Magnificent Devices 01 - Lady of Devices

of ticking it would do in a pinch.”
    Claire was almost tempted. But it was clear that there were important political issues transpiring in this house, aside from the fact that Mrs. Churchill and Peony probably had enough on their plates hosting an entire foreign delegation. “I couldn’t possibly impose on you to that extent, Peony.”
    “You wouldn’t be, truly. Now, if you were to demand my bed and make me sleep in the bath myself, that would be an imposition.”
    Claire grinned. “It won’t come to that. Do not worry on my account. I have friends yet to impose upon.”
    “I know you do. A girl as nice as you probably has hosts of them, all without children under the dining-table. But if you need it, the offer of the bath still stands. Or I could go all out and find a table in a different room to stash you under.”
    Claire rose, still smiling. “I may take you up on it. Please give my compliments to your mother. I admire her enormously.”
    Peony took her outstretched hand. “I do, too. If I can be half the woman she is, I’ll do well.”
    “Heaven help Her Majesty’s empire in that case.”
    Peony laughed and escorted her to the door. “I hope to see you soon, Claire.” She hesitated. “I would like it if—well, never mind. You have enough to fill your thoughts at present.”
    Claire could seize an opportunity as well as the next person. “I would like it if we could be friends, despite my mother’s opinions on the subject. And since she is eight hours away by train, I think it’s safe to say so.”
    “Let’s shake on it. Friends it is.” Peony’s fingers felt cool and strong.
    Claire went back down the walk glowing with warmth. Friends were not so thick on the ground that she would turn one down, especially in circumstances such as these. The loss of Carrick House was a disaster, to call a spade a spade, but in the midst of disaster the good Lord had sent her a blessing. She would never have guessed a month ago that Peony Churchill would offer friendship, unsolicited. But the bathtub notwithstanding, Claire was very glad she had.
    In the meantime, here came the lamplighter, climbing down into the chamber under the walk that concealed the engine powering the lamps for this block. While she had been within, full dark had fallen, and Claire had exactly no experience in piloting the landau after dark. Carefully, she opened the switches to the headlamps, and ignited the engine.
    Returning home was out of the question. So, the next question became, where should she go? Wellesley House was out. She would rather sleep in a bathtub with no ticking at all than endure Lady Julia’s suppressed smiles at her misfortunes. Perhaps she could go to St. Cecelia’s and beg the headmistress for a bed. But no, that would entail far too many questions and very likely public exposure of her plight.
    There was nothing for it. She was going to have to go to her grand-aunts Beaton in Greenwich, wake them out of a dead sleep, and explain in as little detail as possible why she was there. They were elderly, excitable, and as ignorant as chickens about the affairs of the day. They actually believed that Papa had had an accident while cleaning his gun. Not that that was a bad thing. It was necessary for everyone to at least pretend to believe that, or Papa could not have been buried in hallowed ground. At the same time, giving credence to a lie galled her.
    Very well. To Greenwich she would go, and as soon as she read in the papers that the Esquimaux delegation had been heard and were on their way back to their home in the frozen north, she would return to Peony’s and claim both friendship and a bed until she could find employment and rooms of her own.
    She turned east and tried to visualize the best route. The difficulty with Greenwich was that it lay on the far side of the East End. She could either cross the river at Lambeth and circle around to the south, in which case she would arrive long after midnight, upsetting her grand-aunts even more, or she could stick to the well-populated roads in Town and hope that the speed and the sturdy brass skin of the landau would protect her until she got over the new London Bridge.
    If only Gorse were here.
    Then again, she thought with a snort as she motored down the Embankment at a respectable thirty miles per hour, she could always accept the offer of Lord James Selwyn’s regard. She had no doubt that a fiancée of his would not be chugging briskly through the night,