Heiress in Red Silk (Duke's Heiress #2) - Madeline Hunter Page 0,108
engine a while longer, then they walked back to the building near her carriage. He invited her to share some refreshments, and they sat on a small, wooden terrace overlooking the river. Barges floated past, as well as one pleasure yacht.
“Mr. Radnor was not happy about my visit, I could tell,” he said.
“Not really.”
“Yet he sent me that explanation of how to fix my problem. A different machine it was, of course. Not an engine.”
“I asked him to help.”
“I thought you might’ve. That’s why I asked you to come here. You seemed interested in what I had to say.”
“It matters little if I am.”
“My thinking is, wives have more influence than they’re given credit for. Mine certainly does.”
Lemonade had been brought, and he lifted one glass in his gnarled, big hands and drank. He surveyed his little place of respite with contentment. “Let me tell you what Forestier said to me, after he told me that he wouldn’t license that gauge to me. He said Mr. Radnor had a better use for it.”
“And he does.”
“He also said that there are inventors and there are makers, and Mr. Radnor was the first. That is why he gave me his name. He said inventors need makers. I’m a maker. I couldn’t figure out how to improve or change the engines I build, but I build them better than anyone. I’ve sent engines to France and one to Russia.” He pointed with his thumb to the building downstream. “Those men know their craft. They work metal like artists. My machines don’t break, because the parts are done right.”
Precision, in other words. Kevin had talked about that, and how important it was.
Mr. Lovelace speared her with a direct look. “I don’t know what he’s invented, but I can guess. Not the look or function, but what it does. He has what is called an indicator, I’m thinking. One that maps the pressure, so it can be seen how the steam is working and whether more force can be sucked from it. Forestier invented a gauge for pressure, so it makes sense they would go together.”
It sounded right to her, but she looked back blankly. “I am not an inventor or a maker, Mr. Lovelace. I really don’t know if you are right or not.”
“Of course not. But I think you know that your husband might do better to turn his mind to more inventions than to waste his time trying to run a factory like this. I’m only asking if you might encourage him to hear me out, that’s all. I think together we can do great things.”
She liked this man. For one thing, he had not stolen Forestier’s idea any more than Kevin had. He paid those licenses and he hired artists. Some of his works were not far from London. He was a hardworking man with big ideas who knew what he could do and what he couldn’t.
“Mr. Lovelace, if you spoke with Mr. Forestier, perhaps he told you that I am half owner of Mr. Radnor’s business.”
He appeared startled, then perplexed. Finally, he grinned. “You are the lady in red silk? Miss Jameson? Well, that explains a lot. When I saw you, I thought it unfair that he had two beautiful women in his life. If you will pardon my saying so.”
“We married soon after returning from France.”
He laughed. “Well, now, I might have said things differently if I knew you owned half of it.”
“I think you said everything just fine.” She thought fast. Kevin would be angry if she encouraged this man in any way. Furious. And yet . . .
“Mr. Lovelace, you know my partner is not inclined to take this path. However, I am willing to hear what you propose.”
* * *
Kevin moved the large sheet of paper full of sketches to one side of the table. He took a clean sheet and began copying the only drawing he had made that satisfied him thus far.
It had been a long time since he had embarked on a new project, but this idea would not leave his head. He might as well see where it led. Right now it presented more problems than solutions. He didn’t mind that. It wouldn’t be interesting otherwise.
A soft cough interrupted his thoughts. He looked behind him to see Brigsby, staring down at the floor. “Would you like me to pick those up, sir?”
Kevin looked down at the dozen or so papers strewn over the carpet. “That isn’t necessary.”