Chapter Ten #3
She set her feet, trying to maintain her balance. “Just so that we’re absolutely, one hundred percent clear, Mr. Peter…” She faltered. She didn’t know his name. He’d never given her anything more than Peter.
Lady Wharton’s friends snickered. Lady Wharton shot them a silencing glare before turning back to Eleanor. “Mr. Peter is generally referred to as His Grace, the Duke of Strafford.”
The ground beneath Eleanor cracked. “The Duke of Strafford?” Her voice broke on his name.
It made sense, now, why he’d hidden his identity from her.
It made sense why he’d angled for a friendship.
She was his competition. He was building a business that was going to put her out of one, and was using her insight to do so. “That cur!”
The collective gasp drew stares from all around. Lady Wharton’s nostrils flared. “Miss Wright, that is not a way to describe a duke.”
“I don’t care.” Titles didn’t impress her.
A person’s worth was determined by how hard they worked for what they had and how good they were at it.
Aristocrats had everything handed to them with no work at all.
She sucked in a deep breath, her entire body swelling with rage. “Excuse me, Your Ladyship.”
Eleanor turned and scanned the room, looking for the duke’s dark hair and tall stature. He was talking to two women in the corner, one of whom was gesturing animatedly in Eleanor’s direction. The duke’s gaze followed. When their eyes met, he grimaced. He knew that she knew.
She marched forward, quite conscious of those staring at her. Of course people were ogling. She was a companion, an employee, a nobody who had just waltzed with a duke.
As she neared, Peter excused himself from his conversation. One of the women grabbed his hand to stop him from leaving, but he pulled it free. Both women looked at Eleanor as though they wanted to devour her, or all the knowledge there was of her, anyway.
“Eleanor,” the duke said, catching her arm and guiding her away from their audience.
“Your Grace. You work for the government?” She shook off his hand but continued in the direction he’d pushed her. She didn’t need or want witnesses for this. She pushed past the footman stationed at the balcony doors who tried, in vain, to protest their exit.
Ignoring him, she shoved the doors wide open. There were no revelers outside and the area was lit only by the chandeliers inside, the light from which filtered through the glass doors. Good. The shadows matched her mood.
“Eleanor, stop,” the duke said as she stalked to the balcony’s edge. “I didn’t technically lie. I do consider myself in the service of parliament.”
He couldn’t possibly be serious. She spun to face him. “Lying by omission is still a lie, Your Grace. And you have no idea what it is to be ‘in service.’ For your entire life others have worked hard to provide you with what you did not work for at all.”
The furrow of his brow deepened, and he pressed his fingers into the stone with enough force that his knuckles turned white. “I won’t deny that I have some privilege. But I categorically reject the assertion that I don’t work for it.”
“Some privilege?” It was all she could do not to ball her skirts in her fists, but he would not ruin her favorite green silk along with everything else.
She settled for standing straight, hands on her hips, staring him down.
“You were handed a title, estates, and a fortune for no reason other than the circumstances of your birth.”
“And I strive damned hard to ensure the livelihoods of those who rely on it.” His nostrils flared and she wondered how he could keep his voice so well controlled. “My tenants and the communities I patron are my focus every moment of my day. Every decision I make is with their well-being in mind.”
“And to hell with the rest of us, yes?” He was willing to put an entire industry out of work.
The duke scowled and his tone turned ice cold. “I cannot be responsible for the entire country. Estate owners must be responsible for their own people, just as I am responsible for mine.”
God, the aristocracy was insufferable. “And for those of us in the cities? Who in power will support us when we have no power ourselves?” The admission drew more oxygen from her than it should.
She could barely breathe. Carving out her autonomy had taken a lifetime and in one sentence she’d betrayed herself.
We have no power. No. It was not true. She would not let it be so for her.
The duke’s lips flattened and he shifted from foot to foot. Good. If she hoped hard enough, maybe his trousers would chafe like shark skin for the rest of the evening.
“People in the cities must support themselves. We pass laws that help them do so, but we cannot take the same personal responsibility that we do with those who belong to our communities.”
She felt her heartbeat flicker at the base of her throat. His eyes dropped to it and she saw him swallow. Her insides twisted in response. “Why not?” she demanded. “Is it not your duty as a lawmaker to take responsibility for all?”
His scowl deepened. “If people wanted to be under the protection of a landowner, they should have stayed in the country. The decision to leave was their own, and it had consequences—for them and for those left behind who still bear the brunt of other people’s choices.”
Fury seethed through her. She dug her toes into the ground to keep herself from launching at him, teeth bared and nails at the ready. “People leave for a better life. For work opportunities that don’t exist in the country.”
“As they have every right to do.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the ends. “But, if things didn’t turn out the way they expected, that is their problem, not mine.”
Arrogant bastard. How could she possibly have thought him kind or interesting or handsome?
She was a good judge of character, but clearly, she’d erred.
“The problem may not affect you, but it is yours regardless. You are trying to steal people’s opportunities with your infernal machine, and your actions should haunt you. ”
He colored and stepped closer. Rarely had she stood toe-to-toe with someone so angry. “As I said, my responsibility lies with my tenants, with my family, and in order to care for them the way I ought, the Linotype must succeed.”
“At the expense of others.” What cruel, calculating, narrow-minded thinking.
“Every change is at the expense of someone, but stasis is equally harmful. The Linotype offers a future you can’t imagine.” His tone was condescending now, and what friendly feelings she’d had for him died.
It was her turn to advance. She was not intimidated by him—not his height, not his title, not his anger. If he thought her an easy opponent, he would be sorely surprised.
“I’m not interested in your future,” she spat. “You are the vilest of creatures. You care nothing for the people who will be put out on the street so that you can further line your coffers. You are a duke—a soulless automaton like the machines you build, without feeling.”
He flinched, as though her words had cut. Good. That was her intention. Maybe he could sense the magnitude of his actions.
He swallowed, and while she might have been mistaken, she thought she heard a waver in his voice. “Can I not be a person like any other?” he asked. “Can I not feel the burden I bear? Can I not experience fear and sorrow and defeat? You call me soulless, yet you know nothing about me.”
For a second, he looked like he had before she’d realized the truth. But she would not feel guilty about the hurt in his eyes. “Spare me your self-pity, Your Grace. No amount of two-stepping will make you the hero in this situation. You are a pox on society.”
His expression hardened. There was no longer a trace of vulnerability.
He shifted once more into his real self.
“And you are a waspish shrew who thinks the world must stand still so that she does not need to do the work of evolving. I hope when you say the words selfish, arrogant, and cruel, you see your own reflection in the windows there, because if you want to know what selfish looks like in this situation, that is it.”
Never had her blood boiled like it did now. Her entire being vibrated with rage. How dare he paint her as the villain in this scenario? How dare he accuse her of selfishness?
“The Linotype will never do what I do. I don’t care how fast you think it is, I’m faster. I make fewer errors. I am the best there is in this business. You will never be able to touch me.” He would lose. He had to lose. The alternative was a life she couldn’t even picture.
His pitying look made her want to punch him. She was not delicate. She was not a “lady.” She would not hesitate to fight. “I’m serious, Your Grace. I’ll prove it any time, any day.”
He narrowed his eyes, and she could see the wheels in his brain turning. Was he afraid to go up against her? Good. He should be.
Finally, he said, “The day after tomorrow, then.”
Dash it. She was supposed to be working the day after tomorrow.
Sophie had a book that needed to hit the presses by the end of the week in order to remain on schedule, and Eleanor still had the last chapter to set.
She would have to make the time up. Sophie had given her keys to the building.
She could push herself harder this week.
“Name the time and place.”
“Shall we nominate seconds?” he asked with a smirk.
Cocky bastard. He didn’t even have the grace to take this seriously, when it was perhaps the most serious moment she’d ever encountered. “This may be a joke to you, Your Grace, but it is very real to me. I’m going to show you that your contraption is nothing but a parlor amusement.”
“It does not fit inside a parlor.”
“Well, then, it is additionally stupid.”
A muscle ticked along his jaw. “We have a showroom by the river. My man will send you the details,” he said. “I’ll have a desk brought in for you.”
She nodded. “The day after tomorrow, then, two o’clock.” That would give her the morning to work. She would have to call out in the afternoon.
“I look forward to it.” He smiled, and her stomach turned.
God, what had she gotten herself into?