Page 4 of The English Duke
“The answer is evidently not,” Jordan said.
He’d refer to his notes, find out where he’d gone wrong. For now, however, he’d pretend a conviviality and bury his disappointment somewhere Reese couldn’t see it.
They’d been friends at school, had renewed their friendship later at the War Office. He and Reese had both been assigned to the Topographical & Statistics Department, he as a naval officer and Reese as a civilian. His duties were to collate military statistics, with a concentration on the Crimean War. Reese had been tasked with ensuring that the archival maps of the region were correct. They’d dreamed of glory in their respective posts but had never found so much as a hint of it.
Yet his work had opened up another avenue for him, something in which he’d found an abiding interest. The Russians had come up with a small device they called a torpedo in the Crimean War that was used as a mine in the harbors. Rumors persisted they were inventing a mobile mine, thereby creating a devastating weapon. When he’d overheard a superior officer discussing York Armaments and the newest work by Matthew York, he’d been intrigued.
Little did he know, five years ago, that the York Torpedo Ship—or his own invention, the Hamilton Torpedo—would keep him from going mad.
“How many does that make?” Reese asked as they walked toward the boathouse.
“Three,” he said.
With any luck, Reese would cease questioning him. He’d give his friend the task of selecting a bottle of wine for dinner from his father’s wine cellar. Only one more example of a Hamilton spending money they didn’t have.
“Don’t you have the material to build another one?”
He debated trying to explain to Reese how much time it took to bend and hammer the copper to a smooth shape, build another engine, not to mention the guidance system and propeller. He might be able to make Reese understand, but the other man would never realize the emotional toll each failure cost him. It was better to keep his thoughts to himself.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Reese said, his tone affable.
Jordan grabbed his walking stick and began the slow and painful journey to the end of the dock.
The past year had been difficult. When he’d been laid up in bed he spent hours occupied with plans and sketches. During the months of learning to walk again, he’d kept his mind from the pain with thoughts of leveling devices and timing mechanisms. The idea of developing a workable torpedo had taken on the importance of a quest.
“Yes,” he finally said. “It matters.”
Chapter 2
“How much farther?” Josephine asked.
Martha waited, but when Gran didn’t say anything, she spoke up. “You asked the question five minutes ago, Josephine. We’re supposed to reach Sedgebrook sometime this afternoon.”
“It would have been faster if we could have taken the train,” Josephine said.
Her sister had said that, too, at least three times since they’d started the journey this morning. She bit back her impatience. Josephine was excited, that’s all.
They hadn’t left Griffin House during the past year because of the mourning period for their father. Josephine might also be anticipating seeing Sedgebrook, one of the great houses of England. Martha might have been enthusiastic about seeing it as well if she wasn’t nearly overwhelmed by regret.
A wagon filled with her father’s notebooks, Bessie, as well as the other prototypes for the York Torpedo Ship, and the rest of the inventions he’d worked on for the whole of his life followed them at a slower pace. From time to time their coachman stopped on the side of the road to give the wagon time to catch up.
Her father would no doubt approve of this journey. She could almost hear his words.
Martha, I’m sure there’s a reason he never wrote. And one compelling him to refuse my bequest. You need only be patient for the answer to be revealed to you.
She had a great deal of patience when it came to devising a tiny chain to stretch between the propeller and the gyroscope. She could sit for hours painstakingly forming the links with a tool and a magnifying glass. However, she didn’t have the same kind of tolerance for the duke’s actions.
He’d harmed her father and she wasn’t about to flippantly forgive him.
Although at one point he’d been interested in her father’s advances in torpedoes no doubt he’d changed his mind over the past year. Perhaps he was now involved in races, hunts, balls, and dinner parties. Something more fascinating to him than the product of a man’s mind and imagination.
She’d never been more disappointed in one person in her entire life.
The man she’d come to know in letters to her father had probably never existed. The eager young naval officer had disappeared to be replaced by a duke who looked down his nose at anyone of lesser rank.
She didn’t want to meet the Duke of Roth. She certainly didn’t want to speak with him. Nor would she be burdened with corresponding with the man ever again.
Josephine, on the other hand, looked ecstatic about the upcoming meeting. Excitement pinkened her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle like jewels.
