Heartless (10 page)

She shook her head. “This one is easier to unbutton. I believe I can manage on my own.” She steeled herself for whatever might come next and pasted on a smile. “Good night, my lord.”

He didn't move. Instead, a long dark finger stroked gently along her jaw. Very slowly he lowered his head and settled his mouth over hers. It was a soft kiss, little more than a brushing of lips, but for an instant their mouths met and clung, and a jolt of heat shot through her. Her hands crept up, trembled where they pressed against his chest. It was hard as granite, the long bands of muscle beneath his coat stretched taut.

When he straightened, ending the kiss, his eyes were the color of steel. “Good night, Ariel. Sleep well.”

Her legs felt oddly disjointed as she walked past him into the room, certain she wouldn't sleep at all. She would toss and turn and remember the earl's soft kiss—a touch so light it shouldn't have affected her and instead left her shaking and barely able to breathe.

A kiss that was far more terrifying than the savage kiss he had claimed that night in his room.

*   *   *

As the earl had planned, they left the inn at dawn, driving into a grayish, faintly purple horizon. A dense, still air settled over them, smelling of dust and smoke. Apparently the townspeople were used to it, for they didn't seem to notice, just poured out of their run-down houses, filling the cobbled streets on the way to their jobs at the mill.

It took a moment for Ariel, leaning back against the carriage seat, to identify the odd clicking sound that mushroomed around them, increasing in volume until it reached a clattering din.

“Good heavens, it's their shoes!” she exclaimed in amazement, and the earl actually smiled.

“Wooden clogs,” he said, the hard planes of his face softening in a way she had never noticed before. It was an amazing transformation, Ariel thought, making him look young and incredibly attractive. “The workers all wear them. They make quite a racket, don't they?”

“Yes.…” But the shoes were no longer of interest. It was the smile that lingered on the earl's handsome face, and she couldn't seem to stop staring. What if he smiled like that all the time? What if he even laughed on occasion? The effect would be devastating. She jerked her gaze away, wishing her heart would stop that ridiculous too-fast clattering that was nearly as loud as the noise of the heavy wooden shoes.

The carriage continued on to the factory, a huge brick building on the south side of town built on a rise above the Cadamon River.

The manager, Wilbur Clayburn, a short, stocky man with fat, veined cheeks and a bulbous nose, was waiting in his office when they arrived. “A pleasure, milord. All of us here at the Cadamon Mill have been looking forward to your visit.”

His words, though spoken with a smile, seemed to drip with insincerity. It was obvious the earl's inspection was the last thing he wanted.

“Are you indeed?” Greville glanced around the small, cluttered office and frowned. Unlike Jonathan Whipple's tidy work space, Clayburn's quarters looked every bit as disheveled as the man himself. Papers were strewn across his battered desk, and the floor was littered with enough bits of woolen fuzz and dirt to keep an ambitious housekeeper busy for a week. His rumpled clothes looked as if they had been worn for at least a fortnight, and Ariel took an instant dislike to him.

Greville's frown deepened and she inwardly applauded the disapproving look, certain she knew what the earl was thinking.

“I believe in keeping things in order, Mr. Clayburn. That applies in particular to people in positions of authority. If that is a problem for you, I suggest you find a way to solve it or you will soon be looking for another job.”

The color drained from the man's fleshy cheeks, making the end of his nose look red and swollen. Ariel's father's nose had looked much the same, and she wondered if perhaps Wilbur Clayburn was also a heavy drinker.

The rotund man worked to collect himself. “I guess you'll be wantin' a look at the place,” he said a bit sullenly.

“That is the reason I am here.” Greville turned his attention to her. “Would you prefer to await me here or in the carriage?”

She was there. She might as well see it. “I would prefer to join you, my lord, if you don't mind. As I said, I have never been to a textile factory. I should like to discover how it works.”

After only a momentary pause, he nodded. “As you wish. But I warn you, you may get your very pretty dress soiled in the process.”

The compliment surprised her, since it was the same blue gown she had worn to supper the night before. She wondered if his words were a subtle reminder that he was the one who had paid for it. “I'll try to be careful.”

“I'm afraid I gotta warn you,” Clayburn put in, “the place ain't what it used to be. As you know, profits have been down. The owner lost interest and the mill has fallen into a pretty sorry state.”

The earl merely shrugged. “One man's albatross is another man's opportunity. Shall we go?”

Clayburn led the way, eyeing Ariel with a hint of speculation as he passed into the hall. She knew he was wondering exactly what her relationship was to the earl.

Since Ariel wasn't sure herself, it was difficult to fault him.

*   *   *

The place was grim, Justin thought. Everywhere he looked there were little hills of litter and piles of dust that floated in the air and made it difficult to breathe.

The ground floor of the long, narrow three-story building was dominated by the giant wheel that provided power for the mill. It was turned by water from the pond above the dam, creating energy for the upper floors. The wheel made an annoying racket, and the floor around it needed a good scrubbing.

Climbing rickety wooden stairs, they made their way up to the second floor. When they reached their destination, the scene was the same, dust and litter, compounded by row upon row of mechanical spinning machines—spinning jennys—crowded next to one another, along with the workers necessary to run them.

Clenching his jaw against the overcrowded working conditions in the mill, Justin turned his attention to Ariel, who stood far too quietly beside him. “Perhaps it would be better if you returned to the carriage,” he said gently, reading the concern in her face.

“I want to see the rest,” she said with a stubborn shake of her head.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Justin didn't argue. If she wanted to come, the decision was hers. Still, he could see how the plight of the workers was affecting her. Determined to focus his attention on the purpose of his visit, he forced his attention back to his surroundings, directing question after question to Wilbur Clayburn, his mood growing blacker at the answer to each one.

They climbed another set of stairs, arriving on the third floor of the mill, where the rough plank floors seemed to overflow with humanity. Men and women crowded onto this floor fashioned the yarn fabricated on the floor below into various types of woolen cloth.

Justin rubbed his eyes, wishing for a moment he had never gotten involved with the mill in the first place. In every available space around him, workers bent to their tasks, breathing in the smoky air, each face lined with a hint of despair.

“It's so dark in here,” Ariel said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Couldn't they have built it with more windows?”

Inwardly he cursed himself for letting her come along. This was hardly the place for a lady, and no matter Ariel's status at birth, she had made herself one. Still, she had asked to see the place and he admired her continued determination to learn.

“The mill was constructed in this manner out of necessity,” he told her. “If the machinery isn't close to the power wheel, problems occur.” He studied the tall paned windows designed to let in the sun. “The lighting, however, could be vastly improved simply by getting those windows properly cleaned.”

He turned a hard look on Wilbur Clayburn. “Once we're finished, I'll draw up a list of things for you to do. Foremost among them will be cleaning this place from top to bottom—including those damnable windows.”

“But that'll take days, milord. The mill's already in financial straits. We can't afford to take that much time away from production.”

“Since the mill now belongs to me, I'll decide what we can and cannot afford. You, Mr. Clayburn, will simply obey my dictates.”

Clayburn looked chagrined. “Yes, milord.”

Justin returned his attention once more to his bleak surroundings. “How many people does the mill employ?”

“Two hundred, milord, counting millwrights, mechanics, overseers, and operators.”

“I noticed a number of children working here as well.”

“About thirty of 'em, milord. We use 'em to piece up broken strands or doff the wound yarn packages and set in the empty cores. They're the only ones small enough to fit in such tight spaces.”

“How many hours a day do they work?”

Clayburn frowned. “How many hours? Why, they work just like everyone else—'bout ten hours a day. Keeps 'em outta trouble.”

Justin glanced at Ariel, whose eyes looked suspiciously bright. “I believe I've seen enough for today, Mr. Clayburn. I'll be back later on this afternoon with that list we discussed. In the meantime, I should like to go over the company's ledgers. Have one of your men load them into the back of my carriage.”

Clayburn nodded. “Aye, milord.”

Ariel stood staring at the dozens of people laboring over the looms. Her head snapped up as he took her arm and guided her back down the stairs. The moment they stepped out into the sunlight, she dragged in a deep breath of air.

Justin frowned. “I shouldn't have let you come.” He stopped beside the carriage to await the arrival of the ledgers. “The place is a disgrace.”

She only shook her head. “I'm not sorry I came. I used to think my life in the fields was a terrible existence. Now I can see there are far worse lots than the one I suffered.”

Justin raked a hand through his hair, still unsettled by the dismal conditions he had seen. “I purchased this property because I felt very strongly that industry is the way of the future. I believed, with a few strategic changes, the profits from the mill could be enormous. But I never…” He straightened, refusing to allow his emotions to wander in that direction. “Something must be done. People cannot work efficiently in such surroundings.”

Ariel tipped her head back and looked into his face. “Perhaps it's good that you bought it. Perhaps you can make things better.”

He couldn't miss the plea in her voice. He gruffly cleared his throat and glanced away. “Yes, well, whatever improvements are made will only add to the profits in the long run.”

Ariel gazed back toward the mill, her eyes on the smoke rolling out of the chimneys. “What will you do?”

He waited while a third heavy ledger was loaded into the boot of the carriage, then helped Ariel climb in and climbed aboard himself. “As I said, first I intend to have the place cleaned from top to bottom. People perform far better when they have a decent place in which to work.”

“And?” she pressed.

“And I don't see any reason for the children to labor such long hours. If their help is truly needed, we'll make certain they work shorter shifts.”

Her thoughtful glance held approval. “Their parents need the money the children earn. I think that's a very good solution.”

“In the future, I intend to mill cotton as well as wool. That means we'll need more hand loom weavers. The job is paid by the piece, so some of them can work at home—that is, they could if their housing were suitable, which, from what I've seen thus far, it is not.”

Ariel's eyes brightened even more. “But you could make it so, could you not?”

“Yes. With some sort of inexpensive housing.”

“I should think, my lord, that both morale and productivity could be improved by instigating such a plan.”

Justin studied the shabby, dilapidated buildings that housed the workers' families. “I believe you may be right.”

Ariel gave him such a bright smile it seemed a ray of sunlight had burst through the window of the carriage.

Unconsciously Justin found himself smiling back, the action so rare the muscles around his mouth felt stiff. Then the smile slowly faded. He wanted her in his bed, but he didn't want to give her any false impressions. He was the man he was, not some bleeding-heart do-gooder. She would have to learn to accept that.

“You realize these changes are strictly good business.”

“Of course.” But she continued to smile as if it was far more than that.

“I'm not doing this out of any sense of charity. I'm doing it because I believe I'll make more money.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, the smile slowly slipping away.

“I just wanted to be certain you understood.”

Ariel merely nodded. She made no further comment and returned her gaze to the window.

Justin leaned his head back against the leather squabs and closed his eyes, trying not to recall that bright, sunny smile that had so warmed him.

The one she had given him when she believed that he actually deserved it.

*   *   *

The earl went back to the mill that afternoon and didn't return until late in the evening. The following day they left Cadamon and set off on the journey home. For much of the trip, Lord Greville was silent and remote. He had been working over the ledgers, Ariel presumed, late into the night. Faint smudges darkened the skin beneath his eyes, and his expression looked vaguely fatigued.

For several hours he was so deep in thought she wondered if he remembered she was there. “What are you thinking?” she finally asked, unable to stand the silence a moment more.

Greville glanced up, blinking as if he was trying to get his bearings. “To be honest, I was thinking of those blasted mill accounts. I was hoping to finish them once we reach the inn, but if I do, I'll be up again half the night.”