“Lord Norwich.” A messenger approached hurriedly. “I have with me an urgent letter, my lord.”
Norwich tore open the letter and read it quietly. He then looked up at Amelia. “My apologies, Miss Thornton. I cannot tell you how much I regret this interruption. Alas, duty calls. I hope you’ll ponderwhat I said so that we may speak of it soon.”
After he’d gone, Amelia sat staring at her notes, her pulse steady at the memory of his touch, unlike the fluttering she’d felt when the marquess of Hereford’s fingers had brushed hers.
Lord Norwich represented everything she should want in a husband, if she dared to dream: title, wealth, and most importantly, a genuine commitment to reform. No scandals, no rakish behavior, no string of conquests. Just quiet competence and proper respect for her work. Even the way he’d acknowledged her injury showed perfect courtesy. No awkward avoidance or excessive concern, just practical assistance offered with dignity.
“He would be a far more suitable match,” she murmured to herself. A man who shared her values, who could advance her causes through his position in Society. Not some rakish marquess who treated life as a game.
So why did her thoughts keep straying to Hereford’s laughing eyes and mocking wit?
*
The Duke ofLancaster’s London townhouse exuded quiet opulence as Hereford paced before the fireplace, his usual aristocratic languor replaced by restless energy.
“Do sit down, Lord Hereford,” Elisha said. “You’re making me dizzy with all that pacing.”
The Duke of Lancaster glanced up from the railway proposal. “I invited you to discuss the Midland connection, yet you’ve scarcely looked at the maps since your arrival.”
Hereford forced himself to sit, though his fingers continued to drum against the armrest. “The railway venture is, of course, of paramount importance.”
“And yet,” Lancaster observed, “your mind is clearly elsewhere.Something troubles you, old friend.”
Hereford hesitated briefly. “As the duchess has witnessed, I paid a visit to theMetropolitan Review’soffices yesterday. I found Norwich there, calling on Miss Thornton,” he replied, unable to keep a sharp edge from his voice.
“Ah.” Elisha exchanged a glance with her husband. “Lord Norwich has been supportive of Amelia’s work on factory reform.”
“How remarkably civic minded of him.” Hereford’s fingers stilled on the armrest.
Lancaster studied his friend with increasing interest. “You seem unusually concerned about Norwich’s involvement with Miss Thornton’s newspaper.”
“His business dealings have always struck me as somewhat… opaque,” Hereford said, addressing Lancaster directly.
“We’ve heard rumors, certainly, but nothing substantial,” Lancaster replied.
“I have a feeling he’s scheming something with respect to Miss Thornton,” Hereford continued, rising again. “I wonder if her series on child laborers has caught his attention.”
“Speaking of factory safety,” Elisha interjected, “Amelia has been investigating a particular factory quite intently of late.”
“Which factory?” Hereford’s attention sharpened.
Elisha hesitated, apparently regretting her comment. “I shouldn’t say more. It’s Amelia’s matter to discuss if she chooses.” She turned to her husband. “Edgar, I wonder if your banking connections might assist in obtaining certain financial records?”
Lancaster frowned slightly. “I must be careful. My involvement in such inquiries could be seen as ill-advised.”
Hereford studied his friends, sensing undercurrents he couldn’t interpret. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I would, be it my information to disclose. Alas, it is not,” Elisha said. “If you truly believe Miss Thornton might be at risk, perhaps youshould speak with her directly.”
“Unfortunately, our conversations tend to involve more verbal sparring than productive dialogue. She would be more receptive to your warning.”
“I will speak to her,” the duchess remarked, “but I believe she will appreciate your concern should you discuss the matter with her.”
“I’ll consider it,” he said finally. “Though I fear she’d sooner believe I had ulterior motives.”
“And do you?” Lancaster asked, his expression unreadable.
Hereford paused at the door, a half-smile touching his lips. “That, my friend, is a question I find myself increasingly unable to answer.”
As he departed, the afternoon sunlight caught a woman’s emerald-green dress across the street, startlingly similar to the gown Amelia had worn the day he’d hidden behind her printing press. The memory of her unflinching candor stirred something unexpected in his chest—a complicated emotion he wasn’t prepared to examine too closely.
