“I explained the other night that you’d have to ask for more.” He leaned toward her. “But know this, Nora. If you ask, I will not refuse you. Once we start down this path, itwillrequire hours because I would take my time and savor every minute.”
The carriage had suddenly become unbearably hot. Her skin was ablaze. How the hell had this happened? Certainly she was curious but worried that in this matter, curiosity might indeed kill the cat.
The carriage came to a stop, startling her.
“So don’t ask lightly,” he commanded, before opening the door, leaping out, and then reaching back for her.
He closed his fingers sturdily and securely around hers. As he escorted her toward the hotel, she knew if she gave him leave to do with her what he would, there would be no turning back.
Chapter 14
The following afternoon, Leonora held her breath as two strapping footmen—one on either side—carried the writing machine down the stairs—five interminable flights. She’d climbed so many more the night before. Her pique at the number here was only because she feared they might drop her precious prototype and damage it.
She should find a way to make it lighter, to turn it into something that people could easily carry with them. Or at the very least that one person could effortlessly manage. Following its journey to the ballroom where it would be set up for tomorrow night’s demonstration, she became lost in the possibilities. How a less cumbersome machine would increase its appeal. Writers, reporters, and chroniclers could ensure it was always near at hand, ready to be used when they had words to communicate.
All musings fled when she entered the ballroom. Sam was standing near a table resting on a dais. “Ah, good!” he called out, sweeping his arm in the direction needed. “Over here, gentlemen.”
She noted that the footmen’s brows were damp. Yes, she needed to make adjustments. She also neededto keep weight in mind as she finished designing the tallying machine.
Her mother was ordering servants about as they hung bunting and garland. Arranged an abundance of flowers provided by the gardener who tended the plants in a greenhouse at the back corner of the hotel’s gardens. He’d been kind enough to take her on a tour. The walls and ceiling were mostly glass, providing sunlight for the wide variety of flowers he nurtured for the hotel.
She suspected her mother was assisting because she was hoping for the ball portion to be so grand that people would be talking about it for years or it might get a mention in the newspapers.
“What do you think?” Sam asked as he approached her.
Oh, she thought a lot of things—mainly that Papa wasn’t here to enjoy the unveiling and to calm her nerves—but knew her brother was referring to the writing machine display. “I feel like it’s my child, about to give his first recital. I want it to do so well, and I don’t want anyone to laugh at it.”
“No one is going to laugh at it.”
She wondered if those responsible for the inner workings that ran through the Clock Tower had been uneasy, waiting for Big Ben and the smaller bells to chime. Perhaps worrying at how something might be received was simply part of the process of creativity. With enough investors and the right amount of success, hopefully they’d never have to go through all this effort again.
“We’re planning to have that contraption taken away before the ball begins, aren’t we?” Mama asked.
Leonora had been so focused on doubts that she hadn’t heard her mother approach.
“No,” she and Sam said at the same time.
“It’s the reason we’re here,” he continued. “Remember?”
She wanted to hug Sam at that moment, but they’d never been a very demonstrative family.
“It doesn’t go with the décor.” She wondered how long their mother would carry on so.
“Which is to our advantage,” Leonora explained. “It’ll serve as a reminder regarding our reason for being here. Hopefully it will entice a few people into wanting to be backers for progress.”
“‘Backers for progress.’ I like that,” Sam said. “You should use it in your speech.”
“My speech? I thought you were going to present our invention, and I’d field any questions you couldn’t answer.”
“You should do it because it’s not reallyours. It’syours.”
She remembered the faraway look in Lord Falstone’s eyes as if his entire being had escaped her and gone somewhere else to reside for the space of a dance. He’d not been the only one. While she’d seemed to hold the attention of a few gents, to captivate an entire room into listening to what she had to say was such an overwhelming prospect.
But Sam was correct. He barely understood the machine, had never taken much interest in it except for the role it would play in allowing them not to crash into poverty.
“I should go make some notes regarding what I want to say.” Had she known this chore was goingto fall to her, she’d have waited to have the writing machine brought down. Certainly, she could use it here, but imagined that pen and paper would serve her better as she was bound to scratch through and rearrange much of what she wanted to say. That little tidbit she wouldn’t mention from the dais—that sometimes pen and paper were preferable, depending upon the task.
It was late by the time she set down the pen, satisfied with her speech.
