“Poor chap! That’s not—”
The man in question stalked into the room. He was smudged from engineering. Just like Quesnel to check the boilers before seeking his repast.
“Who’s a poor chap? Aren’t you two the jammiest bits of jam this evening?” Quesnel beamed at them before piling his plate with ham, eggs, and stewed tomato.
Technically it was suppertime but since the Custard kept supernatural hours, the first meal after sunset was treated as breakfast. In consequence, the officers were not waited upon at table and did not stand on ceremony.
Primrose said, “You are, actually.”
“Of course I am. Can you not see me suffering?” He nibbled on a bit of toast while mixing together his eggs and tomatoes. It was as though the events of the past few nights were now nothing to him but mere boyish larks.
“You look positively miserable.” Rue was deadpan.
Primrose looked back and forth between them with suspiciously bright eyes.
She wouldn’t dare!
“I’ve just realised I must consult Cook about supplies. I neglected to include Lady Maccon’s enthusiasm for pudding in my calculations. I should do it now, before next meal’s preparations commence.”
Apparently she would dare. Primrose pushed the tea tray in Rue’s direction. “You can play mother for a change. Pot’s full, milk is there, you pour like so.” She made a pouring gesture with her wrist. “Not too complicated for you?”
Rue gave her a dour look.
Quesnel stood to bow Prim out, still holding his toast.
Primrose, grinning, made a show of closing the door, leaving Rue and Quesnel alone.
Quesnel sat back down. “Was it something I said?”
“You? Never. You seldom put a single word out of place. It’s exasperating.”
“Here I thought you found me utterly charming.”
“It would be nice if I could trust something charming you said to also be honest.”
“Don’t talk gammon. You prefer frivolity.”
No time like the present. Rue tried to stop her voice from trembling. “Quesnel.”
Quesnel sliced off a bit of ham. “Mmm?”
“I must apologise. I didn’t mean to call you thoughtless. I was annoyed with you for egging Percy on and I was upset about my father’s condition. I took it out on you, which was wrong of me.”
The inventor swallowed his ham. “Apology accepted. You had quite the shock.”
Rue took a shaky breath. “How long have you known?”
“About your father’s predicament?”
Rue nodded.
“Since before you recruited me. Chérie, I never realised that you didn’t know. I assumed you simply didn’t want to talk about a private family matter.”
“And you going off to Egypt?”
“Had nothing to do with him. It was a favour to my mother. She asked me to visit an old friend.”
Rue nodded. “It seemed suspicious, you must own, especially now we’re are headed there ourselves.”
“My dearest girl, I assure you, it’s pure coincidence.”
“And the tank?”
“Is not being used for its intended purpose. I did not build it for your father. Werewolf aetherosphere transport is an exciting new application for the technology, but innovative. Neither my mother nor I had that kind of forethought. We are inventors, not seers.”
“Very well. I believe you.” And Rue did. Partly because Quesnel would certainly take credit if it were due – he was no shrinking violet when praise of intellect was in the offing – and partly because she didn’t have a choice.
“There’s nothing else I should know about Egypt? No other personal connections?”
Quesnel stopped, arrested. “You think it was a woman? You think I flew leagues out of my way for a dalliance?”
Rue blinked at him. Actually, the thought hadn’t occurred to her but it was possible. He was the type to dash across continents in pursuit of a soprano or opera dancer – or something else prone to humming and gyrating about.
“I assure you, my acquaintance in Egypt is quite grandfatherly.”
“I wasn’t… that is… I didn’t…”
Quesnel grinned, showing his dimples. “I like to think you might be a little jealous.”
Rue sighed. She was terrible at playing the coquette. That was supposed to be one of the things he taught her. “Have I reason to be jealous?”
“Certainly not.”
“Is that because you’ve not had the will or the opportunity?”
Quesnel stopped smiling and put down his fork. He came around the table to kneel next to her chair.
“Chérie, I am not so much a rake as I have been painted. Every experience of mine has been my sole focus at the time, to the exclusion of all others. Do you take my meaning?”
Rue nodded. Thrilled a little by both his statement and his proximity. That meant she would get to keep him for herself, while it lasted.
He continued, still un-Quesnel-like in his seriousness. “But you are.”
“I’m what?” Rue was suddenly interested in crumbling her toast.