Page 2
“Yes, I will.” She was as adamant as she was horrified. “I cannot think of one thing that Lord Hartford has to recommend him.”
“Not one?”
Rosalind clasped her hands together in a vain attempt to control their trembling. “No. Not a single one.”
“He is to be the Duke of Kelbrook. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“Only that he will be even more pompous when he’s older than he is now.” A vision of gangly Lord Hartford wearing a white wig and ordering her to do his bidding filled her mind. She shuddered and reached out to clutch her father’s sleeve. “Please, Father. You must do something. Tell the duke it was all a big mistake.”
“I cannot do that, Rosalind.” His eyes were serious now. “The contract was signed in good faith. The duke and I have been close friends for decades, but he has done us a great courtesy to agree to this match.”
“But I never agreed to it.” Desperation clawed at her throat, leaving her voice raspy.
“You are eleven years of age. You do not have a say in the matter.”
Rosalind had rarely heard her father speak so sternly. She swallowed hard and removed her hand from his arm. No say? But it was her life. Her future.
“I signed the document,” he continued. “I am honor bound to uphold it. As my daughter, you are similarly obligated.”
Rosalind scrambled to her feet. This time, he did not stop her. She wanted to scream, to cry, and to beg him once more to reconsider. But she knew it was useless. He was resolute. Forcing her leaden feet forward, she moved toward the door.
“It is for the best, Rosalind. I truly believe that.”
She kept her face averted as her tears began to fall. It mattered little that her father believed it. She did not.
Chapter 2
Scotland, 1782
Sebastian Lumley, the Duke of Kelbrook, leaned over the large oak desk, studying the diagram lying on its surface with a critical eye. Where was the flaw? Andrew Meikle was so close to perfecting his automated threshing machine that Sebastian could almost see the completed contrivance standing in a field of wheat. His gaze moved to the large drum Meikle had constructed in the corner of his workshop in East Lothian, Scotland. The engineer’s goal was to have the paddles he had affixed to the cylinder beat rather than rub the grain to remove the chaff. But something was preventing the grain from circulating the drum correctly, and they had yet to determine what it was.
“I dinna think ya’d still be here, Yer Grace. Were ya not intending to be on yer way to London by this time?” Meikle paused at the entrance of the small room to consult his pocket watch.
Offering the Scotsman a rueful look, Sebastian stepped away from the desk. “You are making it most difficult to leave, Meikle. The new adjustments you suggested for the main crank have changed everything.”
Meikle chuckled. “Don’t you be usin’ my invention as an excuse to put off marrying yer young lady, Yer Grace. I’ve been happy to have ya here. Yer eye for detail has saved me hours of work on this fool invention, but I won’t be keeping ya when you’ve other more important things to be done.”
Sebastian grimaced. Working alongside Meikle for weeks in the privacy of the Scotsman’s workshop had caused Sebastian to let down his guard, and he had probably shared more than he should have with the mechanical engineer—particularly with regard to his pending nuptials. With both Sebastian’s parents and Lord Langton deceased, Miss Ainsworth, Lady Langton, and their respective solicitors were the only ones who knew of his arranged marriage contract. He had wanted it that way. And given the fact that, to the best of his knowledge, no rumors regarding their situation had circulated the ton, it would appear that Miss Ainsworth was of a similar mindset.
“You are correct, Meikle. I should be on my way.”
The engineer may have guessed at Sebastian’s reluctance to go through with a wedding to an essentially unknown bride, but it would not do to have him realize the extent of his dismay over being saddled with Miss Rosalind Ainsworth for the rest of his life.
He’d had no interaction with the young lady since she had stayed at Finley Park with her family when he’d been about fourteen. The memory of how he’d finally retreated to his tree house simply to escape her constant chatter haunted him. However would he manage a wife who was as vivacious as he was reserved? She would surely fill Finley Park with a constant stream of houseguests and demand that he attend every social function imaginable. Sebastian shuddered. He could think of little that he would enjoy less.
By virtue of his title, he received invitations to more events than he could possibly attend. He occasionally made an appearance at small dinner parties, but he rarely set foot inside a ballroom. He did not see the point. Why put himself through the torture of being assessed by every female in the room when his bride was already determined, especially when he would much rather spend the time in his workroom at Finley Park. Indeed, the freedom to temporarily ignore Society’s expectations for an eligible nobleman was the only silver lining to his otherwise untenable marriage contract.
“I’ll be glad to have ya return any time you’re able, Yer Grace. It’s been an honor to have ya here; yer help has been invaluable.”
Meikle’s voice brought Sebastian back to the present. “If I can be of further assistance, do not hesitate to send your calculations or drawings to me at Finley Park.”
The Scotsman eyed the large roll of paper on the desk with a frown. “Ya know as well as I do that taking those papers out of this locked room is a risky move, Yer Grace. But I may take ya up on the offer yet. Especially if I canna get the paddles turning as they should.”
Sebastian nodded. The battle to be the first to develop an instrument that would mechanize harvesting grain was as competitive as a horse race at Epsom Downs. And promised an equally lucrative prize. “It will come, Meikle.”
“I sincerely hope so, Yer Grace. After so many disappointments in the past, it wouldna do for us both to have spent this many weeks making changes only to have it come to naught.”
“This time will be different, you mark my words.”
