Anger coursed through Alex’s veins at his employer’s dismissal, but he scooped up his notebook and vacated the office. He knew his ideas had value, and Cartwright would never smother his desire to make a positive impact on the lives of mine workers. If this was to be his profession, he wanted to make a difference for those involved. Somehow.
Once home he collapsed into his rough-hewn wooden chair and raked a hand through his hair. He’d never see eye-to-eye with that man. Cartwright didn’t want innovation or safety—he only wanted more money.
Moxham handed him a bit of buttered bread and some cheese. “Ye look like ye need this,” he said.
“Thank you.” Alex sighed. As he chewed, guilt started to settle upon him like a slow drizzle that grew into a rainstorm. He should have done more, stood up to Cartwright for longer. People were constantly in danger, and some died in the mines. Cartwright needed to feel the weight of that.
“This bit o’ post came for ye as well,” Moxham said once he laid out tea and sat across the small table from Alex. “Should I leave ye to it?”
“No, by all means, stay.” Alex took up the letter, noting the impressive and steady hand of the address, the thick paper, and the very important-looking seal.
“By Jove, he’s responded.” Alex turned over the missive once more. When he’d written to Lord Ashley, he’d schooled all hope for getting an answer. “I am not sure what to think.”
“Well, what are ye waiting for? Open it!”
Alex raised his eyes just enough to see Moxham’s smile. So his stoic friend was excited for him as well, eh?
Alex cracked open the seal, unfolded the page before him, and devoured the words. His breathing tightened as he read through it the first time, but a huge sigh of relief escaped him as he read through it a second time. He finally lifted his head to Moxham’s eager eyes peering over his teacup.
“Lord Ashley wishes to meet with me. I need to travel to London,” Alex breathed. A trip to London to speak with a member of Parliament. Maybe the sketches and proposals he’d drawn up to improve safety would mean something to someone after all, and Lord Ashley was far more important than Mr. Cartwright. “He says my ideas were... brilliant.”
Moxham’s grin grew. “That they were. I hope he listens to you.” He rubbed his hands together. “If he listens to you, times will be changing, I ’spect.”
Alex allowed himself to smile. “Let us pray they will.”
***
“Really,” Christopher said, brushing the lapels of his finest dinner jacket and peering down his nose at Charlotte, “you ought to be thanking me for securing this invitation after being here for only two weeks. His Lordship has invited only a few prominent people this evening.” His conceited smile rankled Charlotte as he handed her out of the carriage.
Their parents had always wanted to improve their social standing through their children’s marriages. Every time Christopher clung to rank and title, Charlotte despised such things more.
Dropping his hand, she surveyed the tall, elaborate brownstone building that stood before them, blooming roses and trimmed boxwood flanking the sandstone walk as gas lamps led the way in the fading light.
Charlotte, despite her brother’s pompous attitude, had to admire the magnificence of the house. The front vestibule alone contained marble tiles set on the diagonal in an intricate pattern, their design almost too busy for the rows of golden candelabras that reflected off them. Liveried servants adorned each bend in the entry, as still as statuesque sconces.
Once inside, Christopher leaned close as he led her in and whispered, “Lord Ainscough knows how to choose his friends, I’d say. A man of excellent taste.”
She nodded and said, “You needn’t be so overt, Christopher. I can discern a person’s value on my own.”
Her brother scoffed, and she braced herself for his terse reply. Just that afternoon he’d detailed Lord Ainscough’s lineage, including his connections with the illustrious Lord Westcott, as though she had no understanding whatsoever of how the English peerage worked.
But just before Christopher could open his mouth again, Lord Ainscough came into view. His wavy blond hair seemed a mite disheveled, and his cheeks were rosier than Charlotte recalled.
He stopped abruptly and bowed. “My favorite guestshavecome!” His eyebrows moved up in such a way that it could only be described as a waggle. The white teeth of his smile sparkled in the shimmering light.
“Good evening, Ainscough,” Christopher said with perfect decorum, his frustration at Charlotte seeming to have evaporated.
She was just about to speak when her brother ever so discreetly nudged her arm. Drat him! Shehadmanners and she’d been about to use them without his reminder.
“Lord Ainscough.” She batted her eyelashes. “Lord Westcott’s home is breathtaking. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Of course. We need you here.” He placed a hand over his heart and bowed again. “’Tis important to keep the females in our lives happy, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh, indeed,” Christopher retorted, but the irony of the statement considering their situation wasn’t lost on Charlotte.
“Now, Miss Roylance,” Lord Ainscough continued. “May I ask for your first dance? Or perhaps it has already been spoken for.”
Charlotte smiled. He had singled her out, and she would not be standing alone once the dancing started. “It has not been spoken for, and I gladly accept.”
