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Her husband placed his half-eaten plate on the small table and hauled himself to his feet walking over to the bank of windows. “There isn’t any one reason,” he said gruffly. “It is complicated.”
The breadth across his shoulders seemed tense, and though he stood with his hands thrust into his pocket, she could sense the tension thrumming through him. She too lowered her plate, rose, and walked over to him. Fanny stood close enough so they touched, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. He jolted slightly but did not pull away. She had no notion why she did it.
“Perhaps there is some way I could help?”
He did not dismiss her offer.
“Look at them,” he murmured.
She lowered her gaze to the bustling street filled with detritus which men, women, and children skirted around, with a purpose in their steps. A street urchin stole an orange from a cart, and a flower seller leaned against a grimy brick building looking wary. This was a part of London she had never seen before, and she could not identify with the society below. But her husband did, and it was that awareness which prompted her to ask,
“What do you see?”
“People. The force that makes our city thrive, they are the working men, women, and children, men like me make our profits from. They are hard workers, filled with pride and a determination not to be swallowed by the metropolis. I pay my workers better rates than all the other factories, and recently I hired several doctors to look after the health of my employees in my various foundries. That saw dozens of other workers, mostly the women leaving the other factories and coming to me for work. The smoke and the pollution are hard on their lungs, and they deserve proper care. I've also ordered the construction of new housing in Manchester and Sheffield, made with better materials and with good sewage disposal. None of the other owners appreciate my forward thinking.”
How astonishing. “And that is resented?”
“It is.”
“I should think the other owners would model their work ethics from yours, not complain about it,” she said pragmatically. “And it is also a kindness that is needed.”
“Those cheap, greedy damn bastards only care about the money lining their pockets.”
She said nothing at his profanity, feeling a sense of pride that he would be so natural with her. They stood there for long minutes as he spoke about his work and how foolish it was to hire the workers flocking to his factories when he’d already bought the machinery that would make them obsolete. It struck her how kind he was, for she couldn’t imagine anyone of her society sacrificing for others.
“What will you do? Let them go?”
“No. There is a general fear that would lead to rioting. People are desperate for work to provide for food their families. While it is smart and will be more profitable to fire hundreds of workers and install smelting machines, it is also unconscionable.”
A pang went through her heart. These were never things she had had to worry about, how to put food on her table or how she would provide for her children. She rested a hand on her stomach, genuinely unable to imagine such a life. She peered at the flower seller with new eyes, wondering how many mouths she had to feed, and wondering what had placed that hopeless look on her face. “I've heard that you are a business genius,” she murmured, peering up at him. “Maybe you could invest in something new or start another business that would put these workers to use.”
He smiled. “I already have my team working on it. And Percy has helped with positions for several women I’ve had to let go recently.”
If she recalled his friend Percy Taylor owned several hotels, in London, and across the continent. “Perhaps you could also provide some severance package? Colin recently let go of a servant who had been in our household for years. He generously provided the man with a cottage, and enough money to live comfortably. You could do something similar for each worker you need to let go.” She warmed to the idea, her thoughts buzzing. “Perhaps you could go through their employment file, and base it on their years of service and position, and pay them enough money so their families will not starve or suffer until they find another position.”
He shifted to face her, admiration, and something sweeter piercing the gray shadows of his eyes. “Yes,” he murmured, cupping her cheek.
His touch was firm yet light and her body hummed with nerves and anticipation. Was he going to kiss her? His regard was delightfully warm and intense.
“This is an argument I presented to the other owners to their outrage. We hire hundreds of people. That will see profits cut drastically. My proposition did not amuse them.”
“You’ll not back down, will you?”
His face was suddenly proud and unyielding and a bit too ruthless for comfort. “Never.”
“And will you be in any danger for it?”
He was silent for long moments. “Perhaps I would have been before I was a viscount. I've learned it is not so easy to murder a peer. And if they were foolish enough to try, I can more than protect myself, at the cost of their lives if necessary.”
The cold logic of his statement made her shudder. “Sebastian!” To speak so casually of killing.
His fingertip stroked along her chin lightly. Her awareness contracted to that single touch. How was it possible to be so aware of him?
“I have another meeting soon, wife. Thank you for luncheon. I will escort you to the carriage.”
She nodded mutely, wishing to spend more time with him, liking that he shared so willingly with her as if he found her equal in wit and intelligence. "Have you been avoiding my bed?"
Fanny couldn’t say who the question appalled more. Their gaze collided. Shadows, doubts, and amusement danced in his, but he remained silent.
