Page 60 of Real Earls Break the Rules

Amelia looked up from the canvas to meet his gaze. “My insight?”

“I received a report from Mr. Begley. He gathered the workers and informed them of the new working conditions regarding their children. Only those over the age of thirteen will be permitted to work. Their tasks and hours will be limited, and their breaks and meals regulated. The workers are very pleased with the new arrangements.”

“I suppose my past experience has given me a different point of view regarding the working class,” she said.

“You helped.”

She experienced a thrill at his praise. “I have another suggestion.” She tilted her head to the side and regarded him. Her idea had come to her days after her visit to the mill, and she wondered what he would think.

“Tell me.”

“What if you start a school?”

“A school?”

“Yes. A school for the children who work at the mill. The children with parents as well as those from the orphanage. If they work fewer hours, then they can go to school and learn how to read and write. It would enrich their lives and give them the skills to earn higher pay in the future. I know you’d have to wait until the mill consistently earns money, but the cost would only be in hiring a teacher and providing the space.”

He stilled, and she wondered if she’d gone too far. She’d never heard of a factory owner funding a school for his child laborers, but she’d also never heard of an owner as honorable as the Earl of Vale.

“You are as intelligent as you are beautiful. I can’t imagine discussing these issues with any of the ladies of my acquaintance. You have lived an unusual life that has given you the ability to perceive things differently and see possibilities that others cannot. It’s amazing to me.”

Her heart fluttered in her breast. Of all the things to say, he knew just how to compliment her, just how to reach her heart. She wasn’t the type to swoon over poetry or compliments over the color of her eyes or how kissable her lips. He saw through everything to admire what she most treasured—her mind and her past.

Her background, no matter how sordid or beneath his station, was an integral part of her; it had made her who she was.

Her feelings for him were growing. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself infatuated. Or was she already?

“Your suggestion is a good one. But it will have to wait for now,” he said.

“I know. I’m sorry about the power looms,” she said.

“I’m afraid I have no coin to spare all until the problems at the mill are solved. The only good news is that no further problems have been reported since the power looms have been watched.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But I’m still exasperated. None of my father’s other businesses were this difficult to fix.”

She lowered her brush and studied him. “You enjoy the business part of it, don’t you?”

A frown set into his features. “Inheriting debt? No, I don’t like it.”

“Not the debt. You like turning a failing business into a profitable one. You said it yourself. You have been successful in saving many of your father’s doomed endeavors. You must feel a sense of pride in your work.”

“I do. There’s satisfaction in it. I’ve often thought I should have been born a solicitor or a barrister instead of an heir to an earldom. I like to work. I like using my mind to study ledgers to find where a business went wrong, how to turn it around, and make it flourish.”

Amelia and her sisters had accomplished the same thing with the print shop. Their business had survived for five years, even during the harshest winters. But Amelia had cheated by selling a forgery. The money had been a vital influx of capital. She still had no remorse or guilt. She’d done what was needed to put food on the table. Would she do it again?

Yes. If circumstances warranted it.

She cast a sideways glance at the landscape on the easel in the corner of the study. Her work was coming along and was almost complete. A frightening thought crossed her mind: how much would her forgery be worth? If Brandon needed money so badly, why not have him pass hers off as an original?

You’ve always known your sinful nature would surface, she mused.

“The Aelbert Cuyp landscape is almost finished,” she blurted out.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I have a confession to make. I told you I was gifting the original to an American. I lied.”

She froze as a cold knot formed in her stomach. He couldn’t be suggesting what she’d just been thinking. “You plan on selling my copy?” He’d insisted she wasn’t painting a forgery, but a copy to hang in Rosehill. The original was to be a gift to his friend.

Did he lie? It was one thing to knowingly commit the crime of forgery, but something entirely different to have him take advantage of her work and keep it secret from her. Would he do such a thing?

“No,” he said, his voice firm. “You are painting a copy for me to hang in Rosehill. I plan on selling the original. The money from the sale will help pay for Helen’s wedding and satisfy some creditors. I don’t want to mislead you any longer. Do you believe me?”