Delicate creases formed as she narrowed her eyes. “I will do what I’m expected to do. Whether I enjoy it is not a factor. We all have a role we must be seen to play. It is the compromise we make in return for the pleasures we have.”
It wasn’t a compromise for him, and it wasn’t in exchange for pleasure. It was his life’s work. Though it weighed heavily, he wouldn’t replace it for the world.Thatwas something Eleanor would have understood. “I need a wife who will care for the people on my estate.” Kindness might be optional, but a commitment to treat his people with respect was not.
There was a flicker of color at the edge of his vision, and his gaze slipped for a heartbeat. The woman entering wore rose-colored silk edged with deep green lace. It wasn’t Eleanor, though, and his exhale was laced with disappointment.
Cecilia pursed her lips. “I would execute my duties without complaint.” The sharp edge of her tone sharpened his focus. “In return, I would expect my husband not to embarrass me with improper liaisons.”
He bristled at her suggestion, and put another inch between them. “I have no intention of conducting an affair.” Eleanor had put an end to any hope of a romantic relationship.
Cecilia arched an eyebrow. “Inappropriate liaisons are not always romantic, Your Grace. Inappropriate friendships with those outside our circle can create just as much embarrassment.”
It was her turn to scan the room, and she did so with great exaggeration, pausing pointedly where Lady Wharton would usually sit. Cecilia had marked his distraction and wanted him to know it.
Anger at her presumption warred with anger at himself. Blessedly, the music ended. “I have no such friendships. Thank you for the dance.”
He backed away the moment she let him go. It was oppressively hot in the ballroom, and a half-dozen women hovered at the edge of the dance floor, watching him. Waiting. None of them were her. He needed air, so he pushed through the crowd,brushing past his sister. “Lady Cecilia was at thebottomof our list, brother,” Winnie muttered.
“She is the most qualified so far,” he replied. If no better candidate appeared, she would be it.
Drowning in shame, Eleanor entered Sophie’s office with an apology already prepared. The day had been rife with stumbles and mistakes. She’d set a third of the text she would have in the before times, when Mabel was still with her. She’d gotten short with Lillian—another person she must apologize to—and she’d ignored her colleagues, who had learned of the Linotype through news articles about the protests.
News articles that Eleanor had not set.
Sophie was slumped with her head in her hands. It was uncharacteristic.
Trepidation wound through Eleanor. “Sophie? Are you well?”
Her employer looked up with a wan smile. “It has been a long day, is all.”
Guilt roiled in her belly. “I know I didn’t do a good job today. Losing Mabel has been a setback, but Lillian will get used to handling the composing sticks while she narrates. Or I’ll find someone to replace Mabel. I promise, in a couple of weeks, we will be back up to our usual productivity.”
Sophie sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. Tendrils of hair had frizzed and knotted above her collar, and Eleanor had the sinking feeling that Sophie had been distressed all day. “It’s not that, Eleanor. We lost the Nietzsche book, the Atwood book, and the Sanderson book. Houndstooth scooped them all.”
“Allof them?” It was unprecedented. Sophie was often outbidby the bigger publishing houses, but not for every book by a single house all at once.
“Houndstooth offered very generous advances. Sixty pounds each.”
Eleanor sucked in a sharp breath, and was forced to steady herself on the chair in front of her. “That’s impossible. How could they afford such outrageous sums?” But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer.
“They have invested in the Linotype. They intend to publish a hundred and fifty titles this year alone.”
One hundred and fifty titles from one house. The duke was right. The Linotype was heralding a new era of information. If one publisher was tripling their list, others would follow suit, or they would compete by cutting prices, which they could do only if they employed fewer people… “That kind of market share—”
“Would ruin us,” Sophie finished, rubbing her face. “We will not be able to compete. Not with our current setup.”
A lump formed in Eleanor’s throat, and the chair now bore almost all of her weight. “Not without switching to the Linotype ourselves, is what you mean.” When she’d imagined this moment—with Sophie, at her safest place—she’d imagined blood rushing through her veins and her entire body thrumming, ready to flee or fight. Instead, her body wanted to curl in on itself and hide. There was no fear or anger left to draw on. All she felt was exhaustion.
“Eleanor.”
“I could work longer hours.”
“You already work long hours. You work as much as I do.”
“I could halve my rates.” She couldn’t pay Lillian less than she did currently, but she no longer had Mabel’s salary to take care of. If she economized, she could scrape by on less money.
Sophie sighed. “It is not the money, Eleanor. It is the time. Your showdown with the Linotype was cruel business, but it revealed a lot. In six months, you won’t be able to keep up with a trained typist. Our success has always relied on speed. It is why you were worth every penny.”
Why shewasworth every penny. She wrapped her arms around herself, retreating slowly. “No. It’s all right. I understand. You do what you need to do. You keep the lights on and the press working.”
