December 25, 1885.
This year, to celebrate the new beginnings signified by Evie’s recent marriage, the Yule log her family had chosen was birch.
She leaned her head on Ash’s shoulder and smiled, more content than she’d thought possible. Though it was cozy here before the fire, they needed to depart soon. Tomorrow, weather permitting, she and her new husband traveled north to Boroughbridge where they would spend the remainder of the year with his family.
Christmas Day had been spent with her own, but the hour now grew late.
While Beatrix and her husband struggled to settle their six young, overstimulated, over-fed children in their beds, Papa—rum in hand—expounded upon the many merits of his next voyage. A final attempt to convince them to float with him across the Atlantic. Few airships did so, as the crossing was long and not without its perils. Among the many irritants to airship captains was the requirement of a water-bound, steamer escort that would carry the necessary coal supplies to power them over the ocean.
“Are you certain you’re not interested in speaking with the Mayans about their plants?” Papa lifted an eyebrow, directing his question at the newlyweds. He and Davy, still as thick as thieves, were set to pilot an airship to British Honduras. “An entire wing could be added, all aimed at growing the medicinal plants of the New World. Certainly the Lister Institute would approve such a working honeymoon? Come with me.”
The past year had passed in a happy blur.
Living in Oxford and spending her days inside the Bodleian Library surrounded by ancient books had been a rare privilege she would cherish always—with Ash’s frequent visits the highlight of many a weekend. Not that she’d let thoughts of him distract her. Well, not much. During the days and weeks they were apart, she’d managed to not only complete her monograph, but to compose two more.
Ash too had been productive. After the review committee had enthusiastically approved their joint project, he’d thrown himself into its oversight, gathering and planting every flower, herb, shrub or weed they’d deemed of interest—all while successfully luring scientists into the greenhouse to discuss the project’s research potential.
Already, two laboratories had undertaken studies yielding promising results. And a third now studied a particular mistletoe, yew and elder solution that held a deep, personal significance.
Last Christmas, she and Ash had compounded the mistletoe, yew and elder solution discovered within Hardwicke’s Leechbook and forced it upon her father before he floated away to Japan. It had been a stunning success.
Delivered by hypodermic needle as a subcutaneous injection over the course of nine weeks, it had effected the complete and total eradication of her father’s skin lesion, a cure that had renewed Papa’s exuberance for travel and brought him out of retirement.
Additionally, following the events of last December when they’d helped the Queen’s agents lock away a murderer, the board was well-pleased with Evie and Ash, granting their every request.
However…
Ash tightened his arm about her shoulders. “There’s little chance of convincing Mr. Davies to let your daughter float to the new world after relinquishing her talents to Oxford for months on end.” He smiled at her, skimming his fingertips lightly atop the fine silk of her sleeve and sending shivers of anticipation down her spine. “He grows especially impatient for her to resume work upon the detailed translation of Hardwicke’s Leechbook.”
“Suit yourselves.” Papa huffed. He was forever attempting to lure her—and now her husband—on a globe-trotting adventure despite repeated assurances that she and Ash were quite content to remain here in foggy old England. “We’ll be abroad for some time. I’m of a mind to take a gander at these Mayan temples Maudslay and others are finding in the jungle.”
“Well, Papa.” Evie rose, kissing her father upon the cheek. Fascinating though these archeological ruins no doubt were, contemplating their exploration was not at all how she intended to spend the remainder of her evening. “It’s time the newlyweds made their way home.”
Goodbyes were said, cheeks kissed and hugs exchanged. Coats were collected, mittens donned, scarves wrapped and, at last, a crank hack hailed.
“Finally.” Ash slipped an arm around her waist, nibbling softly at her ear as they rattled and bumped along the street. “Must we return home, my fairy queen?”
Her heart rate jumped, sending a rush of warmth through her veins. Anticipation, heightened by long glances and stolen touches, had kept her teetering on the edge of desire the entire day. Though their bed was snug, cozy and soft, other… opportunities existed tonight.
“When the Lister greenhouse is so rarely empty?” She slipped a hand along Ash’s thigh, eliciting a groan. “You need to ask?”
Thank you for reading A Snowflake at Midnight, An Elemental Steampunk Tale.
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A speeding train. A determined villain. A reconciliation of broken hearts.
Lady Alice Hemsworth wasn’t supposed to fall in love. It was her duty not to. Alas, she’d failed miserably. Mr. Benjamin Leighton—despite being turned away by her steam butler—can’t stop thinking about her. Alone, both are miserable—until a deadly encounter throws them together on the night train to London.
Keep reading for the opening chapters of The Golden Spider