Rand approached from behind Winthrop and dropped a heavy hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Winthrop.”
Winthrop stiffened, then whirled. For a split second, his expression was aghast, but he immediately recovered, summoning a tight smile and drawing himself up in a vain attempt to look down his nose at Rand.
Rand simply waited.
Eventually forced to it, Winthrop inclined his head and managed a rather stilted bow. “Lord Cavanaugh.”
As he straightened, Winthrop noticed who was standing by Rand’s side, and his expression faltered. “What...?” Then he swallowed and glared. “What are you doing here, boy?”
Clive smiled. “If you recall, we met earlier, Uncle.”
Winthrop’s color rose.
Before he could splutter at Clive, Rand drew Winthrop’s silk handkerchief from his pocket. “I believe this is yours, Winthrop.”
Winthrop stared at the handkerchief, focusing on the embroidered initials Rand held displayed. From tending puce, Winthrop’s face paled to a pasty hue.
“Obviously, you forgot that your handkerchiefs were so distinctive.” Rand returned the incriminating evidence to his pocket. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know where we found it—and its mate. I doubt you could concoct a story that would explain that away.”
Winthrop drew in a shuddering breath, then switched his choleric stare to his nephew. “You ungrateful pup! What have you done?”
“What Mayhew has done, Winthrop,” Rand stated, “is to save you from the Tower and a very bad end.”
Winthrop blinked. “What?”
“If Mayhew hadn’t told me of your attempt at interfering with the Throgmorton invention, and I hadn’t been prompted to check the engine, and in the very nick of time, assisted by Mayhew and Miss Throgmorton, managed to release the valves you’d tied down, then the engine would have exploded.” Rand’s voice hardened; his tone darkened. “Exploded, Winthrop, with the Prince and his advisors, and several other members of the nobility, standing beside it. For your information, the last time the Throgmorton engine exploded, the boiler ruptured—thick copper peeled back like a grape. The carnage...doesn’t bear thinking about. So that’s what your nephew has accomplished—by his redeeming actions, prompted by his better self, he saved others from death and you from being hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
Winthrop’s color had progressively worsened. He looked ill, his jaw slack. “I... I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Scorn rang in Rand’s tone. “Your antipathy toward steam-powered inventions is well known—your ignorance of them can be inferred. Consequently, no one in the investment community or more generally will find our story at all hard to believe.”
A spectrum of emotions flitted across Winthrop’s face, horror, dismay, and panic among them. He shifted, then, apparently, realized there was nowhere for him to run. Nowhere Rand would allow him to hide.
Winthrop cleared his throat. “Wh-what do you want?” When Rand arched his brows, Winthrop clarified, “To...er, help you forget this incident.” He glanced vaguely toward where the steam carriage, with William John behind the wheel and a delighted Albert perched beside him, was rolling smoothly up the hall toward the open doors. “The damned thing’s a raging success. No harm done, and all’s well that ends well, heh?”
Rand studied Winthrop long enough to make the older man shift uneasily and glance at Mayhew—as if gauging his chances of his nephew somehow stepping in and rescuing him.
“I think,” Rand said, drawing Winthrop’s gaze back to his face, “that the first thing you need to do is to show your gratitude to your nephew for his sterling service in protecting your health by paying all his debts. Every last one.”
Stiffly, Winthrop nodded. “Of course.” He shot a look at Mayhew. “You gave me the total, didn’t you?”
His expression one of wonder, Mayhew slowly nodded. “Yes. That’s all of them.”
“When I return to London, I will send you a draft.” Winthrop cleared his throat. “And perhaps, in the circumstances, I should add a stipend—a regular payment?”
Rand fought to hide a grin and inclined his head. “I think that would be most appropriate.” Winthrop thought—possibly correctly—that such a payment would ensure no future mention of his misdeeds within his family.
Mayhew rose to the occasion and half bowed to his relative. “Thank you, Uncle. That would, indeed, be a kindness.”
One all of them were well aware Winthrop could easily afford.
“Now,” Rand said, “returning to the world of inventions, Winthrop, as this incident has demonstrated beyond question that you have not the first understanding of modern machines, I suggest it’s time you admitted as much and retired from investing in this and associated fields.”
Winthrop looked as if he was having trouble catching his breath. Rand arched a coolly censorious brow. “Don’t you agree?”
Winthrop pressed his lips together, then jerkily nodded. “Yes, all right. I hate all this newfangled nonsense—the railways were bad enough.” Glancing at Rand, his peevish gaze indicating he knew what Rand wanted of him, Winthrop continued, “I’ll give it out that I’m retiring from all investments in machines of any kind. If any of my clients wish to invest in such projects, I’ll steer them your way.”
Rand suppressed a satisfied smile and inclined his head. “I believe we understand one another. I will, of course, be leaving a report on today’s incident, along with the evidence”—he patted the pocket in which Winthrop’s handkerchief resided—“with those I trust.”