Ryder humphed. “Looks like you were the only one able to get your guards in ahead of the crowd.”
In front of many of the larger exhibits, guards were still pushing their way out of the body of the crowd and climbing over the golden ropes to take up their positions.
“Obviously,” Mary said, “all inventors take the business of protecting their inventions seriously.” She glanced inquiringly at Rand. “While I can understand the threats to the steam carriage, I hadn’t realized the problem was widespread.”
“It can be a cutthroat business,” Rand replied. He’d been watching William John deal with the gentlemen who had approached, and who had now been joined by several others; Rand and their group were close enough to hear William John’s confident explanation of the improvements made to Russell’s design and the changes to the controls.
Felicia shifted closer to Rand and murmured, “He’s in his element.”
Rand smiled, then looked down at her. “If you’ll wait here for a moment, I’ll just have a word with him.”
She nodded. Mary and Ryder were looking at the next invention in line. Felicia watched as the gentlemen who had been speaking with William John moved away, and Rand stepped up to William John. They spoke, then William John smiled a smile of transparent happiness and nodded—although the nod was delivered in her brother’s usual vague way.
William John turned to another group of gentlemen, along with one lady, who were waiting to approach, and Rand returned to her side.
“He said he’s happy to deal with all the inquiries for the next hour or so.” Rand took her arm. “I thought we might take a quick look around, and then I’ll return to spell William John.”
Felicia laughed and slid her arm into Rand’s. “We’re talking of William John—he’s in his version of heaven when speaking of his inventions and explaining how they work. He so rarely gets a chance to speak with an audience of interested people, I very much doubt you’ll prevail on him to let you take over.”
Rand acknowledged the comment with a wry smile. “There’s no denying he’s earned his moment here. If it weren’t for him and his never-say-die pursuit of success, we’d never have got the steam carriage here. But I’ll at least offer him the chance to take a break—whether he takes it or not can be his decision.”
After they collected Ryder and Mary, who had been fascinatedly studying the printing machine that was the twenty-fifth exhibit, the four of them eased into the swelling crowd. As the bulk of the crowd seemed to be heading down the central aisle toward them—presumably following the numbers on the exhibits—they went in the other direction, crossing the wide central space to examine the inventions numbered twenty-six and on.
While Rand and Felicia dallied to more closely examine the latest steam-powered loom, Ryder and Mary continued up the line. Felicia asked several technical questions of the loom’s inventor, much to that older gentleman’s discomposure; that a lady would know to ask of valves and pressures thoroughly rattled him, and he struggled to answer.
Felicia wasn’t impressed; as she moved away on Rand’s arm, she murmured, “I hope you haven’t put any money into that invention.”
“No. I haven’t.” After a moment, he added, “There are too many decent steam-driven looms about already.”
She humphed. “I doubt he’s run his engine for longer than ten minutes. Fifteen, and I would expect it to blow a pipe or a gasket—his configuration suffers from the same problem the Throgmorton engine originally had.”
The reason he hadn’t invested in the steam-driven loom was because of the established competition—not because he’d known it wouldn’t work.
The idea that had quietly wormed its way into his brain regarding one aspect of his and Felicia’s joint future grew clearer, taking more definite shape.
They strolled on, pausing here and there to more closely question various inventors. Rand met and stopped to chat with several investors, mostly competitors of sorts. All congratulated him on his prescience in supporting the Throgmorton project at such an early stage; several inquired whether there might be a chance to buy in at some point. Rand smiled easily, said he would let them know, and left it at that. Now they’d had a chance to see the steam engine and consider its points, that more investors were declaring interest suggested that they, too, thought the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage had a definite and lucrative future.
While he’d chatted with his peers, Felicia had drawn her hand from his sleeve and drifted to speak with a nervous young inventor whose very small exhibit was wedged between two much larger and showier machines. Hardly anyone seemed to have noticed the poor man, but Felicia appeared to be deeply immersed in the explanation the young inventor was proffering.
Drawing nearer, Rand saw that Felicia held a slim rod in her hand. A channel had been scored down its length and a stoppered glass vessel fixed in the space. At the other end of the rod from the elegant metal stopper was a small piece of burnished metal. Rand halted beside Felicia, and as she lifted the rod to show him, he realized the metal addition was a very fine nib.
“Mr. Finlay”—Felicia nodded at the young man—“was just explaining that the pen works via a combination of gravity and capillary action. See?” She set the nib to a piece of paper the inventor had laid atop a traveling writing desk mounted on a pedestal and swiftly scribed numbers and letters, capital and lowercase. “It’s remarkable—no more open pots of ink or splotches.”
Rand looked at the young man. “I’ve seen pens like this in Paris. What makes yours different?”
Mr. Finlay leapt to explain. “If I could, miss?” Tenderly, he took the pen from Felicia, then, with a fingertip, directed Rand’s attention to the detail of the stopper. “I’ve made changes to the seal to make it more airtight. I’ve also altered the vessel—it’s really an annulus of glass with air in the central shaft. I discovered that makes the flow of ink more even. Then I’ve worked with the local steel mills to refashion the nib. This one gives a steady and even line and will outlast anything presently on the market.”
Rand knew Birmingham foundries were setting themselves up as manufacturers of all sorts of steel products—from the largest and heaviest to the smallest and finest, apparently. Rand reached for the pen, and Finlay let him take it from his hands. Rand held the pen up at eye level, studying the stopper, then the glass vessel, then, in very close detail, he examined the nib. The work was unquestionably fine and quite different to what he’d seen in France.
He looked at Finlay. The man returned his regard hopefully; Rand judged him to be as honest and as earnest as the day was long. Rand handed the pen back to Finlay, then looked at Felicia and arched a brow.
She didn’t smile, but her attention returned to the pen, her gaze almost covetous. “It seems a very fine piece of work. I can’t think of any point of its design that could be bettered.”
Finlay blinked at her, then, realizing she’d paid him a compliment, smiled shyly.
Rand reached for his card case. He extracted a card and handed it to Finlay.
The man took it, read it, and his eyes went wide. He looked at Rand. “You’re Cavanaugh?” He glanced again at the card, then looked up, patently stunned. “Lord Cavanaugh?”