Stephanie Laurens - The Designs Of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh - #1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens returns with an uputdownable new historical romance

Moreover, Rand could understand William John’s position. The son would need to prove himself to move out of the shadow of an established personality. Indeed, Rand’s own quest for recognition separate from the large presence of Ryder and the marquessate was what had led him to the Throgmortons’ drawing room. As much as William John, Rand needed this invention to work. He’d staked a great deal more than mere money on it; his reputation as a leader of investment syndicates was riding on this project. If he failed...his chances of attracting investors to any future syndicate would dim considerably.

While not strictly correct, William John’s approach to the situation was entirely understandable, at least to Rand.

Slowly, he nodded. “Very well. We now know where we stand.” His personal strength lay in evaluating options and finding the best way out of any difficulty. He straightened in his chair. “What we need to do next is to define the problems facing us.”

Still reeling from the impact of successive revelations, Felicia felt that defining their problems was a very good idea. That both her father and her brother had been so duplicitous, at least in her eyes, deeply troubled her; the scope of what had been going on under her nose while she’d remained entirely unaware had shaken her to her foundations. She’d always believed she had been the one steering the ship of their household, while in reality, she hadn’t even known in which direction they’d been headed.

She focused on Lord Cavanaugh as, with a slight frown—one of concentration—drawing down his dark brows, he stated, “With only three weeks to go before the exhibition, we cannot withdraw from the event—not without sustaining considerable damage to all our reputations. A withdrawal at this stage would signal to everyone that the invention had failed. That, of course, is the one result we would all prefer to avoid.”

His lordship’s gaze rested on William John. Felicia had already noticed that Cavanaugh had eyes of the warmest mid brown she’d ever seen—like heated caramel or melted toffee.

“I believe,” he continued, “that in the circumstances, we must hold to our goal of getting the steam engine working per your father’s plans and successfully unveil the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage at the exhibition. If we fail to do so”—he shot Felicia a glance, then returned his gaze to William John—“William John’s future as an inventor will be ruined before he truly starts. You will become an investment pariah”—again, Cavanaugh glanced Felicia’s way—“and as I understand it, you don’t have the capital to undertake further inventing of this nature on your own.”

William John grimaced. “All you say is true. That’s why I’ve forged on so doggedly—I have to get the engine working perfectly and present it at the exhibition.”

Cavanaugh inclined his head. “But there’s more at stake than just your future.”

Felicia nearly laughed—humorlessly—at the surprise that showed in William John’s face. As she well knew, inventors never thought beyond the invention. Beyond their work.

She felt Cavanaugh’s gaze touch her face again, then he said, “Forgive me if I mistook the implications of your earlier exchange, but it seemed to me that absent the funds advanced to support this latest invention, this household would not be solvent.”

Felicia met Cavanaugh’s eyes and grimly nodded. “No need to apologize—you’re quite correct.” For an instant, she allowed herself to hold to the steady warmth in his gaze while she rapidly reviewed the household accounts. “Put simply”—she looked at William John—“if this latest invention isn’t a success, the family will be financially ruined. We do not have sufficient income from other sources to continue the upkeep of the Hall.” She allowed her gaze to weigh on her brother. “We would be forced to sell up.”

William John flinched. “Really?” He met her eyes as if willing her to say she was joking.

“Yes.” It was past time he faced the truth of the dire straits to which inventing and inventions had driven them.

After a second, Cavanaugh went on, “And, sadly, the repercussions do not end there.”

Felicia looked at him, puzzled as to what else might be at stake, but his gaze seemed to have turned inward.

“While this project is not my first as the head of a syndicate, it is the most prominent of my investment projects to date. It’s the project my coterie of investors are most interested in seeing succeed. If we”—he refocused on William John, then included Felicia with his gaze—“do not deliver on the promise of that investment, do not live up to the assurances of success I gave, then my carefully nurtured reputation as an investment syndicate leader will be...severely compromised.”

Only now that he’d considered the possibility—if not likelihood—of the Throgmorton steam engine failing had Rand realized just how much he’d staked on its success. “Of course, on top of that, my own funds will take a sizeable hit.” But that was the least of his worries.

Silence fell—a moment of staring into the abyss as they all dwelled on the consequences of failure.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was William John who first stirred and said, “Well, we’ll just have to make sure the engine works as advertised.”

Rand took in the young inventor’s unwavering determination and had to wonder...

Regardless, there seemed no other way forward, yet long acquaintance with the species had taught Rand that where time was a factor, even when deadlines loomed, inventors could not be trusted to keep their focus.

He felt as if the circumstances were forming up around him and all-but-physically herding him into taking on a role he never had before. Into taking a large step beyond the comfort of the arenas in which he was knowledgeable and embarking down a path of unknown risks and unforeseeable challenges.

Nevertheless...

He glanced again at Miss Throgmorton, then looked at William John. “I agree. At this point, I can’t see any alternative way forward—not for any of us—other than to persevere, get the engine working, and present it successfully at the exhibition.”

William John nodded, his expression resolved and sure.

Rand glanced at Miss Throgmorton. If they were to have any hope of succeeding in time, they would need her support as well.

Felicia met and returned Cavanaugh’s gaze. Only when he faintly arched his brows did she realize he was waiting for—asking for—her agreement. She blinked, then cleared her throat and said, “I agree. There seems no other viable way to proceed.” Until the last moments, she hadn’t realized just how dire—how absolute and inevitable—the consequences of failure would be.

Only now did she fully comprehend what was hanging over their heads.

Yet another revelation she would need time to fully assimilate.

Cavanaugh nodded. “So we three are resolved.”

Rand shifted his gaze to William John. “Given how much is riding on the outcome, I’ll remain and assist you as required, at least until you get the engine going. I can’t work on the mechanics as you do, but I am very good at managing time and resources, and we’ll need everything running smoothly if we’re to succeed in attaining our mutual goal.”

Far from being put out by the thought of having someone looking over his shoulder, William John’s face lit with eagerness. “I’ll be delighted to explain the engine to you.” He paused, his mind clearly going to the invention, then he grimaced and refocused on Rand. “The boiler will be too hot for us to dismantle it today, but I can show you the workshop and explain what does what and where our current problems lie—if you’d like that?”