Page 26 of Real Earls Break the Rules

“Children of the families or from the orphanages?”

“Both,” Brandon snapped.

A young boy darted past him and scrambled under a power loom. Brandon jumped forward. “What’s he doing? He’s going to get crushed.”

Higgins placed a hand on Brandon’s arm. “It’s fine, my lord. We need the children to crawl under the machines to clear up the fallen cotton thread. She does this all the time.”

“She?” The dirty scrap of humanity was a girl. Brandon’s heart squeezed uncomfortably until he spotted her begin to crawl back out from beneath the thunderous machine. Each of her tiny fists clenched piles of thread.

“If the bits of discarded thread aren’t removed, the loom gets clogged and ceases working,” Higgins explained.

“I’ve seen enough, Mr. Higgins,” Brandon said tersely.

Just then one of the gears snagged the child’s shirt, and she jerked backward. A glazed look of panic lit her blue eyes as they met Brandon’s. A split-second later, her scream pierced the air.

Brandon sprang into action. Several factory workers rushed forward, but Brandon was there first. Dropping to his knees, he reached as far as he could beneath the steel machine, aware of the menacing swiftly moving steel inches away from his face and head. The heat of the machine rushed across his cheek. He spotted the child crouched low, wide panicked blue eyes in a dirty face. In the distance, he heard shouting and Higgins’s voice. Brandon ignored them all and stretched farther.

“Grab my hand, child.”

She stretched but her shirt was caught in the machine.

“Come on. Reach!”

She reached and her fingers brushed his. The machine was a blur above him. He stretched an inch farther until he grasped her hand and pulled. He prayed his grasp was strong enough and she remained low. He felt resistance, and he knew her shirt held her imprisoned. He pulled with all his might. His shoulders screamed with strain. Sweat beaded off his brow and ran into his eyes.

Suddenly she jerked forward, and he dragged her from beneath the machine to safety. Her shirt had ripped—only a scrap of one sleeve and part of a shirtfront remained. Had the fabric not been so threadbare, Brandon realized, it wouldn’t have torn and she would have suffered a torturous death from the relentless, unforgiving steel.

He stood and cradled the child in his arms. She clung to him, and a solitary tear ran down her dirt-streaked face.

“Thank ye,” her voice was barely audible, but the words sounded as loud as a trumpet blast to Brandon.

An older woman wearing a kerchief came forward and took the girl from his arms. Brandon’s hands trembled as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Good God. A child almost died right before his eyes.

He turned to find Higgins staring at him, his eyes wide in his fleshy face. “Mr. Higgins,” Brandon said tersely.

“Yes, my lord?”

“You’re fired.”

Chapter Nine

“They’re here!”

Amelia looked up from her seat on the terrace overlooking the front gardens where the ladies had been enjoying afternoon tea.

Lady Helen pushed back her chair and strained to see in the distance. An expression of pure joy lit her face. “It’s Lord Newchester’s coach! And is that the Duke of Townsend’s crested carriage close behind?”

Amelia spotted two coaches traveling the winding gravel drive toward Rosehill. Each was driven by a team of four well-matched bays.

The dowager rose and clapped her hands at the two footmen standing nearby. “Ready the staff and notify Lord Vale that the rest of our guests have arrived.”

The coaches rolled to a stop in front of the house, and the horses’ coats glistened in the bright afternoon sunlight. A footman stepped down to open the door of the first coach. A handsome dark-haired man stepped down, followed by two similarly looking well-dressed gentlemen.

“Lord Newchester.” Helen smiled brilliantly as she stepped forward and bobbed a curtsy to greet her betrothed.

Newchester grinned and bowed, his gaze traveling over Helen’s features. “You are a sight for sore eyes, my lady.”