“I ain’t afraid o’ you,” the weaver taunted. “I’ve ’ad masters before you, and I’ll ’ave masters after. What I won’t ’ave is you destroying the livelihoods o’ decent working men with damned machines.”
“Christ,” Severin heard Jonas mutter. “The cove sounds like Eleanor.”
Severin clenched his jaw. “If you don’t like how I run my business, then you are free to leave.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t make it that easy for you, Your Grace,” Bodin vowed. “If I leave, I’m taking the rest o’ the weavers with me. I’ll shut you down; not even your bleeding machines can run without men, and after I’m done, I’ll see to it that no one works for you.”
Severin’s nape chilled. Bodin was not the sort to make empty threats. He wouldn’t claim he could bring about a walk-out unless he knew he could.
The bloody bastard’s been campaigning behind my back.Severin curled his hands.I ought to pound him to a fare-thee-well.
“I am sure there is a better solution than that,” Fancy’s clear voice declared.
Before Severin could stop her, she wriggled around him to face the angry weaver.
“Who the devil are you?” Bodin demanded.
“I’m Fancy Sheridan Knight,” she said. “Um, the Duchess of Knighton.”
“Seeing as this is men’s business,Your Grace,” Bodin said with an insolence that made Severin tighten his fists, “you’d best leave the talking to me and your ’usband.”
“I would, if you wereactuallytalking to one another,” Fancy said brightly. “But as my da always says, bargaining involves more than flapping your lips. You ’ave to listen as well.”
Bodin narrowed his eyes. “’Ow does your sainted father know so much about bargaining, eh?”
“’E’s a tinker,” Fancy said promptly. “Bartering is ’is livelihood.”
“Is this some sort o’ jest?” Bodin swung an incredulous glance at Severin. “You expect me to believe that you married a tinker’s daughter?”
“You’ll show Her Grace the proper respect,” Severin snapped.
“I’m sure Mr. Bodin meant no disrespect.” Fancy smiled—actuallysmiled—at the bugger. “After all, ’e’s just calling me what I am. I ain’t ashamed o’ my da’s trade.”
“Nor should you be,” Bodin said sternly, crossing his arms over his burly chest. “Working men ’ave no cause to be ashamed o’ their ’ard-earned living.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Fancy said earnestly. “I was brought up to value a good day’s work. My da taught me the skills o’ ’is trade.”
“Good for you, missy—” Bodin frowned and caught himself. “I mean, Your Grace.”
“It’s all right. I’m still not used to being addressed by my title,” Fancy admitted. “For most o’ my life, people just called me by my first name.”
“Fancy—” Severin said in a warning tone.
“See?” she said cheerfully to Bodin.
“Fancy’s a fine name,” the weaver said. “And it’s a breath o’ fresh air to meet a lady who doesn’t put on airs.”
“Putting on airs is ’arder than you think,” Fancy confided. “I’m trying to learn ’ow to do it.”
“I prefer ’onesty to uppity manners. My wife Meg is as blunt as a ’ammer, and I like it that way.” After a pause, he added, “As it ’appens, Meg’s pa is a tinker.”
“No! Really?” Fancy exclaimed. “Does ’er pa travel in the countryside? Maybe ’e knows my da, Milton Sheridan?”
“My father-in-law is based in London. Couldn’t say one way or another whether ’e’s acquainted with your family, ma’am.” Bodin cleared his throat. “Now as much as I’ve enjoyed talking to you, I’ve business to discuss with your ’usband—”
“Important business, I know,” Fancy said, nodding. “Knight ’as told me all about it.”
“’As ’e now?” Bodin raised his heavy brows. “What did ’is lordship ’ave to say on the matter?”
