The duke washed the rest of his meal down with a swallow of wine as Linley took his plate. “They’re paid by what they produce, are they not? What could be more fair than that?”
Truman knew this conversation could not be interesting to Lady Penelope, but her father didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem to consider her any more than he would a potted plant. But, again, Truman got the impression that she wasn’t listening, so maybe she didn’t care.
“Some of the stronger hewers do quite well during their most productive years,” he explained. “But it’s a difficult life, which makes it incumbent upon me, as the colliery owner, to insure that everyone gets what he needs.”
The duke arranged what he’d bumped of his silverware as if he couldn’t bear to see any of it out of alignment. “You sound quite liberal, Truman. You shock me. These are grown men. And you already pay prevailing rates, do you not?”
“I do.”
“Then, if they aren’t making enough, let them work harder. You’re not running a charity.”
Truman clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t say what rose to his lips. He didn’t feel the need to make others suffer, especially men who had women and children depending on them. He possessed far more than what one person needed.
But he had to remember that the duke wasn’t only criticizing his labor relations. His Grace obviously assumed that to have gotten involved with Rachel, Truman must be too “liberal” with the lower classes on a more general basis. His attitude toward the miners’ demands was just further proof of it.
“A union could be very damaging to your interests,” His Grace pointed out. “If you allow the miners too much power, you will be sorry.”
“I don’t particularly like being sorry, which is why I plan to fight the union immediately and with the most reliable of tactics.”
The duke took another swallow of his claret. “And those are… ?”
“To make sure the men feel as if they have no need of one.”
“What’s a union?” Lady Penelope surprised Truman by speaking up. Apparently she’d tuned in to the conversation. The fact that she didn’t know what a union was seemed slightly odd, but she had lived a very sheltered and traditional life—and maybe he was judging her against the exceptionally well-read and intelligent Rachel.
Whether she should have known the term or not, he would’ve been happy to explain, except her father didn’t give him the chance.
“Leave the business to us, dear,” he said. “You don’t need to trouble your pretty head about any of it.”
“Yes, Father. Of course you’re right.” She smiled and fell silent again but Truman got the impression the duke had embarrassed her, which was probably why she quit eating and started doing a lot more drinking.
“You’ve had enough spirits for one evening,” His Grace snapped when Linley came to refill her glass for the third time.
Truman thought he saw anger flash in her eyes, but it disappeared so quickly he assumed he must’ve been mistaken. With a nod of acquiescence, she slid her glass to the top of her plate. “The long journey has made me excessively thirsty.”
Eager to see if he might enjoy speaking to her any more than her father, Truman shifted to face her. “Did you see anything interesting during the ride?”
“It was long and grueling,” the duke piped up. “You know what travel is like. You’ve gone between here and London often enough.”
Truman said nothing; neither did Lady Penelope. The duke didn’t seem to care that he’d interrupted before she could answer a question that had been posed directly to her.
“Shall we talk about the wedding?” His Grace asked.
That was the last subject Truman wanted to discuss, but if settling those details would bring on the conclusion of their visit, he was willing to make the sacrifice. He’d known he wasn’t looking forward to seeing them, but he hadn’t realized just how much he’d hate every minute of their stay. The past four hours had required more self-control than any four hours previous. Maybe it was because he resented the way the duke seemed so ready to capitalize on his misfortune.
Or was he really trying to help? To support the son of an old friend, as he said?
Regardless, Truman kept seeing Rachel in his mind’s eye, kept wishing she were here instead of them. Her presence made even monumental concerns seem light. His current company made every minute feel like another step toward the gallows. Maybe it was a different type of gallows than the wooden platform in London, but he hardly thought he’d be “saved” if he went along with the duke’s wishes. Saved from one type of misery only to become well-acquainted with another, perhaps.
“I’d like a June wedding,” the duke said.
It was already late February. “That soon?” Truman asked.
“June leaves enough time for preparations to be made, if we start immediately, so why wait? You both have reason to take your vows as soon as possible.”
“We are all aware of my current predicament,” Truman said. “But why would Lady Penelope have any reason to hurry?”
He would’ve directed this question to her, but he knew she would defer to her father.
The duke’s face reddened as if he’d spoken without thinking. “She doesn’t have any reason to hurry, exactly. She just doesn’t have any reason to wait.”
Truman got the impression he’d meant what he said the first time. “You have no qualms about promising your daughter to a man who is in the midst of such a terrible scandal? I can’t imagine many men, especially men of position, who would want to tie their daughter to such a poor wretch.”
The duke made a negating gesture with one hand. “A woman who betrays her husband deserves whatever she gets.”
This was hardly a testimonial to his innocence. Shocked that His Grace could be so practical and uncaring, Truman slid his chair back, but before he could respond, Lady Penelope spoke up.
“What my father meant to say is that I am dutiful and obedient and will give you no cause to become angry.”
“She knows what’s at stake,” the duke chimed in. “She wouldn’t be stupid enough to provoke you.”
Truman lost his appetite. As hard as it was to believe, it seemed the Duke of Pembroke didn’t really care whether he’d murdered Katherine.
He glanced at Lady Penelope. Twin spots of color rode high on her cheeks, but Truman got the feeling it wasn’t embarrassment that had put them there—not this time. “You have nothing to fear,” he told her. “I didn’t kill my wife, and I hope, within another week or so, to prove it.”