A Heartless Design

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A HEARTLESS DESIGN

ebook edition

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2013 by SkySpark Books.

Cover art by Renu Sharma

Cover design by Catherine Brautigam

Edited by Amanda Valentine,
ayvalentine.com

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

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London, Spring 1806

The steel clad ship gleamed silver in the bright marine sunlight, its own brilliance rivaling that of the flashing sea. It was like staring into the depths of a diamond. And, like a diamond, the ship itself was nearly indestructible. The sails, white as summer clouds, billowed in the winds, an old technology still essential in this new age of innovation. But beneath the hull was yet another surprise...steam. The combination of a metal hull and a steam-powered propeller made this ship unique. What could stop such a creation? Cannon-fire could not sink it, weather could not slow it. Such a beauty of the high seas deserved a worthy name, the name of a warrior goddess:
Andraste
.

But clouds were gathering on the horizon…

* * * *

In her landlocked London home on the quiet drive of Quince Street, Cordelia Bering shivered. She had been distracted, daydreaming of her ship again. As a gifted engineer, she’d designed several ships in her life, but none captured her imagination like this one. She shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. The breeze coming in through the open window of her bedroom hinted at an unusually cool night for late spring. She briefly considered staying in, but her aunt Leona did enjoy the parties of the Season, and Cordelia hated to disappoint her. The two women were all that remained of the close Bering family.

Cordelia herself had little interest in these events—at 27 years old, she ought to be on the shelf. But she did not relish staying home every night, when the time stretched out too long and lonely. Her days were full. Her nights were not.

With a little sigh, she returned to the final details of her outfit. The high-waisted silk dress she wore would scarcely keep her warm even on a balmy night. The thin, fashionable fabric, dyed a deep golden yellow, would be useless this evening. So Cordelia twirled her cashmere shawl around her shoulders, casting a look in the large mirror above the vanity.

“Bond, can you fetch the pearl drops for my ears?” she asked her maid as she considered her reflection. “I think they’ll go best with this gown.”

“What? Oh, yea.” The young woman was still adjusting to being called by her last name, instead of Lucy. She was dressed in a stiff starched blue gown that marked her as a lady’s maid, and was taller than many her age. She hurried to the jewelry case and extracted a pair of earrings for her mistress. Then she hastened back, her brown curls bouncing as she walked. “Here they are, ma’rm.” Bond offered the earrings with a slight bob.

“Madam,” Cordelia corrected gently. “Or ma’am.”

The girl flushed. “Madam,” she repeated carefully, in an accent now much closer to Cordelia’s own. “Here are the pearls,
madam
.”

“Perfect.” Cordelia took the earrings from Bond. “You’re doing very well.” Bond had only been Cordelia’s lady’s maid for a few weeks, but she was a fast learner. Her hazel eyes lit up at Cordelia’s praise.

“Thank you, madam.”  

“And, Bond, ladies’ maids don’t say
yea
. They say—”

“They say
yes
, madam,” Bond replied quickly. She paused, then confessed, “It’s so hard, ma’am. And to think there’s men about who can speak French and Latin too.”

“It’s just a matter of practice. You’ve come a long way. Soon, I’d be able to put you in any home in London.” Cordelia smiled at the girl as she put on the earrings.

“Oh, ma’am! I wouldn’t want to work for anyone but you. Just think if I worked in another house and someone found out about me, where I’d been!” Bond shuddered. “I’d die of shame, ma’am. That’s all there is to it.” Lucy Bond was not exaggerating. Only a few months ago, she’d been in Bridewell, a hideous place even compared to other prisons. Many women would die of shame before admitting that they’d seen the inside of it.

Many more would die because of the stigma alone. No reputable house would hire a former criminal, leaving the convicts who managed to complete their sentences little choice but to return to a life of crime simply to survive.
So what kind of house is mine?
Cordelia wondered for the thousandth time. But she didn’t let her thoughts show. The young woman standing in front of her had enough burdens.

“Nonsense, Bond.” Cordelia looked back to the mirror, examining the pearls and casting a final look over her appearance. “Within a few months, you’ll forget that horrible place. And rest assured that I have no intention of shipping you off anytime soon. I need a lady’s maid, after all.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”

“Besides, I imagine you’d miss Jem.” She looked archly at the girl, whose blush deepened.

“Yes, ma’am. I would at that.” Bond’s attraction to Cordelia’s footman, Jem, had been as instantaneous as it was mutual. Cordelia, who kept a very close eye on her household, saw it at once. Unlike many other mistresses, however, she did not discourage the match. Of course, nothing about her household or her servants was traditional.

“Enough of this talk. It’s for another day. Now, how do I look?”

“Perfect, ma’am,” the maid said, casting an admiring look over Cordelia’s ensemble. “Shall I call for the carriage?”

“Yes, I’ll be down in a few moments. Let my aunt know as well.”

Drawing a deep breath, Cordelia turned toward her window, which looked out over the grounds behind the house, where lush gardens and a carefully maintained lawn made the property appear much larger than it was. The last hints of twilight were fading in the sky, leaving most of the grounds in deep shadow. The lights of nearby houses occasionally twinkled through new leaves, reminding her that she was not as alone as she sometimes felt.

Then why did this melancholy come upon her so often of late? Cordelia tried to ignore it when it surfaced. She had a number of good friends to visit, and she normally relished time spent alone in her study, where she worked both for business and pleasure. Cordelia had plenty to occupy her mind. In addition to her shipbuilding work with various clients—under a male pseudonym, of course—she also created speculative designs for her own amusement. The
Andraste
was one such, and she enjoyed tackling the various practical issues it presented. She even occasionally penned scholarly articles describing some of her innovations, but she never mentioned the ship itself. It was too close to her heart.

But something had got into her with the advent of spring. A slight sadness, coupled with a restlessness…and a sense of foreboding. She watched the quiet scene below her window and tried to shake the feeling. She had a calm, well-ordered life, she told herself. Nothing was going to change it.

Cordelia headed down the stairs a moment later, her gown trailing along the steps. The deep gold fabric set off her black hair to perfection, and the cream colored wrap accented the dress without showing it up. She sighed. Once, she would have been ecstatic to think of the looks that would be cast her way tonight. But it had been years since the attentions of men had been anything but a burden.

A small, delicately built woman stood in the foyer, looking up at her with a gentle smile. “Cordelia, my child. You are a vision.” Cordelia’s aunt, Leona Wharton, had lived in this house since the death of her husband many years ago. She had been a lifeline in the days after the death of Cordelia’s father, and despite all the small tragedies in her past, she maintained a cheerful, calm disposition. She was both a chaperone and a friend, and Cordelia couldn’t imagine life without her.

“Thank you, Aunt Leona. So are you.” Her now-silver hair was held up with delicate silver combs, showing off the fine bones of her face and neck. She was dressed impeccably as well, in a trim, dark blue frock covered with a cropped jacket in a lighter shade. Leona stopped wearing mourning clothes for her brother—Cordelia’s father—years ago. But she rarely wore light colors anymore.

“Did Ivy really tailor that coat?” Cordelia asked. Ivy was technically a parlormaid, but she performed many duties for Leona, who didn’t feel she required a dedicated lady’s maid herself.

“Yes. She is clever with a needle. But you…I expect no less than two proposals tonight.”

“Are you counting Hayden’s proposal in that prediction?”

“Oh, heavens. Has he asked yet?” Her aunt clucked indulgently.

“He has not,” Cordelia noted, with considerably less indulgence, thinking of her latest admirer. That Hayden hadn’t formally proposed yet actually surprised her a little. The man was charming, polite, and very attentive, but a little too insistent in his protectiveness of her, particularly considering that she had only met him about four months ago. She hoped he would not be at tonight’s event.

“Well, I expect it will not be long. One can’t blame him for trying to win you. I have always thought that you were, and are, the finest prize in London.”

At that moment, the butler appeared in the foyer. “The carriage is ready,” he informed Cordelia in his gravelly, low-pitched voice. He wasn’t a tall man, but he had a certain presence due to his sharp blue eyes and an ugly scar on one cheek, evidence of a misspent youth. He stood out, even in the uniform of a servant, which too often rendered people invisible.
Oh, but my servants
want
to be invisible
, she reminded herself.

“Thank you, Stiles.” Cordelia nodded to him. “I think you should not expect us before three. Lord Gough’s events tend to be lengthy.”

“That’s very true,” Leona agreed. “Once, years ago, he held a ball on a Tuesday, and Walter and I didn’t come back home ’til Friday.”

Cordelia laughed. “I pray tonight won’t be a repeat of that!”

“We shall await your return, ladies,” Stiles rumbled. “Have a pleasant evening.”  He held the great front door open for the women to pass through. A large ginger cat glided in, as though the butler had opened the door for him especially.

“I see Nero is in for the evening,” Cordelia commented, smiling at the house cat. She took her aunt’s hand as they stepped out into the night. “It’s too bad for the contestants then that I have chosen not to marry,” she said, resuming their conversation.

“But someday, dear child…” It was a discussion they had had many times before. Stiles inclined his head almost reverentially as they passed, and if he was listening to the rather personal conversation, he gave no outward sign of it.

“Aunt, I have no need of a husband, and no wish for one. I have explained that.” They walked down the short flight of steps to the stone-paved drive. A younger man, angular and lanky, with dark hair and eyes, stood at attention by the carriage. His lips curved into a beaming smile when he saw the ladies in their finery. He had been born James, but went only by Jem. He frequently acted as both footman and driver. He offered a hand into the coach, first to Leona, then Cordelia. A moment later, he sprang onto the driver’s seat. The women settled back as the coach began to move forward down the white gravel drive.

Leona didn’t feel she had been convincing enough. “My child, marriage can be a partnership. Your parents were very happy together, and even Walter and I, though we did not marry for love, found each other well suited.”

Cordelia knew that was true. “I understand what you are saying, Aunt,” she said patiently. “But I am afraid that marriage is just not in my future.” She was grateful that the carriage was dark inside. The shadows concealed her expression, and she did not want to upset her aunt. Cordelia knew that marriage was more than just “unlikely,” it was impossible. She had a host of secrets to keep. Her household’s past, her unconventional occupation, and her own method of paying for it all. What man would allow such activities? A husband, who by law could know all her secrets, was a danger she could not risk.

Leona, though unaware of her niece’s turmoil, gave up the argument gracefully, and turned to lighter subjects. The carriage clattered onward, away from the house and toward the heart of London.

When they arrived in Mayfair, the ladies saw a line of carriages stretching for an eternity before the palatial townhouse that Lord Gough maintained during the Season. It was nearly always packed; the man held entertainments constantly. Cordelia looked at the line in resignation, then called up to Jem.