Free The Earl of Brass (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 1) by Kara Jorgensen Page A

stupid arm. Does she think I want to be this way? That I like it?”
    “I think, like all mothers, she only wants to protect you.” Patrick gathered up the clothing strewn around the room, giving Eilian a chance to pull himself together. “She doesn’t want others to speak ill of you, and she probably believes your prosthesis will provide enough normalcy to keep them quiet. I’m sure it’s hard for her to see you hurt and know there’s nothing she can do to fix it.”
    “So making me miserable and trying to find me a wife is her way of fixing me?”
    The butler loosened the upper strap that still encumbered his friend’s arm and soundlessly placed the prosthesis on the dresser. “As misguided as her attempts are, your mother only wants you to be happy. Shall I put your dressings on before you go to bed?”
    With a sniff and a sigh, the young man nodded and raised the stump to allow the butler to carry out their nightly ritual. Across his shoulder and on the gnarled flesh of his arm were sore, chafed stripes from the tight straps of the artificial arm. As Patrick applied the petroleum jelly to the old burns, he could make out the glaringly fresh scars normalcy was leaving on his master.

 
     
Chapter Eight:
     
    Unfinished Projects
     
     
    The wooden stool squeaked as Hadley strained to reach the last volume on the top shelf of George’s workshop bookcase. Thus far most of the books had been old ledgers dating back to when their father had run the business. She had decided to go through all of them to make sure that while George was sick and after he passed, all the prostheses had been completed and paid for. Hadley returned to Adam’s desk and flipped to the last written page. Eilian Sorrell, the Viscount Sorrell, prosthetic right forearm was the first and only entry in the ledger. Her heart sank knowing he hadn’t lived long enough to see the project to completion, but she resolutely crossed out the name as the bill had been paid months ago. As she picked the book up to return it back to the shelf, the tome leapt from her hands, landing splayed on the floor and sending scraps of parchment down the hall. Thinking they were receipts, she quickly scooped them into a pile without even a glance until she reached the last one. An arm that terminated at the elbow but was mechanized was drawn in her brother’s familiar hand.
    As she studied the schematic more closely, her quiet nostalgia turned to keen interest. Hadley’s mind raced as she rapidly laid all the slips of paper on Adam’s desk, trying to see the connections between her brother’s scattered ideas. He had made calculations, notes on anatomy, results from his experiments with various metals, and a list of problems he had not yet worked out. It was something she had always thought was out of reach, something they would never be able to create, but there it was in nearly full fruition with only a few dots left to connect. Why did he not tell me about this? As she reached the last unread scrap, she realized he had hit a dead-end. His handwriting shifted from strong to spidery and light with droplets of ink blotted throughout. It was clear to her that he had given up on the project when his consumption had worsened. A pang of grief bloomed in her chest as she understood that he may have known he would never complete the project, which was why he abandoned it without mentioning it to anyone. With one last look at the list of obstacles, she gathered up the bits of paper, stuffed them into her carpet bag, and ran out to the street to hail a steamer. She knew exactly who could help her.
    “To Wimpole Street, please!” she called as she climbed aboard before the driver could help her up. The moment the steamer reached the top of the cobblestone street, she paid the driver and darted out onto the pavement. Wimpole Street was busy as usual, crawling with patients visiting physicians’ offices and doctors as they made their way back to their practices after