Page 13 of An Inventor and An Inconvenience (Gentleman Scholars #5)

J asper unfolded his father's letter for what felt like the hundredth time, though the words hadn't changed since its arrival three days ago. The Marquess's elegant script carried its usual undertone of disappointment:

I trust you are making significant progress with your device, as the mining operation cannot sustain further delays. While your grandmother's support has afforded you considerable latitude in your pursuits, you must understand that even her patience has limits. I expect a demonstration of practical results by next month's end.

The paper crackled as Jasper's fingers tightened. He forced himself to set it aside before he could crumple it entirely, turning instead to his workbench where his latest prototype waited. Morning light streamed through the workshop windows, catching on brass fittings and steel components, transforming his countless failures into gold.

"Right then," he muttered, reaching for his notebook. "Let's see what you can do today."

The device was smaller than his previous attempts—more efficient in theory, though he'd yet to prove it in practice. He began his usual testing routine, meticulously recording every measurement and observation. The grinding mechanism engaged smoothly at first, but as he increased the pressure...

A harsh grinding sound filled the workshop, followed by an ominous crack. Jasper swore, quickly disengaging the power source. Another failure. Another day closer to his father's deadline without results.

He slumped onto his stool, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to relieve some tension. Seven iterations, each one promising, each one failing under the very conditions it needed to withstand.

The mining operations his family had maintained for generations needed this innovation—or so he'd convinced his father. The irony wasn't lost on him: he'd spent years trying to prove the value of his education, and now his inability to make this device work only seemed to confirm his father's doubts.

"It should work," he muttered, examining the broken component.

The theory was sound; he'd verified the calculations dozens of times. The material was stronger than anything currently used in mining operations. So why did it keep failing at the crucial moment?

The morning sun climbed higher, casting longer shadows across his workbench as Jasper sketched possible modifications. He'd barely noticed the passing hours, lost in the familiar rhythm of problem and solution, theory and application.

The family's mining operations had sustained the Linford wealth for generations, but traditional methods were becoming increasingly dangerous and inefficient. If his device worked, it would not only improve productivity but potentially save lives—a fact his father acknowledged only grudgingly, if at all.

He was sketching possible modifications when a knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in," he called, expecting to see the maid with another message from his father.

Instead, Faith stood in the doorway, her eyes bright with excitement. "I hope I'm not interrupting? Only I had an idea about the pressure distribution in your grinding mechanism—"

"I'm sorry," Jasper cut her off, more sharply than he'd intended. "I really need to focus on this today."

Faith's expression fell slightly, though she recovered quickly.

"Of course. I understand." She turned to go, then paused. "It's just... I noticed in your earlier designs that the force seems to concentrate at a single point. What if you were to distribute it across multiple smaller contact points? Like a series of smaller grinding heads working in tandem?"

Jasper opened his mouth to dismiss the suggestion, then stopped. The idea had merit. In fact, it might solve several problems he'd been grappling with. He found himself reaching for a fresh sheet of paper, sketching rapidly.

"See here," Faith continued, moving closer to peer over his shoulder. "If you arranged them in a spiral pattern—"

"The force would be more evenly distributed," Jasper finished, his pencil flying across the page. "And with smaller components, the overall strain on each piece would be reduced."

He looked up at her in amazement. "How did you think of this?"

A faint blush coloured her cheeks. "I've been reading about mechanical principles. I thought perhaps understanding them might help me teach basic physics to my students."

She gestured at his sketches. "Though I suppose you have more practical applications in mind."

Jasper continued sketching, his mind suddenly alive with possibilities. The spiral arrangement Faith suggested created a perfect distribution of force—exactly what his device needed to maintain operation under pressure.

How had he missed something so fundamental? The solution wasn't a stronger single component, but multiple smaller ones working in concert.

"This could work," he murmured, more to himself than to Faith. "The individual components would experience less strain, allowing the entire mechanism to function even under extreme conditions."

He traced a finger along the spiral pattern he'd drawn. "And we could adjust the spacing here to accommodate different types of ore..."

Reality crashed back in. Yes, he had very practical applications in mind—applications his father was counting on. Applications that would finally prove his education hadn't been wasted, that he could contribute something meaningful to the family legacy.

"Thank you for the suggestion," he said stiffly, turning back to his workbench. "But I really must focus on perfecting this design. Father expects results soon, and I can't afford any distractions."

He felt rather than saw Faith withdraw, physically and emotionally. "Of course. Good day, Lord Jasper."

The formal title stung, reminding him of everything he was trying to live up to. After she left, he stared at the sketches they'd made together, seeing how her insight had illuminated problems he'd been struggling with for weeks.

The workshop felt suddenly silent, save for the ticking of the clock on the far wall. Jasper remained staring at the sketch, frustration battling with grudging admiration.

Why was it that Faith Somerton, with no formal education in engineering, could see a solution that had eluded him through seven iterations? Perhaps it was precisely because she approached the problem without the preconceptions his training had instilled.

He picked up the broken component from his earlier test, turning it in his hands. Faith's approach would distribute the pressure in such a way that no single point would bear too much strain. The existing materials might actually suffice if the force were properly distributed.

It was elegant. Efficient. Brilliant, really.

And not at all what his father would expect from him. The Marquess valued traditional approaches, steady improvements to existing methods.

This spiral arrangement would require completely rethinking the mining operation's equipment. Would his father even consider such a radical departure from established practices?

A sharp rap at his door interrupted his brooding. This time it was Lucy, bearing another letter.

"From Lord Ashworth, my lord," the maid said, presenting the envelope with a curtsy.

Jasper's heart leaped. Ashworth was one of the most prominent investors in mining operations across England. His support could change everything.

"Thank you, Lucy," he said, taking the letter. He hesitated, then added, "Did Miss Somerton return to the main house?"

The maid nodded. "Yes, my lord. She went to the library with Professor Somerton." Her expression held a hint of curiosity, but she said nothing more.

Breaking the seal with trembling fingers, Jasper scanned the contents. Lord Ashworth had heard of his work through mutual acquaintances and expressed interest in a demonstration, should the device prove viable.

...your approach to improving mining efficiency while potentially reducing accidents has caught my attention. While I remain skeptical of radical departures from proven methods, I am not so bound by tradition that I cannot recognize genuine innovation when it presents itself...

...would be pleased to attend a demonstration at your earliest convenience, with an eye toward possible investment in further development and implementation...

Here was his chance—a real opportunity to prove himself to his father. He should feel elated. Instead, his eyes kept straying to the sketches he'd made with Faith, to the elegant solution she'd helped him discover.

Lord Ashworth was known to be forward-thinking, more concerned with results than with adhering strictly to tradition. Would he be more receptive to Faith's spiral design than the Marquess? And if so, could Ashworth's support help convince his father of the design's merit?

His father's letter lay on one side of his desk, promising consequences for failure. His collaborative sketches with Faith lay on the other, showing a path to potential success. And there in the middle sat Lord Ashworth's letter, offering hope but demanding results.

Jasper squared his shoulders and pulled the prototype closer. He would incorporate Faith's suggestion—it was too brilliant to ignore—but he would stay focused on his goal. His father's approval depended on it. Everything depended on it.

And if a small voice in his head wondered whether that was entirely true anymore... well, he had too much work to do to listen to it.

Taking up his tools once more, Jasper began the careful process of modifying his design. He meticulously dismantled the broken mechanism, setting aside components that could be reused and making notes of what needed to be redesigned for the spiral arrangement. His hands moved with practiced precision, finding comfort in the familiar work despite the uncertainty swirling in his mind.

He now had just over a month to prove himself worthy of the Linford name. A month to turn theory into practice. A month to secure his future.

The weight of generations of expectation pressed down on his shoulders, made heavier by the knowledge that he was the third son—the spare of a spare, as his brothers had once taunted. His eldest brother would inherit the title and estates, his second brother the London properties and political connections.

Jasper had only his education and his inventions to distinguish himself.

As he worked, he found himself imagining Faith's voice offering suggestions, asking insightful questions that challenged his assumptions. It was strange how quickly he'd grown accustomed to her presence in his workshop, to her unique perspective that so often complemented his own.

He steadfastly ignored the part of him that wished he could share his excitement about Lord Ashworth's letter with Faith, just as he ignored the way her absence seemed to leave the workshop feeling considerably emptier than before.

Instead, he focused on the task at hand, carefully crafting each component of the spiral grinding mechanism. By the time the afternoon light began to fade, he had a promising prototype taking shape on his workbench—one that might finally bridge the gap between his father's expectations and his own vision.

One that bore the unmistakable influence of a professor's daughter who saw possibilities where others saw only problems.

Tomorrow, he would test it. Tomorrow, he would see if Faith's insight might help him achieve what had eluded him for so long. And perhaps, if it worked, he would find a way to properly thank her for her contribution—one that honoured both her intelligence and the growing sense that their collaboration was becoming something he couldn't easily dismiss.

But for tonight, he would work until his candles burned low, driven by the competing forces of familial duty, professional ambition, and a new motivation he wasn't quite ready to name.