by Aya Ling
“Just busy with official princess stuff.” Like I could mention my memory loss. I look for Billy, but then I realize that he’s at school now. He doesn’t need to work for Mr. Wellesley anymore.
“I met Molly and her sister, Nell, outside. They’re selling flowers.”
Instantly, the sly grin disappears from his face. “I supposed you would run into them sooner or later.”
“Nell has a baby, doesn’t she? And so they are experiencing more hardships than before.”
Mr. Wellesley nods. “And that is only part of the story. Did you know that Molly dropped out of that girls’ school you established, not just because she needs to earn more to keep her sister’s baby fed and clothed, but also because McVean slashed their wages into half?”
“He did what? Just because there is less output due to the reduced hours?”
Andrew McVean. That horrible, ruthless man who cares for nothing but profit. His immense wealth is built on blood. I had been trying so hard to let the child workers receive better treatment by passing the Eight-Hour Act, and here he goes and makes things worse. Perhaps his action isn’t surprising, but my anger rises all the same.
“It is not simply because of the reduced output. Along with the new law, Edward established additional measures. The owners have to pay for health insurance and shoulder part of the expense for appointing inspectors. You know, there have to be inspectors to make sure the factory owners are abiding by the new law. What McVean did was certainly unethical, but there is no law that forbids him to do so.”
“You don’t even have a minimum wage in this country?”
Mr. Wellesley raises an eyebrow, and I realize how weird my question sounds. I’m talking as if I am not a citizen of this country.
I cough and change the subject. “Isn’t there anything we can do to help the children?”
“Much has already been accomplished in the past year. Remember, lass, that change is always gradual in a country like ours. Unless our government is more similar to the Moryn empire . . . but I’d take the parliament over the emperor any day. Meanwhile, I’ll keep an eye on Molly and her sister, and if they are tired, they can drop by for a cup of water.” Mr. Wellesley pats my hand. “Don’t worry, lassie. Give it some time. More changes will be implemented, eventually.”
30
I pace in my room—a habit recently acquired from Edward. The sunset is breathtakingly gorgeous, painting the sky red and gold and orange, a view easily appreciated with the huge windows taking up the entire side of the room.
Sooner or later, Liam’s voice echoes in my head, they will all be dropping out.
I put my hands to my head. McVean slashed Molly’s wages, and she is back to working all day. The streets might not be life-threatening compared to the factory, but still, it’s no place for a child. I don’t want Molly becoming like those other flower-girls with savage expressions. She isn’t much better off than before.
And it’s all my fault.
Sinking onto the window seat, I try to calm down and think rationally. Would I have acted differently if I had known Molly would end up selling flowers in the streets? When I remember poor Jimmy with his blood-soaked bandages, I still can’t bring myself to regret what I did. But maybe I could have figured out a better way, made some preventative measures that wouldn’t have led to McVean cutting wages.
The door to our suite creaks, and footsteps, steady and firm, sound on the polished marble floor. Edward must have returned from Parliament. Good. I need someone to listen to me, to discuss with me, to advise me what I should do. There’s no one better than my husband.
Pushing my bangs out of my eyes, I head toward the sitting room. He isn’t there, but there’s a sound coming from the direction of his bedroom. Without thinking, I stride toward his bedroom, finding the door only half-closed. And then I halt.
Edward has just taken his shirt off. He pauses when he sees me, the white linen material dangling on his arm.
Gah . . . my face is burning up. We’re married, but I’ve never seen him half-naked before, given that we have separate bedrooms and he’s always waiting in the sitting room before we go down to breakfast. It lasts only a second, but my glimpse is long enough to take in the muscled, toned body of his. For a moment, I’m tempted to run my hands over his broad golden chest.
“I . . . sorry!” I turn my back on him, feeling my entire head in flames. It’s ridiculous, honestly, me blushing at a guy’s naked chest? I’m no longer a teenager, and here I’m behaving like a girl in middle school. Admit it, Kat. Your attraction to him isn’t purely because of his character. It doesn’t hurt that he’s drop-dead gorgeous.
He chuckles, heightening my embarrassment. A warm hand turns me to face him, and I look up. Edward stands before me, thankfully with his shirt on.
“Never did I expect you’d be so eager to see me.” He runs a finger down my cheek. “When will you stop blushing when confronted with my torso? I thought your world taught you to behave with less modesty. Although I have to say, you look adorable.”
He’s flirting again, but right now, I’m not in the mood.
“I need your help,” I blurt. In terse words, I relate to him how I met Molly and her sister near The Bookworm.
“I thought that when I set out to change the law, I was doing the right thing. I thought I was helping the children.” I bite my lip and look down on the floor. “But now we’re back to the beginning. Nothing has really changed.”
“Do not say so.” Edward steers me to a chair and gestures that I sit in an armchair near the fireplace. His bedroom is larger than mine, but it contains less furniture. There is only one wardrobe, and the dresser is smaller and less cluttered. The pillows are neatly laid, the blankets wrinkle-free, the canopy held back by velvet ropes—it almost appears as if no one has slept in that bed. The austere condition of the bed reflects the austere sex life of its occupant. I curl my toes and, for a wild moment, I let my mind wander to the idea of taking Edward’s hand and leading him to bed.
Edward drops into another chair across from me. “Through your interview, you have made the public aware of the inhumane suffering of child workers. Before I met you, I believed that change must be gradual, and drastic action cannot produce satisfactory results. But your efforts have taught me that some risks are worth taking.”
I force my mind return to the present. “I could have done better. I didn’t foresee the possibilities of the factory owners adapting to their advantage.”
“Kat, while you may believe that you did not successfully alleviate the children’s suffering, remember that the Eight-Hour Act was never meant to be an end, but only a step toward our final goal—to completely eliminate child labor.”
“Of course.” Yet, when I remember how Molly had reacted when her father forced her to go back to work, my confidence wavers. “I still believe that it’s the right thing to have the children educated instead of sending them into the streets. Or to the factory. But what can I do if Molly herself doesn’t want to come back? She seems to take pride in the fact that she’s helping her family’s finances. And since her sister’s baby needs to be fed . . . Edward, if I were in her place, I don’t think I’d choose any other option.”
“There are other options, though. She could make much more as a shop clerk or tradesman’s assistant, if she were willing to complete her education, but my guess is that her family is unlikely to excuse her for several years.” Edward sighs and rubs his forehead. “To be honest, I did foresee that families in the lowest rung—like Molly’s—will not benefit from the Eight-Hour Act, simply because their financial situations are too dire. But I do not regret advocating for lesser hours, nor our subsequent act of limiting the children’s work hours to daytime only.”
I wonder how many families like Molly’s are out there. Given the number of children I’ve seen at McVean’s factory, we still have a long way to go.
“Recently, Father and I have been discussing a new act,” Edward says slowly. “Since there
is no shortage of supply, employers like McVean can set the wages however they like. Therefore, we have been contemplating setting a minimum hourly rate for laborers.”
“A minimum wage.” Another memory comes to my mind. “Wait, that was my idea. When I moved into the palace after the ball, I mentioned it to you once, when one of the cooks left for a better-paying job at a top restaurant.”
He nods slowly, a smile forming on his face. “And I told you that establishing a minimum wage would not be without problems, for the employer can simply choose to lay off more workers, resulting in a group of people who have no income instead of little.”
“But we have passed the law for an eight-hour work day,” I say. “McVean can’t employ fewer people working fewer hours.”
“Adults do not benefit from the Eight-Hour Act.”
I privately thank the stars that I’m a princess in this country, or I’d be doomed. Even if I were a man, who enjoys more privileges in Athelia, it must suck when there isn’t a limit on work hours or a minimum of pay.
“So, your father is convinced that Athelia could try establishing a minimum wage?”
“It would do no harm to try. But getting Parliament to pass the Act is another matter. The impact would be far greater than limiting child labor.”
It doesn’t seem an ideal solution, but then, so far, I can’t think of anything better. I don’t know what Molly’s father’s job is, but if he is paid a higher wage, he might be less inclined to make her earn a living.
“Okay.” I smile at him, feeling my heart brimming with affection. At that moment, I realize one of the reasons I fell in love with him. Edward has always been supportive of my ideas. He may tease me, but he never regards what I care for as trivial.
I rise on tiptoe, intending to kiss his cheek like the time before we went to Poppy’s house, but this time Edward is prepared.
Swiftly, he turns, and my gasp of surprise is swallowed by his lips firmly pressed on mine. His arm curls around my waist, drawing me close to his body. Whether it is from memory or not, I react straight away. I wind my arms around his neck and kiss him back, all other thoughts temporarily banished at the moment.
And then Krev’s ugly squashed face barges into my mind. Don’t fall in love with him, girlie!
I pull back abruptly. It was a mistake—I should have inched away slowly. From the look on his face, I sense that he’s both confused and hurt.
“Kat,” Edward says quietly. “I know that your mind is on the children now, but don’t tell me that my . . . my advances are unwelcome. There is a world of difference when you look at me now. Before, you looked upon me with suspicion, reservation, and even hostility. You’d blush, but it wasn’t genuine affection. But now, you’ve changed.” Gently, he brushes a strand of hair from my face. “I can tell that you want me. Not as much as I want you, but you cannot deny the attraction exists.”
Again, Krev appears in my mind, his expression menacing. I wonder if this is some goblin magic, or if he left such a deep impression on me that I’d think of him every time I’m close to disregarding his warning.
“Is it your suitor?” He never refers to Jason by name. “Can you still not forget him?”
The truth be told, I haven’t thought of Jason that much since I regained my memories. But still, even if I’ve fallen for Edward, I can’t completely forget my boyfriend in America. We’ve been together for two years. Everything I’ve done with him, such as squabbling over the flavor of popcorn in movies, outings at the park, and cozy nights with home-cooked dinners . . . a pang of guilt stabs me. I didn’t want it to turn out this way, but it has happened. I’ve left him for another man.
“He is still on your mind,” Edward says, disappointment evident on his face.
True, but if it weren't for Krev, I would have confessed that I love him. I debate about telling him that the goblin visited, then decide against it. I need to know from Krev why I can't fall in love with Edward. I need him to stop messing with my mind, especially when Edward tries to kiss me.
“Just give me a bit more time.” I might as well use Jason as an excuse. “Jason and I were together for two years. I can’t get over him so soon. And you know I’m not the impetuous teen that I was when I first met you. I’ll never see my family and friends again if I stay with you. When I say yes, I want to be absolutely sure.”
Silence stretches between us for such a long time that I have to speak again. “Edward?”
He exhales. “I’m done with you.”
If he’d told me this after the ball, I might have believed him. But telling me he didn’t want anything else to do with me right after he kissed me with passion and desire . . . I find it difficult to follow his train of thought.
“Can you say that again?”
A long finger touches the underside of my chin, tilting my face to meet his.
“I’m done with getting to know you,” Edward says, his voice husky. His finger is uncommonly warm, sending sparkles down my neck and body. “You told me that we should be re-acquainted. I believe that the months we’ve spent together since have been sufficient for that purpose.” He leans in, so close that his breath warms my ear. “From now on, I am going to seduce you.”
31
I enter the sitting room the next morning with a conflicted mix of trepidation and anticipation, Edward’s ‘threat’ of seduction echoing in my head. I simply couldn’t kiss Edward with the goblin’s shrill voice intruding my mind. It felt like Krev was physically present in the room, hovering over my shoulder, watching me like a hawk. It felt like Krev had cast some stupid curse on me, like the memory spell.
I set my jaw. If I could break through the barrier that withheld my memories of Athelia, then I can also conquer this ridiculous ban, though deep in the recesses of my mind, there’s an anxiety that keeps me from being wholly optimistic. Why doesn’t Krev want me to stay in Athelia?
I touch my left shoulder. The mark Krev gave me is still there, hidden by the long sleeves of my silken petticoats and satin gown. I should be grateful that it’s early autumn, or I’d have a lot to explain to Amelie and Mabel about the sinister-looking red circle etched on my skin, like the brand of the devil.
Edward is lounging on the sofa as usual, his long legs crossed casually in front of him. He lowers his paper when I approach him, and a smile, slow and gradual yet effective all the same, spreads over his face.
“Shall we go down to breakfast?”
He stands up and offers his arm. Something strikes me as unusual about him—I squint and discover that his cravat, usually neatly tied around his neck, is crooked.
“Wait.” I reach out and try to right the cravat, but somehow, I can’t get it positioned correctly.
“I’m afraid that we’ll have to loosen and re-tie it,” Edward says, sounding amused. “Will you do it for me, Kat?”
Knowing how he keeps himself immaculately groomed, I could bet my annual allowance that he left his cravat askew on purpose. But also, knowing how much he loves me, I’m not at all bothered with this contrivance. Following his instructions, I learn how to wrap the long end over the short end, create a double fold, and finally tuck the fabric into his charcoal gray waistcoat. In the beginning, I was only focusing on how the Athelian cravat compares to a modern necktie, but when I’m almost done, I become aware of his gaze on my face, hot and filled with desire. My cheeks heat up—the act of tying his cravat seems so intimate, even more than the dancing lessons. Any lady could dance with him at a ball, but only a wife can have the privilege of fixing his cravat.
“There.” I smooth the front of his waistcoat, my fingers trembling slightly as I sense the heat radiating from his body. “All done.”
“All done,” he repeats, his voice a deep baritone.
“Breakfast,” I say. “We should go down to breakfast.”
“In a moment.”
Edward’s hands slide slowly from my hips, tracing the sides of my body until they rest on my shoulders. A thrill runs down my spine. I me
et his eyes, which are glowing like the fire in the grate. Without thinking, I tilt my head, my heart pounding with anticipation. Forget that stupid goblin. I’m not going to care—
“Girlie!” Krev’s voice pierces through my head. “Stay away from him!”
“Ow!” I break away from Edward and look around wildly, but there’s no sign of Krev. How is it that I can still hear him?
“Kat?” Edward looks alarmed. “What happened? You suddenly went as pale as a sheet of paper, as though the world were coming to an end.”
“I just felt a bit dizzy,” I lie. “Maybe I’m not fully recovered from that day I fainted at the ball. I’m all right now, honestly.”
A servant knocks on the door, asking if we’re ready to go down to breakfast. Edward releases me, but not before making me promise that I’ll see Dr. Jensen if my symptoms become worse.
As we head down to the dining room, I decide that I have to go out again. I can’t be around Edward when Krev’s magic is still strong, especially when Edward is eager to take our relationship to the next level.
After finishing my daily round of letters and scanning through today’s paper, I call my maids.
“Amelie, I’m going to visit Poppy Montgomery. Have the kitchens prepare a suitable basket and ask Bertram to prepare my carriage. Mabel, I need to change into a dress of dark color, and of a material that’s easy to wash. Just in case.”
* * *
The parlor maid looks doubtful when she opens the door, and she cautions me that her mistress is putting the ‘little tyrants’ to bed. I hesitate, wondering if I had better hand her the basket of baked goods and go to The Bookworm instead, when Poppy’s voice floats from the second floor.
“Is that Kat at the door? Let her in! I want to see her.”
