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Now he had the twins, Michel and Adele, the illegitimate product of their affair.
And they didn’t seem to want him either.
“I’ve built this life, India, this useful life that progresses day by day with precision and purpose. My foundry. My steam engines. And now these needful little cogs are stuck in the workings. I don’t know the first thing about children. Isn’t it enough to feed them, clothe them, and provide them with the most expensive damned governesses in London?”
“One would think.”
“Yet they terrorize the governesses and run away at every opportunity. They’re off in the park again right now. The coachman will bring them home any moment.”
“Give them time,” said India with a sympathetic smile. “All of this sudden upheaval must be bewildering to them... and to you.”
“I’m glad Sophie sent them to me, and I’ve vowed to give them every advantage in life, but it’s rotten timing, India. I’m so close...” He stared down at the engine plans. “So close to producing a steam-powered fire engine lightweight enough to be drawn by a single horse.”
“A single horse? Why would that be better?”
“Because it will arrive at fires faster, and it will pump water farther and douse even the most aggressive blazes.” He traced the troublesome boiler with his pen. “Plus, it won’t show up drunk to the fire, like half of the fire brigade do.”
“I think it’s wonderful what you’re achieving with your foundry, but certain other people aren’t so thrilled.”
“I suppose you mean Mother.”
“Let me see, I want to get this right.” India lifted her nose in the air and assumed the supercilious tones of the dowager duchess. “‘Please tell the duke that his dabbling in trade and commerce is most unseemly, ruinous for his reputation, lowers his station, and will make it more difficult to attract a suitable wife and mother to his heir.’”
“Ruinous?” Edgar sputtered. “How do you like that? It’s my foundry that lifted this family from the threat of impoverishment after our father nearly ran it into the ground.”
He held out one scarred, burned hand. “Tell her I’m more foundry man than duke now and nothing will ever change that.”
“You could visit and tell her in person. It’s been nearly a decade. When you disappeared for those seven long years she pretended not to care, but I could tell she was devastated.” India’s eyes clouded over. “It wasn’t easy for any of us. Not knowing where you were, or whether you were safe.”
Edgar’s quill dug so hard it cut through the paper. “I never meant to cause you pain. I had to leave. Before I left, she told me she never wanted to see me again.”
“She’s changed since father’s death. And she’s longing for grandchildren.”
“Then you’ll have to marry and produce some. I’m too busy at the moment.”
India lifted her brow and gave him a quelling stare. “Well that’s not going to happen.” She drew a banknote from somewhere beneath her mannish coat. “Fifty pounds,” she said, waving the note.
He gave her a quizzical look.
“Fifty pounds says you’ll marry first and produce a grandchild for our long-suffering Mama.”
Edgar threw down his quill and opened the drawer of his desk. “I’ll raise you fifty. One hundred pounds says you’ll be the first to marry.”
“Ha. May as well burn that note, instead of wager it.”
Edgar smiled. It would take a special sort of gentleman to match his sister’s unconventionality, wits, and fire.
“You’d better be careful,” she laughed. “I could ask Mother to draw up a list of suitable debutantes and spread a rumor that you’re on the marriage mart.”
“You wouldn’t.”
His sister smiled wickedly.
Oh God. She probably would. He’d better send her back overseas quickly.
“What I need is a list of suitable governesses,” said Edgar.
“What are the requirements?”
