“Yes. Few were aware of that detail.” She watched him intently. “The recommendation was changed rather suddenly. Only thosedirectly involved would know the original prognosis.”
Norwich rose abruptly, moving to pour himself a drink. “Medical records can be quite… thorough.”
“Not in this instance. The final determination wasn’t properly documented—merely a notation that amputation was deemed ‘most economical.’” She let the phrase hang in the air. “An odd choice of words for a medical decision.”
His hand stilled on the decanter. “Business considerations inevitably factor into such decisions, Lady Hereford. Particularly in industrial settings.”
“Business considerations,” she repeated softly. “Such as the fact that I suffered only a minor fracture? That proper treatment would have restored full function?”
When he turned, his mask had slipped further. “That can’t be accurate. No physician would amputate over a simple fracture.”
“But it is accurate. Dr. Morrison told me so before he passed.”
The crystal stopper clattered to the floor. “You spoke to him?”
“I did. He was quite lucid, despite his illness.” Amelia’s voice hardened. “He remembered every detail about the pressure to choose the ‘economical’ option.”
Norwich attempted his genial smile, but it came out strained. “The man was dying. Likely confused, speaking nonsense.”
“So, you don’t deny knowing him.” Her tone sharpened. “He said the owner decided amputation was more practical than treating a ‘dispensable worker.’”
Something dangerous flashed in Norwich’s eyes—recognition that she was no longer the naive woman he’d been manipulating. His carefully constructed persona began cracking like thin ice.
“He was not of sound mind,” Norwich said, but his voice had lost its warmth.
“He was adamant about the details. A simple fracture that—”
“It wasn’t simple!” The words exploded from him. “Your leg wasbroken in three places! The muscles and arteries were damaged!”
The silence that followed was deafening. Amelia felt time slow as she watched comprehension dawn on his face—the horrified realization of what he’d revealed. His lips parted as if to retract the words, but they both knew it was too late.
A strange calm settled over her, replacing the nervous tension. This was the moment she’d unknowingly worked toward for thirteen years.
“The only way you could know the extent of my injury,” she said quietly, “is if you’d seen Dr. Morrison’s medical assessment. The one he was ordered to ignore.”
Norwich’s face went ashen. For a long moment, he simply stared at her, his careful facade crumbling entirely. When he spoke again, all pretense was gone.
“You were an unskilled child laborer,” he said flatly. “The economic calculation was straightforward.”
The casual confirmation struck Amelia to the core. She had expected denials, rationalizations—not this cold acknowledgment.
“You destroyed my life for profit,” she whispered.
“I made a sensible business decision. One of dozens required in industrial management.” His voice had turned clinical, matter-of-fact. “It kept the factory operational and provided employment for hundreds.”
Fury surged through her, hot and pure. “Is that how you justify it? All those lives you’ve ruined?”
“I didn’t anticipate you’d discover Hereford’s involvement so quickly,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “You’re more capable than I credited.”
“I’m going to expose you,” Amelia said, her voice trembling with rage. “Everything—Crown Street, my amputation, your manipulation.”
“Hereford’s factories have deplorable conditions too,” Norwichreplied smoothly. “Exposing me will only make you a hypocrite. Think carefully. Do you believe Society will embrace accusations from a crippled woman against a respected peer?”
“They will with evidence. And with the Marquess of Hereford supporting me.”
Norwich’s expression darkened completely. “Evidence can disappear. As can troublesome journalists.”
The naked threat hung between them. Amelia rose carefully, her hand finding the head of her cane. With practiced ease, she twisted and drew the concealed blade.
