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pledged to award a colossal monetary prize to the first man or woman who discovers and donates a lost or legendary technological invention of historical significance to her majesty’s British Science Museum in honor of her beloved Prince Albert. An additional £500,000 will be awarded for the rarest and most spectacular of all submissions.Address all inquiries to P. B. Waddington of the Jubilee Science Committee.
     
    Blinkin’ hell!
    Unable to believe her eyes, Amelia read the article twice. Last night, between bittersweet dreams of working alongside her father and heart-wrenching nightmares of dreams going up in smoke, she’d tossed and turned, praying for a miracle that would bring Papa back, scrambling for a way to replenish the family fortune. Now this! Amelia launched out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown and slippers, then dashed downstairs. Heart racing, she burst into the dining room, a cramped area made even smaller by her twin brothers’ bigger-than-life presence. Forgoing pleasantries, she waved the paper and blurted her news. “I know how to rescue the family name and fortune!”
    “By discovering a lost invention?” Jules asked.
    “Winning a global race?” Simon added.
    “How…”
    Each of her brothers flashed a missive.
    “‘Given your family’s reputation as innovators, adventurers, and visionaries,’” Jules read aloud from his letter, “‘you have been specifically targeted and are hereby enthusiastically invited to participate in a global race for fame and fortune.’”
    “‘Royal rejuvenation,’” Simon said, skimming his own missive. “‘Colossal monetary prize…legendary technological invention…’”
    “Yes, yes!” Amelia smacked the rolled newspaper to her palm. “It’s all here. In the
Informer
!”
    “As well as the
London Daily
,” Jules said, tapping the newspaper next to his plate.
    Simon held up a third newspaper. “And the
Victorian Times
.”
    Encouraged, Amelia paced between the ornately carved china cabinet and the matching ten-seat dining table, thepaper now tucked beneath her arm. “So the contest
must
be authentic.” Unlike the
Informer
, the
Daily
and the
Times
were respected newspapers. They’d verify the story, and they wouldn’t embellish the facts. “How extraordinary!”
    “Indeed,” Jules said.
    “Even more extraordinary is the fact that you both received personal invitations,” she went on. “But from whom?”
    “That, dear sister, is a mystery,” Simon said. “No signature. No return address.”
    “Just a contact name,” Jules said. “P. B. Waddington.”
    Amelia stopped in her tracks as a vexing thought occurred. “As a member of this family and something of an adventurer myself, why did I not receive a personal invitation?”
    Her brothers glanced at her seat at the table. There, next to her place setting—an envelope. Amelia beamed as she retrieved and read the formal invitation addressed specifically to her. “When did these letters arrive?”
    “This morning,” Simon said.
    “This is a
gift
!” Amelia exclaimed. “The answer to our misfortune. Were any one of us to succeed, we would bring glory to the Darcy name, restore honor to Papa’s memory, and be set monetarily, all of us, for life! How can you be so blasé?” she asked Jules.
    “Have you ever known him to show exuberance?” Simon asked.
    “I sent a Teletype to Waddington,” Jules said, “inquiring about specifics. I also contacted a friend within the science museum. I’m reserving my exuberance based on their responses.”
    “If Ashford had a modern telephone, as does most every household in England,” Simon said, “you could have spoken to them directly.”
    Her brothers, accustomed to the advanced technology still thriving in London, in spite of the queen’s efforts to suppress it, had also remarked upon Ashford’s use ofgas lighting when the house had been recently wired with electricity. Perceiving electricity as evil technology perpetuated by