Winthrop’s expression suggested he’d sucked a lemon, but he forced himself to stiffly bow. “Of course.” Straightening, he continued, “If that concludes our business, my lord, I will bid you good day.” Winthrop nodded sharply to Mayhew. “Clive.”
Then Winthrop turned and, rather slowly, made for the main doors, edging around the crowds lining the central aisle, all excitedly watching the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage being put through its paces.
Rand and Mayhew watched Winthrop go, then Mayhew looked rather wonderingly at Rand. “I say...well, there’s nothing I can say but thank you.” As Rand met his eyes, Mayhew spread his hands. “You could have thrown me to the dogs—”
“But I didn’t.” Rand studied the artist’s open expression; he could understand why Felicia had trusted the man—there really wasn’t any vein of villainy in him. “I didn’t because you didn’t have to stop and confess all to me. You could have come here, told Winthrop you’d decided not to do his bidding, and walked away with a clear conscience. No one could have blamed you for anything that transpired thereafter. But instead, you made the effort to come and clear your slate with me and the Throgmortons. If you hadn’t, I would never have felt the need to check the engine one last time. And if you hadn’t stuck with me and been there—and stayed and kept working even when it seemed the engine might explode—it might well have done so. We needed to get both those valves free, and without your help, we might not have succeeded.” Rand tipped his head toward where cheering could be heard coming from the forecourt before the Town Hall. “And the Throgmortons and all those associated with them would have been devastated in more ways than one.”
Rand studied Mayhew’s face as the other man assimilated those facts. Finally, Mayhew frowned faintly and refocused on Rand’s face. “Still, I did try...”
Rand couldn’t help but smile; Mayhew truly was honest to the bone—in selecting him as his henchman, Winthrop had been blind. Rand turned toward where he’d left Felicia. “If you insist on making amends...”
Mayhew straightened and turned to walk beside him. “I do.”
“Then having seen your sketches, I suggest you send a few of your perspectives of the Hall to Miss Throgmorton and Mrs. Makepeace as peace offerings, and we’ll consider the matter settled and done.”
Mayhew nodded eagerly. “I’ll do that.”
“And now”—Rand looked ahead to where the crowds were still thick around the Throgmorton exhibit—“you had better come with me, because at the end of this exceedingly eventful day, I suspect we’ll have a significant amount of explaining to do.”
* * *
Their eventful day had not yet ended. Rand and Mayhew rejoined Felicia, Mary, and Ryder beside the empty Throgmorton exhibit in time to watch Prince Albert, under William John’s tutelage, drive the steam carriage down the center of the hall, back to its place in the lineup of inventions.
For the attentive and excited crowd, this would plainly be the highlight of their day.
For those associated with the Throgmorton steam carriage, it was a crowning achievement.
Nothing, simply nothing, could be better—could surpass the moment when William John showed Albert how to set the brake
and turn off the engine, and with that done, the Prince looked up, beaming with undisguised delight.
The organizers gathered around, thrilled at the unexpected episode and delighted to support the Prince’s approbation.
Her face wreathed in a smile of incandescent joy, Felicia watched William John deal with all the questions and congratulations with newfound confidence and authority. More than any other there, she could appreciate the vindication he had to be feeling, then he briefly looked her way, and his eyes shone with just that emotion, and, simultaneously, he and she nodded to each other, then William John returned to answering the questions and inquiries that were now coming thick and fast.
Felicia turned her attention to the crowd, observing the intrigued interest that now filled so many faces. When Rand shifted to better protect her from the surge of bodies, she gripped his arm and murmured, “I hope my father—and my mother, too—are looking down and seeing this.”
Rand dipped his head, and she felt his lips lightly brush her temple. “The triumph of the Throgmortons?” he murmured.
She laughed. “Yes. Exactly that.”
And that triumph reached far further, far deeper than the steam carriage. She was, finally, at one with her father and her brother. She’d reconnected with them in a way she had never thought she would. Now, she could accept them as they were—as inventors—because she’d finally found and embraced the inventor in herself.
That was the ultimate triumph here, the change that would give them—her, Rand, and William John—a solid base on which to build their futures. Their inevitably intertwined futures.
Rand had been the catalyst that had brought about the change that had allowed them to get to this moment and secure their triumph; he now was and would forever be an integral part of their whole.
Glancing at Rand, Felicia saw Mayhew standing on Rand’s other side. After having seen Mayhew help Rand to free the valves, she no longer understood Mayhew’s role.
Apparently sensing the questions on her tongue, Rand squeezed her hand where it lay on his sleeve and murmured, “We’ll explain later, but Mayhew’s on our side.”
Across Rand, she met Mayhew’s eyes. “You helped us.”
He smiled rather shyly and bobbed a bow. “I can’t say I wasn’t a trifle flustered at one point, but I’m glad I was able to assist.”
Clearly, there was a story behind Mayhew’s actions, but as Albert reluctantly returned to his duties and moved on to view the next exhibit, and a horde of newspapermen, other inventors, and investors converged on William John, Felicia accepted that Rand was right; he had no time for explanations now.
Rand pressed her hand and unlinked their arms. “I need to help William John.”