The Princess & the Pea Read Online Free PDF Page A

follies these days." Emily said under her breath.
    Quentin ushered her through the doorway. "Well, my dear, it is 1895. We're on the dawn of a new century. Think of all the wonders that lie ahead. This is the most exciting period in the history of mankind. And what is a folly today may well be commonplace tomorrow. By the by, tell me about that other folly you referred to ..."
    They strolled out of sight and their voices faded.
    Millicent reached for her tea and smiled with satisfaction. Even if she had failed to make a match between Quentin's father and Cece's mother during that first season so long ago, perhaps, now, with the son and the daughter—either daughter—she had another chance.
    The doors of the old stables were opened wide. Cece stood on the threshold, dividing the sunshine of the day behind her from the dark shadows within, and squinted in an effort to speed her eyes adjustment to the change of light.
    "Gracious!" Emily gasped. "What on earth are those contraptions?"
    "My dear lady." Quentin said, a teasing note in his voice, "they are not contraptions. They are what you so callously called my folly."
    Before her stood three—or at least it appeared to be three—separate and distinct mechanical creations, all in various stages of repair or, possibly, disrepair. What on earth were they? All metal and wire and spokes ...
    "Hell and damnation." Cece said under her breath.
    "Cece!" Emily said sharply.
    Cece barely heard her. She moved forward without thinking, a hand outstretched to touch—"Horseless carriages! How wonderful!" She circled the center vehicle eagerly, an odd crossbreed of a small two-seater buggy and a bicycle. With wheels out of all proportion to its size, it appeared a fanciful confection of levers and gears and ingenuity. Excitement quivered through her blood. "Does it work?"
    "Of course it works." A deep, laughter-filled voice sounded behind her. She whirled at the words and stared at the figure framed in the doorway. Bright sunlight behind him blinded her to anything but his silhouette: tall and broad-shouldered, he seemed to fill the space in the now somehow smaller stable.
    "Have you seen one before?"
    "I've seen pictures, of course, but only once in person. It didn't look anything like this, though. The horseless carriage I saw was more like an old wagon with a motor." She narrowed her eyes and peered at the dark form. "It was at the Exposition."
    "Really? What Exposition? Where? How did they—"
    "Jared." Quentin said with a laugh, "don't quiz the girl unmercifully."
    "Right, sorry." She could hear a grin in his words. The shadowed figure stepped aside and sunlight dappled his strong and handsome face. A dimple danced in one cheek and his eyes sparkled as dark and intense as the nearly black hair that curled softly around his ears. The man seemed to shimmer with barely bridled energy. "I tend to get carried away by all this." He waved toward the work.
    She pulled her gaze from his and studied the vehicles. "I can certainly see why. What part do you play in—" she repeated his gesture—"all this?"
    "This is my partner." Quentin nodded at the stranger. "Jared Grayson, the E—"
    "The brains of the entire endeavor." Jared cut in with a flourish and a bow. "At your service." His words were for everyone but his eyes were on Cece.
    "Brains, hah." Quentin said. "Don't forget it was my idea to substitute the petrol powered—"
    "Quite." Jared picked a rag off a wheel and wiped his hands casually. "It was also your convoluted design for a cooling mechanism that very nearly cost us our lives."
    "My goodness." Emily's eyes widened. "What happened?"
    "Nothing of consequence. Little more than a minor inconvenience." Quentin shrugged. "One has to expect to pay a certain price for progress."
    Jared leaned toward Cece, bringing the warm scents of sun and wind enticingly nearer. He lowered his voice confidentially. "We blew up three motors before we got it right." He glanced upward toward a nearby