Lady Karstark sniffed. “To save you the surprise, girl, we’ll be here every night.”
The only thing that got Benedict through a dinner having to watch the Karstarks eating and talking and laughing as if they were at home in his home was to focus on the plan. The reason he’d agreed to this bloody hunt in the first place.
This morning’s tour. The contract that would be signed after.
He had laid it all out. He would wake at country hours, meet Harcombe and Grunt in the foyer, and the three of them would visit the firm, where he would show them firsthand why they should contract his team to produce the engines that would run the trains between the coal fields of western Virginia to the port at Alexandria.
By the time the rest of the guests woke, the deal would be done, and he’d be able to disappear into his study for the remainder of the week.
The first hitch began before the day even did. Nathaniel Bradenstock overheard him making plans with the Americans the night before and decided that it would be a smashing way to start the week. A real look at the other side of life.
He put the idea out to a group of puffed-up, pompous peacocks that had gathered in Benedict’s drawing room. One unwanted tagalong quickly became three, and it was decided among the guests that eight in the morning was frightfully early, and why didn’t they all leave at midday?
Which meant Benedict had all morning to work himself into a jumble of knots, questioning every part of the well-prepared presentation he needed to give. By the time the three coaches pulled up outside the workhouses, his hands were sweating and heart racing.
He fingered the ribbon in his waistcoat pocket. Amelia had given it to him that morning, along with a kiss full of confidence. Her absolute faith in him had the opposite effect to what she’d intended. It just added to the number of people he could let down today.
Oliver was standing outside. Benedict had sent Charlie to the firm in the morning to let them know of the change in time and the additional visitors.
Oliver had taken note and looked as clean as Benedict had ever seen him in a white shirt, brown breeches, and jacket. The foreman was usually covered in grease and soot—everything a shade of grey, regardless of what color it started out as. The fresh shirt showed how seriously he took this visit.
“Oliver.” Benedict shook his hand, and then introduced him to the guests.
Lord Bradenstock was as curious and enthusiastic today as he’d been when he arrived. He’d come somewhat prepared, in a plain coat and old boots that had clearly known hard work. Amelia had said the earl was dedicated to his estates. The worn patches on the boots increased Benedict’s opinion of the man.
The two popinjays that had joined him were another case altogether. They were dressed in colored silk tailcoats entirely unsuited to visiting a work site. They had pomade in their hair and sweet-smelling perfume on their elaborately tied cravats.
They shrank back when Oliver approached. Benedict didn’t blame them. Plenty of men shied away from Benedict’s presence, and Oliver made Benedict feel diminutive.
“My lords.” The foreman’s tone was stiff and formal. “If you would come this way.”
The two colorful lads held kerchiefs to their noses and exchanged nervous glances, as if realizing this might not be the lark they were expecting. Benedict couldn’t help looking at their white pantaloons and grinning.
Grunt and Harcombe were unfazed by the firm or its foreman. They had worked their entire lives and were no doubt more comfortable here than back at the house.
The firm was a hive of activity as his team worked on what would be the second engine.
Nathaniel and his friend stood stock still near the entrance to the room, wincing at each clang of a hammer on metal. More than one worker went out of his way to jostle them as they walked past, leaving smears of dirt and sweat on their perfect jackets. There had been a different energy in the firm since the Karstarks had announced the clearances, and today it was palpable.
Jeremy, his recalcitrant stoker, spilled an entire barrow of coal at the boys’ feet. “Sorry, m’lords,” he said, sniggering as they jumped back, horrified.
“Move along, Jeremy.” Oliver put himself between the coxcombs and those who were looking at the party with undisguised disdain. His opinion of the two might not have differed from everyone else’s, but he knew what rested on today’s visit and would keep the men in line.
Grunt returned from having done a quick solo inspection of the building. “Looks like a very well-oiled operation,” he said. “Workspaces laid out for maximum efficiency. Clever.”
“My wife,” Benedict said. “She looks gentle but has the organized ruthlessness of a general. She tends to make things run better.”
“You’re a lucky man then,” Grunt said.
Jeremy snorted. “Sticks her bloody nose in,” he said, not to anyone in particular but loud enough to be heard above the din of the machines.
“I said get gone, lad,” Oliver barked. “Or you’ll find yourself scrubbing the floors until the second coming.”
Benedict could box Jeremy’s ears for making such comments—particularly in front of their guests. He’d been meaning to have a conversation with the boy about the consequences of the path he was going down but hadn’t had a spare moment in months.
“So where’s the engine?” Nathaniel asked.
“This way.” Benedict gestured to the rails that extended from the center of the building out through large wooden doors, which ran the width of the south wall. The test track ran in a three-mile circuit around the perimeter of Benedict’s estate.
