Love Engineered

  Love Engineered

  Jenna Dawlish

  E-scape Press Ltd, England.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organisations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Love Engineered. Copyright ©2009 Jenna Dawlish.

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of Jenna Dawlish to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9561191-4-8

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data.

  A CIP catalogue record for the paperback version of this book is available from the British Library.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of E-scape Press.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Published by E-scape Press Ltd, England.

  www.escapewithabook.com

  About the Author

  Jenna Dawlish began writing at the tender age of thirty years old whilst commuting into London. She started with a Harry Potter fan fiction as she eagerly awaited the release of the next Potter book. Eventually, she decided to take the next step and create her own stories and characters. The result was her first novel - Love Engineered.

  She loves researching into the Victorian Era, adding to her huge pile of books regularly.

  She lives in Devon with her family in a quaint (and sometimes drafty) english cottage.

  Visit her website at www.jennadawlish.com.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Gill and Liz for their constant support and advice.

  To Steve for putting up with me typing away on my laptop all the time and for his belief in me.

  For Mum (Erica) for her encouragement.

  Also thanks to Marie Shields, Sallyann Sheridan and The Romantic Novelist Association.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  London 1855

  The moment Louise Thomas stepped into the lecture hall, the hum of conversation hushed almost to silence. Anyone would have thought it was this elegant young woman who was giving the lecture. But it was her reputation amongst engineering circles that was the real reason. Ignoring the whispers that followed, she descended the steps of the auditorium at the Institution of Civil Engineers to find a seat in the audience.

  Her pretty nose wrinkled when she noticed the faint aroma of cigar smoke. Such a nuisance, she hated the smell, but knew she must put up with such things for the sake of experiencing the engineering world first hand. The plain white, arched ceiling matched the unpretentious functional room, just as she would have expected of a building dedicated to the work of the great men of the age.

  Soon enough, her arrival was forgotten and the noise of people talking in the room increased.

  “I do hope today's lecture is better than yesterday's,” she said to her elderly companion, Mrs Rothers. They paused halfway down the steps until a portly gentleman made room for them on the plain wooden benches. “Yesterday we weren't given enough detail, and Mr Lodge's condescension was unbearable at times. I don't understand why they asked him to speak.”

  Mrs Rothers’s wrinkled hand touched her friend's arm. “Louise, you must make allowances, Mr Lodge is far more used to speaking to his fellow engineers and not the general public. He probably thought we were all simpletons.”

  “I could forgive him that, but he spoke nothing of when his great ship would be finished, or whether he had completed a scaled model to see if the thing would actually float! The very fact that he designed it to be a paddle ship was laughable. Everyone knows that propellers are the way forward in ship design,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand and a small laugh.

  “Perhaps he didn't like the tone in which you told him that yesterday.”

  Louise sighed. “Maybe you're right, but I'm not sorry I questioned him. If he were a better engineer than he thinks he is, I wouldn't have issue.”

  Mrs Rothers glanced around the auditorium. “We'd best hope that today's engineer will be more considerate.”

  Louise's gaze followed her friend's across the sea of men in dark coats, only occasionally interrupted by a lady. “Yes, I'm sure he will be. Today's lecture is to be given by Charles Lucas, and I have heard much about him. They say he is the next Brunel; a rising star, soon to be elevated among the great engineers of our time.”

  “Really? I've heard he is very handsome.” Mrs Rothers gave a knowing smile.

  “Trust you to mention that! But I wouldn't know.” Louise brushed a speck of dirt from her pale green muslin dress. It was one of her plainer ones, but with an intricate thin white lace shawl and straw hat, she exuded elegance. “I don't think about that sort of thing. It's intelligence that matters to me, though I have heard that he is quite passionate about his work. Which of those gentlemen do you think he is?”

  She looked over to front of the auditorium and tried to quell a growing sense of anticipation. In a few moments she would set eyes on the man she had heard so much about. There were three gentlemen talking, any of which could be Mr Lucas. Each was dressed in a dark suit, with only a different-coloured cravat to distinguish them.

  “Perhaps the stocky gentleman with the blonde hair?” Mrs Rothers replied.

  “No! Surely not. He is far too old. Mr Lucas is, I believe, only thirty.”

  “You seem to know a lot about him.” Mrs Rothers fanned herself with the programme.

  “I know a little, but that gentleman you indicated is at least forty-five. I'll wager you five pounds he is that man seated over there.” Louise pointed to a gentleman sitting on the front row. “He is clearly not a member of the audience; he is holding notes and drawings of the bridge.” As Mrs Rothers was about to answer, that same man stood up, placed his notes onto the oak reading stand and waited for the audience to fall silent.

  “Good afternoon,” he said when the room hushed. “I'm Charles Lucas, and in today's lecture I will be talking to you about my bridge across the Tamar.”

  “You owe me five pounds,” Louise whispered to Mrs Rothers with a mischievous grin. Much to Louise's pleasure, the lecture was a much more agreeable experience than the previous day's. Mr Lucas spoke about his suspension bridge with much enthusiasm, and Louise eagerly took notes.

  Despite her previous protestations to Mrs Rothers, Louise did notice how tall Mr Lucas was, and how his dark hair suited his dark eyes.Though perhaps not particularly handsome in the conventional way, he was certainly not unpleasant to look at. He possessed a confidence that surpassed any plainness in the face. His eyes scanned his audience, gauging their reaction as he spoke. Though he was a little serious in his countenance, she supposed speaking to such a large amount of people must make him at least a little nervous. She wasn't disappointed with the man she had heard so much of. His partnership, Lucas and Ashton, was well known throughout engineering circles as one of the best, and if she was a little in awe, then it only showed in her concentration an
d wide eyes while she listened.

  She had a myriad of questions to ask him, but she didn't dare while he spoke; her usual confidence temporarily escaped her. Strange, she wasn't usually this controlled when she was eager with queries. But she didn't want to disturb him or miss anything he said. He talked of the bridge design competition, of his inspiration, his visit to the site where the bridge would be built, and his project plan for the building schedule. She wrote it all down in her notebook, until her pencil was blunted.

  When Mr Lucas finished speaking, forty-five minutes later, he asked his attentive listeners for questions. Louise's hand shot up in the air immediately. “Why do you think your design was chosen above the others submitted?” she asked in a clear voice.

  “Well, obviously the judges decided it was the best design,” he replied with a smile.

  A small ripple of laughter went through the lecture hall.

  Louise ignored the audience reaction and asked, “Did you see the other designs before they were submitted?”

  “No, but I have seen them since, and I can assure you the judges chose wisely.”

  More laughter.

  “Do you think you would have won the competition if Mr Brunel had entered it?”

  The auditorium hushed in an instant. Then there were a few whispers around her. Several people in front of her turned and stared at her. She thought she heard someone mutter “Impudent”. Mr Lucas was momentarily speechless. His expression grew serious and he answered in a business-like tone, “We will never know. I was a little disappointed that Mr Brunel didn't enter, but other projects take up most of his time these days. Or so I hear.”

  Louise glanced at her list of questions. “Is work started on the bridge?”

  “Yes. Some of the preliminary work has begun.”

  “How many men will you need?”

  “Current estimates are three hundred,” he answered.

  “Do you think there will be many casualties amongst your workers?”

  “I hope not. So far I have an exemplary record in that regard. The safety of my workers is of paramount importance to me, unlike some other engineers.”

  “How will you choose your contractors? Will you simply pick the cheapest?”

  “Absolutely not. I will choose the best. I'm very careful to judge my contractors on their past experience and success.” He gave her an earnest stare, as though adding weight to his words.

  Louise felt Mrs Rothers’s hand on her arm and a swift glance at her friend told her she should keep from asking anything else.

  More questions ensued from others in the audience, and Mr Lucas answered with equal attention. Louise thought they asked rather basic things and wondered how he didn't lose patience; she found his restraint admirable.

  When the questions finished, Mr Lucas was awarded a round of applause and people began to leave. Mrs Rothers turned to her friend. “Did he meet with your approval?”

  Louise gave a wide smile. “Of course. I only have one complaint. . .”

  “Yes?”

  “He didn't talk for long enough.”

  They both stood up and made their way to the aisle.

  “I expect you will want to view the bridge design at the front?” Mrs Rothers asked.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. I will see you again tomorrow; take as long as you need.”

  Mrs Rothers started to walk away, then turned back for a brief moment, “My dear, when you speak to Mr Lucas again, try not to scare him.”

  It was a few minutes before Louise could find a way through the throng to look at the bridge design more closely. But eventually, she was allowed the luxury of examining the documents closely. She pulled out her notebook again, and started to sketch the bridge.

  “I hope you're not planning to use my design to enter a competition on your own?” Louise heard a voice say in a deep amused tone directly behind her.

  “Oh, no!” she blushed, turning around and meeting Mr Lucas's cobalt eyes for a moment, “I – er, I just wished to get the impression of the design so that I wouldn't forget.”

  His tone became more serious. “I think if you were to see the other entries, and know something about the terrain where the bridge must be built, you would see why they chose mine.”

  “It's a difficult place to build?” She knew something of the locality, it was only forty miles from her estate, but she could comprehend little of the difficulties of building a bridge.

  “Not particularly, but the clay soil near the Tamar makes many standard designs unsuitable.”

  She inclined her head. “Very interesting. And that is why yours was chosen above the others?”

  “It was one of the main reasons, yes. But there were other aspects the panel liked too. It will hold a substantially larger amount of weight because of the height of the rungs and the specific type of steel.” He added with a gleam in his eye, “And I think they liked the shape of the towers.”

  She gave a small laugh, then checked herself. She sounded like a flirtatious school girl. “I read your article in the Engineering Journal,” she said in a more serious tone. “The one about the railway tunnel under the Pennines. Do you think it will ever be done? I heard there is still much opposition from the locals.”

  “You read the Engineering Journal?” A smile played on his lips and she noticed what a difference it made to his face.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I don't understand all of it, but I try my best. I wish sometimes that there was another journal, or a dictionary that explained the more complicated aspects of engineering, but then I suppose it's not written for people like me. I only seem to get the general idea of things most of the time.”

  He nodded, not offering any other response. “Are you going to publish an article on your bridge design?” she asked, after an awkward pause.

  “I haven't thought of it, but now that you mention it, I probably will.”

  “Then I'll look forward to reading it.”

  “I will make sure the bridge design is also printed.” Then he added, “So that you will not forget it and rely on your own sketches.” He twisted his head to look at her sketch.

  “I apologise for my appalling artwork.” She blushed a little. “I have never been talented in the arts, and I have failed to do your design any justice.”

  “It's no matter. I spent many hours drawing and perfecting my design, I wouldn't expect anyone to be able to copy it so quickly.” He leaned towards her and said quietly, “If the truth be known, I'm not a great artist either.”

  She was grateful for his admission but simply smiled in return.

  “Did you attend the lecture yesterday?” she asked.

  “No, I had a prior appointment.”

  Louise was about to comment on how awful she had found the lecture when they were interrupted.

  “Ah, Louise, I thought you'd be here. I knew you couldn't resist a chance to hear Charles Lucas talk about his bridge.”

  They both turned around to see a tall blond gentleman approaching. “Lord Philip!” she exclaimed. “I wondered when I would get to see you.”

  They greeted each other with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. Mr Lucas retreated.

  “I think you've frightened him off with all your questions,” Lord Philip whispered and looked over to the other side of the room where Mr Lucas now stood.

  “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” Louise commented. She watched Mr Lucas talking to a gentleman she concluded was probably his partner, Mr Ashton.

  She sighed. “I had more questions for him too, and now he is gone! He didn't answer my questions about the tunnel either.” She shook her head. “Ah well, it seems I have lost my chance, but I do hope it wasn't out of offence at my queries. I would do anything rather than displease a man such as he. He is quite famous, you know.”

  Philip offered his arm, and she took it. He led her to the door and before she left she took one last look at Mr Lucas.

  “Robert Adams chose well to invest in
his work,” she said.

  “Indeed,” Philip replied and followed her gaze. “Robert Adams always chooses his investments carefully.”

  The pair left the Institute and decided to walk about St James's Park to enjoy the last of the warm September sunshine. They made their way out to the more pleasing grass. Avoiding the pathways, they headed to where the ground was littered with the first fallen leaves, a hint of the autumn to come. A cool breeze rustled the brown and green of the landscaped trees. Louise looked around the park. London was so much more pleasant when the sun shined, and only half so oppressive.

  “Why did you not come and see me sooner?” she asked in a playful tone. “I’ve been in London nearly four days.” She studied his face for a moment. His brown eyes had lines underneath them, but otherwise his features were not altered from the last time she had seen him.

  Lord Philip gave a dismissive laugh. “Well, you know me, I’ve been busy, my dear cousin.”

  “Doing what exactly?” she asked, looking at him with shrewd eyes.

  He replied with a shrug and she knew he wouldn't answer even if she pressed the issue. Perhaps it was better not to know. Over the years she had heard many stories about her cousin's escapades; several of which involved widowed ladies of dubious reputation. But he was always the perfect gentleman to her and as one of her few blood relatives, she valued his advice and steadfast character. If she ever needed help, she knew he would do everything he could to assist.

  “Our friendship is very one-sided, Philip,” she commented after a few minutes.

  “My dear, you know it's best that we don't spend too much time together, otherwise people will start to talk,” he said in a dry tone.

  “They do enough of that about you already without any encouragement. However much we say that we will never marry, someone is always saying we might or should. This strange notion that first cousins should wed has always been odd to me.”

  “I suppose some like to keep their wealth in the family whatever the cost, but to me it's a peculiar idea.” He led her past the lake and they stopped for a moment and watched the swans.

  “Sometimes I have the impression your mother would have us marry,” Louise said.