She had no idea how fast Mr. Gray had worked. All she knew was that she had typeset more words in those thirty minutes than she ever had before. If that wasn’t enough to keep her job, nothing would be. So instead of stretching, instead of wiping her brow or sighing deeply, she put her hands on her hips,turned to her opponent, and forced a cocky smile. “Well, Mr. Gray? How was it?”
He stood and stretched out his fingers, first waggling them, then interlacing them and pressing them forward. Unlike her, he did not shy from showing his exhaustion. His exhalation drew his entire body forward. “That was most certainly a challenge, Miss Wright. I don’t think I’ve ever concentrated so hard in my life. I do not know how you do this for twelve hours a day.”
She smiled at him. “Others work twelve hours, Mr. Gray. I get my work done in eight.”
He smiled ruefully and crossed the stage to hand his block of text to the young man who was waiting for it.
Eleanor’s gaze zeroed in on it. The tin alloy was lighter in color than the block of lead hers was made of. It looked cleaner, even though her sorts were spotless. The solid lines of type lacked the gaps that separated each letter, making the entire block look like a bland, continuous blob.
“Miss Wright, Miss Cole, Miss Thompson.”
She jerked at the duke’s voice. Her friends were giving her quizzical looks. She’d been staring at Mr. Gray’s block for too long.
The duke raised an eyebrow. “May I offer you some refreshments while Oliver does the count?”
The footman was waiting on her, she realized. Swallowing, she gave her block over.
Lillian tucked her hand around Eleanor’s elbow, a firm and steady support, before facing the duke. “Refreshments would be delightful, Your Grace. Thank you.” She practically dragged Eleanor off the platform to where the publishers were waiting.
A young boy in the duke’s livery came forward with emptyglasses, a pitcher of lemonade, and a bottle of brandy. Lillian and Mabel blushed and took the lemonade. Eleanor was tempted to ask for the brandy, just to be shocking, but she was parched. Brandy might burn a fire in her empty-feeling chest, but it wouldn’t relieve her thirst.
“Thank you,” she said to the boy, accepting a glass. “That is much appreciated.”
The duke sidled up next to her. “Are you confident?”
God. However her body might react, her reason despised him. She plastered on a smile that couldn’t possibly disguise her disdain. “Of course.” He didn’t need to know about the error she missed or that her heart had been pounding the entire time.
They stood in awkward silence for a moment, before he broke it by clearing his throat. “How are you enjoying the season?” he asked, as if he had not asked that very question just two nights before under totally different circumstances.
Her memory of the balls and the dinners no longer held the same wonder. They were tainted. “It is an interesting study in gluttony and sloth, Your Grace.”
A muscle ticked along his jaw. “And which of the deadly sins do you claim, Miss Wright?”
“At present, wrath seems fitting.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s funny. I would have thought it was pride.”
Eleanor bristled. Pride was admirable. Pride without cause was a flaw, but pride when one had put in the time and work to deserve it was something different entirely. She had earned the right to be satisfied with herself. How dare he suggest otherwise? What had he earned?
“Maybe one day you’ll have accomplished something worthy of pride, Your Grace. Being handed what you have is not it.”
The smile he gave was tight and went no further than his lips. “You forget your own privilege. Not all of your success can be attributed to your work ethic.”
“Myprivilege?” She recoiled. Her hand flew to her chest like she was a character in a novel.
“You learned to read as a child. You’ve had access to the written word, and all the education that accompanies it, your entire life. That has contributed to your success, has it not?”
What was she supposed to say to that? “Of course it has. I was very fortunate.”
“One might say privileged.”
His words sounded as sour as lemons tasted. “One might say that,” she ground out.
“If the Linotype brings down the cost of printing, it will also bring down the cost of books and newspapers, offering the lower classes easier access to education, which they could use for their own success. Surely you would want that for them, unless you do not want to share your privilege.”
“I—” His comment left her speechless. She was saved from having to respond by thetingof a spoon on glass. The editor ofThe Timesstepped forward. “I have the results,” he said, holding out a piece of paper. Everyone turned toward him with varying shades of curiosity, apprehension, and smugness.
Eleanor’s pulse thrummed erratically.
