The Inventor's Secret (10 page)

Jack spoke again. “Miss Marshall is the heiress to her
father’s plantation in the Bermudas.”
Maintaining her meek pose, Charlotte nodded at Jack’s
statement. When procuring papers to give Charlotte an appropriate background, Jack had assured her and Ash that
New York society had long since lost interest in the goings-on in the Empire’s “quaint” island holdings, so that
while her fictional identity supplied the necessary status
to join the elite of the Floating City, no one would be surprised they’d never heard of a Lady Charlotte Marshall
from Bermuda.
“Well, well, well.” Lady Ott flicked her hand dismissively at the hovering faeries, and a butler instantly
swooped in to collect the box. “The young men will be
clamoring for your attention, my dear. And more than a
few tongues will wag in the galleries, I’ve no doubt.”
Charlotte shivered at the thought of anyone taking
note of her presence in the city. Had Jack and Ash thought
this plan through? She’d been assured that pretending to
belong in society would keep her hidden. Hiding in plain
sight, Jack had said. Maybe that meant something other
than Charlotte thought.
Another whoosh of air announced Ashley’s appearance on the arrival deck. The butlers acknowledged his
embarkation, but seeing his porter’s garb, made no move
to assist him. When Meg and Grave appeared in sequence
a few minutes later bearing luggage, the butlers didn’t even
bother to greet them.
“My, my, my,” Lady Ott was saying. Charlotte turned
to see the stout woman gazing at Jack admiringly. “Flight
Lieutenant Winter! What a pleasure this is. You’ve been
missed in the city.”
Jack’s smile was little more than a grimace. “You’re too
kind.”
Lady Ott’s overbright smile didn’t waver. “But of
course you’re so young, you would be disappointed to be
pulled away from the excitement of battle for these social
niceties.”
Jack replied with a polite nod. He turned to Charlotte
and offered his hand. “My lady, you’ll be wanting to refresh yourself after our voyage, I’m sure?”
Charlotte took Jack’s hand, knowing she gripped his
fingers a little too hard when she stood.
“Of course, of course.” Lady Ott smiled at them. “But
I insist you join me for dinner. I’ll have the invitation sent
to your cabins.”
“You honor us.” Jack smiled, tugging Charlotte away
from Lady Ott.
Motioning for Ash, Meg, and Grave to follow them
with the luggage, Jack led Charlotte away from the arrival
lounge and toward a small staircase. One of the butlers
awaited them at the landing and opened a door to let them
pass.
Charlotte leaned into Jack. “We’re not really having
dinner with that woman, are we?”
“I’m afraid we are,” Jack whispered. “Her husband is
Roger Ott—one of the most prominent financiers of the
city and a friend of the Resistance. Besides, Lady Ott will
be full of news that might prove useful. He will as well;
Lord Ott is known to trade on the black market as well as
in more seemly forms of commerce.”
“And I suppose I’ll have to answer all her questions,”
Charlotte murmured.
“Play the game right, and she’ll give you more answers
than you have to offer her. Just keep up that shy-girl pose
you’ve been assuming,” Jack replied. “I can do most of the
talking, if you like. Actually, I’m fairly certain Lady Ott
will talk enough for all of us.”

HAT DO YOU mean I have to change
my dress?” Charlotte protested, but
Meg had already turned her around,
pulled her jacket off, and begun to unbutton her gown.
“You’re wearing traveling clothes. They’re meant for

Charlotte complied, but was aghast at the impracticality of changing clothes for the sake of a meal.
“How many times a day do I have to change?” she asked
as Meg lifted the dress over Charlotte’s head.
“It depends on each day’s particular activities— No,
don’t put your arms down yet,” Meg admonished. “We’ll
have to put you in a finer petticoat as well.”

Charlotte’s brow crinkled as Meg pulled the petticoat
off. Even that plain undergarment was finer than any piece
of clothing Charlotte had ever owned, and yet it wouldn’t
be fine enough for dinner aboard this ship. She shivered,
uneasy in her own skin.

“Shhh, Lottie.” Meg came around to stand in front of
Charlotte and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. “I know
it’s cold in the stateroom, but we’ll have you dressed again
in a moment.”

Meg pursed her lips, assessing Charlotte’s pale face and
dark hair. “I think the lavender.”
After helping Charlotte into a petticoat with a hem finished in lace and a neckline that Charlotte found disconcertingly low, Meg went to the wardrobe and selected a
silk gown in the blue-purple shade of its floral namesake.
Despite her protests about changing, Charlotte’s breath
caught at the sight of the fine silk. She lifted her arms without prompting when Meg approached and let out a tiny
sigh of pleasure as the silk slid over her skin.
That pleasant sensation flagged in the face of Charlotte’s sudden surprise.
“Is part of the gown missing?” Charlotte asked Meg in
alarm. “Or is my petticoat perhaps too large?”
Meg was already buttoning up the dress. “What do you
mean?”
“Meg, look.” The back of Charlotte’s neck began to
burn. “You can see everything!”
“Oh, Lottie.” Meg tried to cover her giggle. “It’s just
the fashion.”
“The fashion?” Charlotte kept gaping at her exposed
bosom.
The traveling gown and spencer she’d worn aboard the
Dragonfly had clung to her figure, but fabric had covered
her from throat to wrist. The lavender gown Charlotte had
just donned was obviously designed to expose that region
of her body. Its neck swooped low and wide, baring her
shoulders. Its tight, high waist hoisted her breasts up, forcing pale, curving flesh to strain against the silk bodice.
To make matters worse, the gown was accented with
silver lace that featured crystal beading. The embellishments ran all along the low bodice and, while exquisite,
caught the light whenever Charlotte moved, which could
only draw more attention to how much of her skin was
showing.
“I can’t go to dinner in this.”
“Of course you can,” Meg replied, handing her a pair
of long white gloves. “You look beautiful. I’ll fetch the
seed-pearl and gold comb for you hair.”
“Meg, I can’t!” The hot blush that first attacked Charlotte had surrendered to an icy horror. “What will Ash
say . . . oh, Athene, what will Jack say?”
Meg had pinned Charlotte’s curls up, and now she finished the style by securing the pearl and gold comb toward
the back of Charlotte’s head. “Jack will not say anything
because this is not the Catacombs and he knows he can’t
play the rake. And as for Ash . . . well, he won’t be there,
so don’t worry about him.”
“Where will Ash be?” Charlotte asked, only slightly appeased.
“He’ll be with Grave and me,” Meg answered. “In the
maid and valet dining room.”
That’s probably for the best,
Charlotte thought. She
suspected that no matter how sumptuous a feast was set
before her this evening, the food would only leave a sour
taste behind. So far Charlotte hated everything about this
ship. She despised having to simper and pretend shyness
rather than speaking her mind. She loathed the way that
she was expected to do nothing for herself, but instead required Meg to do something as simple as dress her, while
Ash and Grave toted her baggage through the ship to rest
in her opulent stateroom and then they slunk away to share
an adjacent tiny double bunk. In their current roles, they
couldn’t even eat a meal with her.
Charlotte had long known the history of the failed
War for Independence. She’d learned about the subsequent years in which the Empire hunted down Patriots and
shipped them off to internment, and inevitable death, at
the Crucible, Boston’s notorious prison. She’d heard of the
horrible Hanging Tree there, but she’d also heard that by
the time the Crucible’s prisoners were sent to their executions, they welcomed death.
Most of all, she knew the war and the Empire had
taken her parents away. Her mother and father continued
the fight, risking their lives each day, while she and Ash hid
in the ground waiting for the day they would take up arms
for the cause as well. Charlotte had never believed that she
could hate the Empire more than she already did, but pretending to be a part of it made her despise it even more.
As if she’d read Charlotte’s thoughts, Meg laid a gentle
hand against the younger girl’s cheek. “It will be all right,
Lottie. You’re a fighter. Even if that dress doesn’t feel like
armor, it doesn’t change the mettle that’s in your blood
and bones.”
Swallowing her outrage, Charlotte nodded.
Meg turned away when a sharp rap came at the door.
“That’ll be Jack.”
Charlotte fidgeted, wanting to put her hand at her
throat so her gloved arm would cover at least some bare
skin, but she couldn’t spend all of dinner clutching at her
neck. She forced herself to face the door and stand still.
“Meg,” Charlotte heard Jack say, “Ash took Grave to
the servants’ dining room. They’ll expect you there.”
“Of course,” Meg said, then she stepped aside to let
Jack in.
He stopped just inside the doorway and stared at Charlotte. She braced herself, standing with her spine stiffer
than an iron rod as she waited for him to speak. They
weren’t in the company of strangers yet, so Jack had no
call to leave her be.
It was all she could do to not run and snatch a pelisse
from the wardrobe to cover herself.
Jack kept staring. A funny expression took hold of his
face. His jaw began to twitch.
Is he trying not to laugh?
Charlotte’s hands fisted in her
white gloves.
Jack looked at the floor, drawing a deep breath. Stepping close to her, Jack reached out and took her right fist in
both his hands and raised it to his lips.
“My lady.”
Charlotte remained stone-still, staring at him in disbelief.
Was that all he had to say?
When Meg politely cleared her throat, Charlotte stammered, “Lieutenant Winter.”
Jack grimaced at the title, but offered Charlotte his
arm. “Shall we join the Lord and Lady Ott for dinner?”
“If we must,” Charlotte replied, taking his elbow.
Meg curtsied as they left the stateroom, and Charlotte
groaned inwardly. It seemed that no one was bothered
by all this role-playing the way she was. Admittedly, she
hadn’t seen her brother since he left the arrival lounge,
trying not to glower while he hefted Charlotte’s belongs
from the ship. Surely Ash was as uncomfortable as she
was—and probably furious to boot—he was accustomed
to giving orders, and here he would have to defer to almost
everyone. Charlotte found that notion both comforting
and unsettling.
As Jack escorted Charlotte through the ship, she accepted begrudgingly that the
Hector
’s gilded halls awed
her. Metals of every hue had been beaten, bent, molded,
and married to gemstones, creating tapestry-like panels that covered the walls. It appeared that the designers
of HMCS
Hector
thought it a crime to leave any surface
without ornamentation.
They passed from the staterooms onto a landing, where
began a great winding staircase carved of ebony. Jack remained uncharacteristically silent as they descended the
steps. She observed that he hadn’t been forced to change
his dress for dinner, though the shirt beneath his officer’s
coat was crisp enough that Charlotte suspected it was new
since their voyage. Guiding her through the halls, Jack
walked too stiffly, as if the uniform he wore had begun to
transform him from the scoundrel she’d known into a tin
soldier.
Charlotte wished he would say something, anything, to
put her at ease. Her nerves were holding her own tongue
captive, and she supposed that Jack might be suffering the
same malady.
In contrast to their silence, the dining room was abuzz
with conversation. Jack paused at the edge of the great
room, Charlotte assumed he was searching for the Otts’
table.
Finding them might be a challenge,
thought Charlotte.
The formal dining hall lay in the
Hector
’s belly. Its
floors matched the polished ebony of the staircase they’d
just descended. A dozen or more tables, dressed in crisp
white linen, awaited dinner guests. Above the tables, lighting had been cleverly masked as entertainment. A circus
in miniature played out over the diners’ heads. Shimmering globes outlined the silhouette of a great tent, beneath
which mechanical actors performed their roles.
“There they are,” Jack announced as Charlotte watched
a tiny man ride a tiny unicycle along a tiny tightrope.
The location of the Otts’ table bespoke their social status. Lady Ott was seated at the head of the dining hall, the
table perched in front of one of the giant viewing portals
featured in the walls. The next table over was the largest in
the room. There, a uniformed man with a solemn face and
heavy black beard was intoning to a group of like-bearded
gentlemen who hung on his every word. Given the man’s
dress and his supplicants, Charlotte guessed him to be the
captain.
Lady Ott stretched out a hand in welcome as Charlotte
and Jack approached.
“Miss Marshall, you are radiant! Wherever did you
come by silks in that hue?” Lady Ott said, patting the seat
of the chair next to her. “Sit beside me, dove.”
If Charlotte had thought her lavender gown to be scandalous, Lady Ott’s sapphire blue dress was downright obscene. Every time the woman moved, Charlotte feared that
Lady Ott’s ample bosom would explode out of its bodice,
which made it rather difficult not to stare while awaiting
that inevitable disaster.
Jack pulled the chair out for Charlotte and tucked her
close to the table after she sat, which made her feel rather
like a child being settled into bed. She was grateful, however, when he sat on the other side of her.
“My husband is just having a word with the ship’s captain,” Lady Ott told them. “He should join us momentarily.”
No sooner had she finished speaking than a man loomed
at their table. Jack stood up immediately, and Charlotte
thought to rise, but Jack’s firm hand pressed down on her
shoulder, forcing her to stay seated.
“My Lord Ott.” Jack inclined his head in respect.
Lord Ott looked like a boulder with arms, legs, and a
head, but not much of a neck.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, young master,”
Lord Ott replied.
Lady Ott turned in her chair to address her husband.
“I chanced upon this lovely pair in the arrival lounge, my
dear.”
“Chanced upon?” Lord Ott guffawed, and Charlotte
decided he was more like a bear than a boulder. A bear
that could crush her with an embrace or smother her with
his shaggy gray and silver beard. “More like ambushed, I’d
wager”
“Oh, you!” Lady Ott giggled when her husband pinched
her plump cheek.
Jack smiled tolerantly before saying, “I have the pleasure of knowing you by reputation. I’m Jack Winter, flight
lieutenant of Her Imperial Majesty’s Air Brigade, Fourth
Squadron.”
Lord Ott’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “Winter, eh? The
wing commander?”
“I’m afraid not, my lord,” Jack answered, and Charlotte heard a bit of iron in his reply.
“But still Admiral Winter’s boy?” Lord Ott queried.
Jack nodded.
“Well then, you’d better start building yourself up, lad,”
Lord Ott told Jack. “That brother of yours is the toast of
New York. Time that we start hearing stories of your exploits.”
“Commodore Winter does the family proud,” Jack said
stiffly. “I doubt he can be eclipsed.”
“Ah, but the fun’s all in trying, my boy!” Lord Ott
boomed. “Keep your brother looking over his shoulder,
that’s what I say!”
Charlotte tensed when Lord Ott’s bright gaze settled
on her. “And who do we have here?”
Lady Ott tittered in her chair, but Jack spoke first. “I
have the pleasure of bringing Lady Charlotte Marshall to
the Floating City for her first season.”
“So the hunt begins. No doubt all the hounds will be
chasing after his one.” Lord Ott snatched Charlotte’s hand
out of her lap and kissed it noisily. At first she was taken
aback, but the smile he offered her when he released her
hand was genuinely warm and bursting with mirth. Charlotte found herself smiling back at the big man.
“I remember how great a hunt I had to catch this one,”
Lord Ott told them as he took the chair at the round table
on the other side of his wife. “Ah, the pursuits of youth.
Let’s drink to that!”
Charlotte further warmed to the rotund man when he
gave his wife an adoring look before waggling his eyebrows
at her jiggling bosom. Jack covered his burst of laughter
with a cough, but the besotted pair paid him no mind.
Lord Ott beckoned to a waiter, and soon each of the
golden goblets at their table was brimming with ruby wine.
“To young love!” Lord Ott bellowed, so loudly that a
few heads turned to gaze in his direction. When the other
passengers noted who the proclaimant was, however, they
smiled and nodded in approval—Lord Ott appeared to be
quite popular among his fellows.
Charlotte, Jack, and Lady Ott raised their glasses. “To
young love.”
When Charlotte spoke the words, she glanced at Jack.
He was looking right back at her. She quickly averted her
gaze, as the wine spurred heat through her veins. Surely it
was the wine.
Despite her bare shoulders, Charlotte’s skin felt hot.
Too hot. She wished she could take her gloves off, but Meg
had reminded her that gloves remained on until dinner was
served. Thus, she was relieved the waiter returned bearing silver chafing dishes and lifted the lid to reveal mussels
steamed in a white wine broth.
Charlotte stripped off her gloves with as much decorum as she could muster. The shellfish were tender, and
Charlotte savored the delicate flavors of the broth.
“So, Lieutenant Winter,” Lord Ott addressed Jack,
“how did you come by such precious cargo? I’d think one
of your station would be flying missions for the Empire,
not escorting her virgins. Though how one would win
such an assignment is valuable intelligence indeed!”
“Roger!” Lady Ott gasped. Red-faced, she turned to
Charlotte. “You must pardon my husband, Miss Marshall.”
Charlotte was trying too hard not to choke on a mussel
to reply.
Even Jack appeared flustered. “Uh  .  .  . my lord, I
don’t—”
“A thousand pardons, ladies.” Chortling, Lord Ott
blew a kiss to his wife. “And, Lieutenant Winter, you must
forgive me for not being able to resist teasing your ward.
My real intention was to inquire about your service.”
Jack managed to regain his composure. “Ah, yes. My
most recent assignment was training new combat pilots in
the Empire’s Caribbean holdings.”