Page 15 of The Rumpled Gentleman

Chapter

Fifteen

A deep, unpleasant laugh woke Elara. She’d moved to the old wingback chair after working until her fingers were worn raw and red. Another hour at the spinning wheel, and her fingers would have bled from spinning the fiber. She’d stumbled to the chair shortly after dawn and collapsed.

The duke’s laugh had woken her. He stood at the wheel, his back to her, hands full of golden-hued thread. Lumpy, ill-formed, thread. She hadn’t spun since childhood, and even then it had been wool that her mother had brought for her to use. The result wouldn’t be ideal for sewing or cloth, but the duke didn’t seem to care. Not so long as he thought it was true gold.

She belatedly realized she couldn’t sit in the presence of a duke, and Elara scrambled to her feet without falling over from the clumsiness of fatigue.

His eyes glittered darkly with greed and triumph. “Miss Millstone. You have done it.” He held out the gold thread. “And tonight, I will show my allies the proof of your work.”

Her heart skipped and rose hopefully. Yet in the next instant, it sunk again. “You will not allow me to go home, though, will you?”

“Home?” He laughed again. “Why would you ever want to return there? When you can stay here, where you have all the elegance and finery a talent such as yours deserves. Or, perhaps, I should send you to one of my estates. Give you an honor guard, of sorts. For once others learn of your talents, you most certainly will not be safe.” His lips turned up into a cold mockery of a smile. “I couldn’t bear for anything to happen to you, Miss Millstone. And your father—he knows the secret to turning flax to gold, too. You must both be protected. Surely, you see that.” He looked down at the thread again. “You ought to rest, my dear. You will need to be at your best to perform this feat again.”

She didn’t say anything, nor did she curtsy as he left, but the man was too distracted by his own greed to notice.

Her gaze went to the tapestry on the wall.

“He will come,” she told herself.

With that hope dampening her fear enough for her to function, Elara left the room to find her father.

On the outskirts of London, far from the duke’s home, Orion and Greta stood beside a gleaming steam engine, its sides polished to a reflective shine. The track was all but deserted. The air was crisp, a prelude to the day’s beginning, as a small group of well-dressed lawmakers gathered inside the engine’s carriage, murmuring among themselves with a mix of skepticism and intrigue.

Callon addressed the assembly. “Ladies and gentlemen, what you’re about to witness is not merely an innovation but a revolution in transportation and energy use, made possible by Mr. Fitzmartin’s groundbreaking work with firestone.”

Greta, her hands confidently adjusting the valves and gauges, nodded to Orion. With a shared glance of determination, Orion fed half a dozen rocks of firestone into the engine’s core. The stone glowed, a vibrant heart igniting with potential, as the steam engine began to hum.

As the engine started, the politicians leaned closer to the windows, whatever skepticism they’d felt falling away as they gasped and shouted in awe. The steam engine, powered by the firestone, moved along the track with unprecedented efficiency, pouring out none of the noxious smoke for which the coal-driven engines were known.

Callon’s voice carried over the thrumming of the engine. “With firestone, we eliminate the soot, the smoke, and the inefficiency of coal. This is a healthier energy, the future of our industry and our world. Why should we tolerate our cities filling with an unhealthy miasma? Mr. Fitzmartin’s vision offers us a path to a brighter future.”

The demonstration, brief yet undeniably successful, ended with the steam engine coming to a gentle stop, the lawmakers stepping out onto the platform, their faces alight with realization and excitement.

Orion, standing beside the engine, accepted their congratulations. Answered their questions. And, best of all, received promises and assurances that these men and women would invest in his work and stand for him in parliament.

Another demonstration was scheduled for the next day.

Greta turned to Orion, her usually stoic expression lightened by the slightest of smiles. “It seems we accomplished something here today, Mr. Fitzmartin.” She offered him a hearty handshake.

Callon joined them, clapping Orion on the back with a smile that spoke volumes. “Orion, Greta, you’ve both outdone yourselves. This demonstration wasn’t merely successful; it was revolutionary.” His gaze swept over the engine and then back to Orion.

“Thank you, both of you. Now, I have another matter to see to. A personal one that requires my immediate attention.”

Greta nodded and climbed back inside the engine without a backward glance. Pragmatic as ever.

Callon offered a knowing look. “Go, then. We’ll handle things here. I hope you’ll introduce me to Miss Millstone someday.”

“Someday very soon,” Orion promised. With that, he turned and made his way swiftly from the track, his heart lightened by the success of the morning.