The Lady Machinist (Curiosity Chronicles Book 1) (4 page)

Rhys’ gaze settled on her arms, bare from where her blouse’s sleeves capped at her shoulders. “So you do admit that we will meet again after tonight?”

She was taken aback by his joviality. “Are you attempting to poke fun at me?”

“Considering how you prodded me with your elbow, fair is fair, my lady.”

A peculiar man. Lydia heard that New Britannia was a land of eccentrics. With Rhys, she began to believe it.

The guards announced the king’s arrival. Sabba took his place at the head of the table, apologized for his queen’s absence due to headache, and the meal began. Lydia ate quickly, hoping the others would do the same.

An hour later, after the dishes were cleared and the servants and musician departed, King Sabba finally broached the subject of Rhys’ proposal. “Ambassador, you may speak before us. But first tell me, what exactly is this COIC agency you hail from?”

Rhys removed an envelope from his inside coat pocket. “The Cabinet of Intellectual Curiosities is an agency that promotes and funds the development of scientific innovations. We’ve partnered with The Crown to find these breakthroughs. Our agents are stationed all over the world.”

King Sabba listened and nodded. “And your offer to purchase these innovations. Is this what your agency normally does?”

“No, Your Majesty. We usually invite inventors to submit their work to us for consideration. But these automatons—Lady Dimosthenis’ automatons—are most impressive.” He stole a glance at Lydia.

She crossed her ankles under the table. Was he using flattery to cajole her?

Rhys opened the envelope flap. “This is the agreement to purchase the automatons. New Britannia will pay Aspasia eight thousand pounds.”

One glance at the king and Nikolaos and Lydia knew they already converted the currency. The amount was substantial by any nation’s estimate, more than enough to replenish Aspasia’s coffers.

“Eight thousand pounds is very generous,” Sabba voiced when he appeared to have survived the initial shock of hearing the sum. “In addition to restoring the coffers, Aspasia would be able to expand the port and build new ships to carry goods to the Continent and North Africa.”

“And you would receive all the protections and privileges that an alliance with New Britannia affords,” Rhys added.

“We would insist that several of the automatons remain in Aspasia so that we may continue to defend the island.”

“Understandable.”

Nikolaos entered the talks. “A grand offer, but all things carry prices. What else does the agreement entail?”

“The timeframe for the acquisition and the rights of ownership.” Rhys removed his gloves at the start of dinner. Lydia watched his long, tapered fingers move as he took his time breaking the envelope’s seal and withdrew a document. “I’ll explain more once I see the soldiers in action.”

“Lady Dimosthenis will provide a demonstration at ten o’ clock tomorrow morning,” the king promised. His gaze dared Lydia to object.

She peeked over Rhys’ shoulder and squinted at the tiny print of the document. “You mentioned rights of ownership, Ambassador Cartret. Does it pertain to the automatons or their design schematics?”

“Both.”

She bit the inside of her jaw. To sell the automatons was one thing. To give New Britannia access to the mechanics behind their productions was quite another. “May I see that agreement?”

Nikolaos reached across the table and intercepted before her fingers made contact with the parchment. “His Majesty will need to study this first.”

“I have a duplicate, but I’ll need it again before we leave.” Rhys removed a second set of documents from the envelope and gave them to Lydia. Nikolaos stared at the ambassador for a long moment.

Sabba pushed his chair back. “Lord Abeiron and I will deliberate the agreement amongst ourselves.” He stepped to the end of the long table. Nikolaos drifted after him.

While they distanced themselves, Lydia perused the document’s ten pages. She was no solicitor, but the language of the agreement was free of discrepancies at first glance. “What will happen if Aspasia refuses the offer?”

Rhys raised a black eyebrow. “Eight thousand pounds is a very large sum of money to refuse.”

He didn’t appear anxious and flustered at her challenging question. Instead, he studied her while toying with the edge of the tablecloth, running it between his fingers slowly. “My lady, you seem threatened by me. I’m here to purchase your invention and seek your friendship. Unless you think I’m not suited to have either?”

Lydia didn’t know what to do with his intimate tone or the peculiar way he looked at her. It didn’t help that she could feel the body heat rising from him due to their shared proximity. “I’ll tell you what I think,” she said in hushed voice. “I don’t want the automatons’ power being misused. I designed them to defend, not go to war and build empires.”

Rhys looked to her as if the fate of New Britannia’s empire rested solely on her shoulders. “France poses a danger to everyone, including Aspasia. There are agents abroad who operated in the old Napoleon regime. They’re forming new allegiances as we speak. If surrounding nations don’t ally to defend against this threat, then we’ll all be faced with war.”

“Why should Aspasia favor your country over France? They’ve not harmed us.”

Light settled into the angles of his jaw. “There is a French industrialist by the name of Monsieur Broussard. COIC reports show that he’s resorting to robber baron tactics, buying lands in foreign countries for thrift and then plundering their resources. He’s also been known to steal inventions before they’re patented, and he has pirates in his employ of smugglers and thieves.”

Lydia felt the muscles around her mouth lift. “You tacked pirates on at the end as though that would make me latch onto your argument.”

Rhys showed no humor. “I don’t make light of this man or his supporters. Your automatons are formidable, but it will take scores of them to combat the forces Broussard is capable of putting together. You wouldn’t be able to match his resources without the ability to manufacture on a large scale. New Britannia has that capability.”

Lydia frowned, perplexed and apprehensive at his words. She sensed there was truth behind this tale of a French criminal mastermind, but how much was relative to Aspasia’s affairs and how much was simply Rhys’ attempts to persuade her of the merits of a signed agreement with New Britannia?

The king rustled the pages of the agreement as he put them in order. “I will finish reading this tonight. After tomorrow’s demonstration, we will reconvene to sign, if all is satisfactory.”

Rhys seemed pleased enough. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Lydia handed the duplicate agreement back to Rhys. What was going through his mind? Triumph? Satisfaction?

Sabba returned to his original seat at the table. “Before we adjourn, we should hear a song from Lydia. Have you heard the
tambouras
played, Ambassador?”

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

The king indicated for Lydia to pick up her instrument. “If you would honor us. Something light and of good cheer.”

The exact opposite of how the talks seemed to be going, at least from her perspective. Lydia reached for the
tambouras
propped against her chair. As she did, her arm brushed against Rhys’ trousers. She tensed. Sitting beside him may not have been a good idea after all.

She took the stringed instrument and settled it in her lap. The men watched as she tested a few notes to see if the instrument was in tune. She began to play the new music she composed, a simple song about a young woman who stood on the beach, watching the sunrise. She sang of the woman’s curiosity of what lay over the horizon.

By the second verse, Lydia began to relax, letting the melody flow from the chords beneath her fingers and carry in harmony with her voice. Rhys’ eyes never left her once. He watched as though he were attempting to learn the song himself, his eyes venturing from her fingers as they played the notes to her lips as she phrased the words. He continued to linger his gaze on her mouth after the song came to an end.

Rhys applauded her. “Well done.”

Nikolaos and King Sabba also clapped. Nikolaos remarked, “Lady Dimosthenis’ talents go beyond forging automatons. She could be a musician if she wanted to.”

“How fortunate for all of us that she excels in both crafts.” Rhys’ statement made Lydia embarrassed. She got the sense that he wasn’t saying those things merely to flatter her.

King Sabba rose. “I believe we will adjourn on that good note.”

Lydia lingered as the king and Nikolaos started for the door. She knew Nikolaos would wait to escort her home.

Rhys pushed his chair in. “Is something wrong?”

An idea came to her, one that bore quite a risk. “Tomorrow morning, meet me on the island’s remote side at eight.”

“But the king said the demonstration was to be at ten.”

“He did, but I’ll need time to ready the automatons.” She wanted to speak with Rhys about the agreement terms without Sabba and Nikolaos present. “You wish to know how that process works, too, do you not?”

Curiosity made that mischievous expression return to Rhys’ face, along with the dimple. “Eight, it is. Good evening, Lydia.”

“Good evening,
Reez
.” She gathered her jacket and
tambouras
and left the hall, hope lightening her steps even as she resigned herself to being escorted back to her family’s residence by Nikolaos.

Rhys watched Lydia practically float from the hall, a far cry from her angry march off the beach earlier. She had something up those little capped sleeves, and she’d make sure he’d see it first thing in the morning. As though his job weren’t already challenging enough.

The agreement still went unsigned, regardless of the positive impression he left on King Sabba. And he still needed to convince Lydia to work with him. How was he going to do so if she was skeptical of his every word?

The servants came to clean the dining hall, a signal for Rhys to clear out. As he left, he saw Lydia at the end of the hallway walking alongside Nikolaos. The chief adviser kept lowering his head to view the
tambouras
taking residence so inconveniently on Lydia’s arm that he intended to grasp.

Rhys leveled his sights on him. The chief adviser’s too-studied demeanor made him wary. And angry. He noticed how Lydia worked to distance herself from Nikolaos when they first entered the dining hall together. Rhys wanted to grab him by his robe collar and demand to know what that was all about.

Rhys retired to his accommodations in the palace’s east wing. Perhaps he shouldn’t intervene in that matter. It was Lydia and Nikolaos’ business, not his. But when he saw Lydia that night, with her long brown curls framing her shoulders, his impression of her changed. And when she played those dulcet tones and sang in that warm, pleasing alto, he temporarily forgot the purpose of the dinner.

So much for him being the charmer of the evening.

Rhys pulled off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, grateful to have one less layer of clothing on. Maybe charm wasn’t what Lydia needed to see from him. Her actions showed just how much she appreciated diplomatic niceties. What could he do to combat that?

He fell asleep wondering.

#

The next morning Rhys found Lydia waiting for him on the beach. Dressed in a work shirt of roughspun cloth and brown pants, she sat cross-legged in the sand. A cap shielded her face from the sun.

“I see you wisely dispensed with the coat this morning. It didn’t suit you.” She adjusted the brim of her cap. Her shirtsleeve retreated up her arm as she did so, revealing a leather wristband with a metal dial.

Rhys gave it a passing glance, amused by her preference for old breeches and odd jewelry. “I could say the same for what you’re wearing. The ensemble you wore last night was much more becoming.”

She averted her eyes, hiding them beneath her lashes. “I cannot work in a dress.” She rose and dusted her pant legs of sand. “Were you seen by any guards upon leaving the palace?”

“A few, but they didn’t stop me when I left.”

“They may have alerted the king. We shouldn’t be out in the open. Come.”

Rhys followed her as she headed north. The coastal shoreline soon gave way to the forested hillside, where Rhys initially sent Finley to find the quickest way around the island.

Lydia took him to an area of dense green vegetation, treading onward to a copse of tall cypress that lined the perimeter of a columned building that matched Finley’s description of a temple. She climbed the well-trodden steps. “This is the Machinists Guild, formerly an ancient shrine to Hephaestus.” A crumbling statue of the Greek god stood at the entrance.

“How fitting. A place that once housed an ancient god of forgers now serves as a meeting place for modern craftsmen. And women,” he added quickly. “Are there other female guild members?”

“I’m the sole woman currently. One of the former Guild members bought a miniature clockwork piece from me when I worked in my father’s shop. He admired my work and invited me to study here.” Unspoken thoughts settled upon Lydia’s face as she pushed the cap from her forehead. Delicate was not a word to describe her features, but they possessed a character that Rhys found appealing.

“And what of you, Rhys?” She pronounced his name accurately. “You know your Greek mythology and language. Who taught you?”

“My mother. She was a governess before she married my father, a merchant sailor. She made sure I was schooled in the Classics.” Rhys came to the Guild entrance.

“Was that why your country and its curio cabinet agency—”

“Cabinet of Intellectual Curiosities.” Rhys corrected her, but couldn’t resist chuckling at her abbreviated reference to the COIC.

“Why were you chosen to come to Aspasia?”

She was determining his credibility. If she knew of his past association with pirates, he’d never acquire those automatons. “I used to sail the Mediterranean with a shipping company. Queen Victoria thought that qualified me to represent her in the region.”