Page 37 of Courting the Duchess
“And how are the workers?” asked a second, deeply nasal voice.
“By all accounts, they are content. I am planning to visit my holdings over the next several months to confirm, but I’ve made sure the wages are fair and I’ve employed physicians in the town who see to their wellbeing and that of their families—”
“No, no,” the man said, waving. “I mean howarethey? The men in my operation are showing a maddening proclivity toward entitlement.”
“Entitlement?” Sterling’s eyes whipped up to meet the other man’s eyes for the first time. Lord Peele had always possessed the pointed features of a rodent, but no more so than that evening, in Sterling’s estimation.
“More money,” Peele scoffed. “All they do is haul rocks and chip away at the ground. Can you believe they have the gall to demand more money for it?” He shook his head with incredulous disbelief, as if it was beyond his comprehension that the men wouldn’t do such “simple” work for free. A few other heads nodded in grave agreement.
“I don’t pretend to have ever been a laborer,” Sterling said, slowly and evenly; “but I’ve enough understanding to assert that it is far more than just ‘hauling rocks’ and ‘chipping earth.’” The head shaking stopped immediately. “In fact, these men do some of the most dangerous work in the kingdom, putting their lives at risk to line our pockets. I feel the least we can do is pay them a decent wage to make their risk worth it and, God forbid, provide for their families if the worst happens.”
“We offer them employment.” Peele’s voice dripped with derision. “Do you not feel they are demonstrating ungratefulness by daring to claim their compensation is unfair? We bring industry to their far-flung communities and put a roof over their heads and food on their tables.”
One of the men shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot; another found something fascinating about the chandelier over their heads. Either they agreed with Peele, but wanted to avoid contradicting Sterling, or they were made uncomfortable by the brewing disagreement. Regardless, Sterling believed them cowards.
“They feed and house their families through the sweat on their brow and the blood of their bodies. Sometimes with their lives. We are not doing them a favor by paying them for their lives; we are thanking them for their risk and their sacrifice, and I firmly believe their reward should be proportionate to this. We only live the way we do because other men put their lives in jeopardy.”
A choked cough came from the lord who so clearly now regretted ever bringing up the topic of the mines. Peele, however, doubled down on his opinions.
“Are you saying we should be grateful to those we employ?” he scoffed, holding his hands in a supplicating manner as he glanced around for support. There was none to be found. “We are born to this, Morton. Some men are born to power, others are born to spend their lives dedicated to others, doing their small part to improve the world.” There was a disgusted curl to his lips. “Some men are gods and some men are ants. They should be happy they aren’t crushed beneath our boots—let alone have the temerity to demand we do more for them.”
Sterling’s blood chilled. His heart rate slowed to a dangerous, focused thrum. His eyes narrowed on one of the men who embodied the problem with Sterling’s class. Men like Peele did not use their position for anything other than their own gain and privilege. Part of the reason Sterling had accepted his position in Ramsay’s Spy Society was Sterling’s desire to do more than the typical lord who sat back collecting rents. Managing his estates, his tenants, his employees was all well and good; it was what his father had taught him to do and there was no shame in that. He knew that was fine, especially when he might take his power to the House of Lords and enact real change. But he’d wanted to do more—get his hands dirty. So, when the opportunity presented itself, he took it. As a duke, he planned to do what he could on English soil. As an agent of the Spy Society, his impact might be far greater. He had spent years helping to ferret out foreign intelligence that saved hundreds—if not thousands—of lives. And he fully intended to bring all the lessons and skills he’d learned and the connections he had made home to make England a better place. A man’s observant nature, charm, and talent with disarming words did not simply disappear when he returned to his normal life.
Sterling wasn’t delusional; he knew he couldn’t squash every roach in the peerage, but he could use his intimidating stature and notoriety to put them in their place every once in a while. Thanks to his connections and the information he’d amassed over the years, he knew moretonsecrets than every tabloid and London gossipmonger combined.
Sterling met Peele’s grin with a deadly smile of his own. He leaned forward and clapped the other man on the shoulder, allowing his hand to linger.
“I can see what you mean, Peele. I shall take your words into account as I move forward in my ventures.”
“No trouble at all.” Peele’s grin spread to reveal rows of crooked teeth…but it faltered when Sterling leaned in to drop low, dangerous words in his ear.
“I will caution you that a single ant may go unnoticed…anger the colony and you may not live to regret it.” He tightened his grip on Peele’s shoulder. “And I strongly suggest you funnel some of your funds into paying fair wages rather than sending them overseas for illicit goods. There may come a time when the powers that be may decide you have skated by long enough.”
With that, Sterling pressed his glass into the other man’s chest, forcing him to take it lest it shatter on the floor, and turned away to find Alaina.
“Pardon the interruption,but I should very much like to steal away my wife.” Sterling took an inordinate amount of pleasure at the surprise that crossed Alaina’s face at the sound of his voice and…dare he imagine it…the warmth just barely flaring to life in her eyes.
“But of course, Your Grace,” said the tall, curvaceous young woman with whom Alaina had been speaking, and she bobbed a deferential curtsy. “Please excuse me; I see my mother gesturing for my attention.”
“I shall see you at our next meeting, then?” Alaina asked her.
The woman’s sharp blue gaze briefly alighted on Sterling before she nodded. “But of course.”
As soon as they were alone, Sterling gently pulled Alaina’s arm through his. “Walk with me, wife.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he began to guide her around the room’s perimeter.
“Whatever did you say to Lord Peele?” Alaina asked lightly, giving a little wave of her fan to an acquaintance.
“What makes you believe I said anything?”
“For one, you cannot threaten a peer in the ballroom of one of London’s most notoriously nosey upstarts without someone noticing. Secondly, the man cannot take his horrified eyes off of you and he’s whiter than a sheet.”
Sterling wondered how successful Ramsay would be if he employed more Society women. It hadn’t been more than five minutes since he’d left Peele and already Alaina was aware that something had transpired. This woman made him appreciate female strength and intelligence more and more each day.
“The man is a prig.” He hadn’t meant it as a joke, but he did so enjoy the bubble of laughter and sparkle in Alaina’s eyes when she looked up at him.
“In that regard, we are in agreement.” Her smile made his mouth go dry. “But I simply must know what you said to put him in his place.” She leaned in conspiratorially and his pulse quickened when the side of her breast pressed against his arm. “You can tell me—I promise not to repeat it.”
“I am no fool,” he chuckled more nonchalantly than he felt. This comfortability between them was both foreign and delightful, and he wanted to prolong it as long as possible.
