“I have.” The two reports had been delivered yesterday and Brandon had studied them in depth. The first report dealt with the labor at the mill and reported the number of children employed, their ages, weekly hours, and pay. It was a distressing report.
“According to this report, many of the children are under thirteen and a dozen under eight years. They work up to twelve hours per day with little food and two short breaks,” Brandon said.
“The prior mill manager had set the system,” Begley said.
Brandon frowned. “Most are the children of parents who work at the mill while others are from the local orphanage. We pay the children little and those from the orphanage nothing.” This fact had upset Brandon more than the others.
Begley shifted in his seat. “Aye. They are considered apprentices. I don’t agree with it. They aren’t trained in any specific trade, but work menial jobs.”
“I suspected as much.”
“What do you want me to do?” Begley asked.
“Stop it.”
Begley blinked. “Pardon?”
“Stop all of it.” Brandon’s voice was cold and exact.
“Are you telling me to stop all the child labor at the mill?” Begley asked incredulously.
“I am.”
“You understand that means we have to pay more for the adult labor,” Begley pointed out.
Brandon understood full well what this would cost, but he also needed to sleep at night. The memory of the little girl who was almost maimed or, heaven forbid killed, while he’d visited the mill still haunted him. He’d have to stretch the money from the sale of the Cuyp painting, but it would be well worth any sacrifice.
“Do it,” Brandon ordered.
“Yes, my lord.”
Brandon shuffled the papers on his desk and pulled out a second report. This one dealt with the troubling equipment. “What’s the update on the broken-down power looms?” His goal was simple. As soon as everything was repaired, production would increase and the mill would soon turn a tidy profit.
“All are repaired and running properly. Production is at an all-time high,” Begley said.
Brandon nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Good. See that it stays that way.”
“I’ll do what I can. But you should know things may not go smoothly with your decision to eliminate all the child labor.”
“Meaning?”
“The families depend on the extra income. Even though they need their jobs to survive, some may complain.”
Brandon’s voice was firm. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
Chapter Twelve
Later that evening, the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner. Amelia sat on a sofa beside Chloe when the dowager clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention.
“We have special entertainment for tonight,” the dowager said, turning to where Lady Minerva and her mother stood in the corner.
The duchess was dressed in costly silk and jewels. Minerva’s pink gown had layers of lace at the bodice, sleeves, and hem that reminded Amelia of an oversized, frosted wedding cake.
“My daughter will sing for everyone,” the duchess said.
A pair of footmen opened the side drawing room doors that connected to the music room. At the dowager’s urging, the guests shuffled inside.
It was a large music room, and three rows of chairs had been arranged for the guests. Amelia’s eyes were drawn to a shiny Broadwood Grand pianoforte. The beautiful instrument was a symbol of wealth that she’d only seen in Huntingdon’s London residence. Other instruments rested on stands—a harp, several violins, a cello, and a flute.
Amelia chose a chair in the third row.
“May I sit beside you?”
She looked up to see Lord Weston standing above her, somberly dressed in a dark jacket of navy superfine with a loosely tied cravat. His bright blue eyes studied her intently.
“Of course,” she said.
He sat beside her, and she was relieved it wasn’t his brother, Lord Emmett. She found Weston quite interesting. He was a quiet, brooding man. She’d heard more about him since he’d arrived at Rosehill. Huntingdon had mentioned in passing that Weston supported a bill in Parliament to compensate the widows of the soldiers lost at Waterloo.
During her brief stay in an undesirable part of London, Amelia had witnessed her fair share of the widows and the young children of deceased soldiers. Their plight had tugged at her heart, and she’d sketched more than one family. It wasn’t just the soldiers who’d lost their lives in battle that were a tragedy of war, but their young widows and children who’d been left behind to suffer poverty.
It seemed an admirable bill to Amelia.
Weston settled on a seat beside her. “I’m not certain this is going to go well.”
She turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Lady Minerva doesn’t sound pleasant when she speaks. I cannot imagine her voice will miraculously improve when she sings.”
Amelia blinked, then burst out laughing at his honesty. Several people turned to look at them. Eliza raised an eyebrow. The dowager, who stood by the doorway, frowned at her unladylike outburst.
Amelia lowered her voice. “I didn’t know you had such a strong sense of humor, my lord.”
A wry glint lit his eyes. “Sometimes the unvarnished truth is the most humorous.”
Amelia spotted Brandon as he escorted his grandmother to the front row. A restless energy about his movements implied he did not want to be here, but had no choice.
She sympathized.
Brandon sat, and the duchess and dowager occupied chairs beside him.
Helen walked to the pianoforte, spread her voluminous skirts on the bench, and began to play. Amelia recognized the song as “Chastity, Thou Cherub Bright,” by Handel. Minerva stood next to the pianist; hands folded demurely in front of her, and opened her mouth to sing.
It wasn’t a horrible voice, but neither was it particularly fine.
Weston shifted in his seat. “How many songs do you think she’ll sing?”
“I don’t believe they said.” As this was her first country house party, she had no idea. Was one song enough? Perhaps two?
“This past winter I was obliged to attend Lord Holloway’s daughter’s musicale. It lasted three and a half hours.”
“Three and a half hours!” Her voice rose an octave. Once again the dowager spun around to glare at her. The woman scowled, then turned rigidly in her seat.
“Goodness,” Amelia whispered. “I had no idea one person could sing for that long.”
Weston smiled. “That’s why I always choose a seat in the back row. I can make a quick escape and no one is the wiser.” His eyes twinkled behind his spectacles.
He had a better sense of humor than she’d initially thought. He wasn’t brooding or quiet, just someone who needed to feel at ease before revealing his true personality. She found herself enjoying his company.
“Do you escape to discuss politics?” she asked.
“No. I find evening strolls most pleasant.”
An evening stroll sounded wonderful to Amelia. But then again, anything other than sitting through a lengthy performance by Lady Minerva sounded better to her at the moment.
“I’d love for you to join me, but from the look of the dowager shooting you glares and your sister’s presence, I don’t suppose you would be able to escape unnoticed.”
Amelia’s lips twitched. “I don’t suppose so.”
“Then I will gladly stay. I’d never leave a damsel in distress. Especially one as lovely as you,” Weston said.
He was flirting with her. But for some reason, she didn’t mind his attentions. His behavior was far from his drunken and roguish brother’s, Lord Emmett. She hadn’t witnessed Weston engage any of the other young ladies at the house party, whereas Emmett flirted with everyone in a skirt.
If Weston took after his older brother, the marquess, then Amelia understood why Helen was so
enamored with her betrothed.
Thirty-five minutes later, they had endured four more songs. Amelia stifled a yawn. If this went on much longer she would be too exhausted to venture through the secret passageway to paint tonight.
She glanced at Brandon seated in the front row. He looked as tired as she felt, and she experienced a pang of sympathy. Seated between his grandmother and the duchess, he couldn’t yawn outright and had to look as if he were enjoying the lengthy performance.
The current song ended and the occupants in the room simultaneously held their breath…hoping…wishing she was finished, but then the piano music began again. This time the song was one by Mozart—Voi che sapte.
Minerva’s voice cracked.
Amelia cringed. The song was clearly out of the lady’s range.
Weston rolled his eyes. “Good God.”
The music began to grate on Amelia’s ear until at last the performance was over. The guests clapped and Brandon, as earl and head of the family, went over and raised Minerva’s hand to his lips.
Minerva smiled gaily, oblivious to the pain and suffering that the occupants of the room had endured.
Amelia stood. Her back ached from sitting in the wood chair. Weston turned to her and offered Amelia the same gesture Brandon had just extended to Lady Minerva. He raised her fingers and brushed his lips across her hand.
“If I had to experience such a musical debacle, I’m fortunate to have sat next to you,” he said softly as he studied her face.
She smiled up at him. “Likewise, my lord.” It was the truth. His humor had helped the evening go by much faster than if she had sat beside anyone else at Rosehill…anyone other than Brandon.
She inwardly admonished herself. Why was she still comparing everyone to him?
She needed to think of Lord Vale as a means to an end. She wanted the art lessons from a master. He’d hired her for her particular talents. She must stop thinking of him in any other way and was determined not to allow any more kisses. She’d finish the portrait and the landscape, the house party would end, and all would return to normal.
Nothing else could come of it.
…
As Amelia left the music room, her arm was grasped from behind and she was pulled into an empty corridor. Strong arms held her firmly, and her back was pressed into a hard chest.
“I’ve been waiting all evening to get you alone.”
Brandon’s scent, his voice, his touch, was now intimately familiar. The brush of his breath against her ear sent a warming shiver through her. His closeness was so male, so bracing. Her emotions whirled and skidded.
She turned in his arms and stepped back. The glow from the fireplace illuminated his handsome features. “Did you enjoy the singing?” she asked.
His mouth curved into a grin. “As much as a physician’s leech.”
She stifled a laugh. “I wondered how you didn’t yawn.”
“It took great effort on my part.” His gaze traveled her face. “You look tired.”
It was late and she was exhausted. But his observation wasn’t the most flattering. “So do you,” she pointed out.
“Will you come tonight?” he asked.
The scent of him, sandalwood and cloves, made her heart pound in uncomfortably heavy beats. What was it about this man that made her feel this way? Why had she not experienced the same surge of excitement with Lord Weston? She admired Weston and had enjoyed his company, but the slightest touch on her hand didn’t send her heartbeat skyrocketing.
At her long hesitation, Brandon nodded. “It’s been a long evening. I understand if you want to forego tonight.”
Something in his tone made her gaze lift to his again. Faint lines appeared at the corner of his eyes. Once again she had the feeling he was troubled—not just about Lady Minerva, the duchess, or his grandmother—but something else.
She wanted to ask, but stopped herself. She could not allow herself to get too close, too attached. The extent of her feelings for this man already frightened her. The sooner she completed her hired work, the better.
“No,” she said. “I’ll come tonight. The session may not be as long as usual, but I will be there.”
Chapter Thirteen
That night, Amelia waited until the guests were in their bedchambers before lighting a candle and walking to the panel in the wall. Crouching low, her fingers felt for the hidden latch when her bedchamber door flew open.
“Amelia?”
Amelia shot to her feet to see Eliza standing in the doorway. Light from a candelabrum she held high illuminated her face.
Amelia’s heartbeat thundered in her chest. A second later and Eliza would have discovered her gone. Or worse, her sister could have seen the open panel leading to the secret passage to Brandon’s study.
How on earth would Amelia explain that?
“Eliza? Is anything amiss?” she asked. It didn’t make sense for her sister to be here so late. She should be in bed with Huntingdon. Did Chloe have a nightmare and seek out Eliza instead of Amelia. Or had something else happened?
Eliza walked into the room and shut the door. “No…no everything is fine. I’m sorry to startle you. I couldn’t sleep and saw the light from under your door. I thought to talk.”
Talk? Amelia took a deep breath. Is that all Eliza wanted?
Her sister held up the candelabrum and frowned in confusion. “You’re still in your gown. Didn’t you summon a maid to help you with your stays?”
Nervousness slipped back to grip Amelia. “I’ve been reading. I didn’t see the need to bother a maid. I can manage on my own.” It was a bad excuse and she knew it. But it was the best she could think of on short notice.
Eliza gave her a penetrating look of disapproval. “We’re no longer proprietors of the print shop. You should use the services of the maids.”
Amelia understood. A day did not go by that she wasn’t grateful for their new position in society. All of it was due to Eliza’s marriage to her earl.
“Is that what you came to discuss?” Amelia said.
Eliza stopped short in dismay. “Forgive me. I’m the one intruding.”
Amelia felt immediate shame. If it wasn’t for Eliza’s sacrifice and business acumen, they’d still be in the rookeries. “No. Please forgive my rudeness. I’m feeling overwhelmed by the house party.” She sat on the four-poster and patted the mattress for Eliza the join her.
The sisters sat in silence for a while. “This reminds me of the nights we spent at our living quarters above the Peacock Print Shop. We haven’t had time alone like this to talk since you’ve been married,” Amelia said.
Eliza sighed. “I miss it, too.”
“But you wouldn’t give up Huntingdon, would you?”
Eliza’s lips curved in a smile. “No. I’ve become quite attached to him.” She smoothed a lock of hair away from Amelia’s cheek. “What do you think of Lord Weston?”
Amelia picked at a piece of imaginary lint on her skirt. “Why would you ask me about Weston?”
“There are a limited number of eligible bachelors at the house party. It’s no secret Lord Emmett is a rogue and enjoys his liquor. The ladies consider Weston a bore, but you are not like most ladies and can see through his exterior. I noticed the way he looked at you in the music room tonight. The man is clearly enamored.”
“I know you want us to marry, but marriage is not as important to me. I want to paint, remember? And I want to do it using my name. What gentleman of the aristocracy would choose such a wife?”
“I understand your concerns, but I want the best for you and Chloe. The past is too fresh in my mind to ignore. I don’t want you worrying about your survival,” Eliza said.
Amelia sighed. She knew she wouldn’t be able to change Eliza’s mind. “Have you asked Chloe about him?”
“Weston isn’t for Chloe.”
“Why? Because he discusses politics?”
Eliza shook her head. “No. Because he is the second brother and Chloe insists upon a title.
How many times have we heard her say that she wants a duke? An outsider would call her shallow, but we know the truth. She’s petrified of being abandoned with no money and is convinced only a title will ensure her future.”
Amelia had often thought of their father’s abandonment, but his betrayal had resulted in different scars. She feared she was too much like him.
The forger. The criminal without a stitch of guilt.
After she’d sold her sole forgery, Amelia had experienced a thrill of excitement. Not an ounce of regret or guilt had pierced her conscience. She’d inherited the worst from her father. She desperately wanted to exorcise him from her veins—whereas Chloe had always longed for him to return.
“Do not change the subject from you to Chloe. So what do you think of Lord Weston?” Eliza said.
“I like him. I enjoy his company, but he’s not…”
“He’s not the one?” Eliza finished for her.
Amelia felt a twinge of disappointment. How she wished it weren’t true. It would be so easy to encourage Weston’s attentions.
If only I could stop thinking about another. She couldn’t deny the truth any longer. She was infatuated with her model.
“How was it with you and Huntingdon?” Amelia asked.
Eliza chuckled. “I hated him at first.”
“Hated him?” Amelia asked incredulously.
“I didn’t trust him. I despised his position of power.”
Amelia recalled the sparks between Eliza and Huntingdon. It hadn’t mattered that Huntingdon had been searching for their father for selling him a forgery five years before. That swindle had humiliated Huntingdon and almost ruined his reputation as a respectable art critic. Huntingdon had been out for justice and wanted their father arrested and tried for his crimes. He had purchased Amelia’s forgery at an estate sale and used it to blackmail Eliza into helping him find their father.
“What changed between you?” Amelia asked.
“Whenever we were together there was sizzle. Like an undeniable magnetism. I couldn’t resist him.”
Sweet Lord. It sounded like what she’d felt when Brandon kissed her.
Eliza sighed. “The only other bachelor at the house party is Lord Vale.”
Real Earls Break the Rules (Infamous Somertons) Page 10