared to wrap Miss Wellstone’s arm and the now flaming quill in the garment.
“There is no need for panic.” Miss Wellstone, holding the quill by the feathered tip, walked briskly to the vase. The paper he’d tossed into it had fully caught. A strong smell of smoke and burning phosphorus permeated the air. The light was intense as flames appeared above the rim of the vase and continued to burn all out of proportion to a single sheet of paper. Miss Wellstone tossed the burning quill before she quite reached the vase.
Not that he blamed her for doing so since she might otherwise have severely injured her hand. But Mountjoy, with visions of the quill missing the vase and setting fire to the carpet and thence to the room, roared, “No!”
The quill, half in flames, seemed to dance through the air. It made a graceful arc and landed.
In the vase. The flames and light intensified, and they all held their breath while they waited to see if the fire would stop or continue to a conflagration that required an evacuation of the house. The flames sputtered, then died down.
No one said anything. Except for Miss Wellstone, who had her back to him and could not see his black expression as could Nigel and the others. She dusted off her hands. “That’s that, then.”
Chapter Seven
“M ISS W ELLSTONE .”
Lily turned. Without
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