Authors: Samantha Holt
Beth helped her with her
dress bodice, then she set to work unlacing her corset.
“Tell me did you hear of the
accident at Merleton Mill?” Eleanor asked over her shoulder.
“Oh, yes, you can’t keep
much quiet around here, but how do you know about it?”
Lying did not come naturally
to Eleanor but she feared Beth might lose her talkative manner if she knew she was
part owner of the mill. “I overheard when I was penning my telegram. Was the
accident fatal?”
“No, though the man is
likely to lose his arm I fear and that could well kill him.”
“How awful.”
“The viscount has had a run of
bad luck. Some of the workers are saying they won’t keep working there if it
continues. First the fire at his other mill and then this. I heard a lady was
harmed there too when she visited.”
Eleanor put a hand to her
head and remembered the painful flick of the belt against her head. Beth tugged
away the corset and she felt her ribs expand gratefully. Then she set to work
on her skirts and petticoats.
“There we go, my lady. Do
you need me for anything else?”
“No, thank you, Beth.” Now
in her chemise, Eleanor reached for her purse on the dressing table and drew
out a coin for the maid.
“Thank you, my lady. I shall
return in the morning to help you dress.”
Eleanor waited until the
girl left before washing and climbing into bed. Was it likely the mill would
close? She did not quite understand Lucian’s obsession with it though the
industry fascinated her and her hope to provide a risk free environment for the
workers still burned bright. And now someone else had been harmed. What could
she really do for these people? Her dreams of having some sort of impact for
people like Jane seemed ridiculous now, particularly when Lucian clearly wanted
her to have nothing to do with the mill.
Still she would not fall
foul of his terrible moods and shocking words. It took more than that to scare
her away.
Not Hungry...For Dinner
Lucian paused mid-stride when a figure in pale blue
pressed through the gates and walked into the courtyard. Against the backdrop
of black iron and cobbled stones, she appeared ridiculously exotic—like one of
those blasted bugs her husband had liked so much. Even if Ellie was wearing the
same dress as yesterday
As she neared, he noted the
furious expression peeking out at him from under her bonnet. He stiffened and
braced himself for whatever tirade she had prepared for him.
“What are you doing here?”
he asked, coming to a stop a pace from her. “Did you walk here alone?”
“You left me at the hotel!”
He cursed under his breath.
“Forgive me. I had meant to send someone to fetch you but I...well, I forgot.
It’s been a busy morning.”
Ellie’s expression wavered a
little, sadness haunting her eyes. “You forgot me.” It was not quiet, but a
soft, sad statement. “Of course you did.”
“I had no intention of
leaving you there, Ellie. I was going to send one of my foremen at a more
reasonable hour but we have had our hands full. Regardless, you should not have
walked here. It isn’t safe.”
“I was perfectly fine. No
one approached me and a few kindly people pointed me in the right direction.”
Lucian scraped a hand
through his hair at the mental image she created. The sweet young thing pausing
to ask a street thief or some other morally bankrupt creature that haunted the
streets for directions. How Ellie had survived this long on her own was beyond
him.
“Come then, though I don’t
know what you expect to do.”
“Is everything running
again?” she asked as he led her into his office and she drew off her bonnet to
lay it on top of a stack of papers.
He found himself staring at
the bonnet with its blue ribbons and ruffles, and puzzling over the effect it
had on the dark office. Like a splash of sunbeams or something. Then he glanced
at the owner of the bonnet and thought the same thing. In spite of not being
able to change and being attended by someone at the hotel, he assumed, she
brought such a splash of radiance to the office that his heart skipped like a
silly little schoolgirl.
“Well?”
He jerked his gaze to hers.
“Yes, with the exception of the damaged loom. We lost a day’s work and not having
the loom running will put us behind.”
“And we have orders to
fulfil?”
Scowling at the use of ‘we’
from her mouth, he nodded. “One of them we were already behind on.”
“Can you ask the workers to
put in extra hours?”
Hand to his jaw, he rubbed
the bristle he allowed to grow there. Heck, he barely had time to dress this
morning, let alone shave. He pictured Ellie sweeping in and asking sweetly that
they all stay longer, and shook his head. “No. They won’t have it. Besides
which we are limited to set hours.”
Both of her brows rose. “I
had heard some mills did not enforce that.”
“It’s the law and tired
children make accidents far more likely.”
“I’m glad to hear you
enforce it.”
“I am not a tyrant, whatever
you may believe, Ellie. Though the workers may not agree with me enforcing it.
Some complained that they needed their children working twelve hours or else
they could not earn enough. Anyway, what do you know of mill law?”
“I like to do my research,”
she responded with a smile. “What of the other loom? It is fixable?”
“I have men working on it
now.”
“So you have it all in
hand.”
“Yes, and you can see why
you were not needed. The mill is no place for you, Ellie.”
Another smile. Considering
she had looked as though she wanted to kill him the previous night, these
smiles were coming very easily.
Before she could respond, a
knock on the door sounded and Lucian bit back a groan. Was the entire world
intending to visit him today?
“Enter,” he barked.
Instead of it being his
foreman or one of the accountants, in stepped a well-dressed man, with a
carefully trimmed moustache and a twinkle in his gaze. He paused to eye Ellie
before facing him.
“Rushbourne, forgive me, I
didn’t know you had company.”
Lucian stood and took
Abberley’s hand. “Abberley, how are you? Forgive me, this is Lady Hawthorne.”
Abberley dipped his head in
acknowledgement. “My lady, so you are Rusbourne’s investor? I am Mr Abberley. I
run a mill not far from here, for my sins.
“That is me. It is a pleasure
to meet you, Mr Abberley.” Ellie offered him a sweet smile, those berry red
lips spreading far too wide for Lucian’s liking. Did she have to look so
charming?
“So you have come to learn
about cotton?”
“Something like that, Mr
Abberley. I am certainly interested in the industry.”
“Well, I just came to remind
Rushbourne of the dinner at my house tonight. Those involved in the cotton
industry like to get together once a month and complain about our workers and
the price of cotton,” he confided to Ellie.
Lucian put a hand to his
head. “Abberley, I forgot.”
Abberley offered up a grin.
“I had heard you rather had your hands full.” The way his eyes creased told
Lucian he was not referring to the accidents. Lucian clenched his jaw.
“I’ll be there, not to worry.”
Abberley turned a charming
smile on Ellie. “And Lady Hawthorne, will you join us? We may not be the most
interesting of fellows, but if you should like to learn more of the industry
it’s certainly the perfect opportunity to do so.”
No. Say no, he willed her.
Something about the way Abberley looked at her made the hairs on the back of
his neck tingle. He did not need Ellie intruding on one of the few social
events he took part in. And he certainly did not need Abberley looking at her like
that—as though he too had noticed how damned red those lips were.
“I would be delighted to,
thank you.”
Lucian fought the need to
drop to his chair and slam his head to his desk repeatedly. Things were
steadily going from bad to worse.
No Heroes Here
Lucian scowled at Ellie across the table. Then he
directed that scowl at Abberley who was leaning in and saying something in her
ear. She smiled what Lucian deemed a secretive smile, and he curled a hand
around his glass.
“A toast,” Abberley declared
suddenly, turning his attention back to his guests. “To cotton and to fine
company.
All six of them lifted their
glasses and concurred. Normally, Lucian did not mind these dinners. To spend
time with men who understood the industry—two who supplied the cotton and three
who owned mills locally—gave him some...not enjoyment as such...but a respite
from his daily life. With little other social life, he’d come to anticipate
these dinners. If anyone understood the pressures he faced, it was these men.
His fellow peers had little understanding of the problems he faced and cared
even less.
Not that he had bothered to
broach such subjects with them. He hardly wanted to suffer the curious stares
and looks of horror when he entered any social setting. These men, however, who
were rich enough but self-made men, cared little for his appearance. Money and
cotton drove them, little more.
But tonight, he was not
taking even the smallest pleasure in dinner. It did not help that Ellie looked
almost radiant. The dark red evening gown she wore plunged far too low and
every time she leaned over, Abberley fixed his gaze upon her breasts. It
matched the rosy hue of her lips and cheeks, and under the glow of lamps, her
hair was golden and her skin glowing.
She did it deliberately, he
decided. Just to torment him. To distract him and ensure she made even more of
an annoyance of herself. The sooner she gave up this notion of having some role
in the mill, the better. Yet every time he tried to send her on her way, he only
ended up feeling drawn closer to her.
“So, I hear you are
Rushbourne’s patroness?” Abberley said to Ellie, flicking his gaze briefly to
Lucian. If he didn’t know better, the mill owner was trying to rile him.
“Hardly. My late husband
invested heavily in many places and Merleton Mill was one of them. I am
particularly interested in how it runs and Lord Rushbourne has been kind enough
to indulge me.”
Indulge her? Oh, he would
indulge her. In a lesson in the hardships of mill life, in how a well-bred
woman had no place in such a setting. He’d have her running to the hills before
long.
“It is rare for a lady to be
interested in such matters. Why the interest, Lady Hawthorne?” Newcombe, one of
his own cotton suppliers asked. “Do you wish to make sure Rushbourne is doing
his job properly?” The fair-haired gentleman’s eyes twinkled and Ellie returned
his smile.
Was she taken with him? Was
she taken with any of them? It seemed to Lucian she had directed beaming smiles
to every man at the table with the exception of him. He used his fork to push
aside a chunk of pheasant and forced his expression to remain placid while
Newcombe leaned forwards in anticipation of the answer.
Colour deepened on her
cheeks and Lucian frowned to himself. He had to admit he had not quizzed her on
her interest. Perhaps if he knew her reasoning, he might have a better chance
of sending her on her way. Blast, he really was a fool when it came to Ellie.
All rational thinking seemed to desert him with her around.
“I shall admit I have
some...personal reasons for my interest. It is my ambition to study the mill
and work on making it safer.”
He stiffened at this. “My
mill is perfectly safe.”
“Except a man was hurt only
a few days ago,” she pointed out softly.
“That is an exception. Merleton
Mill has an excellent safety record.”
James Denwood, the oldest
and most experienced mill owner in their crowd, nodded and spoke with his usual
booming manner, his thick northern accent preventing anyone from talking over
him. “It’s true. I have trouble keeping my workers from defecting to
Rushbourne’s.” He grinned and lifted his glass in silent salute to him.
“No mill owner wants
accidents to happen,” Lucian said to Ellie. “They slow down production and
scare away workers. But the machines are dangerous and if they do not pay
attention, what are we to do?”
“They do not pay attention
because they are tired and hungry.”
Abberley guffawed. “What are
we to do then, my lady? Send them off for a nap and a five course meal.”
“Of course not, but I
believe shorter working hours should be enforced, particularly for the
children. The law has already changed in that regard but many do not follow the
laws. And providing hot food would help them concentrate and be more efficient.
It would benefit both the owners and the workers.”
“I suppose you believe all
men are born equal,” Lucian drawled, “and we masters are just greedy.”
“I believe in equality,” she
replied steadily.
He locked gazes with her.
“If you believe in it so heartily, perhaps you should share your wealth and
make the world a fairer place that way.”
“I believe in such things,
but I am not fool enough to believe I can change the world by throwing money
wherever I fancy. However, I do believe that small changes to people’s lives
can make big differences.”
Lucian snorted. How like her
to have some airy fairy notions of doing good deeds. As though she were some
modern-day Robin Hood. Take from his very empty pocket, to give to the poor.
Did she not realise that without the mill, these people would have no income at
all?
“I see your point, Lady
Hawthorne,” Newcombe put in diplomatically, “but workers are resistant to
change as it is, and this is the way things have been done for decades.”
“Just because one is scared
of change, does not mean one should not pursue it. If we spent our entire lives
being dictated to by fear, nothing would happen. Man would not have crossed
oceans and found new lands.”
Lucian let his scowl deepen.
Fear? Did it hold him back? And what of her? He forever sensed something in her
holding her back. She was a bloody hypocrite, though he would not embarrass her
by saying as much.
“You speak with great
passion and I think we can all admire that,” Abberley said, again leaning in
far too close for Lucian’s liking.
“Thank you, Mr Abberley.”
“And pray tell, where does
this passion come from?”
The way Abberley said it,
Lucian knew full well he was thinking of other types of passion. Lucian bit
back a snarl.
“I have seen the effects of such
matters on people. When I was a young girl, a maid in my parent’s
household, Jane, had a daughter who worked in a mill. The daughter was close to
my age and she lived with her grandparents while her mother worked at our
house, so Jane saw me much like a daughter, I believe. But the girl was injured
severely—her fingers were severed—and could no longer work to support the
family. Starvation and illness killed two of her younger siblings and Jane was
never quite the same.”
“I suppose you think
witnessing such things makes you an exception.” Lucian leaned back in his chair
and peered at her down his nose. “But this is the town, my lady, and we witness
deprivation on a daily basis.”
She narrowed her gaze at
him. “And yet you do nothing?”
He was tempted to defend
himself, to dispute the fact he was heartless, yet perhaps it was better she
still thought him cold and uncouth. He had done a terrible job at convincing
her he was as much with his fumbled apologies and shared moments. Ellie did
seem to tangle his mind so.
Instead of rising to the
challenge, he sipped his wine nonchalantly and gazed at the cut of the crystal.
However, before he could
summon a response suitable of a rake of the worst kind, Newcombe spoke up,
“Lord Rushbourne would have you believe no master cared for his worker and
while you might be right about many, Rushbourne is not one of them, Lady
Hawthorne.”
Abberley snorted.
“Rushbourne is too soft on his workers if you ask me. I mean he nearly lost his
life saving one, for goodness sakes.”
Lucian watched her gaze
swing between all three of them, a crease between her brows. “How so?”
Inwardly, he groaned. He
would never have her believing he was cold-hearted if this tale was told. “It
is hardly an exciting tale. And it left me looking like an ogre. Not exactly a
fairy tale, Ellie.”
She ignored him and turned
her gaze to Abberley. “What happened?”
“This man nearly got himself
killed rescuing a foolish child.”
Her mouth formed an ‘o’
shape. “You rescued a child?”
Lucian waved a dismissive hand.
“Let me assure you, it is not something from which legends are made. The child
got herself trapped and I helped her. Do not go picturing me as some hero, for
I certainly am not. I merely did not wish to have her death on my conscience.”
A smile caressed her lips.
“And here I did not think you had one.”
Newcombe grinned.
“Rushbourne might make it sound like a dull story, but the family certainly did
not think it one. The workers at the mill hailed him as quite the hero. Did you
not offer your workers financial support too?”
“A paltry sum,” Lucian said.
“Just enough to prevent rioting while they looked for new jobs.” And he was
starting to regret such a decision. Losing the mill had been bad enough, but
the financial strain had brought him far more trouble than he had expected.
Ellie leaned forward. “Lord
Rushbourne, you are far more altruistic than I realised. Soon you shall have
all the fine ladies knocking on your door and asking for donations to all their
worthy causes.”
“And I shall frighten them
away with my ghastly looks and terrible manners,” he replied dryly.
Before Ellie responded, the
dessert was brought out. He sighed quietly when the conversation drifted away
from the mill and his heroics, and onto Ellie’s travels. Lucian listened
half-heartedly as he dug into the apple pie before picking at the brandied
fruits in the centre of the table. She spoke of things he had never seen—and
likely never would. Not that he was particularly interested in travel, but it
made his life of smoke and cotton and hard work seem mightily dull.
When the meal was finished,
Abberley announced his intention to have cigars and brandy out on the terrace.
“You are welcome to join us, Lady Hawthorne,” he said, “but Newcombe and Mr
Denwood do not smoke or drink so will keep you company.”
“Looking after my health,”
Newcombe said with a grin. “Something these gentlemen care little about.”
She smiled placidly. “And
nor do I, thank you. I shall stay with these gentleman.”
Lucian flung down his napkin
and pushed the chair away, ignoring his annoyance at having to leave Ellie with
either of the men. Both were gentleman—far better men than he probably—and
would treat her with the upmost courtesy, but Newcombe was a handsome man with
his fair hair and smooth jaw. Would he charm her? Would she enjoy his company?
Dipping his head to her,
Lucian followed Abberley and the other gentleman out onto the terrace. Being in
the town, the terrace hardly matched that of country houses, but it provided a
fine aspect of a reasonably sized garden, and its position upon a slight hill
gave them a view of much of the town. The rows of houses, huddled together like
cows during the winter, released their warm glow upon the streets, and the
starlight revealed the puffs of smoke rising lazily from their chimneys.
“Your patroness certainly
knows how to express herself,” Abberley said as he handed him a brandy.
Lucian did not smoke but the
brandy was welcome. He took a sip and savoured the warmth travelling down to
sit in his belly. “She is not my patroness,” he said tightly.
“I admire an intelligent
woman,” Benton, the owner of a mill in the next town, said.
“She thinks too damned
much,” Lucian muttered. “Doesn’t do enough observing. Lady Hawthorne believes
she knows all there is to know of cotton because she has read books on the
matter.”
“There are many who would
think you once had little knowledge of cotton, Rushbourne,” Abberley pointed
out.
He glared at Abberley as he
heard the condescending tone. Many of the other mill owners had been
apprehensive of having landed gentry in their midst, but he thought he had
convinced them he was no snob. “They would be right, but I lifted my nose out
of books and rolled up my sleeves, and learned the hard way.”
“No one can deny you know
your stuff,” Benton said.
“And if you let Lady
Hawthorne take a more active role, she would learn fast enough. Bloody hell, if
I had the opportunity to spend time with her, I wouldn’t let her leave my
side.” Abberley grinned and the other men chuckled.
Lucian fisted a hand at his
side. “It’s a good thing she is not your burden then, is it not? You would be
vastly distracted.”
“She is not a natural
beauty, I will say that much, but there is something about her that makes my
skin itch. I don’t know how you’ve kept your wits about you, Rushbourne. Those
lips are downright sinful. If I were you I’d have made her my mistress and have
her on her knees by now, with her lips wrapped ar—”