Page 2 of An Inventor and An Inconvenience (Gentleman Scholars #5)

L ord Jasper Linford watched helplessly as his device sputtered to a standstill. He still couldn’t get the automation to remain functional, at least not with sufficiently heavy grinding elements at the end.

The acrid scent of scorched metal filled Jasper's workshop as his device sputtered and wheezed, its brass gears grinding together in protest. He held his breath, hands hovering uncertainly over the mechanism as it struggled to maintain momentum. The grinding elements at the end of the device—the crucial components that would make or break its success—trembled ominously before grinding to a complete standstill.

Another failure.

Frustration mounted.

Jasper exhaled slowly, forcing his fingers to unclench before they could damage the delicate machinery. Weak morning light filtered through the workshop's grimy windows, catching on floating metal particles and creating an almost ethereal atmosphere that belied his dark mood. The damp stone walls of the converted stable block seemed to close in around him, their ancient mortar carrying the musty scent of generations of noble endeavours—most more successful than his current efforts.

A thin wisp of smoke curled up from the gears, taunting him. The device that was supposed to revolutionize his father's mining operations now sat before him like an expensive paperweight, its brass fittings gleaming with false promise in the early light.

Professor Somerton had agreed to offer his opinion, and Jasper was looking forward to seeing his old mentor once more. It had been several years since he had visited the school and his old teachers, and it felt as though it was well past due.

And yet, guilt weighed heavily upon him. He knew it was all in his own head—the Marquess didn’t care that his youngest son was more emotionally attached to a professor than to his sire.

The Marquess's last words to him echoed in his mind: "Another waste of resources, I suppose?"

The dismissive tone had cut deeper than any outright criticism could have. Jasper's hands moved automatically over his failed device, checking connections he'd already verified a dozen times, searching for the flaw that kept success just out of reach.

The Marquess certainly wasn’t attached to his "spare spare." Jasper rolled his eyes at the words his older brothers had often used in childhood.

The heavy wooden door creaked open, admitting a blast of cool morning air along with his brother Lucas. The elder Linford son looked comically out of place in the workshop, his immaculate London attire a stark contrast to the grease-stained workbenches and tool-lined walls.

“Are you still here?” Lucas asked with a dry chuckle that sent a familiar ripple of irritation through Jasper. “I don’t know why you bother sticking around this dusty old shed, considering you have a much better setup at your institute—not to mention the disparagement of our father.”

Jasper didn't look up from his work, though his fingers stilled on the brass fitting he'd been adjusting. How could he explain to his carefree brother that every dismissive word from their father only strengthened his determination? That each failure pushed him to try harder, to prove that his years of study hadn't been wasted?

The scent of machine oil and hot metal filled his nostrils as he straightened, his back protesting hours spent bent over the workbench. Scattered around him lay the physical manifestations of his dreams: technical drawings covered in marginalia, prototype components in various stages of completion, and pages of calculations that represented countless hours of effort.

“You know he’s never going to change his mind about your studies, don’t you?” Lucas asked as he fingered the mechanism his brother had been tinkering with. He lifted it, examining the smooth brass edges and intricate gear system with idle curiosity.

“He will if I can get it to work,” Jasper said with conviction.

His firm belief that his father would finally accept his calling as a scholar if he could invent something that the Marquess found useful unwavering.

“If I can find a way to make the mining faster, or easier, or more profitable, you know he’s going to appreciate that.”

He trailed off, unwilling to voice his deepest hope: that his father would finally look at him with the same pride he showed his older brothers.

Lucas picked up one of the prototype components, his manicured fingers incongruous against the working brass. “Oh, he’ll appreciate exploiting it, for certain. Doesn’t mean he’s going to appreciate the inventor.”

The truth in those words stung, but Jasper pressed on. "If I can make the mining faster, easier, more profitable—"

"Then you'll still be the third son who wastes his time with machines instead of proper noble pursuits." Lucas set down the component with exaggerated care.

“Sorry, old chap,” Lucas said. “I shouldn’t state the obvious quite so baldly, should I?”

Jasper shoved his dirty hand through his hair without thinking about the consequences, and then had to laugh at his brother’s expression of horror at the machine oil being left behind. It startled a laugh out of Jasper. Lucas didn’t believe in getting dirty, nor did he much care for their father’s opinion—as long as the Marquess wasn’t disapproving enough to cut off his allowance, Lucas happily spent his time carousing in London.

“You should come up for the Season, Jasper,” Lucas suggested, brushing imaginary dirt from his sleeve. “What you need is a fine heiress to set you up. Then you won’t care about Father’s disdain any longer.”

Jasper sighed again.

“It’s unlikely I’ll ever not care about Father’s disdain,” he admitted quietly, the words carrying more weight than he'd intended.

Lucas shrugged, the gesture dismissing years of complex family dynamics. “You’re obviously doing it wrong then.”

Suddenly, though, his expression shifted to a frown as he noticed the packed cases near the door. “Looks like you’re leaving us. Did you finally gain your senses then?”

Jasper laughed. “I’m going for a consultation with Professor Somerton.”

“You always were fond of that old bag of wind.” Lucas shook his head. “How is the old chap these days?”

Jasper busied himself with wrapping each component in oiled cloth, carefully cataloguing each piece in his mind: the main drive shaft, the geared wheels, the experimental grinding head he'd developed. Each represented countless hours of work, countless failures, and yet he couldn't stop trying.

“I haven’t seen him in several years,” he admitted. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy with your tinkering, for certain.” Lucas circled the workbench, examining the organized chaos with mild curiosity. “Why can’t you be happy with the things that have worked? Why do you have to be so obsessed with this thing?”

Jasper adjusted a strap on his case, ensuring everything was secure. Before he could respond to his brother’s questions, Thompson appeared in the doorway.

"My lord?" Thompson, his father's under-butler, stood at the workshop door, looking distinctly uncomfortable among the machinery. He held his hands carefully behind his back, as though afraid of brushing against the grease-streaked workbenches. "His Lordship requests your presence before you depart."

Jasper's hands stilled on the delicate mechanism he’d been wrapping. "Did he say why?"

"No, my lord. But..." Thompson hesitated, then added with careful neutrality. "The steward was with him, reviewing the mine accounts."

Of course. His father wouldn't be interested in the device itself, only in how much it was costing. Jasper carefully placed the wrapped component in his traveling case with exaggerated, contained movement, using the familiar motion to steady himself.

"Please, inform His Lordship I'll attend him shortly."

As Thompson left, Jasper's eyes fell on an old mechanical drawing pinned to the wall. One of Roderick's, from their Oxford days. The intricate gear system reminded him of something he'd seen in an ancient text at Oxford during his studies, though he'd dismissed it at the time. Strange how memory worked – he hadn't thought of that in years.

He traced a finger over the faded ink, lost in thought. There had been something about that text, a peculiar phrasing about the transference of power through mechanisms, something that had niggled at him at the time but seemed irrelevant then. Could it hold the answer he was missing now?

He shook off the recollection and returned to his packing. He had more pressing concerns than the other scholars' treasure hunt fantasies. Though he had to admit, the idea of discovering something that would prove the worth of scholarly pursuit to his father held a certain appeal.

Jasper cleared his throat and returned his attention to his brother.

Why couldn’t he stop obsessing over the mines? There was no way to answer that question. He had tried over and over through the years, vacillating between trying to gain his father’s approval and trying to convince himself he didn’t care. But he’d never succeeded at either.

Only now, faced with his imminent departure, did Jasper realize how much he'd pinned on this consultation. Professor Somerton had always seen potential in him, had encouraged his interest in mechanical innovation when others dismissed it as beneath his station. If anyone could help him perfect this device, surely it would be his old mentor.

The morning light strengthened, warming the workshop's chill air. Jasper adjusted the straps on his traveling case, ensuring each precious component was secure. Behind him, Lucas lounged against a workbench, no doubt getting coal dust on his expensive coat.

"You never did answer my question," his brother said quietly. "Why can't you let this go? Accept that Father will never understand your scholarly pursuits?"

Jasper straightened, surveying his workshop one last time. The smell of hot metal lingered in the air, mingling with machine oil and ambition. "Because I have to believe that excellence will win out over expectation. That what we create matters more than what we're born to be."

"How very philosophical," Lucas drawled, but something in his expression had softened. "Well, good luck with your old professor. Though I still say an heiress would solve your problems more efficiently."

As Jasper finally headed toward his father's study as instructed, anticipation warred with apprehension in his chest. One more attempt to gain the approval that had always eluded him. One more chance to prove that his chosen path had value.

He only hoped Professor Somerton would see what his father couldn't—the potential not just in the device, but in the man who'd created it.

This was his last-ditch effort to gain at least his father’s respect, if nothing else. If he could get this wretched device to work, surely the Marquess would have to see that his years of schooling had been worth it.

That was the rub—the Marquess felt that Eton should have been sufficient, Oxford was an indulgence, and then Jasper’s couple of years at Cambridge were just ridiculous in his father’s view. Thankfully, Jasper’s grandmother had supported his years of schooling and hadn’t stipulated that Jasper needed to quit at a certain time.

But the Marquess had never shown any interest in Jasper’s studies, nor in anything he had accomplished since. All he cared about was his estate, and that was intended for his firstborn, of course.

Jasper and Lucas had been trained in all that needed to be done on the estate, with Lucas as the spare and Jasper the extra, just in case. They both needed to know what went into running such a massive system as the Marquess’s many holdings.

It would have been far easier for everyone in the family if Jasper had been a girl. It’s even possible the Marquess would have taken an interest in his youngest child then.

Every nobleman needed a spare, and it was even expected that the second son be a "loose screw." Therefore, Lucas was accepted, if not completely approved of, by the hard-hearted nobleman who was their father.

But a scholar was just absolutely beyond the Marquess’s field of comprehension.

Jasper winced, recalling his father's reaction to his latest academic paper just last month.

"What is this?" the Marquess had demanded, tossing the carefully bound manuscript onto his desk without even opening it. They stood in his father's study, the walls lined with portraits of Linfords past—all proper noblemen without a scholarly thought among them.

"It's my research on pressure distribution systems," Jasper had explained, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Professor Brighton believes it could revolutionize several industrial applications, including our mining operations."

The Marquess had leaned back in his chair, regarding Jasper with that familiar look of weary disappointment. "More theories, more papers, more wasted years. Tell me, Jasper, when do you intend to produce something of actual value? Something tangible? Your brother Lucas manages the eastern properties with remarkable efficiency despite his... social proclivities. Even he understands his responsibilities."

"This will lead to tangible results, Father. If you would just—"

"Enough," the Marquess had cut him off with a dismissive wave. "I've indulged this academic fascination of yours far longer than prudence dictated. Either return with something that can actually benefit the Linford holdings, or perhaps consider that military commission your uncle has offered. At least then you'd be doing something befitting your station."

The manuscript had remained untouched on the desk between them, the culmination of months of work dismissed without a single glance.

Jasper's many years of schooling even made him understand, to at least a certain degree, why his father was the way he was. He had taken enough classes on psychology to understand that it was many years of his own father's treatment that made the Marquess the way he was.

Unfortunately, that didn’t make Jasper any less determined to succeed in gaining the man’s respect.

And for that, he needed Professor Somerton. He only hoped his mentor could help him find the missing bits that seemed to elude him.