Magnificent Devices 01 - Lady of Devices

end. You did say you wished the importunities of the dunner-men to stop.” He smiled, but at the same time, Claire detected real concern in his gaze.
    “I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Arundel.” She straightened, and put the cup of tea on the low mahogany table between them.
    “If we sell Carrick House, the mortgages against Gwynn Place will be repaid?” Lady St. Ives asked.
    “I cannot promise that. As you can imagine, many find themselves in the same straits at this time, and there will be many houses for sale shortly. But I could negotiate with the banks on your behalf, and do what I can.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Arundel. We are in your debt.”
    Claire winced at this unfortunate choice of words. “What is your advice for the immediate future, Mr. Arundel?”
    “Public opinion is running rather high at the moment, I fear. It would be prudent if you were to take some time in the country during your bereavement. No one would think it out of the ordinary, and to be blunt, there may be riots.”
    “Good heavens.” The blood drained from Claire’s face, leaving her skin clammy and cold. “You can’t be serious. Riots? In Belgravia?”
    “Feeling is running high against the Bloods at the moment. Your personal situation aside, the House of Lords is in a state of chaos. There is even talk of a revolution. It would be very, very wise to quietly pack up Carrick House, dismiss the staff, and board the Flying Dutchman by the end of the week, if you can possibly do it.”
    Claire wished that she had not insisted on being laced quite so tightly this morning. She was finding it difficult to breathe.
    “The end of the week?” How was it possible that the life she knew, the life she had taken so completely for granted, could be over by the end of the week? And it was already Wednesday. “We cannot possibly vacate Carrick House that quickly.”
    “Then I recommend you pack as you would for a tour of the Continent, and board that train regardless.” His gaze held hers in all seriousness. “For his infant lordship’s sake alone, if for no other reason.”
    “You are right, of course, Mr. Arundel.” The snap had come back into her mother’s eyes at the mention of Nicholas. The lioness, it was clear, had been roused at last at the thought of danger to her cub. “We cannot win this battle, but we can retreat and retrench, to fight again another day.” Claire raised her eyebrows. “I will take Nicholas and repair to Gwynn Place on Saturday at the latest. Claire will stay to oversee the disposition of the furniture and the servants, and follow me by the end of the month, as you said.”
    “But Mama—” Claire struggled against the current of her mother’s will as her choices flew by, every bit as unreachable as the banks of the Amazon. “What about the Season? Being married by the fall?”
    “Nonsense. There will be no Season—we are in mourning.” Her mother rose, smoothing the crisp black figured silk of her skirts. The beading on her bodice winked in the lamplight, for Mr. Arundel had the velvet curtains drawn against the morning sun. “Mr. Arundel, I assume I may distribute my husband’s bequests for our servants before I dismiss them?”
    “You may. But I fear Lady Claire’s marriage portion ...”
    “... will have to go to pay the debts,” Lady St. Ives finished. “I understand. How much was that?”
    “Twenty thousand pounds, my lady.”
    All the breath whooshed out of Claire’s body, and she was profoundly thankful she had not yet stood up. Twenty thousand pounds! She could have gone for a master’s degree at Oxford with that—and financed an expedition to the Amazon on top of it! And then lived happily in Carrick House, hosting salons and entertaining the leading intellects of the day. How could Papa have done this to them all? It was apparent to even a baby that steam was the technology the world ran on—how could he have been so foolish as to gamble their futures on petroleum? Their very lives?
    The image of her father as an all-knowing, godlike figure who controlled the destiny of the nation began to crumble—first his feet, then his legs and trunk, until the last thing to go in her mind’s eye was his smile and his crinkly brown eyes.
    “Lady Claire? Are you quite all right?” Mr. Arundel bent to look her in the face. “Some more tea, perhaps?”
    “No, thank you.” She swallowed her anger and struggled for civility. “I’m—I’m just trying to take it all in. It’s