Falconer scanned the pages before saying, "Your calculations seem sound, but there is often a gap between theory and practice." His eyes narrowed. "The calculations were done in a different hand from the drawings. Did you consult a mathematician?"

No one else had noticed. Warily David said, "The calculations were done by my wife, who is very skilled with numbers."

Falconer's brows arched. "She is talented indeed."

"Her father was a mathematician." Sarah had been raised in her father's home as something between a daughter and a servant, learning mathematics while carrying coal and scrubbing pots in the scullery. She had been left penniless when he died. The unfairness of that was another reason why David wanted to give her the best of everything.

The earl returned to the drawings. "While your theory is sound, fabricating these pistons will require a degree of precision metalworking that may exceed what current tools can do."

Again, no one had noticed. "Very wise of you to recognize that, my lord," David admitted. "In fact, I have a design for a precision lathe that will be able to create the pistons needed for my steam engine." He produced the lathe drawings he had brought along just in case.

"So first you must build the lathe." Falconer studied the drawing with a bemused expression. "You're an ambitious man, Mr. White."

"I propose nothing that is not possible, my lord." Expensive, but possible. David clenched his hands below the edge of the desk, both hopeful and anxious.

Falconer leaned back in his chair. "How much would you need to build a precision lathe, then create a working model of your new steam engine?"

David produced the estimate he had prepared with Sarah and handed it across the desk, giving thanks that the earl was actually considering his proposal.

"More of your wife's work, I see. I should like to meet this paragon." The earl skimmed the pages, raising his brows when he reached the total. "One could support a family in comfort for five years for this."

Seeing hope slip away, David moved forward in his chair, words tumbling from him. "The cost will be earned back a hundredfold, my lord. The lathe alone will pay for everything else once it is built and can be brought to market. As for the steam engine-my lord, it will transform the world. There are countless applications for an efficient source of power. Not just for pumping water, but for spinning and weaving machines. Someday it will be used to heat houses and move ships and power wagons and-"

Falconer raised one hand to stop the words. "All of what you say is possible, but change of such magnitude takes time. Just as you need to build a better lathe before you can build a better steam engine, there are many other areas of mechanics that must be developed to achieve your vision. There will also be resistance to such changes, for they will affect society in far-ranging ways. Jobs will be created and lost, fortunes will be built and ruined. Your engine will open Pandora's box."

David hesitated, recognizing that he had never considered such long-term effects. "My lord, I am not a learned man, and I have not thought of such matters. But I believe that a better steam engine will benefit many people, and I know that I can build it. If that brings about unexpected changes, so be it. There is much about our world that can bear changing." He bit off his words when he realized that they might sound subversive to a man who resided comfortably at the top of English society. What did an earl know about heavy labor and grinding poverty and the filthy depths of coal mines?

Instead of throwing David out, Falconer became very still. "There is truth in what you say, Mr. White." His gaze sharpened. "And if you do not build a better engine, someone else will. All over Britain and Europe, men like you are experimenting with new machines just as natural philosophers explore the secrets of nature. We are living in a time of great intellectual ferment, and the implications are both grand and terrifying."

David smiled a little. "I like the idea of being part of an age of great intellectual ferment. Usually I think of myself as a tinkerer with more ideas than I have time or money to build."

"How did you become interested in machines?"

"My father was a b.u.t.ton-maker in Birmingham, so I learned how to shape metal as soon as I could walk. I liked finding solutions to problems, so later I went to work for a military engineer. I learned much from him." It was a simplified explanation for living a life where he hungered for knowledge. Learning was not easily come by for a b.u.t.ton-maker's son, but David had persevered. Even if Falconer refused to fund the engine, David would continue working, thinking, and experimenting until the day he died.

The earl squared up the piled papers. "I am impressed by you and your ideas, Mr. White. I will begin by funding your lathe. When that is completed, we can look at further funding for the steam engine itself."

David caught his breath, stunned. Just like that, his dreams had fallen into his hands. "Th . . . thank you, my lord! You will not regret this, I swear it!"

"I'm sure I won't." Falconer tapped the feather of his quill pen on the desk as he thought. "We shall need a contract. I propose that any profits from your inventions be split equally between us. You will have the final say on mechanical decisions, while I will have the last word on business decisions. Is that satisfactory?"

It was generous-many patrons would demand a much higher share of the profits, and David would be happy to turn over the business decisions to a man who understood them. "Very satisfactory."

"Shall we have another meeting a week from today? I will have the contracts drawn up. Give me your direction and I'l have a copy sent to you before we next meet so you can look it over." He smiled faintly. "Bring your wife. I should like to meet her."

"She will be honored to do so, Lord Falconer." David stood and returned his papers to the portfolio, fingers trembling with reaction. After years of work, hope, and despair, it was hard to believe he would finally have the materials and money he needed.

"As a token of our new partnership, will you allow me to advance you some funds?" Falconer asked tactfully. "I'm sure there are things you will wish to buy immediately."

David was unsurprised that the earl had deduced his poverty. Since a man in his position couldn't afford false pride, he was grateful for the offer rather than indignant. "You are most generous, my lord."

Falconer opened a drawer in his desk. After a few m.u.f.fled clinks, he handed a small purse across the desk. "Until next week."

From the weight of the purse, David guessed there was enough money to pay the rent, fill the pantry with food, and still have money left over. As he dropped the purse in an inside pocket for safety, the study door opened and a lovely young woman entered. From the elegance of her dress, David guessed that she was a family member.

"Simon . . ." She stopped when she saw that Falconer was not alone. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had company."

She started to withdraw, but the earl stopped her. "Allow me to present Mr. David White. He is about to leave, but you might see him here again since we will be doing business together. Mr. White, this is Lady Falconer."

The young woman's blush made David suspect that the marriage was very recent. She was a lovely creature, with a slender, shapely figure and dark hair. Her air of innocence was very different from the earl's worldly demeanor, yet her great gray green eyes observed with a perception equal to her husband'

s. David bowed, wishing he were less clumsy. "I am honored to meet you, Lady Falconer."

"The pleasure is mine." Her smile was dazzling, but what really struck David was Falconer's expression. Though hardly a muscle moved in the earl's face, it was clear that he doted on his young wife. David was surprised, then oddly touched as he recognized that he and the earl had something in common: they loved their wives. It made Falconer seem less remote and intimidating.

David bowed again, this time to the earl, and took his leave. He was anxious to share the good news with Sarah. Though he didn't want to examine the contents of the purse on a public street, in the privacy of an alley he pulled out a single coin. It was a gold sovereign. He tried to remember the last time he had held one in his hand. And now he had a purseful!

Bubbling with excitement, he stopped at a bakeshop and bought a steak and kidney pie and an apple tart. Barely able to manage both along with his portfolio, he returned to their shabby dwelling, which was the back half of a sagging brick cottage. Half a block away, he bought a nosegay of pink and purple flowers from a peddler. They would both enjoy a good meal tonight, but Sarah deserved something that was special and pretty just for her.

As he fumbled the key into the lock, the door swung open. As soon as she saw his face, Sarah knew. "Lord Falconer is interested!"

He deposited food and portfolio on the pine kitchen table, then swept Sarah into his arms. "Yes! He said he was impressed by me and my ideas, and he wants to meet my paragon of a wife." He kissed Sarah long and hard before handing her the nosegay with a flourish. "This isn't silk or lace, my love, but it's the beginning of a better life."

Her expression crumpled, and to his horror, she began to sob uncontrollably. "Sarah, sweetheart, what's wrong?" He pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed, which was only half a dozen steps from the door, and wrapped her in his arms. She buried her face against his shoulder and continued to weep. He guessed that these were tears of relief, and their intensity hinted at how fearful she had been. "You must have been fair worried about money, even more than I knew."

"Not only money." She accepted his handkerchief and used it to wipe her eyes and blow her adorably pink nose. "I am increasing, David. I have been afraid to tell you when things were so difficult."

"Dear Lord in heaven! We're going to have a child?" Awed, he cupped her soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Why had he not noticed that they were fuller? "Oh, Sarah. I have found a patron today, but you have created a miracle."

She gave a hiccup of laughter. "A very common miracle, but since we have been married five years with no sign of a babe, I was beginning to think I was b . . . barren. A failure at a wife's first duty."

The thought horrified him. "Even if we never had children, I count myself the luckiest man in Christendom to have you by my side."

She leaned forward and kissed him very gently. "And I am the luckiest woman in Christendom to have you for a husband."

David felt that his heart would burst with love. "Since you're increasing, you must be hungry. Shall we dine while the meat pie is still warm?"

Her smile turned provocative. "Later, my dearest husband." She leaned forward for another kiss. "Much, much later."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

After the door closed behind Simon's visitor, Meg observed, "That's an interesting man. He will do great things. What kind of business are you in together?" She halted, uncertain. "Of course, that's none of my affair."

"Even if you are not quite my wife, you have the right to ask me anything, Meg." Simon watched as she moved around the room with restless grace. Though she wore a fashionable gown borrowed from Lady Bethany's granddaughter, she seemed like a wild fawn ready to take flight at any moment.

No, not a fawn, for that suggested fragility. Meg might be slender and youthful-looking, but her steely strength was visible to anyone with the perception to see. "Mr. White is a genius in matters mechanical. He needed a patron to underwrite the costs of developing a better steam engine. I have agreed to give him the funding he needs. What are your impressions of him?"

"He is a good man as well as a genius, and he has the potential to make fortunes for both of you." Meg frowned as she a.n.a.lyzed what she had sensed of the inventor's character. "But there is danger near him. Some unexpected event threatens his life." She shivered. "I don't like thinking that nice man might die soon!"

"It is an article of faith among Guardians that magic always has a price. Seeing dark possibilities is one of them." Simon reviewed what he had sensed during his meeting with the inventor. "I share your feelings about Mr. White. He has great ability. He is also part of the knot that you and I must untangle, and there is danger in that."

Meg subsided into the chair opposite Simon in a froth of skirts and petticoats. "I a.s.sume you mean the situation with Drayton, but what kind of knot is involved?"

"I have no idea. Partial knowledge is also part of the cost of magic. The most frustrating part." In the country, he hadn't noticed how brown her skin had become from running wild around Castle Drayton. Ladies were supposed to have fair, delicate complexions, not the tanned skin of a field laborer, yet on Meg, the color was warm and alluring. She made other women look pallid and only half alive.

d.a.m.ning the way the unicorn spell tangled his thoughts, he gestured to a note on the table. "Lady Bethany writes that the council will meet to consider the charges against Drayton a fortnight from today. Seven of the nine councillors will be present in person, and the other two will partic.i.p.ate with their talking spheres."

Meg tilted her head quizzically. "What is a talking sphere?"

He kept forgetting how her education had been neglected. "It's a palm-sized ball made of crystal. Each sphere is charged with a powerful spell that allows council members to speak to each other even when they are at opposite ends of Britain."

"How useful! Can anyone with power use the spheres?"

"Even among mages, not everyone has the gift. A prime qualification for being on the council is the ability to use a sphere well."

"Can you?"

"Yes, though not at well as Lady Bethany. The b.a.l.l.s were made and charged with magic by an ancestress of hers over two hundred years ago."

Meg leaned forward, her expression intent. "If Lord Drayton is judged guilty, what will happen to him?"

"The first punishment of a Guardian who misuses power is to be ostracized by other members of the Families, but Drayton is well beyond that. If he is declared renegade, the council members will strip away his magic." Simon thought without pleasure about how that was done. "However, that will not happen unless the council agrees unanimously that it is necessary."

"Agreement must be unanimous? That can't be easy to obtain." Meg bit her lip. "In other words, Drayton might be allowed to continue his wicked ways. How can the council permit that if most people are aware of how dangerous he is?"

"In the distant past, where legend and history blend together, mages fought each other, and the devastation was appalling." It was time for another lesson. "May I touch your mind with memories of what happened? That will explain better than words why we are so careful of each other."

When Meg nodded, Simon leaned forward and touched the fingertips of his right hand to the center of her forehead. Though not necessary, physical contact increased the vividness of the memories that had been burned in his brain when he was a student.

Two mages battling with magic until one's shielding broke. The man's flesh melting from his bones as his screams pierced through time. A backlash of weather magic that sent a torrent down the Thames and drowned countless innocent mundanes who lived along the river. A poisonous blast of magic failed to kill its target, but turned infants in the womb to monsters.

Meg immediately gasped and leaned away. "How dreadful! So much pain and grief and guilt remained even among those who survived."

"A special spell was created to a.s.sure that every Guardian child is given these memories. The hope is that experiencing the emotions of deadly conflicts will prevent future mage wars." He smiled wryly. "Not that we are always in perfect harmony. Mages can be a stubborn lot, and sometimes the conflicts are major, as with Drayton. But we have managed to avoid full-scale battle for a very long time."

Meg rubbed her forehead as if it ached from the infusion of memories. "Was the destruction among Guardians only, or were ordinary people also injured?"

"It is said that the Black Plague that devastated Europe was the result of a battle among the mages of Russia. I don't know if it's true. I don't want it to be true." He sighed. "But . . . it's possible."

"So Guardians allow each other great leeway, until a rogue behaves so badly that all agree that they must band together to stop him."

He nodded. "The council is the key to maintaining peace. But to keep it from becoming tyrannical, there must be complete agreement that a mage is dangerous."

"I understand the principle, but it still frightens me to think that Drayton may go unpunished."

"Even if the council is not ready to condemn him, you will be safe. I swear it."

She looked away. "I trust your intentions, but you may be promising more than you should."

Her doubt stung. No one had ever before suggested that Simon was not up to the challenge of protecting those in need. But she was right. So far, Drayton had defeated him.

So far.

The seamstress made a minute adjustment to Meg's sleeve. Stepping back, she said in a voice of carefully cultivated awe, "You look magnificent, my lady."

Meg gazed at herself in the long mirror. She did look rather fine in her new riding habit, though it was hard to believe that polished image was really her.

In the week she had been in London, Meg's wardrobe and education had both improved markedly. The seamstresses and mantua-makers and milliners had all worked long hours to ensure the new countess was suitably attired. The jacket of the riding habit had been tailored by a man, since it was believed that males did the best job. Naturally, the Countess of Falconer's habit had been made by the very best habit-maker in London.

Though her wardrobe flourished, Meg's patience had frayed. "Thank you. I shall be much envied," she said to the seamstress who had delivered the habit and a.s.sisted in donning the garment. "My maid will see you out."

Meg's newly hired lady's maid, Molly, an expert who had worked for another Guardian lady, took charge of the seamstress and guided her from the room. By prearrangement, she would give the woman a generous gratuity for her services.

Meg had learned her way around the sprawling house, learned the names of the servants she saw most, and learned not to flinch when called "my lady." She could now refer to Simon as "my husband" without looking guilty. She could even contemplate attending a ball without panicking, much.

But if she didn't get out of this house for something other than a visit to the shops or a walk with Jean Macrae, she would explode. Catching up her trailing skirts, she left her suite and stalked down to the study where Falconer spent most of his waking hours. She knocked but didn't wait for an answer before she swept into the study. "You said there are places to ride in London. Do I need to ask your permission to have a groom take me to one?"

He glanced up from the doc.u.ments spread across his deck. "From the gleam in your eyes, if I said you needed permission to go riding, I would become the target of something very dire."

She had to laugh. "Very likely. I simply must get out for a gallop, or I fear for the consequences. What is the procedure for me to ride? I a.s.sume you have some decent horseflesh available."

"Just send a message to the stables to let them know when you want a horse and groom to be ready. I had a mount brought from my country place for your use, and my mother's sidesaddle has been oiled and conditioned."

Meg sighed. "I guessed that a sidesaddle would be required. Only lowbred hoydens would ride astride even though one has better control of the horse that way."

"With your riding ability, you could stand on your head on your mount's withers and still be in control." He stood and stretched. "I'm feeling as confined as you. If I have to read one more doc.u.ment, I might set it on fire from sheer irritation. Would you mind if I escorted you myself?"

She felt a rush of surprised pleasure. Though they took meals together, she had seen very little of Simon since they arrived in London. "I would enjoy that."

"If you order the horses, I'l change into riding clothes and meet you at the stables." He circled the desk. "You look quite devastating in your new habit. That shade of green suits you."

Blushing with pleasure, she thanked him and left to make the arrangements, including a stop by the kitchen to get apples. She expected it would take Simon time to change, but he appeared promptly in the stable yard, his appearance as immaculate as always. "How do you manage to look so elegant?" she asked as they walked toward the horses, which were being held by two grooms.

"The practical use of magic." He gestured toward the horses. "I'l ride Shadow. I thought you would like Oakleaf."

Meg mentally greeted Shadow before she approached the handsome golden chestnut Simon had provided. She reached out with both her hand and her mind and found that Oakleaf was a lively gelding, young and playful but with no vice in him. He was in a mood to run, just like Meg. As he ate the apple she offered, she told him silently that if he behaved, he could have a good gallop soon. He responded with bouncing enthusiasm. Smiling, she said, "He'l do very well."

Simon bent forward to help her into the saddle. She set her left foot in his laced hands, her hand resting on his shoulder. For an instant, they both froze. This was the closest they had been since he had kissed her at White Manor, and she could feel the sizzle of attraction between them. Could smell the tang of spicy cologne and the deeper scent of a strong, healthy male body.

Nervous, she made the upward leap toward the saddle, aided by Simon lifting her at the same time. He stepped back while she arranged her legs and her skirts. It occurred to her to wonder if sidesaddles had been invented to encourage flirtation. Still another reason to prefer riding astride.

She loosened Oakleaf's reins and he did a little skipping dance, working off energy but not attempting to dislodge his new rider. His pleasure flooded through Meg. "What a splendid horse! Where are we going?"