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inventions.” She glanced at Simon. “Speak sense to him. Our chances are greater if—”
    “Sorry, Little Bit. I stand with our brother. Your place is here at Ashford with Mother.”
    “That is so very…Old World!”
    “It is sensible.” Jules offered a tender smile.
    “But I received an invitation,” she persisted. “A personal invitation!”
    “Curious, that,” Simon said.
    “And very New World,” Jules said. “To invite a female to participate in a potentially dangerous mission.”
    Amelia harrumphed. “I call it fair. I am qualified.”
    “You are also our sister,” Jules said. “How do you expect Simon and me to function properly if we are worried about you out in the world getting into God knows what trouble?”
    “But—”
    “It is settled.”
    When pigs fly.
Rather than argue the point, which would get her nowhere, Amelia clenched her fists and bit her tongue. Meanwhile her mind fixated on a very special invention indeed. Historical. Legendary. Thanks to her obsession with Leonardo da Vinci and his investigations into flight, Papa’s extensive catalog of scientific journals, and a secret letter, she knew exactly—well, almost precisely—where to find it. Or at least where to search. Unfortunately (or fortunately, considering it would entail a grand adventure), it meant traveling to Florence, Italy.
    “Time is of the essence,” Simon said.
    Amelia’s thoughts exactly.
    “I have a significant object in mind,” Jules said.
    Simon nodded. “As do I.”
    That makes three of us!
    “So we’ll—”
    “Absolutely. And upon occasion—”
    “Naturally.”
    “Twin conversations are both vexing and rude,” Amelia pointed out. Although they did not look exactly alike, Jules and Simon frequently knew each other’s thoughts, and therefore unfinished sentences were all the rage between them.
    Mouth quirked in a semblance of a smile, Jules nabbed his walking cane and ambled toward the door. “After speaking with Mother, I’ll leave directly for London. Harry can drive me to the station in Loco-Bug. Coming with?” he asked Simon.
    “No. I’ll be taking—”
    “Of course. Good luck with that.”
    Amelia refrained from pulling out her hair. “Good luck with what?”
    “The
Flying Cloud.
”
    “What?”
Amelia fairly pounced on her big, fairer brother’s back. She had planned to utilize the
Flying Cloud
—a salvaged and modified clipper ship fitted with a hot-air balloon and steam-engine components. An airship constructed by Papa and occasionally flown by Amelia, it rarely traveled far without breaking down, but she had new ideas on how to amend that.
    “You won’t be needing her,” Simon said with a brow raised in warning. “Although I do not doubt your determination and resourcefulness, Amelia, your strength and calm are needed here at Ashford. Mother is fragile.”
    Amelia started to argue the point, but was forced to concede that Anne Darcy was indeed stricken low. Learning that she was a widow, and then, worse, a disgraced, penniless widow, had thrown her into a severe tizzy, sending her bouncing between sobs and rants and dramatic swoons. Asshe was someone who cared greatly about keeping up appearances, the fact that her mother had dismissed a valuable servant was testament to her desperate mood. Although Amelia was most often at odds with her mother, in this instance she was very much attuned to the woman’s misery.
    All the more reason for Amelia to triple the Darcys’ chances of winning that astounding jubilee prize. Amelia’s alleviating the family’s financial woes would serve her mother far better than would her vexing company. No, she would not debate their mother’s mind-set. She would attack from another, wholly reasonable direction. “Although you are a skilled enough pilot, Simon, the
Flying Cloud
is unreliable.”
    “She won’t be after the upgrades.” He kissed Amelia’s forehead, then hurried after Jules.
    “What upgrades? Where are you taking her?