“You realize that we could have both been killed just now, don’t you? I’m not really trusting your ideas right now. I think you need... how can I put this delicately...”
“I know I’m wound tightly. Damn it, man. You think I don’t know it?”
“Is it the governess?”
Edgar didn’t answer. If he didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t say anything incriminating.
“Out.” Grafton pointed at the exit. “You need to leave now or something bad is going to happen. Your designs aren’t working because your mind is elsewhere. Go to your governess. Forget about engines for a day or two.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t.”
“She and the children left for Southend an hour ago.”
“You’re an idiot.” Grafton shook his head and a scrap of metal fell to the ground. “You should have gone with them.”
“So everyone seems to think.” He’d wanted so badly to go with them. But he had to be here.
“Trust me on this one, friend.” Grafton clapped him on the shoulder. “You need a holiday in the worst way.”
“I’m not going to abandon this project. Abandon you. When we’re so close.”
“Life’s short.” Grafton flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Go spend time with your family. Take a holiday. The work will be here when you get back.”
Go spend time with your family.Take the children to Lumley’s. Go visit Mother.
Everyone was giving him the same message. The foundry had swallowed him, subsuming human interactions.
“And after you marry that governess,” said Grafton, “you two can name your firstborn son after me.”
“Pardon?” Edgar choked on the word.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it.”
“What, marrying her? Or naming my heir Ambrose?”
“I can tell you from experience, that being named Ambrose is the quickest way to ensure your son will be strong, manly, and fearless.” Grafton preened, flexing his sturdy arms. “If you don’t like Ambrose, there’s always my middle name. Percival.”
“I’m not naming my heir Ambrose. Or Percival. In fact, I’m not siring an heir at all. Now would you please drop the subject?”
“Not until you chase after that governess of yours and don’t stop until you’re holding her hand as you run along the sparkling sands of Southend. And splashing about in the surf. And rolling—”
Edgar groaned, cutting Grafton’s speech short. “I can’t go frolic at the seaside. Not when there’s work to be done here.”
“Then I’ll just have to keep suggesting names for your heir until you leave. How about Ethelbert? Or Pearl?”
“Pearl?” choked Edgar.
“I knew a boy named Pearl once, poor fellow. Ambrose will make a man tougher. Pearl will crush his spirit from the start.” Grafton shook his head. “What about Gruffyd? A good, strong Welsh name. Or there’s Archibald... though one wouldn’t want to curse the poor thing’s pate. Or—”
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” Edgar headed toward the exit.
Maybe the answers he sought would arrive more easily when he was walking along the seashore with two playful, chaotic, exuberant children. Seeing life through their eyes. The newness, the wonder and the endless possibilities.
Maybe the answers would come to him more readily when he was right where he wanted to be. With Mari.
Envying the wind for ruffling her hair and the sun for kissing her freckles.