Dragons & Dirigibles Page 3

  “As you wish.” Having the prickly but pretty female out of his house would be good for his sanity if nothing else. “My man is back from the village. Lord—Lake, was it?—sends his regards and asks to know if you need any assistance.”

  “You can tell him I’m doing well and will be home in a day or two.”

  “Of course.” He nodded. “Likewise, if there’s anything my staff or I can do in the meanwhile, please consider us at your disposal.”

  She inclined her chin. “My thanks. Actually—there is one thing, my lord.”

  “Yes, Miss MacKay?” He lifted one eyebrow.

  “Do you have any novels in your library?” She tossed the tome she’d been reading onto the cushion beside her, allowing him to see that it was a book of religious essays.

  “Novels?” He’d never had any particular use for fiction and certainly didn’t consider it appropriate for a young lady. His grandmother had been very strict about such things and it made sense to Victor. Stories were for children—well, and sailors who’d been out to sea too long.

  “Yes. Novels.” She sniffed and tilted her nose in the air in a clear imitation of some grande dame she must know. “You know. Fictional stories, the more outrageous the better. If I have to be trapped up here for a day, I’d greatly appreciate something entertaining to read.”

  Victor bit his lip to keep from laughing. “I have no idea if there are any novels in the library or not. I shall endeavor to find out.”

  “Thank you.” She turned back to the window, her hand still clutching the deerhound.

  Victor took a few moments to study her. She was tiny—just an inch or two above five foot. Her figure was trim enough to pull off boys’ clothing, but her face was as feminine as could be. Heart-shaped and dainty, it was a touch sunburnt, and thick black lashes framed her dark brown eyes. “Are you really twenty-five?” The question came out before he was aware he’d spoken.

  “Yes. I know I look younger. My siblings never let me forget it.” She didn’t turn back to look at him, which bothered him somehow.

  “Older, I take it?” Now that he had her talking, Victor stepped over and sat in the chair by a small writing desk. “I had an older brother. I remember the perpetual teasing.”

  “I’m sorry.” At that she turned, her eyes soft with sympathy, real or feigned. “My condolences. Were there just the two of you?”

  Why did she want to know? The smugglers knew as much if not more of his family history than he did. Perhaps she was just trying to soften him up, or perhaps she really was innocent. Victor simply shook his head. “We also had a sister who died in childhood.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Again, my sympathies. I can’t imagine losing my brother or sister, no matter how much they annoy me.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “It’s been a long time since we lost my parents and sister. One does heal, of course.”

  “As I said, I can’t imagine. Even my grandparents still thrive. It would break my heart not to see them again.” She crossed her arms over her chest, holding the baggy robe in place.

  She was a lucky woman indeed to still have so much family. “And yet you risk your life every time you climb into one of those machines.” A woman pilot just went against the natural order of things and Victor couldn’t reconcile that. No matter how pleasant she seemed, he had to keep reminding himself that she was an unnatural creature.

  “No, they wouldn’t. But they do understand my need to make my own way.” She set her chin. “What about you? Have you anyone left? A wife, perhaps? Someone to share your grief?”

  “I’m unwed.” He turned away. “I actually never planned to marry. It’s not an ideal institution for a sailor. A seaman’s wife has a lonely existence.” And as the spare, he’d had the luxury of choice. Now he didn’t.

  “You were a captain, you said. A wife could have sailed with you.” Now her eyes twinkled. She evidently relished a fight. More evidence that she wasn’t a genteel lady.

  “Not on a royal gunship. Besides, the sea is no place for a female, and certainly no place for children. Since a mother should be with her offspring, she would inevitably be left behind. Therefore, no wife, no children.” She seemed bright but obviously couldn’t understand straightforward logic.

  “That’s just sad, my lord captain.” She shook her head. “How long have you been ashore?”

  Again he wondered why she needed to know. “Not long,” he answered. “A few months.”

  “I see.” She gave him a sad smile. “Well, good luck with your transition—and your smugglers. I think you’re going to need it. By the by, why aren’t you in London, sitting in Parliament? It’s one of the most important duties of a peer, you know.”

  “Next year.” He dreaded that more than he’d dreaded pirates. Sitting among a group of men who decided how the country was to run just on the basis of their birth? Ridiculous. At least he’d earned the rank of captain. “There was too much to do here at the estate. My brother passed some six months before my ship returned, so there was some upheaval.” Something about this woman was designed to draw confidences, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t telling her anything that wasn’t common knowledge among the locals.

  Instead of resuming the inquisition, she grinned. “Well, when you come, I shall introduce you to a couple lords, as a way to pay you back for my rescue. My grandfather’s only a baronet, but there are a few titles sprinkled among his friends and my father’s. That way you’ll know some peers when you take your seat—if you don’t already, that is.”

  “That would be a kindness.” It wouldn’t hurt to make some acquaintances, if she was telling the truth. “There are only a few in this area whom I’ve met, and none I’ve seen since I was a boy.” Mostly because he hadn’t come home, he supposed. And he’d never been meant for the title.

  They sat in awkward silence for a while until she sighed. “You’d best go, you know. We are both unmarried. Society takes a dim view of us being alone in a bedroom, especially given my current state of dress.” The laughter twinkled in her eyes again. “Since I do enjoy the London social life now and then, I’d appreciate returning with some shred of a reputation.”

  “Of course.” Victor had completely overlooked the possibility that she was angling for a husband, but her words made it seem unlikely. “I’ll speak with you tomorrow, perhaps? With Mrs. Ritchie, of course.” He crossed to the door. “And I’ll ask her about the novels.”

  He fled like the coward he was.

  * * *

  Melody stared at the door, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Her host had left it partially open in his haste, once she’d reminded him of the proprieties. His negligence contrasted sharply with his harangues about a woman’s place. “He doesn’t know what he believes, does he, Birch? He’s been out at sea for far too long and it’s salted his brain.”

  But it had done absolute wonders for his body. Melody hummed as she remembered being carried by those powerful arms. His hands were big and callused—he hadn’t been the kind of officer who simply shouted orders. He probably wasn’t like that as a lord either, which could be good or bad, depending on how well he could work with the people on his estate. Having grown up in a manor, Melody knew that pitching in was one thing, interfering was another. Based on what she’d seen of Blackwell, he was likely one of the latter.

  Why in Hades didn’t this house have a telephone? She’d give anything to be able to speak with her friend Wink, who was the other engineer employed by the Order. Wink would understand immediately why Melody wanted to check the wreckage for sabotage. She’d also understand that the loss of the machine bothered Melody more than the actual crash.

  Melody looked over at the clock. Nearly seven. Wink wouldn’t be at the office, she’d be home with her husband Liam, likely eating supper. In the past two years, almost everyone in Melody’s life had gotten married. Her sister, Geneva, was now Baroness Findlay and lived on a remote island in the Hebrides with her husband and son. Her brother Connor had
married a gypsy fortune-teller who was expecting their first child within the month. Wink, Melody’s best friend, had married Liam McCullough, a Scotland Yard superintendent and werewolf. Surely those two would soon be producing offspring like all the rest. Melody wasn’t sure she wanted to marry—she didn’t like the idea of any man being legally allowed to tell her what to do—but it did leave her feeling left out, especially when they all got together.

  Birch whined and licked her hand when someone scratched at the door. It was the same maid as earlier. “I brought your dinner, miss.”

  “Thank you...” Melody let her words trail off.

  “Oh.” The servant curtsied. “I’m called Bates. I was Lady Blackwell’s chambermaid, miss. I’ve been assigned to help you as long as you’re here.”

  “Lady Blackwell? I thought the earl wasn’t married.” And his wife employed both a lady’s maid and a chambermaid? The family couldn’t lack for funds. Melody let Mrs. Bates help her back to the bed so she could put the dinner tray across her knees.

  “No, the late lady,” the maid said. “She and the lord died together in a carriage accident last summer.”

  “Ah. I’m sorry to hear that.” So Blackwell didn’t even have a sister-in-law to run the household. That had to add to his difficulties.

  “It was horrible, miss, what with both of them so young. And for a while we didn’t even know if Captain Victor—I mean the new lord—was still alive. His ship was late, you see.”

  Victor—strong, straightforward, determined. It fit, she decided. Meanwhile, her dinner smelled marvelous, and Melody was hungry. She smiled up at Mrs. Bates. “Thank you. You can go find your own meal now. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  After asking twice if Melody was sure, the maid took her leave, with a promise to send her son up before nightfall to give Birch a final walk. She’d also be up to help Melody bathe—at least as much as the physician’s orders allowed. It seemed his lordship had decreed that the entire staff was to help enforce the doctor’s instructions. There would be no bribing one of the footmen into finding her a pair of crutches, drat it. At least not right away.

  Melody made a face at her dinner tray. Help bathing—ick. She hated feeling helpless.

  * * *

  Victor eased his bulk into a small chair at a three-quarter-height table in the Black Heath nursery. “How were your lessons today, Emma?” He lifted an eyebrow at his ten-year-old niece.

  “Pointless, as usual.” Lady Emma Arrington rolled her almond-shaped eyes. “What’s the use in being wealthy if you can’t even afford to have someone else do your sewing for you? Please can’t I go back to studying mathematics and geography?”

  “No, you may not.” Victor sipped his weak tea, wishing he hadn’t started having these daily interviews in the schoolroom. At least if she came to the library, he’d have something better to drink. “We’ve discussed this. You will study those accomplishments suited for a lady of your rank. I owe it to your father to see you successfully married.” Emma was going to everything a proper lady should—unlike her mother, who’d been a bit of a jade, as well as being foreign. Still feeling guilty for introducing his brother to his then-fiancée, Victor was determined that Emma would have the best possible education and the chance for a proper come-out and an advantageous marriage.

  “But I don’t want to marry.” She gave him a picture-perfect feminine pout, clearly one of her better female accomplishments. “I want to be an explorer, like Mrs. Digby.”

  They’d covered this ground before, and Victor had been obliged to do his research on various adventuresses. “Jane Digby died of dysentery. I hardly think that makes her a suitable role model.” Whoever had given the girl books about famous female explorers deserved to be keelhauled.

  “At least she was happy.” Emma pouted again. “Fine. If I have to study nothing but dance and embroidery, can I at least meet the pilot who crashed today? Mrs. Cranston says it was a lady.”

  “It was—is a female,” Victor conceded. The lady part he was much less certain of. “However, she is injured and resting. You’re not to bother her.” Heaven help him if those two females ever got together. Miss MacKay was exactly the sort of woman Victor wanted to keep Emma from idolizing. Victor couldn’t imagine what his brother and sister-in-law had been thinking to let Emma’s education go so awry.

  “But I’m the hostess, so it would only be polite for me to meet her,” Emma wheedled. “You wouldn’t want to be rude, now, would you, Uncle Victor?”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Clearly she’d paid attention to some of her lessons. Now, why couldn’t she play the piano or do watercolors? And why did every governess he hired leave within a week?

  “Not this time, Emma. Perhaps, if you do your lessons and Mrs. Cranston approves, I can drive you into the village to do some shopping after our guest departs.”

  He watched the delicate lines of her face shift as she mentally debated the prospects of a shopping trip versus meeting a woman airship pilot. Avarice evidently won. “All right. But I get to buy two new books. Do you promise?”

  He’d been rooked. The books would be geography or ornithology texts—he’d bet his best boots on it. Still, he couldn’t be angry at the only part of Richard he had left. “Very well. Two books. But I get to select one of them.”

  Emma scowled, looking for that moment so like her father despite the difference in their features that Victor’s heart lurched. Finally she sighed. “And I get to pick the other—without any help.” She stuck out her small hand and spit on it.

  “Agreed.” He spit on his own hand and shook. He’d kill Barnaby for teaching her that trick, but that was a battle for another day. He stood, bending down to kiss the top of her head. “Good night, sprite. Don’t chase away Mrs. Cranston before morning, will you?”

  She flung her arms around his waist and squeezed. “Good night, Uncle. I won’t. Yet.” She winked and giggled.

  Victor left the room, the weight of his responsibilities heavy on his shoulders. It would be nice if he had someone to talk to about Emma, someone who wasn’t a servant. He’d accepted the obvious—he was going to have to find a bride.

  Immediately, a heart-shaped face and a fall of dark hair popped into his mind.

  No. He’d fallen in love, or thought he had, once before in his life and it had ended disastrously when the lady in question had discovered his brother was heir to the title. Between ship assignments one year, a young Victor had been smitten by the daughter of one of his grandfather’s Chinese business partners when she’d been touring England with her father. He’d even proposed. Then Fleur—a loose translation of her real name—had met Dick and married him instead. Victor went back to sea and never came home again. Victor prayed Emma hadn’t inherited her mother’s fickle ways along with her tilted dark eyes and straight black hair.

  Whomever he married was going to be a proper, stolid English lady. Country gentry or minor nobility would be best for Emma, and any possible heirs—someone who could teach them all the niceties without being too spoiled by luxury. His future wife would certainly not be anything like a woman who flew a dirigible and read sensational novels. Absolutely not.

  Chapter Three

  “Good morning, miss.” Mrs. Bates threw open the curtains to reveal a dull, cloudy day. “How’s the foot doing?”

  “It hurts,” Melody snapped. “As one might expect.”

  Bates stepped back and blinked.

  Melody shook her head and levered herself into a sitting position rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry. Morning isn’t my favorite time of day. Please tell me you brought coffee.”

  “Of course.” Bates laid the tea tray across Melody’s lap, her posture stiff and her lips pinched.

  “I really am sorry for snarling at you.” Melody held out a hand. “I don’t want to alienate the only friendly face in this household. Can you forgive me for waking in a miserable mood?”

  “Of course.” Bates cocked her head and then smiled. “I imagine you slept poor
ly. Is the ankle that bad? You might ask the doctor for some laudanum.”

  “No.” Melody shuddered. “Vile, disgusting stuff.” She wiggled her toes. Yes, there was pain, but it wasn’t as bad as it could be. “Actually, it is a little better this morning. I’m sure all it needs is more rest.”

  “Very well. Is there anything else you need?”

  “No, thank you.” Since she’d been planning to reach Lands’ End yesterday, she’d had no luggage in the airship. Bates had found some basics for her yesterday—a hairbrush, a ribbon to hold her braid, a new toothbrush and some tooth powder, even one worn copy of a Jane Austen novel. Since she wasn’t supposed to get out of bed, there were no clothes provided, just a few clean nightdresses and a pink quilted bed jacket that made her feel like an invalid dowager. Hopefully she’d come up with something to wear to travel home. Maybe she should send for someone to come collect her.

  When Bates left, Melody opened her book and sipped her coffee. The hot, rich liquid slid down her throat, the first trace of familiar comfort since she’d landed in the middle of Wuthering Heights. Bronte would have been far more appropriate to this setting than Austen. “Maybe it’s Jane Eyre, instead,” she said to Birch. “I wonder if there’s a crazy relative hidden in the attic.”

  Birch thumped his tail, then turned and cocked his head at the door to the attached dressing room as it eased open and a soft giggle emerged.

  Melody looked around for a weapon, but the best she could find was the silver coffeepot on her tray. She gripped the handle and said, “Who’s there?” In this house it could be anyone. Ghosts. Goblins. Vampyres.

  The door inched open a bit farther. “Are you the pilot?” A girl of ten or twelve peeked in from the dressing room. With her porcelain complexion and wide, slightly slanted eyes, she might have been a doll come to life, except for the spiderwebs on her pinafore and the white bow that hung half-untied in her long, straight black hair.

  Melody set down the coffee pot and instructed Birch to stay. “I am. And who might you be?” She gestured for the girl to come in. “Don’t worry about the dog. Friend, Birch.”