interrupted after he joined her upstairs. That suited her perfectly, as well.
In her dressing room, she stripped off her jacket and trousers, suppressed the thought of hanging them outside the window to air, and tossed them in a basket to be laundered instead. It was still so strange, not having to think of ways to save the maid any extra work. It was strange to have a clean uniform for every day of the week, and many other finely made dresses, besides. It was strange to have a rich husband and a salary that was completely her own, with no reason to pinch pennies—though after years of frugality, she still did. A few times since her marriage, Mina had gone through deliberate bouts of spending, reminding herself that she could . . . but they’d all been followed by crippling guilt and weeks of hoarding her pennies. Perhaps one day she would be able to carelessly throw away money like a Manhattan City duchess, but apparently she’d require several years to work up to it.
Like Foley, Mina knew what it was to worry that her household staff wouldn’t eat, that her family wouldn’t be able to pay them. She knew what it was to wonder whether letting them go and allowing them to pursue other opportunities of employment would do them more good than staying in a poor household—or a failing manufactory, where the work was dangerous and the wages low.
In that situation, there was never any good choice. How could anyone know whether they’d be better off staying or going?
Still in her short pants and chemise, she heard the door close behind Rhys, followed by the rasp of the lock. The familiar, excited tremble started in her belly as he crossed the room toward her. He stopped close enough to touch. She took the wineglass, sighed in pleasure as he moved behind her, his hands sliding into the hair coiled at her nape in search of pins.
She let her head fall forward, closing her eyes. “Have you ever met Foley?”
“No.” His fingers threaded through her loose hair, pushing the long black strands forward over her shoulder. His mouth pressed to her nape, sent a shiver racing through her. “What was your impression of him?”
Mina forced herself to think—never an easy task when he was touching her. “New World automation is putting him out of business, so if he doesn’t install the machines, he’ll lose the factory. But I think he’d have wanted the automation, anyway. It will be safer for the workers he’ll have left.”
“Yes.”
His gruff reply made her realize that he might have had to make that impossible decision, too. Though primarily a shipping merchant, Rhys had interests in many areas—and now that she thought about it, Mina seemed to recall conversations between him and Scarsdale that might have referred to manufactories that he owned.
“Do you have many? How many would lose their jobs if you automated all of yours?”
“Three thousand. Fifteen percent of them children.”
Sweet heavens. She turned and looked up at him, searching the hard lines of his face. There were more people than that dependent upon him—many more—yet she’d never heard even a portion of them condensed into a number.
But she knew they were more than a number to him. Rhys saw himself as captain of a very, very large ship—and part of his duty was to watch over the crew that labored for him. After someone entered his employ, if they put in even half the effort that he did, Rhys wouldn’t easily toss them away.
“Will you have to automate, too?”
His mouth tight, he nodded. “Eventually.”
“How do you bear it?”
“By searching for other options to give them.”
Not just hoping that they’d find something better. Creating something better. “What will you propose?”
“To start with, building schools similar to the Crèche. If the children don’t have to work to eat, if they don’t need a job, that’s already a lot fewer who might lose a position as more of my factories install automated machines, and a
In her dressing room, she stripped off her jacket and trousers, suppressed the thought of hanging them outside the window to air, and tossed them in a basket to be laundered instead. It was still so strange, not having to think of ways to save the maid any extra work. It was strange to have a clean uniform for every day of the week, and many other finely made dresses, besides. It was strange to have a rich husband and a salary that was completely her own, with no reason to pinch pennies—though after years of frugality, she still did. A few times since her marriage, Mina had gone through deliberate bouts of spending, reminding herself that she could . . . but they’d all been followed by crippling guilt and weeks of hoarding her pennies. Perhaps one day she would be able to carelessly throw away money like a Manhattan City duchess, but apparently she’d require several years to work up to it.
Like Foley, Mina knew what it was to worry that her household staff wouldn’t eat, that her family wouldn’t be able to pay them. She knew what it was to wonder whether letting them go and allowing them to pursue other opportunities of employment would do them more good than staying in a poor household—or a failing manufactory, where the work was dangerous and the wages low.
In that situation, there was never any good choice. How could anyone know whether they’d be better off staying or going?
Still in her short pants and chemise, she heard the door close behind Rhys, followed by the rasp of the lock. The familiar, excited tremble started in her belly as he crossed the room toward her. He stopped close enough to touch. She took the wineglass, sighed in pleasure as he moved behind her, his hands sliding into the hair coiled at her nape in search of pins.
She let her head fall forward, closing her eyes. “Have you ever met Foley?”
“No.” His fingers threaded through her loose hair, pushing the long black strands forward over her shoulder. His mouth pressed to her nape, sent a shiver racing through her. “What was your impression of him?”
Mina forced herself to think—never an easy task when he was touching her. “New World automation is putting him out of business, so if he doesn’t install the machines, he’ll lose the factory. But I think he’d have wanted the automation, anyway. It will be safer for the workers he’ll have left.”
“Yes.”
His gruff reply made her realize that he might have had to make that impossible decision, too. Though primarily a shipping merchant, Rhys had interests in many areas—and now that she thought about it, Mina seemed to recall conversations between him and Scarsdale that might have referred to manufactories that he owned.
“Do you have many? How many would lose their jobs if you automated all of yours?”
“Three thousand. Fifteen percent of them children.”
Sweet heavens. She turned and looked up at him, searching the hard lines of his face. There were more people than that dependent upon him—many more—yet she’d never heard even a portion of them condensed into a number.
But she knew they were more than a number to him. Rhys saw himself as captain of a very, very large ship—and part of his duty was to watch over the crew that labored for him. After someone entered his employ, if they put in even half the effort that he did, Rhys wouldn’t easily toss them away.
“Will you have to automate, too?”
His mouth tight, he nodded. “Eventually.”
“How do you bear it?”
“By searching for other options to give them.”
Not just hoping that they’d find something better. Creating something better. “What will you propose?”
“To start with, building schools similar to the Crèche. If the children don’t have to work to eat, if they don’t need a job, that’s already a lot fewer who might lose a position as more of my factories install automated machines, and a
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