The Amazing Adventures of Acacia Carlisle: Blood & Steam, #1

By Kit Jennings

He took her family. She'll fly to ends of the Earth to get them back.

Acacia Carlisle's father is the great airship captain Robert Carlisle, infamous for carving out fame and fortune after starting with nothing. She longs to be just like him—soaring off on grand adventures whilst blazing a trail toward her own destiny, on her own terms.

When her brother Archie betrays the family by joining the crew of their staunchest rival, Robert loses no time in going after him. Baron Lindsey can mean nothing but bad news for the Carlisles. The Baron Lindsey, despite his title, isn't a privateer—he's an outright pirate.

Then the worst happens: Robert Carlisle's ship goes down in the Straits of Gibraltar. Acacia knows exactly who's responsible, and precisely needs to be done. Expectation and convention be damned.

Captain Drew McCallan has his own mysterious past with the Bloody Baron, one which requires answers. So when the headstrong daughter of his mentor and oldest friend comes knocking on his ship hull loaded for kraken, he has no qualms coming to an agreement that just might lead him to those answers.

Acacia and Drew are suitably matched in this high flying, high-stakes adventure that takes them across the world from Scotland to the Pyrenees, and then all the way to the African coast.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Speculative Ink
• Release date: Mar 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201523022

Book preview

The Amazing Adventures of Acacia Carlisle

BLOOD & STEAM #1

By Kit Jennings

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 2015 by Kit Jennings. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

In Which We Begin At The Beginning

Acacia Carlisle prided herself on being up for a challenge. The Skies knew she’d had plenty of practice.

For one, the Carlisles were Irish as well as nouveau riche, and the vaunted peerage of the realm was not particularly keen on either. For another, she was twenty-three, happily unmarried, and cared not one whit for what anyone outside the family thought of her. So instead of gnawing her nails to the quick over her husbandless state, she trimmed them quite cleanly, all the better to manage her work.

She pressed her palms against the leather folio on the desk before her, smoothing over the front cover. Inside represented more a year’s worth of work—maps, navigational routes, projected budgets and supply inventories. In short, everything needed to plan a lengthy journey to what amounted to the ends of the Earth. It had been her work, her master’s piece, and she couldn’t wait to show it to her father.

She only hoped it would be enough to persuade Captain Carlisle, known as the Raven of the High Winds for his infamous cunning, to take her with him. The time had come to leave the comfortable library of Glen Garrogh and gain practical experience in the field. She was ready to be his navigator in truth. To see their shared dream of mapping Africa come to fruition. In her wildest of wild dreams, she even imagined them discovering the source of the Nile.

Now her father just needed to come home. Currently the Captain was in London, at the Royal Exhibit of Science and Exploration, seeking shareholders and crew members alike for their expedition. Most of the scientific groups with the resources they needed were clubs as private and White’s, and not interested in allowing someone like Robert Carlisle anywhere near their hallowed halls. Instead he sought assistance among the Exhibition, that perfect storm of scientists, adventurers, and potential investors.

She gazed at the telegraph machine before her with a certain amount of accusation. It gazed back her in sullen silence, as only an inanimate object made of solid metal could.

Her sister Rebecca poked her head around the library door. You’re not still working, are you? It’s time to dress for the evening.

Acacia feigned horror at the prospect. "People won’t begin arriving for hours yet."

Becca arched a brow in pure Carlisle fashion. Tell me you do not intend to be late for your own birthday party?

Acacia leaned her elbows on the desk and cupped her chin in her hands. She did so enjoy tweaking her sister. I rather think I’m the only person who can get away with being fashionably late, don’t you?

Becca looked less amused than Queen Victoria, and that was saying something. "Fashionable or not, it is time Acacia."

Acacia returned her gaze to the recalcitrant telegraph. Papa isn’t here yet.

Papa, as is his wont, will arrive when he arrives and not a single moment before.

Acacia shrugged. Then I shall continue to wait. She grinned at her sister’s scowl. All right, if Papa isn’t home before dark, I’ll give up the vigil. Will that save you the crow’s feet, Becs?

I have asked you repeatedly not to call me that. Becca’s shoulders heaved with a put upon sigh. Very well. But if you don’t keep your word, I shall never forgive you.

Which must mean the Hamiltons must be due. Joy.

Acacia had once overheard Lady Hamilton describe her as little short of harum-scarum, and her husband, who she liked little better, responded with quite the cracking shot, though—but not at all the proper thing, o’course. This last at his wife’s viperous glare.

Their only son, however, had been trying to impress her for the better part of two years. Nigel had taken to cultivating a mustache nearly as extravagant as his proposals. He had asked her to marry him no less than three times, to her growing discomfort.

Acacia did not care for proposals. Not socially adept enough to turn them down with taste nor style, she would much rather avoid them altogether. Nigel’s last attempt had involved a declaration to shave his mustache if Acacia would not accept him. Her unthinking response had been Promise?

Relations between their families had grown rather more strained after that.

Acacia shook her head at her sister’s dignified, retreating back. Why Becca would want to waste her brilliance becoming a proper lady for a peerage that did not want her, she would never understand. But, she supposed, it was not her place to. And despite deriving an excessive amount of enjoyment from teasing her sister, she would rather die than truly disappoint her, or show any sign of disloyalty. It was all a matter of family, and Acacia loved hers more than anything in the world. Even adventures to Africa.

In the end, Acacia was forced to abandon her post with no further word regarding her father’s approximate whereabouts. He’d telegraphed upon leaving London early that morning, and she had been able to keep tabs on his progress via the vast Carlisle Shipping network, but after Edinburgh all sightings seemed to have dried up. So she left a servant to guard the telegraph and went upstairs before Becca felt compelled to retrieve her.

Acacia washed and dressed under the everlasting patience of her maid, Peggy. It took a maid of great skill and calm to manage Acacia’s wardrobe and person. Acacia herself did not do patience well. Every quarter hour that passed without her father’s return only added to her anticipatory excitement, knowing he might descend upon them almost any moment. The running calculator that was her mind distracted her in the form of geography and the times it might take to reach a variety of destinations, depending on which route Captain Carlisle took.

Finally, Acacia met Becca in the hall perfectly, if not extravagantly, attired. She stood still as her sister gave her a narrow-eyed once-over. Lucia down yet?

If anyone was habitually late to family affairs such as this, it was the youngest Carlisle sister Lucia, who spent the majority of her time tinkering in their grandfather’s laboratory. Lucia tried her best to please everyone, especially Becca, but what time she spent physically absent from her work was spent inside the workings of her own mind. The disadvantage of this is that while Lucia loved pretty things, she could never quite keep them that way. Ink smudges, burn marks, and the occasional oil stain marred nearly all of her clothes.

Already in the foyer, Becca said, absentmindedly. She gave a firm tug to Acacia’s sky blue gown and straightened the line of her sapphire pendant. Very nice, she declared finally, her brow clearing as she turned to lead the way downstairs.

And Grandpapa? Acacia asked, hoping to forestall the inevitable.

On the verge of another breakthrough, Lord help us, Becca replied. Papa will make an appearance before he does. How are the new slippers?

Acacia hedged. Fine. Lovely.

Really? Becca turned her head to lower a suspicious gaze to the vicinity of Acacia’s feet. No complaints?

Damn and blast--she’d said the wrong thing again. She took a deep breath and tried to brazen it out. Not a one, she said cheerfully.

No pinching? No comments on the heel threatening to unbalance you?

Acacia scoffed. I’ve never been unbalanced in my life.

Not entirely true. Lucia had once made her a pair of slippers with a retractable heel so Acacia could adjust the height as she preferred, appropriate to the terrain in question—walking over gravel in heels, for instance, was little short of torturous. All had gone well until, in the middle of the evening, one of the heels had suddenly retracted, pitching her and her dance partner mid-country step into a group of onlookers. A wave of surprised party-goers had toppled in rapid succession, upending an entire buffet table that culminated in the upsetting of the punch bowl.

Acacia, unseen in the tumult, had limped off to the ladies’ retiring room to repair the offending heel and laugh herself breathless.

Smiling at the memory, she entirely missed her sister’s akimbo stance and patented glare. Acacia.

She mimicked her sister’s posture. Rebecca.

Becca jabbed a finger in the general direction of Acacia’s feet, who sighed before raising her hem an inch or two.

Becca covered her eyes with one hand. Boots, Cass? Really?

They’re new, Acacia