Page 37 of Real Earls Break the Rules

Brandon understood full well what this would cost, but he also needed to sleep at night. The memory of the little girl who was almost maimed or, heaven forbid killed, while he’d visited the mill still haunted him. He’d have to stretch the money from the sale of the Cuyp painting, but it would be well worth any sacrifice.

“Do it,” Brandon ordered.

“Yes, my lord.”

Brandon shuffled the papers on his desk and pulled out a second report. This one dealt with the troubling equipment. “What’s the update on the broken-down power looms?” His goal was simple. As soon as everything was repaired, production would increase and the mill would soon turn a tidy profit.

“All are repaired and running properly. Production is at an all-time high,” Begley said.

Brandon nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Good. See that it stays that way.”

“I’ll do what I can. But you should know things may not go smoothly with your decision to eliminate all the child labor.”

“Meaning?”

“The families depend on the extra income. Even though they need their jobs to survive, some may complain.”

Brandon’s voice was firm. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

Chapter Twelve

Later that evening, the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner. Amelia sat on a sofa beside Chloe when the dowager clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention.

“We have special entertainment for tonight,” the dowager said, turning to where Lady Minerva and her mother stood in the corner.

The duchess was dressed in costly silk and jewels. Minerva’s pink gown had layers of lace at the bodice, sleeves, and hem that reminded Amelia of an oversized, frosted wedding cake.

“My daughter will sing for everyone,” the duchess said.

A pair of footmen opened the side drawing room doors that connected to the music room. At the dowager’s urging, the guests shuffled inside.

It was a large music room, and three rows of chairs had been arranged for the guests. Amelia’s eyes were drawn to a shiny Broadwood Grand pianoforte. The beautiful instrument was a symbol of wealth that she’d only seen in Huntingdon’s London residence. Other instruments rested on stands—a harp, several violins, a cello, and a flute.

Amelia chose a chair in the third row.

“May I sit beside you?”

She looked up to see Lord Weston standing above her, somberly dressed in a dark jacket of navy superfine with a loosely tied cravat. His bright blue eyes studied her intently.

“Of course,” she said.

He sat beside her, and she was relieved it wasn’t his brother, Lord Emmett. She found Weston quite interesting. He was a quiet, brooding man. She’d heard more about him since he’d arrived at Rosehill. Huntingdon had mentioned in passing that Weston supported a bill in Parliament to compensate the widows of the soldiers lost at Waterloo.

During her brief stay in an undesirable part of London, Amelia had witnessed her fair share of the widows and the young children of deceased soldiers. Their plight had tugged at her heart, and she’d sketched more than one family. It wasn’t just the soldiers who’d lost their lives in battle that were a tragedy of war, but their young widows and children who’d been left behind to suffer poverty.

It seemed an admirable bill to Amelia.

Weston settled on a seat beside her. “I’m not certain this is going to go well.”

She turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Lady Minerva doesn’t sound pleasant when she speaks. I cannot imagine her voice will miraculously improve when she sings.”

Amelia blinked, then burst out laughing at his honesty. Several people turned to look at them. Eliza raised an eyebrow. The dowager, who stood by the doorway, frowned at her unladylike outburst.

Amelia lowered her voice. “I didn’t know you had such a strong sense of humor, my lord.”

A wry glint lit his eyes. “Sometimes the unvarnished truth is the most humorous.”