“You see? ’E’s not keeping a secret, merely trying to gain a competitive edge.” Fancy’s tone was calming. “An edge that will ’elp preserve the jobs o’ ’is workers.”
“Workers ’e means to replace with machines,” Bodin shot back.
“Machines can’t run themselves, can they?” she asked in a sensible tone. “Men will still be needed. Now their work might be changing, but it’ll be work just the same. As my da always says, the key to tinkering ain’t about skills: it’s about the ability to adapt those skills to any situation.”
“’Ow are weavers supposed to adapt to these bloody modern contraptions?”
Although Bodin’s expression remained suspicious, he sounded less hostile. Could it be that the weaver was actually listening for once? Then Severin was flummoxed to realize that he, himself, was picking up something new: worry threaded the other’s tone. Perhaps it had always been there, hidden beneath that bellicosity.
Severin’s own anger began to wane as he realized Bodin was awaiting an answer.
“I’ll provide training,” he said curtly. “Once I verify that the machines are, indeed, of use.”
Bodin squared his shoulders. “You’ll guarantee that no weaver will lose ’is livelihood?”
“I make no guarantees. But any man who is willing to learn the new technology will have a chance to continue working for me. Change is going to happen, whether or not you, or I, like it,” Severin said. “Factories in other countries are modernizing, producing silk and other fabrics in greater quantities and cheaper prices. If we don’t adapt and embrace the new technology, our entire industry will die, and there will be no jobs of any kind for weavers, that I can guarantee you.”
Bodin’s jaw worked, but he said nothing.
“So you see, sir, you and Knight are fighting on the same side.” Fancy’s tone was soft and persuasive, Severin noted with amusement, even as she went in for the kill. “The futures o’ the weavers depend on making this new technology work. And that would go a lot easier if you and Knight could band together, convince the other men that this is the path to the future.”
She gave Severin a meaningful look. Taking her cue, he extended his hand.
“What say you, Bodin? Shall we work together?” he asked.
Bodin stared at the hand offered to him and made no move to take it. Severin told himself that he’d expected this. Nothing in life came easy, and if a bloodbath was what Bodin wanted, then that was what he would get.
Severin began to withdraw his hand, only to find it grasped in a beefy grip.
“All right, Your Grace,” Bodin said. “We’ll give the machine a shot.”
Hiding his surprise, Severin returned the crushing handshake. “I am glad to hear it.”
Fancy beamed at both of them. “So am I.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Grace,” Bodin said. “My Meg will be tickled when I tell ’er I met another tinker’s daughter.”
“I’d like to meet Mrs. Bodin,” Fancy said warmly. “Would she come by for tea one afternoon?”
“I’m sure she’d enjoy that.” With gruff admiration, the weaver added, “Ain’t often she gets invited to tea by a true lady.”
30
A couple evenings later, Fancy waited anxiously to be announced at Maggie’s ball. She and Knight were standing in the receiving line that led into the ballroom; Esther, Jonas, and Cecily were behind them. Peering into the glittering sea, Fancy felt her heart flip-flop like a fish out of water. She nervously ran her gloved hands over the skirts of her new wine-colored gown.
“Stop fidgeting,” Knight said in an undertone. “You will do fine.”
“I’m not fidgeting,” Fancy whispered back. “I was straightening my dress.”
“I can see you tapping your slipper from here,” Cecily said from behind her.
There was no heat in Cecily’s voice, however. When Fancy turned to look at Knight’s sister, she saw that the girl wasn’t sulking. In fact, Cecily’s face glowed with excitement unobscured by any cosmetic. Learning from wily Aunt Esther, Fancy had made Cecily’s invitation to Maggie’s ball conditional upon two things: the girl had to forgo the face paint and allow Fancy to have the final say on her gown.
Although Cecily had pouted, she’d agreed to the terms. She was a natural beauty, with her tawny hair in dangling ringlets, her green eyes sparkling as she took in the gaiety of the ball. She wore a lilac satin ballgown that showed off her slender figure yet remained modest, thanks to the demure ruffle Fancy had sewn to the neckline. Cecily had been over the moon when she’d learned Fancy