“It will be all right. I promise.” Eleanor tried to take her friend’s hand. Today had been hard on them all. She was not the only person affected and had to compose herself for their sakes.
Mabel pulled away and took a deep breath. “Eleanor… I think I’m going to stay.” The words were tremulous, and she took another step backward.
“Pardon?” Eleanor could not have heard that properly.
“I’m staying.” Mabel’s tone was firmer this time. She swallowed. “Mr. Bell offered me work last week while you and Mr. Gray were competing. I wasn’t going to accept, so I didn’t bother to mention it.”
“But now you will,” Eleanor whispered, her heart sinking. Mabel had been with her for years. The three of them were finely tuned. They had started as colleagues but had become fast, fast friends—the best Eleanor had ever had.
Mabel shook her head. “We can all see where this is going. You might be able to hold on to shreds of work for a while, but soon enough, we will be replaced. I need to take this offer while it still stands.”
Eleanor couldn’t help it now. Tears spilled over, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand.
“I could be good,” Mabel continued. “There’s no reason why, with practice, I couldn’t be great. My fingers are nimble and strong. Years of scrubbing your sorts have built that.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Eleanor nodded, trying to find the grace her friend deserved. “You could be great, Mabel. Of course you could. You could be the best.”
It was obviously what Mabel needed to hear, because she rushed forward and drew Eleanor into rough embrace. “I love you. That hasn’t changed. And we will find time to be together outside of work.”
Outside of work.Eleanor swallowed, scared that she would beg or cry if she opened her mouth. The three would no longer be spending their days together. They would have to find time in what few free hours they had.
Once she’d composed herself, she extricated herself from Mabel’s arms. “I’m going to walk home, I think.” With every step she felt herself grow smaller and increasingly insignificant.
Eleanor wasn’t at the ball. She hadn’t been there when he entered, and she hadn’t arrived while he’d made small talk, always keeping one thread of his consciousness on the entrance. Still, he couldn’t stop his gaze from traveling past his dance partner and scanning the room, just in case.
“I must thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Cecilia said, followingPeter’s smooth lead and the music’s one, two, three rhythm. “I am overwhelmed with gratitude.”
He dragged his attention back to her. Her picture-perfect smile seemed dangerously brittle. “What have I done to deserve such effusive thanks?” he asked. It seemed out of character. Where other chits had fallen over themselves when he’d asked them to dance, Lady Cecilia had given him her card along with a frown that suggested he’d taken far too long.
“I was not expecting gossip papers for another three days. Imagine my surprise when a new sheet was delivered this morning, along with a promise to deliver it daily. I am quite elated.”
Peter pressed his lips together. The rapid distribution of gossip had not factored into the Linotype’s introduction. “I am glad it brought you joy, Lady Cecilia.”
He held an arm aloft and she swooped with unmatched grace, casting her gaze about on return to ensure her elegance had been seen. “Society is quite abuzz with your success,” she said when she faced him once more. “Is it true that you’ve made tens of thousands of pounds in just a few short weeks?”
It had hardly been a few short weeks. It had been years of searching for the right investment, months of negotiation, another two years of planning and production. Publishers had been quick to adopt the Linotype, but the journey had not been short. It had been arduous. It had been weighed down by theneedto make it work before his ledgers were washed with red.
And it had succeeded beyond what he’d ever thought possible. The last of the existing stock was now accounted for, and orders for new machines were coming in daily. His coffers were flush and set to be for a very long time. He should feel light. He should feel happy. He should feelsomething.
“I have been very fortunate.”
“As is your future duchess.”
She wasn’t subtle. Lady Cecilia was the daughter of a duke, her dowry was substantial, and she was objectively beautiful. Her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother had all given birth to many hearty boys. She was, perhaps, as highly prized on the marriage mart as he was, and she knew it.
The only thing she lacked was kindness, but then, that was no longer on his list of required attributes. He couldn’t bring himself to like her, but that didn’t matter. His only concern was upholding his responsibilities and carrying on the family name. Pleasurable feelings were luxuries for other men, and for the novels he’d given up reading. Regret. Guilt. He was free to keep those.
“What charities do you support, Lady Cecilia?” he asked, attempting to refocus on tonight’s chore.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “Those that require fundraising events. No one of importance declines an invitation to support an orphanage. It would look heartless.”
Her motives were self-serving, but they would serve him too. Esteem enabled influence, and thus he could affect more change. Eleanor would not have brought that to a marriage.
“Do you visit your father’s estates often?” he asked.
She shrugged. “When I must. My mother passed but her obligations didn’t.”
“Are you satisfied with that aspect of your life?” He could not stand a lifetime of grumbling.
