“Most owners,” she said quietly, “are not widows of men lost beneath their own holdings.”
His expression sobered at that, the fleeting curve of his mouth vanishing into thoughtful lines. He gave a small nod, one of quiet respect rather than pity.
“If it can’t be made safe, it should be closed,” she said quietly.
“And if it can?” he countered.
“Then we owe it to every man who’s ever gone below to dobetter.”
He gave a single nod. “Then that’s our task.”
“We’ll not linger underground longer than necessary,” he assured her. “I intend to speak with the foreman, inspect the damaged beam work, and confirm the air is fit to breathe.”
She inclined her head. “Good.”
He reached beside him and retrieved a folded garment, setting it gently upon the seat next to her. “I thought you might appreciate this. Mine dust is stubborn once it settles.”
Georgina unfolded the coat. It was made of sturdy canvas, clearly intended for rough work, but clean and serviceable. She draped it over her knees with quiet gratitude. “Thank you,” she said simply.
The carriage jolted as they left the smoother village lane for the rutted road toward the hills. Outside the window, the rising sun struggled through thinning clouds, casting pale gold light across the landscape.
“What else should I expect?” she asked, her gaze fixed ahead.
“Confined spaces,” he answered. “The air will be still. The scent of coal is sharp. The men will be wary of our presence, but they know we come not to interfere, only to see with our own eyes.”
She accepted this without hesitation. “Good. Let them see I will not flinch from what belongs to me.”
His gaze flicked to hers, then, something unreadable moving behind his eyes. It wasn’t a surprise, but perhaps a grudging admiration.
“No,” he said at last. “I do not believe you will.”
The wheels rolled over the rutted road, and as Ashdown Hill Mine came into view, a hush settled between them. It was not discomfort, but the quiet breath before stepping into the unknown.
The carriage slowed as they reached the mine road, the wheels crunching over loose stones and coal dust. Ahead, the black mouth of the Ashdown Hill Mine loomed against the slope, flanked by rough-hewn timbers and the sagging silhouette of a pulley system.
Weld stepped down first, extending his hand to assist her. She accepted, grateful for the solidness of his grasp, though neither of them spoke of it.
He helped her put on the white coat. She drew it more tightly around her. The weight of it was unfamiliar but oddly reassuring. Anticipation settled in her chest, steady and unmistakable.
A sharp wind tugged at the edges of her bonnet as she surveyed the scene. Miners moved like shadows between carts and scaffolding, their heads turning subtly at her presence. Though no man spoke a word, she felt their eyes marking her, sharp with unspoken questions.
“They weren’t expecting you,” Weld said quietly, reading the tension in the air as clearly as she did.
“Best they get used to it,” Georgina replied, lifting her chin. “I suspect this will not be my only visit.”
A flicker of something, approval, perhaps, crossed his features before he turned to greet a gentleman emerging from the dim light of the mine entrance.
“Foreman Archer,” Weld called.
The man approached, cap in hand, his face lined and grim beneath the smear of coal dust. “My lord,” he said, then glanced at Georgina with quick calculation. “Ma’am.”
“This is Lady Ravenstock,” Weld introduced evenly. “Co-owner of Ashdown Hill. She will be joining our inspection today.”
If Archer was surprised, he masked it well. “As you say, my lord. We’re ready for you.”
Georgina nodded in acknowledgment, holding the foreman’s gaze for a heart beat longer than necessary. He looked away first.
They moved toward the mine entrance, where lanterns were strung along the timbers, casting long shadows on the ground. Weld gestured toward a small rack near the opening, where spare lamps hung ready.
