Arch’s mother then shifted the conversation with the lightest of touches. “Miss Vale has been considering improvements inher mills,” she said, as though it were no more than an extension of domestic interest.
“Have you, indeed?” Castlereagh asked.
Francesca met his gaze. “Yes, my lord. I have actually begun to initiate some of them.”
“And what do you consider to be most necessary?”
There was a conversational pause of interest among those within hearing.
“Responsibility,” she said, “on the part of those who profit from labour.”
“Naturally, but how?”
“To begin with, clean dormitories, reduced working hours and schools for the children.”
“Does the cost not make such measures prohibitive?” Castlereagh questioned.
“On the contrary, with these improvements we are finding productivity has increased.”
Castlereagh leaned back slightly in his chair. “Indeed? I would be interested to examine your figures.”
“I would be happy to share them with you, my lord.”
Her answers were well thought out, soft spoken, but sure.
Harcourt inclined his head. “Miss Vale’s approach is precisely what modern industry requires,” he said smoothly. “Reform, not as disruption but as refinement.”
Castlereagh listened. Countess Lieven watched with unmistakable interest. Lady Jersey’s expression suggested cautious approval.
Arch also sat back a little. His mother, he thought, was a genius.
She had not hidden Francesca’s inclinations. In not doing so, she had transformed what might have been considered a hindrance into something… intriguing; something worth hearing; something worth supporting.
Arch glanced towards Francesca again, and understood that she was a redoubtable young lady.
Renforth, who was seated at the far end of the table, had spoken little thus far. Arch knew that meant he had been observing everything.
The courses changed. The conversation around Francesca broadened and then narrowed again, returning—inevitably—to reform.
“Improvement must be measured carefully,” Castlereagh said. “There are those who would use it as a pretext for disorder.”
“There are also those who use the fear of disorder to prevent any improvement at all,” Francesca replied calmly.
“There is a necessity for balance, then,” Castlereagh said.
“I believe you mean accountability, sir,” she corrected.
Arch felt something like pride, which he immediately dismissed as an inconvenient and ridiculous reaction.
Following dinner, the transition to the drawing room allowed the atmosphere to shift, though not to dissipate. Conversations became looser and less formal, but no less pointed. Groups formed and reformed, and alliances suggested themselves in the arrangement of chairs.
Arch moved instinctively towards Renforth. The Colonel did not look at him immediately. He waited until the room had settled into its new rhythm, until attention had dispersed.
Then, quietly, he said, “It is confirmed.”
Arch did not turn his head. “The payments?”
“The ‘improvements’ correspond to actual purchases,” Renforth said. “Equipment was ordered and installed. The mills are, by all accounts, in excellent condition.”
