“I can’t not contribute.”
“It’ll only be for a little while.”
“God willing,” Giuseppe grumbled.
Arthur furrowed his brow. He had to help Giuseppe somehow. He’d failed him before, when he’d owned the other mill. He couldn’t simply sit back and let Giuseppe flounder.
“Mr. Caputo,” he began, slowly standing, “I think Patrick is a bit... overworked. It’s, ehm, well, something that I’ve been noticing lately, and I’m wondering if perhaps I could solicit your services for the next couple of weeks or months while you continue to look for something more permanent.”
“I’m not taking charity,” Giuseppe sneered as Jesse released him from the embrace.
Arthur pursed his lips. He had to convince Giuseppe to accept. But how? Nearly every time that Arthur had spoken with Giuseppe, the man had made it clear that he was a hard worker, valuing self-sufficiency over other traits. Arthur would have to impress upon him how very intense it was to work as a household servant.
“It’s not charity,” Arthur reassured him. “Everyone who works for me works incredibly hard, Patrick included. Do you really think tending to the horses is easy? Or being my footman?” Arthur clasped his hands together and took a measured step forward. “I’m not an easy man to work for, Mr. Caputo. I have high expectations. I willnottolerate laziness or insolence. In fact, I will require you to earn every single penny that I pay you. I promise you, it willnotfeel like charity.”
Giuseppe’s mouth ticked up to form a half-smile. He narrowed his eyes, as though perhaps he was searching Arthur’s face for insincerity or mockery. He wouldn’t find any.
“Alright, Mr. Hughes,” he said, holding out his hand. “I accept.”
Arthur took it. “Good luck, Mr. Caputo. I will make sure that you need it.”
Giuseppe let out a soft laugh before releasing Arthur’s hand, and then turned to walk to his bedroom. Arthur looked over at Jesse and winked.
“Thank you,”Jesse mouthed to him.
Arthur smiled proudly as warmth bloomed in his chest.
“You’re welcome.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jesse
Arthur and Jesse were sitting next to each other on the sofa in the library, reading a book together. Emma was seated in a nearby chair scribbling something in a notebook, perhaps her newest article. Jesse looked up at her after a couple of pages. She was sticking out her tongue ever so slightly, her brow furrowed in concentration while her pen moved across the page. After a few more seconds, Arthur looked up as well, probably when he realized that Jesse had stopped reading.
“I think she’s working on her latest article,” Jesse whispered.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” Arthur whispered back.
Emma let out a huff. “I can hear you.”
Arthur chuckled. “Sorry. Are we correct, though?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, will we be able to read this one?”
“Why would you want to? Won’t it bother you?”
“No,” Arthur said, crooking an eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re still upset that I want to become a journalist,” she said. “You’reupset becauseGrandmother and Grandfatherareupset. They’re upset about me writing these articles. I heard you and Grandfather talking about it one night.”
Arthur sighed.
“Yes, well—”
“He said that you should make sure I focus on things that will better serve my future. But this”—she held up her notebook—“ismy future. And you didn’t even correct him.”
