Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(98)

If she could only get the proportions right, she could complete the new cleaning potion that had been rattling around in her brain for the past few months. Something that would make cleaning the ovens easier. Something that would keep Cook and the scullery maids from having to exhaust themselves polishing the hob.

Something that would dissolve grease and burnt food.

Dissolve things.

A laugh snuck out of her mouth, lifted the heaviness from her heart for a moment. She had it, the key to making Edison’s disodorizers actually disodorize.

Formic acid.

The acid would neutralize the reaction between the bicarbonate and the silica gel that made his mixtures smoke instead of absorb odors.

She pulled her small scale close and began grabbing jars off the shelves above. First she measured the bicarbonate into a clean bowl. She was just measuring out a gram of silica when a peculiar rolling, clacking sound broke her concentration.

A flash of gold shone in the windows. Ada gaped at the frost-covered lawn. Edison’s automaton was trundling down the path toward her laboratory.

Even as she tried to rein it in, a fizzy wave of hope tingled through her limbs. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare disturb the dreamlike image.

Her gaze raked over the lawn, lingering on the corners and the shadows behind the windows into the house. Edison himself nowhere to be seen, a fact that served to flatten her first, hopeful response.

Still frozen, she had to rush to open the door when it appeared the automaton intended to enter.

Its small wheels caught on the doorsill, threatening to pitch the machine over on its head, but the engine inside growled, and propelled it up over the small impediment.

The butler lurched through the doorway, stopping just inside the room. One pipestem arm articulated upwards, a delicate vase holding a sprig of hothouse violets clutched in his pincers.

“For you.” Edison’s deep voice, spiced with a metallic ring, boomed from the speaker in the butler’s chest.

The butler thrust the vase toward her, but as it did, the pincers clenched, shattering the thin glass.

“Oh dear.” Ada plucked the last of the violets from the metal fingers. The stems were mashed, making the small bouquet look sadly forlorn.

Vulnerable.

Even as she clutched the sad little collection to her chest, she whirled around, searching for him.

Much as she tried to stop it, her heart soared. He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t mean to fix things, would he?

Just as she was beginning to despair, Edison’s broad frame filled the doorway.

He looked tired. Rumpled. Completely irresistible.

She wanted to rush into his arms. But she wouldn’t. Not until she was certain of his intentions.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Sweet?” she asked, trying for a neutral, measured tone.

Edison looked at his butler, at the water and the shards of glass puddled together on the floor along with a few macerated violet stems.

“I thought if I sent Otto in, he’d make less of a hash of this than I would.” His shoulders lifted in a great sigh. “Seems I was wrong about that, too.”

“Not at all.” Hope bubbled up again, making her feel light and giddy. He’d sent the automaton in to test the waters. Was he really so fearful of her response?

The thought made her heart beat faster. “He has a certain appeal.”

Edison looked unconvinced. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” Ada patted the machine on the head. “Just when one is ready to toss him to the curb, one finds oneself inexplicably charmed.” She smiled shyly. “Much like his creator.”

Head down, hands in his pockets, Edison nodded. Though it was hard to see his face, Ada thought she caught the edge of a smile.

“Why don’t you come in?” she offered.

Before Edison could answer, Otto sprang to life with a metallic squeak and a whir of gears. The automaton whirled about, flinging drops of water around the room.

“…a-r-r-ry me?” The words, clipped and broken, surged out of his speaker. “A-a-d-da, w-o-uld you m-m-arry m-m-me-e?”

“Damned machine.” Edison brought a fist down on Otto’s pointed head. The automaton spun down. His arms dropped to his sides with a sharp clank.

Surprise and laughter collided with relief and hope and a million other bright, shiny emotions.

Edison did want her. The silly man just had no idea how to ask.

It took a mighty effort for Ada to refrain from launching herself into his arms. “Jumped the gun, did he?”

Edison bit his lip. “I wasn’t sure you’d see me, so I—”

Ada held her hand out, stopping him. “No need to explain.”

“There isn’t?” Edison scratched his cheek, clearly bewildered.

He searched her face, as if trying to divine her thoughts.

Ada folded her arms across her chest and concentrated on appearing calm and serene. She couldn’t make this part easy for him. He had to want it as much as she did.

And she had to know it.

Edison cleared his throat. “We get along like phosphorus and salt.”

“Sodium and potassium,” she added.

“Exactly.” He reached for her hands, and pulled her to him, until the heat from his body radiated across the few inches separating them. “Lots of sparks and a fair amount of friction.”