The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

the walls of the massive hall, loaded with the latest delicacies from around the world.
    There were also a number of new oddities on display. Her father shared her love of brass-work and enjoyed displaying his collection in a most unusual way. Tureens full of creamy soup were held aloft by gleaming stands. A candle in the bottom-center of each one kept the soup warm while mechanical arms reached up and over to gently stir the pots, keeping the rare ingredients from separating. They were to serve when a guest approached and pushed a polished lever. Dessert stands shaped like golden trees were rigged to tiny motors; each large flat leaf held a petit four or miniature éclair that spun delicately to the music.
    Some of the older guests were amazed at the idea of food in the ballroom, but it had been rumored to be the latest style from Paris and so must be included. And just as Marguerite predicted, they had not heard of the popularity of rouge. She accomplished her mini scandal after all, much to her delight.
    “Quite impressive, Father.” She knew her father was disappointed with her lack of enthusiasm at the selection of young men; she wanted to make sure he knew she wasn’t completely let down.
    “Thank you, dear. If it wasn’t considered completely uncouth I’d have the bots polished up and in here serving as well.” He giggled at his own joke, lighthearted after too much wine. “But I am trying to get my only daughter a good match this evening. Anything look promising? I believe you’re to dance with Jean Delacourte next?” Her father raised his bushy white eyebrows hopefully.
    “Yes, I believe I am.” Marguerite sighed.
    “He’s a bit of a pretty boy, isn’t he?” Her father watched her face closely now, aware of her lack of merriment. “Not your type?”
    “No, I’m afraid there isn’t anyone of my ‘type’ here tonight, Father.” She gazed out upon the sea of happy faces, feeling a bit melancholy and bored. Her dress, so beautiful in the shop and so amusing to parade down the grand staircase in, now felt more like a straightjacket. The delicious foods on the fanciful serving dishes filled her stomach but left her fancy flat after a while. She wished now that Outil hadn’t been so good at cinching corsets.
    “What exactly is your ‘type’ then, my daughter?” Lord Vadnay climbed through the giddiness of the wine to grasp the situation at hand.
    Marguerite had never wondered this before. Who did she want to spend the rest of her life with? What did she want in a husband, a companion? Who did she want to see waiting for her in her father’s study when he was gone? Her eyes moved back to the whirring and clicking contraptions holding all the refreshments together, pushing them up and beckoning for the guests to partake. Each and every one had been designed and handcrafted by Claude and the other smithies of the estate. They kept everything from the aership to the bots running in top shape and created every new marvel her father dreamed up. They were so capable, so reliable. Claude was so reliable.
    Claude—large and graceful, dusty and sweaty, to the point when speaking and more patient than a late summer’s day when listening. She thrust her hand into her hidden pocket to feel the cool metal of the little bug he’d made her. A warmth filled her heart and crept into her eyes as she thought about his imminent departure.
    “I suggest you figure it out quickly, my dear, or I will have to help you decide and you know I’m not keen on that idea.” Her father had never been a patient man; loving and kind, yes, but patience was not a virtue he developed. “Ahh, here comes Sir Delacourte. Put a smile on that drab face of yours or they’ll all be stalking out before you make any sort of impression.”
    He was right; she had the upper hand in the whole game, the daughter of the wealthiest lord in the west of France, but the suitors also had a choice. Even the most financially desperate of them could