The rich have little concept of how their fortunes are made. They blindly make their investments without knowing how the profits come from the sweat and toil of honest working men.
Mining, for instance, is one industry that the aristocratic sensibility is happily ignorant of.
They do not see the deep, dangerous tunnels or the men that are forced to squat in the darkness and chisel away at the walls.
They do not see the bleakness in the eyes of the women and children who are forced to drag the black gold out of the ground.
They are happily ignorant of the noxious fumes that can rise unexpectedly from the mineshaft, poisoning the lungs of these people.
Nor do they hear their tortured cries when the walls of the mine collapse, killing all still inside. All the rich see is their profits. It matters not the human cost of such bounty.
A stony silence prevailed for what seemed like an eternity after she had sat down and slotted the offending pamphlet back into the folds of the book. Next to her, the Duke was the first to break it.
‘Have you ever been to a coal mine, Miss Mansfield?’
Expecting a public set-down for daring to read the work of a Revolutionary when he had expressly requested that she avoid all Radicals, she shook her head and waited for the onslaught.
‘I have. I visited the Felling mine a few years ago and I have never seen a more wretched place in all of my life. At the time, I was concerned for the safety of the workers but was assured that everything was perfectly safe. A year later, there was a horrific explosion deep under the ground. Over ninety perished, many of them children. I have petitioned Parliament many times since to make laws to force the mine owners to improve safety. Unfortunately, so far, my pleas have fallen on deaf ears.’
She really had not been expecting that to come out of his mouth. He had compassion. He did care. A small part of the wall she had built around her heart crumbled at the realisation.
‘I think it is time for some refreshments.’ The Dowager hastily rang the bell for tea, thus sparing her privileged guests from witnessing a discussion about the depressing and harrowing topic Amelia had inadvertently introduced to the room. All around them, the gathering began to rise to their feet and wander towards the sideboard, but the Duke was not one of them. Several seconds ticked by until Amelia risked peeking at him from under her lashes. Instead of a frown, she saw that he was watching her thoughtfully.
‘I wonder, Miss Mansfield, if you would show me around Seven Dials. I would be very interested to see it from a different perspective...now that I know there is a different perspective.’
What did that mean exactly? ‘I will happily show you around, Your Grace, but I am not sure how I can show you from a different perspective.’
‘What if I went as a common working man rather than the Duke of Aveley? Do you think I would see things as they really are?’
‘Are you suggesting that you will don a disguise?’ The very idea was as preposterous as it was intriguing. Would he lower himself that much? Was he truly brave enough to seek the truth? Yet, at the same time, a part of her was heartily impressed that an aristocrat was prepared to learn something new. Oh, the things she could teach him! This might be the perfect opportunity to finally do something which might make a real difference to the poor in the slums. It was also immensely flattering that he wanted to entrust her with the task, when most men would choose to ignore the words of any woman. Another piece of the defensive wall around her heart crumbled into dust and blew away in the breeze. And, just like that, Amelia was all aquiver again as she stared into his earnest, gorgeous, tempting blue eyes.
‘Why ever not? I am sure Lovett can procure me a set of clothes so that I do not stand out.’ He could be wearing a sack and he would still stand out, but that had nothing to do with his breeding and everything to do with his glorious good looks and fine shoulders. ‘I have nothing too pressing to do tomorrow that cannot be postponed. Would tomorrow be too soon?’
‘Not at all. I am sure Lady Worsted can spare me.’ Her pulse began to race at the thought of spending the day with him. Potentially alone. Perhaps this really was not such a good idea after all, considering her pathetic reaction. ‘Will Terence be accompanying us?’
‘I don’t think there is any need, do you? I am quite confident that I can keep you safe.’
Just the thought of him keeping her safe gave her a warm, fuzzy glow inside. It must be nice to have somebody big and strong to look after you all of the time, especially if they were as easy on the eye and as lovely to talk to as the Duke of Aveley. Amelia found herself gazing at his magnificent shoulders and almost sighed.
‘I should like to see your soup kitchen to see what draws you there, day after day.’
Shocked at the way her thoughts had drifted away from the important task she had been given, Amelia tried to focus on the practicalities. ‘I am certain that I can find a suitably menial job for you to do while you observe. For the sake of a different perspective, of course.’ She could not help grinning at the image of him hauling sacks of vegetables or peeling carrots. ‘Although I confess I am rather looking forward to seeing you labour and being in a position to order you around.’ And watching those impressive shoulders while he lifted things.
He gave her a lazy smile that did strange things to her insides. ‘You really are the most impertinent woman, Miss Mansfield. Do you know that?’
Amelia was spared from answering by the Potentials, who suddenly all clamoured around him in search of approval instead of taking tea. Judging by the calculated expression on her pretty face, Lady Cecily had orchestrated the mass interruption to separate Amelia from the Duke. Hot on their heels was the arrival of Lovett. He presented his master with a note and then hurried away.
The Duke opened it and scanned it, unaware of the fact that Amelia could read it from her position next to his elbow.
Your Grace,
This is your chance to escape.
From your saviour,
Lovett
She wanted to laugh out loud but did not. She could hardly blame him for orchestrating his own exit, even though such a thing was undoubtedly poor form, but she was curious to know how he would achieve it without appearing unforgivably rude. But, like the very best stage actor, there was a note of subtlety about his performance that was most convincing, almost as if he did this all of the time. His face clouded and he stood and quickly made his apologies.
