Maxwell paused in the act of bringing his spoon to his lips. The furrow between his brows deepened, and she ignored the little thrill that flickered through her belly.
“Is that so? Why, this night is proving to be very interesting. And you never knew that you were both hoping to obtain the same property?” asked Sir Phineas.
“No.” Maxwell’s voice was strong and firm.
She smiled in an attempt to keep her composure and regain the upper hand. No one could win a battle if they gave in to their emotions. “Perhaps in hindsight we should have been more forthcoming when we spoke.”
The mild accusation landed if one could judge by Maxwell’s scowl. “I didn’t realize you would be so interested in the minutiae of Crenshaw Iron.” His voice was pleasant but blade sharp.
“Fair point. We can’t all possess fanatical fixations with industry. Some of us wish to actually improve lives for those less fortunate.” It was a bit of a low blow, even she could admit, but before she could feel bad about it, he spoke.
“Industrial endeavors improve lives for all of society by providing jobs and trade,” Maxwell said, his tone sharpening by a degree.
“Oh, I agree that industry can improve lives, but the reality is that those improvements only trickle down to a chosen few and the rest are cast away, used and discarded to end up in the depths of St. Giles and every other rookery present in every industrial city.”
The table shook when Maxwell shifted, as if he’d accidentally kicked a table leg. The sherry trembled in their glasses, and the porcelain clinked. His eyes were as fierce as she had ever seen them as he fixed them on her. A lion forced to hold back his fury. What would it be like if he was ever able to unleash all that passion on her? A blush accompanied the thought, sending her attention back to her bowl of soup.
A tiny voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like her mother berating her said, “A lady does not think such wicked thoughts, Helena. Baser impulses are the purview of men. True ladies learn to overcome them.”
This wasn’t the first time she had wondered if she wasn’t a true lady, despite her birth. The last time had been as recently as the night of their last kiss when she had been alone in her bed wondering what it would be like if Maxwell was there with her. Her hand had found its way beneath her nightdress, but she’d been unable to find the relief she sought.
Her face flamed as she stared down at her food. What inappropriate thoughts for such an important dinner. Thankfully, Sir Phineas came to her rescue.
“Er . . . That’s a very astute observation, Lady Helena,” he said, clearly having trouble finding his way through their tense exchange. “Tell us more about your charity, if you will. I have been fascinated by what I have learned, but I’d like to hear more about it from you.”
She couldn’t stop herself from glancing toward Maxwell. He’d paused with his spoon partially raised to his mouth as if the sight of her blush had stunned him. The furrow on his forehead was gone as he stared at her. Dear God, it was almost as if he could read her thoughts. Jerking her gaze back to Sir Phineas, she raised her napkin to her mouth to buy herself an extra moment to gather herself.
“Sir Phineas, I’d be delighted to elaborate.”
Helena kept up the bulk of the conversation throughout the meal. No one mentioned the industrial compound through the fish course or the main course of roast pork with potatoes and brussels sprouts. The talk was filled with the history of the orphanage and the thousands of people who had grown up within its walls. Maxwell contributed nominally. He’d gone back to glowering at her as he ate.
After the orphanage, she launched into the need the London Home for Young Women was currently filling. Thankfully, Sir Phineas seemed interested, asking all the appropriate questions that allowed her to discuss her vision for the future, and how many more women and children she hoped to be able to help. By the time the conversation turned back to Crenshaw Iron when the dessert course was served, Helena felt better about her chances of securing the property, until the conversation took a slight detour, prompted by Sir Phineas’s endless questions.
“As you mentioned earlier, industry can be very beneficial to a local economy. Can you elaborate on that as it relates to Crenshaw Iron Works?” the man asked.
“Certainly,” Maxwell answered. Was it her imagination or was there a taunting glint in his eye? “We employ two thousand people across New York and Pennsylvania. That’s not to mention the people we employ across the railways. Our wages are fair, creating economies that support three different municipalities.” He looked at her as he said this, none too subtly letting her know how Crenshaw Iron had improved those lives. When she raised a brow, he turned his attention back to Sir Phineas. “Our endeavor here in England is young yet, but we have plans to hire over a hundred workers in the new year, and the contract work given to several other companies will provide jobs for even more.”
“And how necessary is the industrial compound to attaining that goal?” Sir Phineas asked, genuinely interested, if the way he leaned forward was any indication.
She sat quietly as Maxwell went into detail about how the property would be used to fulfill their recently acquired contracts to participate in the building of the Prince Albert Dock. Her heart sank farther down into her stomach with each word. What he said made sense. Crenshaw Iron would provide jobs for men who needed them, but it would not help the women and children who needed a place to stay the winter, who desperately needed skills training and education to improve their future prospects.
As the conversation progressed, she could see Sir Phineas becoming more interested. Maxwell was a good speaker and engaging conversationalist. He understood his business and could explain it in terms that someone outside of the industry could comprehend. He made it sound as if Crenshaw Iron would be all but saving St. Giles.
She knew that she was on the losing end of the arrangement when Sir Phineas sat back, Madeira in hand, and asked, “Could we not come to some arrangement where you could both benefit?”
Maxwell had won him over. She bit the inside of her lip to keep it from trembling. “How so?”
“Well, couldn’t you divide the property?”
“I don’t see how,” Maxwell said, sitting back as a footman cleared their dessert dishes away.
“Crenshaw Iron could control the warehouses, and Lady Helena’s charity the priory grounds,” Sir Phineas said.
Could they? Perhaps if she could keep the priory, but she would need every bit of the campus around it. Before Helena could get too excited about the suggestion, Maxwell said, “Crenshaw Iron needs the residence on the grounds for the workers, and the factory there can work as a foundry. We’ve plans to modify the machines.”
Sir Phineas frowned and asked Helena, “Could you do with a smaller share of the residence?”