Storing Up Trouble, стр. 24

Gemma nodded. “True, but you’re a man who loathes horses.” She shrugged. “Most men adore their horses, so they won’t want to give them up, not when they seem to enjoy looking very, well, manly on the back of a horse.”

Before he could consider what was an excellent observation on Gemma’s part, she snatched Oscar’s hand and they ran right up to the door of his workshop, disappearing into it a second later.

“Don’t touch anything,” Constance called out from behind Norman, materializing by his side a moment later.

“Where did you come from?” he asked.

“I’ve been behind you the entire time. Don’t tell me you were unaware of that, were you?”

Unwilling to chance having her pat his face for a fever again, Norman smiled. “I imagine your footsteps were drowned out by Gemma’s voice. She’s far more talkative than I remember her being.”

“She was talking up a storm by the time she was two.”

Another dose of guilt swept over him.

“Hurry up, Uncle Norman,” Gemma called, poking her head through the door of his workshop. “We’ve already uncovered your electrical conveyance vehicle, but I know better than to touch it without you here.” She shot a grin to Constance. “We wouldn’t want to get electrocuted by mistake because you’d never forgive Uncle Norman if that happened.”

“Too right I wouldn’t,” Constance returned with a grin of her own.

The next ten minutes were spent pushing his invention out of the workshop, and then getting Gemma and Oscar settled into it. After making certain they were securely seated, Norman attached a few cables to the battery and switched the motor on.

To his relief, it sputtered to life, earning squeals of delight from Gemma and Oscar. Taking a second to show Gemma how to steer the wagon with a lever that was attached to the middle of the floor, he stood back and watched as she set the wagon into motion, traveling at what was probably no more than three miles an hour.

“It works,” Constance exclaimed.

“Of course it does. It just doesn’t work for long.” Norman nodded to a large oak tree that was exactly an acre and a half from them. “It’ll die right past that tree, which, unfortunately, suggests the work I’ve been doing on double electrical currents still leaves much to be desired.”

“Unfortunate indeed,” Constance said somewhat absent-mindedly before she lifted her chin and turned to him. “Who is she?”

Of anything he’d been expecting her to ask, that had not been it. “Beg pardon?”

Constance crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t turn all scatterbrained scientist on me, Norman. You know very well what I’m asking you, so out with it. Who is the woman responsible for your unusual lapses of observation? May I assume she resides in Hyde Park, which would explain why you’ve chosen to run there this week, even though you normally prefer to run along the lakeshore?”

“Parts of Hyde Park are directly beside the lake.”

“You’re being deliberately difficult. Who is she?”

Norman turned his attention back to Gemma and Oscar, who were slowly approaching the tree he’d pointed out to Constance, their speed at a mere crawl, proving that his battery was incapable of holding a charge for long. His invention drifted to a stop, and then Gemma jumped out of it right before she, for some unfathomable reason, began speaking to the tree.

“Why’s Gemma chatting with the tree?” he asked, but instead of answering him, Constance looked him up and down with concern in her eyes.

“Gemma’s not talking to the tree,” his mother said, sneaking up behind him and causing him to jump. “She’s talking to the Pinkerton man who was watching you from behind the tree. Of course I’m sure you must have noticed him and were attempting to distract your sister from questioning you about a mysterious woman.” His mother caught his eye. “So who is she?”

Norman rubbed a hand over a forehead that was beginning to perspire. That he’d not noticed his mother stealing up behind him was troubling, but that he also hadn’t noticed a Pinkerton man lurking behind the tree . . . well, clearly he must be coming down with an illness, because surely a wisp of a woman by the name of Beatrix Waterbury couldn’t be disrupting his normal keen observational skills so much . . . could she?

“You must have misheard the conversation Norman and I were having, Mother,” Constance surprised him by saying. “We were simply discussing Hyde Park and why he’s taken to running over there.”

Mary frowned. “I distinctly heard you ask him about a woman.”

Constance waved that aside before she nodded to what looked to be an invitation in Mary’s hand. “Anything of interest delivered today?”

For a moment, Norman thought his mother was going to press the issue, but then she turned her attention to the heavy vellum piece of paper she was holding. “We’ve been invited to Mrs. Potter Palmer’s first charity ball of the year. It’s to be held at the Palmer House come late October, and”—she handed the paper to Norman—“you’ve received a personal invitation as well. You’re to bring a guest.”

Relieved to have the conversation turn to a more innocent topic, Norman glanced over the invitation and smiled. “Mrs. Palmer always serves an impressive meal, so this event is one I may actually look forward to attending.”

Mary’s gaze sharpened on his face. “Are you certain you’re feeling quite well? You never look forward to any society event, no matter the circumstance.”

“Again, I’m fine.”

Mary took a step toward him. “You’re acting peculiar, but if you’re sure you’re not unwell, allow me to return to Mrs. Palmer’s ball. I’ve come up with three young ladies I believe are appropriate guests for you to choose from—Miss Paulina Dinneen, Miss Caroline Ashburn, or the oh-so-delightful Miss Francis Elks.”

“I didn’t find Miss Elks oh so delightful when she sat next to me last year. She almost nodded off into her soup as I was explaining the difference between a cirrus cloud and a stratus cloud and the impact Mr. Luke Howard had on the