Shaking off my encounter in the woods, I hurried into the house to find Mister Edwards, the butler, waiting for me in the foyer.
“Miss Rossetti, we were beginning to worry about you.”
“Am I late?”
“No. We were just about to ring for tea.”
“Very good,” I said, setting down my basket as I pulled off my gloves and cape.
“Shall I have that taken to your room?” he asked, eyeing the basket suspiciously.
“To the library, please.”
“The library?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, on the long table. I have a project.”
“Very well, Miss Rossetti,” he said with a soft smile then took my wrappings from my hands.
Smoothing down my hair and shaking the wrinkles out of my gown, I hurried to the parlor where I found Uncle Horace leafing through a portfolio. He was relaxing on the window ledge. The sunlight made the gold buttons on his stylish blue jacket glimmer. His brown hair was neatly combed, parted at the middle, curling around his ears. The bunch of lace at his neck was as white as the snow outside. He was a picture of gentlemens’ high fashion.
“Uncle,” I said, crossing the room. I gave him a peck on the cheek.
He chuckled lightly. “Your nose is as cold as ice.”
I grinned. “Ever so sorry.”
“Were you still out?”
“Yes. Everything in town is so festive this time of year. It was quite fun. Now, what are you studying?”
“Sketches. Master Boatswain arrived earlier today. He’ll be joining us in a few moments. Indoor pipes. Hot water inside the house. Can you imagine? Quite ingenious.”
“Master Archibald Boatswain is here? Here?” I asked. Archibald Boatswain was the realm’s most brilliant tinker. There wasn’t a single person in England who didn’t know Master Boatswain’s work. But he was so very old. I was surprised to hear he was traveling at all.
“Indeed. Wait until you see, dear Scarlette. Wait until you see how many great minds will soon join together at Strawberry Hill.”
“For any particular purpose?”
“To talk, laugh, think, and drink wine, I suppose.”
I chuckled, but part of me knew that Uncle Horace was being evasive. Surely, there was some reason why all these great scholars were gathering. What that reason was, however, had not been shared with me.
The door opened, and a tall, young, and very handsome gentleman entered.
“Archibald,” Uncle Horace said, crossing the room to meet him. “You’ve quite outdone yourself,” he said, motioning to the papers in his hands.
That was Master Boatswain?
That was not possible.
I stared at the man. He was a little older than me, maybe around twenty-five years of age. He was lean and had sandy brown hair and an angular face. His eyes, however, were what drew me. They were so light colored. Even from across the room I could see they were startlingly beautiful. Green or blue? I wasn’t sure.
He smiled at Uncle Horace then turned to me. “I was bored on the carriage ride and got to drawing and couldn’t stop,” the young man said. He glanced at the sketches for just a moment. But only for a moment. He turned his attention back to me. “And this is…?”
“Oh,” Uncle Horace said, realizing he’d forgotten me. “Yes. Sorry. Scarlette, meet Master Boatswain. Archibald, this is Miss Scarlette Rossetti.”
Master Boatswain crossed the room to meet me. He bowed lightly then looked up at me.
“Miss Rossetti.”
Green. Green as spring leaves.
“Master Boatswain. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard both Uncle Horace, and my father speak so highly of you. But…”
He smiled, his entire face lighting up when he did so. “I’m not what you were expecting. I am Archibald Boatswain III, Miss Rossetti. But my grandfather, the Archibald Boatswain, is here. He’s upstairs resting.”
“Oh. Yes. That makes sense,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward. “I can’t wait to meet him. Uncle Horace has told me all about his airship designs. Do they really work? Is it really possible to take flight?”
He laughed. “Indeed. I’ve piloted some of the prototypes myself.”
“Really? Weren’t you frightened?”
“Well, I trust my grandfather. It is quite a long way down,” he said with a good-natured laugh.
My cheeks reddened. Had I insulted him? What an awkward first impression. “Of course, I have no doubt in your grandfather’s invention. I was just…it’s such an amazing idea. My apologies, Master Boatswain.”
“No offense taken, Miss Rossetti. We’ll be finalizing the production plans for several commercial ships this weekend, I believe,” he said then turned to Uncle Horace. “When will Arthur and Violet Hawking arrive? I know Grandfather was keen on seeing the Hawkings’ balloon designs.”
“Soon. Very soon.”
Archibald laughed. “If they remember to leave their little workshop.”
Uncle Horace chuckled. “True, true.”
I had met the Hawkings just once. They were a delightful young couple, both of them amazing inventors. But like all great thinkers, they were prone to distraction. I was glad to hear I would see them again…assuming they remembered to come.
The footman, who was arranging the tea service, rang a small bell. “Tea is served, Earl Walpole.”
We removed to the next room, a small but beautifully decorated parlor, the walls adorned with so many oil paintings that they nearly covered the walls. Vases full of winter flowers, greens, and other holiday trimmings decorated the place. The footman pulled out my chair.
The table was set with a beautiful assortment of savory and sweet delights. From small finger sandwiches, to miniature fruit tarts, to cheese, pickles, meats, and delicious fresh-baked scones, there was a bounty of flavors to try. While Uncle Horace and Master Boatswain III turned the conversation once more to pipework, I filled my plate. It was only when I realized that I didn’t have any room left for a fourth kind of cheese, that I recognized my mistake. This wasn’t how ladies were supposed to eat. Especially not in front of eligible bachelors with startling green eyes and famous grandfathers.
I was trying to figure out how to discreetly put some of the food back when Master Boatswain chuckled and said, “I think Miss Rossetti and I are of the same mind.”
My cheeks reddened. I glanced at Master Boatswain.
He motioned to his plate, which was as full as mine. In fact, he’d added on a second layer.
“I missed luncheon,” I said by way of apology.
“As did I,” he replied.
Uncle Horace chuckled. “Well, that’s what it’s there for, and my cook makes excellent scones.”
“The baker in the village wanted to know if you need a plum pudding. I must admit—but never to Miss Ronald—that the village baker’s biscuits are a cut above hers. Should I buy a pudding from the village? I’m sure we don’t need it, but should I buy one anyway, just to support the local business?”
“As you wish, dear Scarlette,” Uncle Horace said then turned to Master Boatswain. “Miss Rossetti has fallen in love with Twickenham. Though I’m not sure what she does in town all day.”
“Oh, you know, gallivant about,” I said with a dismissive wave of the hand.