Page 31 of An Inventor and An Inconvenience (Gentleman Scholars #5)

T he silence that followed Jasper's declaration seemed to stretch forever. The weight of what he had just done—publicly disavowing the educational work he and Faith had built together—settled on his shoulders like a physical burden.

Then Lord Ashworth began to laugh.

"My dear boy," he said, rising to his feet, "you've finally shown the good sense we expected of you. The mining industry has no business entangling itself with these questionable educational experiments."

He turned to address the room. "Gentlemen, I believe we can now proceed with confidence that Lord Jasper understands the proper application of his talents."

The investors nodded approvingly, their expressions clearing as they realized the potential social controversy had been neatly averted. The Marquess remained rigid, but Jasper could see the slight relaxation in his father's shoulders—the first sign of approval he'd shown in years.

"If I may?" Professor Reynolds stepped forward, his voice carrying that smug tone Jasper had come to despise. "I think we can all appreciate Lord Jasper's return to reason. The university community is pleased to see proper focus restored to this promising industrial innovation."

Jasper's hand clenched at his side, the phantom warmth of Faith's fingers still lingering on his skin. He forced himself to nod graciously as Lord Ashworth moved to examine the mining device more closely.

"The engineering principles are sound," Ashworth mused, testing the mechanism. "And the practical applications for industrial efficiency are most promising. I propose we move forward with implementation immediately."

The wave of discussion that followed was enthusiastically positive, but Jasper barely heard it over the pounding in his head.

He searched the back of the room, hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of Faith, but she was gone. Of course she was gone. He had betrayed everything they stood for, everything they had built together.

His father approached, actually placing a hand on Jasper's shoulder—a gesture so rare that Jasper nearly flinched in surprise.

"You made the right choice," the Marquess said, his voice low. "Some dreams must be sacrificed for the greater good. The device will save lives, improve our operations. That's what truly matters."

"Yes, Father," Jasper replied automatically, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

As the investors gathered around to discuss implementation plans, Jasper felt utterly alone despite the crowd. His arm ached with the absence of Faith beside him, the space where she should have been standing glaringly empty.

I've done it, he thought bitterly. I've finally won my father's approval, secured the future of my invention.

But the victory felt hollow, meaningless without Faith's brilliance beside him, without her vision expanding his own.

Throughout the rest of the presentation, Jasper moved mechanically, demonstrating components with practiced precision while his mind reeled with what he had sacrificed. Each time he reached to adjust the mechanism, he half-expected Faith's hand to meet his, only to feel the cold emptiness where her touch should have been.

Earlier, he had caught Professor Somerton's eye across the room. The older man's gaze held not anger but something worse—disappointment, and perhaps pity. Jasper had looked away quickly, unable to face the silent judgment from the father of the woman he had betrayed Now, Professor Somerton no longer appeared to be present. Where had he gone?

The inventors and investors continued their excited discussion around him, but Jasper had never felt more isolated. He had saved his invention, but at what cost? The thought of Faith's face when she heard his public denial of their work made his stomach twist with shame.

"You've made the practical choice," he told himself, echoing his father's words.

But for the first time in his life, Jasper wondered if practicality was worth the price of his soul.

~~~~

Faith sorted through the stack of lesson materials with mechanical precision, her mind elsewhere despite her best efforts to focus.

A week had passed since Jasper's presentation, and she had heard nothing from him. The Mining Society had announced full implementation of his invention, with Lord Ashworth personally overseeing the installation at the first operation in Yorkshire.

It should have been a moment of celebration. Instead, it felt like the final confirmation of Jasper's choice.

Mrs. Henderson appeared at the classroom door, her expression uneasy.

"There's someone here to see you," she said. "I told him you were busy, but he insisted it was a matter of utmost importance."

Faith's heart leaped before she could control it. "Did he give a name?"

"Thompson, he said. Lord Jasper's man."

Not Jasper himself, then. Faith's momentary hope faded. "Send him up, please."

The butler appeared moments later, his usual formal demeanour slightly strained.

"Miss Somerton," he bowed. "I have been instructed to deliver this to you personally."

He handed her a small wooden box and an envelope bearing Jasper's seal.

"Lord Jasper emphasized that the contents are for your eyes only," Thompson added.

"And he requested—" the butler hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully, "that you might read it before passing judgment."

Faith took the items, her hands steady despite the storm of emotions within. "Thank you, Thompson. Is there anything else?"

"Only that his lordship wishes you to know he departed for the Yorkshire mines this morning. The implementation begins tomorrow." Thompson paused. "He seemed... most concerned that you receive this message."

After Thompson left, Faith sat motionless, staring at the sealed letter and the mysterious box. Part of her wanted to cast them both aside unread.

What explanation could possibly justify his public betrayal? What words could heal the breach of trust?

And yet, her father's voice echoed in her mind: When people act contrary to their nature, it's usually because they believe they have no choice.

With careful movements, Faith broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

My dearest Faith,

By the time you receive this, I will be on my way to Yorkshire. The choice I have made will seem incomprehensible to you—a betrayal of everything we built together. I cannot ask for your forgiveness until you know the full truth, though I fear even then, the damage may be irreparable.

The Marquess and Lord Ashworth presented me with an ultimatum: publicly distance myself from our educational work or lose not only the investment but any chance of my invention ever being implemented. The choice seemed impossible—our shared dreams on one side, and the lives that could be saved by the mining device on the other.

I chose lives. I chose implementation. I betrayed our vision to ensure that the safety measures would reach the men who need them most .

But I did not, could not, abandon our work entirely.

The box contains proof of what I have actually done. With Ashworth’s help, the investment contracts include a provision that a portion of all profits must be directed toward "appropriate technical training" for mining operations. The language is deliberately vague—the majority of the investors believe it means basic operational instruction, but the legal definition encompasses everything we planned for our school.

I have secured funding that no one can revoke, protection that no one can challenge. The educational components are officially part of the implementation, though disguised in language that satisfied the investors' need for "proper social conventions."

It was the only way to save both dreams—the safety measures and the education. But the cost was terrible. I had to stand before them all and deny what matters most to me. I had to hurt you, to make you believe I had abandoned our vision.

I do not ask for your understanding, nor dare I hope for forgiveness. I ask only that you examine the contracts, that you see what has been secured for the school's future. Whatever happens between us, the work will continue. The revolution we began will not be stopped, even if I must watch it unfold from a distance.

With deepest regret and unchanging devotion,

Jasper

Faith's hands trembled as she opened the wooden box. Inside lay a stack of legal documents—the implementation contracts for the mining device. She scanned them quickly, looking for the provision Jasper had mentioned.

There it was, nestled among clauses about production quotas and safety requirements:

"A minimum of fifteen percent of all proceeds shall be directed toward appropriate technical training for mining personnel and their dependents, ensuring proper understanding of operational principles and household management skills relevant to mining communities."

The language was careful, deliberately couched in terms that would not alarm traditional investors.

But Faith recognized immediately what it meant. "Household management skills" had been their code all along for teaching women. "Dependents" included wives, daughters, sisters. "Technical training" encompassed everything from basic reading to advanced mechanics.

Jasper hadn't betrayed their vision—he had embedded it directly into the legal framework of the implementation, ensuring it would continue regardless of social opposition or changing attitudes.

He had secured their dream at the cost of making her believe he had abandoned it.

Faith sat back, emotions warring within her. Relief that their work would continue. Anger that he hadn't trusted her enough to share his plan. Heartache at the pain they had both endured unnecessarily. And beneath it all, a growing understanding of the impossible choice he had faced.

Lives in the mines versus their shared vision. Immediate safety versus long-term education. The choice had seemed binary, impossible—until Jasper and Lord Ashworth had found a third path, hidden in careful legal language and strategic compromise.

She reread the letter, seeing now the anguish between the lines. How much it must have cost him to stand before Oxford's elite and deny the work they had built together. How deeply it must have hurt to let her believe he had betrayed her.

Faith moved to the window, looking out at Oxford's spires gilded by the setting sun. Somewhere in Yorkshire, Jasper was preparing to install his invention, to begin saving lives immediately. And embedded in that same work was the seed of their educational vision, protected by contracts that even the most traditional investors could not revoke.

It was not a perfect solution. The deception had caused real pain, created a breach of trust that would not easily heal. But it was not the betrayal she had believed, either.

The question now was whether understanding could lead to forgiveness. Whether they could rebuild what had been damaged in the process of trying to save everything else.

Faith took a deep breath and began to write her response. Whatever happened next, they would face it with open eyes and honest hearts—the only foundation on which any true partnership could stand.

~~~~

The urgent message reached the Marquess at his London club: accident at the northern mine, machinery failure, production halted.

He departed immediately, his mood darkening with each mile of the journey to Yorkshire. This was precisely the sort of practical disaster he'd feared Jasper's innovations might cause—theoretical knowledge failing when confronted with the realities of industry.

The Linford mining operation had been the backbone of the family's wealth for generations.

His father and grandfather had managed it with traditional methods—practical experience passed down, workers knowing their place, engineers focused on results rather than fancy principles. And now his third son's "improvements" had apparently brought everything to a halt.

He arrived to find chaos and recrimination, workers arguing with supervisors about where the fault lay.

"It's the new grinding mechanism, my lord," the site manager reported grimly. "Complete failure in the main shaft. We'll have to shut down operations until it can be repaired."

The Marquess felt his jaw tighten. He should have known this would happen

"How long?"

"That's just it, my lord." The manager shifted uncomfortably. "One of the workers claims she can fix it. Says she understands how it works because..."

He coughed. "Because she attended some sort of training program. But surely we should wait for a proper engineer—"

"Where is this worker?"

"That would be Annie, my lord. She came highly recommended by Lady Fanbroke and joined us just last month. She's over there."

They found her already at the machinery, tools laid out with precise care as she examined the failed mechanism. The Marquess recognized her as one of the young women he'd seen at Faith's school.

"My lord." She curtsied quickly, then turned back to the mechanism. "It's the pressure distribution system. See how this gear assembly has worked loose? It's causing uneven force application through the whole system."

The Marquess watched in astonishment as she explained exactly what had gone wrong. The technical explanation, delivered with such matter-of-fact confidence, momentarily stunned him into silence. These were terms and concepts he'd heard from Jasper's presentations—ideas he'd dismissed as unnecessarily complicated theoretical nonsense.

"And how exactly does a—" he hesitated, searching for an appropriate term.

"Mining laundress, my lord," she supplied helpfully. "I do washing for the single men's quarters."

"—a laundress," he continued, his tone sharpening, "come to understand complex mechanical engineering?"

Rather than cowering, the young woman's face brightened. "The Henderson Technical Academy, my lord. Miss Faith and Lord Jasper have been teaching us about mechanical principles. They showed us how understanding the science behind the machinery helps us work more safely and efficiently."

The Marquess felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him. This was the school his son had been supporting—the "inappropriate" teaching that he'd warned would upset the proper social order. And yet here was its practical result: a potentially devastating breakdown resolved without costly delays or outside experts.

"Show me," he heard himself say.

She led him through a detailed explanation of the problem and her solution, using a small demonstration model that he recognized as one of Jasper's designs. As she spoke, other workers gathered around, adding their own observations about how the training had helped them identify potential issues before they became critical failures.

"Last month, Jim here noticed a pressure buildup in the secondary pumping system," Annie explained. "Before the training, we would have just reported it and waited for an engineer. But Jim understood the principles involved and knew it needed immediate attention."

"Saved us flooding the lower galleries," the burly miner confirmed. "All because Miss Faith showed us how fluid dynamics work with a tea kettle and some glass tubes."

The Marquess found himself touring the operation, seeing it through entirely new eyes.

Everywhere he looked, he found evidence of his son's influence—not just in the machinery itself, but in how the workers understood and interacted with it. They weren't just following orders; they were applying knowledge, making informed decisions, taking initiative when necessary.

In the manager's office afterward, Grenville showed him the production figures for the past quarter.

"Output is up seventeen percent, my lord. Accidents are down by nearly a third. And repair costs have decreased significantly since the workers can identify problems earlier and fix many issues themselves."

The Marquess stared at the numbers, his worldview crumbling silently around him. All his life, he'd believed in rigid hierarchies—engineers designed, managers directed, workers laboured. Education was for the upper classes, practical skills for the lower. The system had worked for generations.

Or had it?

He remembered his own father standing in this same office, proudly declaring that miners didn't need to understand the why of their work, just the how.

"Too much thinking makes for restless workers," he'd pronounced.

The Marquess had never questioned this wisdom, had passed it down to his own sons as gospel truth.

But Jasper had questioned it. Had seen possibilities where the Marquess saw only established tradition.

Later that evening, he stood alone in his study at the mine complex, nursing a glass of brandy as he thought about the day’s developments. Somewhere in his buildings, workers were applying knowledge his son had helped them acquire—knowledge the Marquess had dismissed as unsuitable for their station.

His eyes fell on a small technical drawing on his desk—one of Jasper's early designs.

He'd barely glanced at it when his son had proudly presented it years ago, seeing only an impractical dream rather than a vision of the future. How much had he missed by refusing to look beyond tradition?

He thought of the young woman, Annie, and suddenly realized why she'd seemed familiar.

She reminded him of Faith Somerton—not in appearance, but in that same quiet confidence, that certainty that knowledge belonged to her just as much as to anyone else. He'd viewed Faith as a disruptive influence, encouraging his son toward inappropriate social experiments rather than proper commercial ventures.

But what if they were right? What if education truly could benefit everyone, regardless of class or gender?

The evidence was right before him—in increased productivity, reduced accidents, problems solved without costly delays.

The Marquess set down his glass with a decisive click.

His entire life had been dedicated to preserving the Linford legacy, ensuring the family's continued prosperity and standing. He'd assumed this meant maintaining traditions, following established patterns. Perhaps true stewardship meant something else entirely—recognizing when change was necessary, when old assumptions needed to be questioned.

Jasper had seen it. Faith had seen it. And now, finally, he was beginning to see it too.

Lord Ashworth found the Marquess alone in the mine office, staring contemplatively at a glass of brandy. The incident with the repaired machinery had clearly shaken him, though his aristocratic bearing revealed little to the casual observer.

"A remarkable demonstration today," Ashworth said by way of greeting. "I don't believe I've ever seen a laundress explain mechanical dynamics quite so effectively."

The Marquess looked up, his expression guarded. "Ashworth. I didn't realize you were still here."

"I thought it worth staying to observe the first implementation." Ashworth poured himself a measure from the decanter on the desk. "Your son's device is performing admirably."

"Yes." The Marquess's tone was measured. "Though I confess, I find myself... reconsidering certain assumptions about its operation."

"About the device, or about those operating it?" Ashworth asked mildly.

The Marquess gave him a sharp look. "You knew about this, didn't you? These workers, their unusual level of education..."

"I was aware of the training program, yes." Ashworth took the seat opposite the Marquess. "In fact, I helped ensure it was protected in the implementation contracts."

"Protected?" The Marquess set down his glass. "You mean you deliberately—"

"Secured a provision that will improve mining safety, efficiency, and profitability?" Ashworth interrupted smoothly. "Indeed I did."

He leaned forward. "Look at what happened today, Linford. A potential disaster averted not by waiting days for an engineer from London, but by a worker who understood the machinery she worked alongside. How can that possibly be viewed as anything but beneficial?"

The Marquess was silent for a long moment. "It challenges everything I was taught about proper social order," he said finally.

"As did the first steam engine. As did the railroad." Ashworth shrugged. "Progress rarely conforms to our comfortable assumptions."

"My son lied to me," the Marquess said, an edge creeping into his voice. "He publicly disavowed any connection to these educational programs, then embedded them directly in the contracts."

"He found a way to save lives immediately while ensuring long-term improvement." Ashworth's tone was even. "Isn't that precisely the kind of strategic thinking the Linford legacy requires?"

The Marquess stared at him. "You helped him do this."

"I recognized a brilliant synthesis when I saw one." Ashworth met his gaze directly. "Just as I recognize a father who raised a son capable of such vision, even if he hasn't always understood that son's path."

He rose, setting down his untouched drink. "The board is impressed with the early results, by the way. Worker efficiency up, accidents down, repair costs decreased. What they don't yet understand is why."

"And you won't enlighten them?" The Marquess raised an eyebrow.

"Not until they're ready to hear it." Ashworth smiled slightly. "Just as I waited until you were ready."

"Ready?"

"To see with your own eyes the value of what your son and Miss Somerton have created." Ashworth moved toward the door. "Change comes slowly to men like us, Linford. But I believe we're both capable of recognizing when our assumptions have been proven wrong."

He paused, hand on the doorknob. "Your son loves Miss Somerton, you know. Not just for her intelligence, though that is considerable, but for her courage in fighting for what she believes is right. They make a formidable partnership."

The Marquess looked down at the papers on his desk—production figures that spoke undeniably of the improvements already taking place. "Yes," he said quietly. "I'm beginning to see that."

"Then perhaps you might consider telling him so." Ashworth opened the door. "Good evening, Linford. I look forward to our next board meeting."

After he departed, the Marquess remained at his desk, staring at the production figures but seeing instead the face of the young laundress as she confidently explained complex mechanical principles. He saw his son's innovation in action, benefiting not just profit margins but actual lives.

Slowly, he pulled a sheet of paper toward him and began to write.

I owe you an apology. I've been so focused on preserving tradition that I failed to see the value of innovation...

His pen moved steadily across the paper, each word a step away from the certainties of his past and toward a future he was only now beginning to envision—one where knowledge flowed more freely, where artificial barriers gave way to practical results, where his son's unconventional vision might actually strengthen rather than threaten the Linford legacy.

It wouldn't be easy. Society didn't change its expectations overnight, and many of his peers would question his judgment. But for the first time in his life, the Marquess found himself more interested in what might be possible than in what had always been done.

Perhaps, he thought with a slight smile, he might have more in common with his third son than either of them had realized.