“A strategic alliance with a handsome viscount?” Elisha’s lips quirked.
“A professional consultation,” Amelia corrected firmly.
*
The afternoon lightslanted through the Review’s windows as Amelia served tea in her private office. Lord Norwich accepted a cup from Elisha with gratitude.
“Your articles show remarkable insight into the workhouse system,” he said. “One might almost think you had firsthand experience.”
“I do,” Amelia replied. “I spent my childhood in workhouses after my mother died when I was five.”
Surprise flickered across his face. “My sincerest condolences, Miss Thornton. It must have been extremely difficult.”
“It taught me valuable lessons about society’s inequities,” she smiled briefly at Elisha. “The duchess and I met in one such establishment.”
“And how did you progress to newspaper editor?” he asked.
“When I injured my leg at fourteen, my brother found me during recovery. I hadn’t known I had a brother, also an illegitimate child of the viscount.”
“May I ask how the accident occurred?” Norwich held her gaze intently.
“At a textile factory. My leg was caught in one of the machines,” she replied steadily. “I don’t recall much about that day. The duchess was by my side during my recovery.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Norwich had gone very still, his face draining of color.
“My family lost everything when I was young,” he said finally, his voice weaker than before. “Our estate, our standing. I began as a clerk in textile factories, watching owners live luxuriously while workers suffered.” His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his teacup. “I vowed to rebuild what was lost. It took years of sacrifice.”
“That explains your interest in reform,” Amelia observed, curious about the change in his demeanor, but also moved by his story.
“Yes,” Norwich nodded, though something flickered behind his eyes.
The door burst open, interrupting them. Hereford stood there, impeccably dressed, his usual languid expression replaced by something sharper.
“Norwich,” he said, ignoring proper greetings. “I saw your carriage. We need to discuss the railway matter.”
“Lord Hereford,” she said as an icy chill settled inside her, “this is a private meeting.”
“My apologies, Miss Thornton, but certain business matters can’t wait,” he said with a stern expression she hadn’t seen before.
“It might be better if I leave,” Norwich rose quickly, nearly knocking over his teacup.
“Are you unwell?” Amelia asked. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
“Just a slight headache. Thank you for the tea, and for sharing your story.”
They watched him hurry out, his composure notably absent. Hereford’s eyes narrowed as he observed the older man’s retreat.
“I don’t suppose either of you would care to explain what prompted Norwich’s color to match that of fresh linens?” Hereford asked.
Before they could respond, Hereford was already gone, following Norwich as if chasing him.
“I believe we’ve just witnessed something significant,” Elisha said thoughtfully.
Amelia stared at her cooling tea, feeling uneasy. “Whatever it may be, I feel troubled.”
*
Hereford caught upwith Norwich beside his waiting carriage. “Your sudden interest in theMetropolitan Review,” he began, “I find myself wondering about its timing.”
