Amelia’s heart thudded as she waited for each man to confirm that they were right to keep moving. After a moment, they all nodded at her. “Everyone to my left in three, two, one,” she said.
Slowly, inch by inch, the men began to move the anvil toward the trolly, which would be used to reposition it to the other side of the room. As they set it down with a satisfyingthud, Amelia wiped her slightly sweating hands on the pair of breeches Fiona had given to her. That had been a touch more trying than she had anticipated. If the anvil had fallen on any of the men as they moved it, the injury would have been severe.
She was so preoccupied with the progress of the transfer that she didn’t notice Benedict’s approach until he was right beside her. “What are we doing?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, eager to show off her idea, “Oliver and I are rearranging the workstations. It’ll be about a three-day delay in production while we do so, but the time saved ongoing will be roughly twenty hours per month. It takes far too long for items to be transferred from one bench to another when the benches are on opposing sides of the factory. By ordering the workstations in a line from one production step to another, we should be able to increase production speeds.” She offered him the planned layout Oliver had signed off on.
“Huh.” Benedict studied her sketch, nodding as he did. “I’m impressed. This is why you’ve been standing on the mezzanine watching?”
Initially, she’d been standing there just to take it all in; this environment that was so different from anything she’d seen before. But as she’d stood there, she’d noticed patterns in the way the men moved—tangled patterns like embroidery threads that had been carelessly tossed in a bag—and she’d needed to neaten them.
“This is remarkable,” he continued. “But I’d actually come to ask if you’d seen the invoice for the latest coal shipment. I need to get that paid as soon as possible.”
“It’s in the new filing cabinet on the right of the door. Second drawer down under the letterC.”
“Thank you.” Ben hooked a finger into her waistband. “I don’t suppose you want to come upstairs and help me find it?”
“Of course not,” she hissed and batted his hand away. They were working, and there were people around. Honestly, her husband could be so inappropriate at times.
“I know, but these breeches…”
A flush of embarrassment crawled up her face. “They are a necessary requirement when working on the factory floor. My skirts literally caught fire yesterday when I walked too close to the forge.” Normally, she’d be horrified to have a bucket of dirty water thrown at her, but had been grateful for the blacksmith’s quick thinking. Her dress was ruined beyond repair, but she hadn’t been injured.
Benedict frowned. “You didn’t tell me you were almost hurt.”
“It was my own fault for not paying attention. And the issue is resolved. Fiona lent these to me, and Bessie is sewing me a set of my own. And if you’re very good, I’ll model them for you when they come in. At home. When we’re alone.”
Benedict leaned close, his breath sending shivers through her. “I’ll be good.” The words ignited a warmth between her legs. She swallowed and was almost ready to suggest they head home now when one of the floor assemblers approached them, scratching his head.
“Excuse me, m’lady. Pardon the interruption but we’ve had a delivery arrive. It must be some kind of mistake. There’s a cart chock-full of bed linens, towels, and tablecloths.”
Oh, good heavens.“Thank you, Paul. They should be sent to the house. I’ll be up to deal with it in a minute.” Maybe, if she was lucky, Benedict’s lusty thoughts would prevent him from putting two and two together. She’d had every intention of telling him about her plans to continue with the house party. She just hadn’t yet. Things had been so nice between them, and she hadn’t wanted to ruin it with an argument, so she’d put it off.
She turned to him, as businesslike as possible. “As I said, on the right, second drawer down. I’ll see you at home.” She spun, and for a moment thought she’d gotten away with it, but at the last second, he grasped her elbow.
“Chock-full of linens?” he asked. “Why would we need more linens?”
“Well…” She couldn’t think fast enough, and with her moment’s hesitation, his face darkened.
“Shall we go to the office for a moment?” He gestured to the stairs.
She could protest. She could insist on seeing to the man with the linens. But this argument was going to come sooner or later, and Mrs. Greenhill was more than capable of managing a delivery.
As she climbed the stairs, she laid out her case in her head, the way she had every night for a week now. Once they’d entered his office, she leapt into it before he could take control of the conversation and she ended up on defense rather than offense.
“I’ve already sent out the invitations. They were dispatched yesterday to a select group of influential members of theton, comprised of friends I desperately want to see again and men whose interests likely align with those of the Americans. And the Americans themselves, obviously.”
“Without my permission?” He was as furious as she’d ever seen him. He glared at her, his arms crossed, practically looming like an angry cloud over her. And while it might have been sensible to talk to him soothingly, to placate him, she was also madder than she’d realized.
“You were being irrational on this issue.”
“Amelia, we discussed this.” He rubbed at his temples. Good. He deserved whatever headache was coming.
“We did not discuss this. You spoke, loudly and at length, and then refused to hear a word I had to say. And if you weren’t going to be reasonable, then why should I?” Hands on hips, she stepped closer to show him that, while he might intimidate others, she was unfazed.
He cursed under his breath. “Fine. Convince me. But if you can’t, then you’re going to have to write to every one of those people and rescind the invitations.”
Perfect. Time to explain her thinking was all she needed. “You said the Americans were concerned that there was bad blood between you and their English investors.”
