Page 11 of The Rumpled Gentleman

Chapter

Eleven

A fter an exhausting day filled with equations and the making of precarious plans, Orion paced in the sanctuary of his home, striding across the length of his cellar with a restlessness that matched the turmoil in his mind. The heavy knock on the door at the top of the stairs, more assertive than the usual polite taps of servants come with messages, could only belong to one person.

“Enter,” Orion called, halting in his steps.

Callon burst into the room, his usual exuberance hardly tempered by the seriousness of the situation. A twinkle in his eye suggested he relished the challenge. Behind him, a figure appeared who starkly contrasted Callon’s elegant half-elfish form. She was stout and solid, her presence undeniably commanding, with deep-set eyes that scanned the room with a critical, discerning gaze.

Greta Gwynsdaughter, a dwarf engineer whose reputation for innovation and stubborn determination had made her formidable in the world of mechanics.

She marched past Orion, acknowledging his polite bow with a curt nod of her head, and went directly to his workbench. She immediately set to examining Orion’s blueprints spread across the table, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Callon drew Orion aside, a sympathetic frown on his face. “You look horrid, my friend. Has the situation worsened?”

Orion, caught off guard by the directness, hesitated before replying. “The situation with the duke…is complicated,” he admitted, his gaze drifting back to the engineer, who was now muttering to herself as she traced the lines of his designs with a thick finger.

Callon, ever perceptive, followed his friend’s gaze and then back to Orion, his expression softening. “It’s not just about the firestone, is it?” he prodded gently. “This has something to do with the duke’s captives. The woman and her father.”

Taking a deep breath, Orion confessed the depth of his involvement. “It’s become more personal than I anticipated. Elara…she’s remarkable, Callon. Her strength, her determination in the face of such danger—I’ve never met anyone like her.”

The half-elf’s eyes lit up with understanding, and he clapped Orion on the shoulder with a grin. “Ah, so it’s like that, is it? I wondered when you’d finally meet someone who could see past the shadow of your father. She must be quite the lady to have caught your attention amidst all this chaos.”

There wasn’t any point in denying it. Not to Callon. Orion couldn’t help but smile, despite the gravity of their situation. “She is remarkable. I’m determined to help her. But I can’t do it alone.”

Callon’s grin widened, his enthusiasm infectious. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not alone. You have me, and now Greta.” He nodded toward the dwarf, who was making notes of her own with an intensity that made it seem she’d wear a hole in the paper.

Her gaze snapped upward abruptly. “This is impressive,” she said, her voice low and somber. “And feasible. But disruptive. The entire mining industry will change.”

“I know. Hopefully for the better.” Orion crossed the room to stand beside her. “Firestone is less hazardous to mine than coal. It needn’t be endlessly fed into a steam engine to provide power. And it doesn’t produce the thick, black smog and soot that coal does.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad idea.” She sniffed. “Just a disruptive one. Here’s what I’m thinking.” As Greta outlined her ideas for modifying the steam engine to work with the altered firestone—a process that involved intricate adjustments and a deep understanding of both magic and mechanics—Orion’s confidence grew.

Orion had more than a chance of escaping his father’s control. And saving Elara.

Timing was everything. As was secrecy. If the duke found out what Orion was trying to accomplish, he could destroy the whole scheme before Orion had the political backing and protection he needed.

The conversation shifted to the technicalities of the project, but in the back of Orion’s mind, images of Elara—her smile, her courage, her unwavering hope—remained, driving him forward. He was fighting for her, yes, but also for the promise of a world where their story could have a chance to flourish beyond the confines of the duke’s cruelty.

In the stillness of the late night, the makeshift laboratory was enveloped in silence, a stark contrast to the bustling streets of London where Elara had spent the last three years navigating to and from her place of work.

After her outing with Orion the day before, she’d felt hopeful. Lighter, even. But this morning, a note had arrived from the duke. Telling her the first shipment of flax would arrive the next day. He’d also sent a list of questions, quite technical in nature, demanding answers that he might give to others who were interested in his pursuit.

Panic had closed in on her once again. She’d left her father in Bess’s care, taking his notes with her. Though her father may have answered the questions, she had no wish to tax his mind. He was still recording all his thoughts after the visit with the astronomer. There was no reason to take him from that.

Elara, hunched over her worktable, was surrounded by an ever-growing maze of notes and diagrams. She had to look busy. Had to make it seem like she anxiously strove to fulfill the duke’s wishes. Sketches of flax, copies of her father’s notes, and ramblings about alchemy littered the table. Her hands moved tirelessly, but her eyes burned with fatigue. Exhaustion settled deep in her bones.

The heavy tapestry shifted, the cloth brushing against the stone. Elara turned, gripping the table with one hand to keep the room from spinning. The same mysterious visitor, still cloaked and masked, stepped into the room. His sudden appearance at such a late hour surprised her, but there was a familiar comfort in seeing him again.

Quite familiar, actually. She narrowed her bleary eyes at him.

“I didn’t expect to find you here at this hour,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of concern. “You should be resting.”

Elara sighed, setting down her pen. First Orion, now this masked man, telling her to rest. “I can’t sleep. Not when there’s so much at stake.”

He stepped closer, the concern in his voice now mirrored in his posture. “You must take care of your health. This endeavor won’t be won by exhausting yourself.”

Elara looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity of his tone. “I received word today that the duke’s flax straw will arrive tomorrow.”

He paused, his head tilting slightly, as if weighing his next words carefully. “That is unfortunate timing.”

Fretting, Elara wrung her hands together. “I know magic comes at a price, and I imagine we will need much more of it before the end. I…I’d like to offer another deal.” She hesitated before continuing, “If you help me fool the duke again, I will give you my mother’s ring. It’s all I have left of value. All I have left of her.”

The visitor remained silent for a moment, the tension in the room making her sway slightly on her feet.

Finally, he spoke, his voice softer, “You’ve already given up so much. Are you sure?”

Elara nodded, her voice cracking from the dryness of her throat. “Yes. Whatever it takes to keep my father and my family safe.”

He stepped forward, his hand reaching out as if to touch her shoulder, then he stilled and pulled back. “Very well. I accept your offer.”

Elara slipped the ring from her finger and held it out to him, her hand trembling as much from emotion as weakness. The mysterious stranger, cloaked in shadows, had become an unlikely ally in her fight against the duke’s demands. For now, that had to be enough reason to trust him.

He took the ring gently, his gloved fingers brushing against hers, causing a fleeting warmth to spread through her. An odd reaction, to be sure.

He tucked the ring away.

Elara nodded, her heart heavy. She had owned that ring for mere hours. But sacrifices had to be made for magic. “Thank you.”

Though she couldn’t see much of his face, thanks to the mask and hood he wore, the stranger observed her closely, concern etching deeper into his voice as he spoke. “You cannot continue like this. You need rest.”

Elara’s gaze drifted back to her cluttered workspace, her mind racing with all that remained undone. “The duke’s expectations?—”

“Leave the duke’s expectations to me,” he interjected. “I can draft a report for the duke for you to copy. Something believable.”

Surprise flickered in Elara’s eyes, a glimmer of hope amidst the exhaustion. “You would do that?”

“You have bought my services, Elara Millstone,” he reminded her. “It’s imperative you regain your strength. You’ll need all your wits about you.”

His firm tone cut through the fog of her weariness. She could scarcely help her father if she collapsed from exhaustion.

“All right,” she conceded, a weary smile touching her lips. “I’ll try to rest.”

“Good.” He glanced around the room, his gaze taking in the chaos of her efforts. “I’ll begin here. You should find a comfortable place to sleep. Even a few hours can make a difference.”

As Elara moved towards the only comfortable seat left in the room—a time-faded wingback chair—her steps unsteady, she felt a profound gratitude for the stranger’s presence.

Orion was the only other soul who had dared to help. He’d been with her in the daylight, what few hours he could spare, always careful not to promise much. Always mindful of his own precarious situation with the horrible man who had sired him. Truly, she hated that Orion risked the duke’s ire. His mother’s health and well-being were as much in peril as her own.

Sinking into the chair, curling up in its seat like a cat, she put her head against the armrest. Then she watched her masked savior as he moved about her work area. Despite the mask and cloak, there was a familiarity to him, a sense of shared purpose that eased the tightness in her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered once more, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Say nothing of it,” he replied, his voice a reassuring murmur in the dim room. “Rest now. You have a long day ahead.”

Perhaps there was more to the familiarity than the mere sight of him. How many times had this cloaked stranger entered her life? The masquerade. That first night when he had come to the laboratory. And now. Yet he seemed almost to belong, so assured were his movements. Her tired mind tried to take hold of that idea, to grasp it and pull it in like a fish on a line, to examine it. Make sense of it.

But she was far too tired. Sleep quickly claimed her.