The Girl in the Steel Corset
Page 10

Finley stared at her and finally understood. Her ladyship thought she’d machinated all of this to get into Griffin’s household. She believed Finley to be capable of throwing herself in front of a moving vehicle, risking injury to capture His Grace’s attention. Seeing Jack Dandy in her thoughts only solidified what Cordelia King-Ashworth already believed—that Finley was a liar, possibly a criminal and not to be trusted. That her being in that house was simply too much of a coincidence.
To be honest, Finley thought exactly the same thing. She’d never been much for believing in destiny or fate, but it certainly seemed as though she and Griffin had been connected long before they’d ever met.
“Yes,” she agreed, obviously surprising Lady Marsden. “We should visit my mother.” In truth, she’d rather stick pins in her eye. She didn’t want to hear what her mother had to say about the photograph and Thomas Sheppard, not because she thought her mother would lie, but because she was very much afraid of the truth.
Sam was sitting at the dining-room table, reading the paper and eating his usual breakfast of oatmeal, sausage, ham, eggs, fried potatoes, toast and coffee when Griffin walked in.
“Hello, Samuel,” Griff said, going to the sideboard and pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Sam’s spine went rigid. Had Emily put metal in his back, too? he wondered bitterly, waiting for his friend to make some remark about it being closer to luncheon than breakfast time, or to ask what hour Sam had returned home. It was none of Griff’s business, and it wasn’t as though he ever felt the need to explain himself. Sam could come and go as he pleased, as well, but that didn’t change the little worm of guilt swimming uneasily in his stomach.
“Morning,” Sam replied somewhat gruffly.
“Did you sleep well?” the other boy inquired.
Here it came, thought Sam. An interrogation. “Yes.”
Griff nodded. “Excellent. Listen, Aunt Delia is back. She and I are taking Finley to visit her mother. Seems there may be a connection between Finley’s father and my parents.”
This was what he’d missed by being out late and sleeping the morning away. He knew there was more to Finley than they first thought, and now it seemed they were about to find out just what. Though he ought to thank her for taking Griffin’s attention off him.
“Do you need me to come along?”
“No need. Although, if Emily comes down, let her know what’s going on, will you?”
Emily. The thought of seeing her again filled him with a mix of eagerness and dread. He’d been so angry at her, so hurt and…well, he didn’t know what else. He was still angry, still hurt, but he knew he should apologize.
“I’ll tell her,” he said, noticing that Griff had been watching him, waiting for a reply.
His old friend smiled. To Sam, Griffin looked relieved. “Thank you. And, Sam?”
He had lifted his fork in an attempt to resume his rapidly cooling breakfast, and gritted his teeth as he raised his head once more. “What?”
The smile, and the relief were gone. All that he saw was Griff’s unapologetic face. “I told Emily to do whatever necessary to save your life. If you’re going to be mad at anyone, it should be me.”
Too stunned to say anything, Sam just sat there in stupefied silence. Coffee in hand, Griff left the room without a backward glance and all Sam could do was watch him go as betrayal and anger ignited in his gut and slowly set him ablaze.
Were he not so bloody hungry, he would have thrown his plate, but someone would have to clean that up. Instead, he finished his breakfast. Then, he got up and went to Griff’s study. He stood there, in the room he’d spent so much time in during the course of his life, and looked for something to destroy that hadn’t belonged to the former duke, that was solely Griffin’s.
His gaze fell upon the Aether engine Emily had built so Griffin could access the Aether without becoming part of it. It was a testament to Emily’s brilliance and Griff’s power. If he ruined it, both of them would be hurt by it. Both of them would feel as he did at that very moment—betrayed, bewildered.
It would be so easy. The engine was right in front of him now. His mechanical arm would reduce the entire rig to rubble in seconds. All he had to do was make a fist and swing.
“I replaced your heart.” The words rang in his head as his fingers curled into his palm. “If you’re going to be mad at anyone, it should be me.” The voices of Emily and Griff overlapped in his mind, creating a cacophony of misery he couldn’t silence.
They had ruined him out of love. Ruining this thing the two of them had built might ease his anger, but he wouldn’t feel good about it. He would want to apologize later. Neither Griff nor Emily would ever apologize for what they’d done to him because it had saved his life. To them that was all that mattered. Even now, knowing how angry he was and how much he despised the metal parts of himself, they would do it all over again because they would rather have him as a mess than not have him at all.
It wouldn’t even matter that he loathed them for it.
Sam lowered his fist and left the study. He wrote a note for Emily telling her where Griffin had gone and slipped it under her door. Then he went to his own room. He tossed some clothes and a few personal items into a bag before heading to the stables and climbing on his velocycle. He needed to get away. He needed to think.
Most of all, he needed to put as much space as he could between himself and the people who loved him.
Finley’s mother and her husband lived in Chelsea, which was just enough of a distance to make being stuck in a steam carriage with Griffin and his aunt uncomfortable.
Finley had never been in a carriage this fine before. The outside was a glossy black, the driver perched up high in a padded seat. Plumes of white steam rose from the shiny exhaust pipe that ran from the steam engine up the side of the carriage. The interior was all soft velvet, so dark a blue it was almost black. Though there were lamps on either wall for nighttime travel, it was dim inside the coach with the shades drawn.
They didn’t speak. There were a hundred and one questions she wanted to ask, but there wasn’t any point until they met with her mother. If what Lady Marsden said was true, then her mother had lied to her when she was a child and continued to lie until this very day. Why?
She sat next to the lady on the carriage seat. Griffin sat across from them, looking every inch the haughty duke in his pristine cravat, black jacket and dark gray trousers. He wore a long black greatcoat of soft leather over the ensemble, and carried a silver-topped walking stick. She had heard of gentlemen carrying swords concealed in their canes. She wondered if Griffin was such a gentleman.
Every once in a while she caught him watching her with absolutely no expression on his face or in his eyes. He must be a very good card player. It made her nervous. It made that other part of her nervous, too—nervous and indignant. Part of her wanted to slap him, even though she didn’t blame him for thinking the worst of her.
Finley opened the shade on her window just enough so that she could peek out at the passing scenery. She leaned her temple against the velvet-covered wall and watched hackney coaches, still pulled by horses, lumber past. Omnibuses, run by coal-fed engines cast grime-laden soot—like dark thunderclouds—into the damp air. Public transportation was nowhere near as luxurious as this vehicle. She doubted the Duke of Greythorne or his snooty aunt had ever seen the inside of an omnibus, or the third-class seating section in a dirigible—nor the second-class section, for that matter. They took this opulence for granted.
She didn’t know whether she envied them or pitied them. What must it be like to have all these fine things and not truly appreciate just how fine they were?
The rhythmic chugging of the carriage’s engine lulled her into a false sense of relaxation despite the questions gnawing at her mind. The rain had stopped but the day was still overcast and gray, making her long for a fire and warm bed to hide in. She would pull the covers up over her head and sleep until this nightmare was all over.
She was almost asleep, just drifting in that weightless, careless world between waking and dreaming, when she felt a push inside her head. It was ever so faint, like the brush of a butterfly’s wing, but she felt it.
Lady Marsden was trying to get inside her head again.
This time Finley didn’t immediately terminate the telepath’s rude intrusion. Instead, it was as though some part of her mind got up off a sofa, walked calmly across the room and slowly, but firmly, closed a door to shut her out.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Griffin’s aunt turn her head toward her, so Finley angled her own head, still resting near the window, to meet the older woman’s gaze.
“What are you?” Lady Marsden asked, not bothering to hide her surprise. Obviously the lady was not accustomed to being caught snooping, let alone shut down twice.
“I have no idea,” Finley replied honestly. She started to turn back to the window but Griff was staring at her with a glint in his eye she found hard to ignore. He watched her as though she was some kind of exotic animal—one he thought might bite him, even as he was sticking his hand into the cage.
Why had he been able to soothe her so easily before? Why hadn’t she felt him in her head as she felt his aunt? Or was his “magic” something different?
What did he think of her now? More importantly how could her parents possibly have known his? They were from two different worlds. He was rich and Finley and her mother had been anything but before her mother’s remarriage. Even still, Finley had decided to go out on her own and support herself rather than be a burden.
Silas Burke’s bookstore was located in Russell Square. He and Finley’s mother lived in a set of comfortable rooms above the shop. Finley had lived there, as well, until eight months ago when she moved out to go work as a nanny. That post had lasted a little longer than the others, but once her mercurial moods began to frighten the children, she was let go. At least they gave her a good reference.
There were a few curious stares as they stepped out of the carriage, first Griffin who then stood to assist both his aunt and Finley. Silas Burke, Bookseller, did a good business and books were something only people with money could afford to purchase, but dukes were rare in the peerage and seeing one was always something of an event. Seeing someone they recognized as one of their own—in this case, Finley—in the company of a duke was even more exciting. More gossip worthy.
But as soon as Finley stepped inside the shop, her ire and anxiety eased as negative feelings always did when she caught the smell of paper, ink and leather mixed with her stepfather’s sweet pipe tobacco.
Fanny, the spindly automaton that assisted around the store, was at the shelves, placing a volume on the top of one of the many ceiling-high cases, her long arm extending even farther with a series of clicks and pops until it had the desired reach. The book slid easily onto the shelf and then Fanny’s arm retracted. The automaton needed a good oiling judging by the grinding sound that accompanied the movement.
“Hullo, Fanny,” Finley greeted with a smile, not expecting to hear a reply—Fanny didn’t have a voice box as some new metal did, nor was she programmed to respond. Still, Finley had always talked to the ancient android, and it seemed wrong not to do the same now.
She didn’t see either Silas or her mother, but it was luncheon time for working folk. Griffin and his aunt wouldn’t take their repast for another two hours, and they would still be enjoying their supper when Finley’s mother readied for bed. She didn’t feel any resentment for these differences, but they did make her wonder just what the devil she was doing in their company when it was so obvious she didn’t belong.
The bell over the door had chimed when they entered. By now, her stepfather would be on his way back down here. Finley blocked out all other sounds and listened. She heard Silas’s voice, and the opening of a door.
“My stepfather is on his way,” she told her companions, a bit of her nervousness returning.
Lady Marsden regarded her closely. “You can hear him.” It was a statement, not a question, so Finley didn’t bother to respond. It was almost as though the marchioness was accusing her of something nasty. She felt guilty just standing there in what was essentially her own home.
When the door that led upstairs opened at the back of the shop, Finley ran to greet her stepfather and was met with a pair of open arms.
Silas Burke was of moderate height and build. In fact, everything about him was moderate—his temperament, his income, his appearance. He was nothing extraordinary except to his wife and stepdaughter.
“Oh, ho!” he cried, practically sweeping off her feet. “Look who we have here! Mary, see who’s come for a visit!”
Smiling, Finley looked up into his warm brown eyes, framed by deep grooves that proved his good nature. When she heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs, she stepped out from around Silas to greet her, as well. More hugging and laughing followed. It wasn’t until her mother stepped into the store for introductions that Finley remembered she wasn’t there for a pleasant visit. Her mother’s pale face as she stared at Lady Marsden made Finley’s stomach drop.
“What are you doing here?” her mother demanded of Lady Marsden, drawing a shocked glance from her husband.
“Mary!” he exclaimed, his face flushing. It was terribly rude to speak to a lady of rank in such a tone, but Finley’s mother wasn’t about to apologize.
“I told you people to leave us alone.” Her mother practically trembled with rage. “Edward said we were safe—that we would never be bothered again.”
“You know each other?” Not that Finley needed an acknowledgment, but she wanted to hear it all the same.