An idea for a new windmill design had come to him during his university years. He’d shared it with his father and grandfather, both of whom had quickly dismissed it, snuffing out any hope that he’d created a simple but unique idea to improve the effectiveness of windmills. One of his professors had agreed, crushing his hope.
“Haywards have looks and charm and little else,” his grandfather had said with a shake of his head. “Put your energy toward marrying well.”
Silas had tried to put aside the idea but found he couldn’t. On nights when he couldn’t sleep, he’d refined his plans until he was certain they’d work.
To what end, he couldn’t say when he had no intention of showing them to anyone else.
“Yes, yes, you have already mentioned that,” his grandmother said as she set the papers on her lap. “I am anxious to see what changes you’ve made.”
With painfully slow intensity, she looked over his notes and drawings, one paper at a time.
Wilson returned to the room a few minutes later and cleared his throat. “Pardon the interruption, madam.”
“Yes? What is it?” she asked without lifting her gaze from one of the sketches.
“Bertie.”
The mention of her beloved cat was enough to gain her notice.
“What of him?”
“He’s escaped. Again.” The butler’s pursed lips revealed his frustration with the creature who had a mind of its own.
“Oh, dear.” The extent of his grandmother’s alarm would’ve been comical in other circumstances but not this one. Her affection for the cantankerous beast was legendary.
With a resigned sigh, Silas stood. “Shall I have a look in the garden?”
Both the butler and his grandmother regarded him with such relief that he lifted a hand in protest. “I make no promises.”
“He likes you, dear. I have no doubt he will come the moment he hears your voice,” his grandmother insisted. “I shall be forever in your debt if you locate him.”
Silas nodded. “I will do my best.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d been tasked with finding the blasted feline. It was a stubborn thing and would most definitely not come when Silas called.
He strode out of the drawing room and hurried down the stairs, knowing there wasn’t a moment to waste. Who knew how far the cat would go if not stopped?
The warm afternoon sun had him unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat to shrug out of them, not wanting to risk damage when he couldn’t afford new ones. He left them on a bench and started down the path. “Here, kitty. Come back inside.”
Whether his attempt to coax the cat to return would be successful was doubtful, but it might at least result in a meow that would signal its location.
“Bertie, where are you?” He rolled up his shirtsleeves as the day was warm and continued deeper into the garden.
A faint meow caught his attention, and he followed it to a tall oak tree in the garden. With hands on hips, he stared up at the cat perched on a high limb, tall swishing. Unfortunately, Bertie showed no interest in coming down.
Lady Prudence Davies followed her Great Aunt Edith Flowers to Mrs. Sutton’s front step. Progress was slow as her aunt was far from nimble, but Prue didn’t mind. She rather liked having time to admire the red poppies and yellow snapdragons lining the path.
Her visits to London always felt frantic. The busy schedule tended to fray her nerves, so taking time to visit as well as admire the garden was more than welcome.
“I’m so happy you were able to accompany me, Prudence.”
“It is my pleasure.” It had been well over a year since her last visit to the city which had been cut short when her older sister had delivered a baby earlier than anticipated.
Prue had departed immediately to lend aid. She hadn’t wanted another Season in London anyway. Her first one three years ago had been disastrous, setting her reputation as a wallflower in stone. Why would she want to repeat the humiliating experience?
But her mother insisted she come this year with the hope of finding a husband. Prue remained doubtful. In her experience, London was filled with cruel rogues who had little regard for ladies or their feelings.
“I haven’t seen Dorothy for nearly a month,” her aunt said as they climbed the front steps. “I have missed our visits.”