Rich Man (Rich Man | Poor Man | Beggar Man | Thief Book 1)

by Laura Landon

  There was friendship, of course. She did consider him a friend. Perhaps that would be enough.

  Perhaps.

  She turned her head to look at Lord Kendrick when he reached to hold her hands. “I want to be perfectly honest with you,” he said. “I want you to know that I truly admire you, and I will do everything in my power to make you happy. You are the most special woman I have ever met, and I consider myself a very lucky man to have earned your favor. But, neither have I hid the fact that your dowry is extremely important to me.”

  Lord Kendrick paused as if searching for the right words. “I don’t know if you’re aware of my circumstances, but over the years, Father has made several disappointing investments that have drained our coffers. It is my responsibility to do what is required of me to get us back on solid footing.”

  “In other words, you must marry someone who will come with a sizeable dowry,” Willow added.

  “Yes. I must marry someone who will bring money to the union. I thank God that he has brought me you.”

  Willow studied the man who was courting her. She wondered if she could ever come to love him. Oh, she liked him. But love?

  She studied his handsome features and realized her heart weighed heavily in her breast.

  . . . .

  From deep in his box at the opera, Blake could see Lady Willow with the Marquess of Kendrick. It made his blood boil. Especially now that he’d met her. He couldn’t allow the lady to deepen her relationship with the Duke of Somerset’s heir. Not when everyone knew she brought with her a massive dowry that was the only reason the duke was determined to have her as his daughter-in-law.

  Blake fisted his hands until his fingers ached. He would do anything in his power to prevent her from marrying Kendrick. Anything in his power to prevent the Duke of Somerset from getting his hands on enough money to save him from debtor’s prison.

  Blake wanted Somerset destroyed. And he’d do whatever it took to make that happen.

  Even if he had to use Lady Willow Gilchrist to do it.

  Chapter 5

  Willow closed her sketch book and tucked it into a leather folio. After she tied the folio with the straps that prevented the folio from opening, she tucked it under her arm and left her room.

  It had been three days since she’d gone to Edison Imports, and she’d spent nearly every free minute designing new gowns. As soon as she broke her fast, she intended to go to Madame Boulereau’s and see if the material she’d purchased from Mr. Edison had arrived. She’d wanted to leave much earlier, but she’d stayed awake too long drawing last night and had overslept this morning. She went down the stairs, then made her way into the breakfast room.

  She was late and didn’t expect any of her family to still be eating breakfast, so she was surprised to see her mother sitting at the table.

  “Good morning, Mother,” Willow said, walking to her mother’s chair and giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “You must have slept later than usual as I did. We kept you up late last night.”

  “Yes, Lady Broughton’s ball was very well attended. I saw several friends I hadn’t spoken to for an age.”

  “You seemed to be having a good time,” Willow said after she’d filled a plate and sat next to her mother.

  “As did you,” her mother said in return. “Has Lord Kendrick stated his intentions?”

  “Not in so many words.” Willow placed her fork on her plate and lifted her cup of tea and took a swallow. “But he’s hinted his intentions strongly enough. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he finds the courage to state his intentions.”

  “Do you think his reluctance has anything to do with your lack of encouragement of his attentions?”

  Willow dropped her hands to her lap and lowered her head. “I haven’t discouraged him, Mama.”

  “But neither have you encouraged him.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I have.” Willow lifted her gaze until it locked with her mother’s. “How can I? I think of Lord Kendrick as a friend. He’s…comfortable. Like a brother.”

  “I see.”

  Willow heard the heavy sigh her mother released. “And how do you suspect Lord Kendrick thinks of you?”

  “I don’t know. I know he likes me.”

  “Has he kissed you?”

  “Mother!”

  “Don’t look so shocked, Willow. It’s a natural question to ask. Has he?”

  Willow lowered her gaze to the table and shook her head.

  “I see.”

  Willow heard the disappointment in her mother’s voice, and yet… Willow wasn’t sure she wanted Lord Kendrick to kiss her. What if she was disappointed in his kiss?

  A picture of Blake Edison materialized in her mind. A picture of him kissing her. How wildly her imagination turned it into an epic experience. She shook her head and forced such thoughts away. But they refused to go very far.

  “How was your day with Madame Boulereau the other day?” her mother said in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

  “Oh, Mother. It was splendid. We visited a fabric warehouse and Madame Boulereau asked my advice on several fabric selections. You can’t imagine the hundreds of bolts of materials on display.”

  “And have you been designing gowns from the materials you saw?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me see.” Her mother pointed to her sketchbook. Willow eagerly handed the book over.

  Willow watched her mother’s reaction as she turned the pages of her sketchbook. From the look on her mother’s face, Willow could tell which designs she especially liked. When her mother finished looking at Willow’s designs, she gently closed the book and rubbed her hands over the cover.

  “How brilliant, Willow. I think you have a signature design for your walking suits. Was it intentional? How each one has a cleverly complicated lapel on one side and none on the other? And each décolletage on your gowns, too, don’t you think? Whimsical embellishment on one side and utter simplicity on the other. Madame Boulereau will be quite impressed when she sees these.”

  “Which one would you like made into a gown, Mama?”

  Her mother opened the book and found the design Willow remembered her mother had looked at for a long moment.

  “This one, Willow.”

  “Oh, yes. You will look marvelous in it. I’ll bring fabric samples home with me today for you to choose from.”

  “No,” her mother said as she reached for Willow’s hand and held it. “Surprise me. You choose the material and have Madame Boulereau make it up. She has my measurements.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Willow’s mother nodded. “I’m sure. I trust your opinion completely. You have a rare gift when it comes to the designing of gowns. I only wish that the world could know your talent as I do. I wish Society wouldn’t be so shocked at one of their own having a talent and using it.”

  Willow’s mother gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, then issued her a warning. “Be careful, Willow. Keep your designs hidden. You could be ruined if Society discovered that you design your own gowns, and mine.”

  “They won’t, Mama. I’ll keep them well hidden.” Willow leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I love you, Mama. Thank you for understanding.”

  Lady Wyndfield brushed at the wetness that filled her eyes and placed her napkin on the table. “What are your plans for today?”

  “I want to show Madame Boulereau my sketches, then look for material for your gown. That may take me awhile. I want it to be very special.”

  Willow slid back from the table and gathered her sketchbook.

  “Be sure to take Marie with you,” her mother said before Willow left the breakfast room.

  “I will,” Willow answered. She ran up the stairs to collect Marie, and a cloak, then went out to the waiting carriage.

  As they made their way to Madame Boulereau’s shop, Willow couldn’t keep a smile from her face. She was as happy as she’d ever been. Her life couldn’t be more perfect. If only she coul
d live this way forever.

  . . . .

  Willow entered Madame Boulereau’s shop, expecting to see the owner and her helpers busy arranging the new fabrics that had just arrived. But when she closed the door behind her, she looked around to see that she was the only person in the shop. She paused, then turned when one of the seamstresses hurried in from the back.

  “Oh, Lady Willow. Come see. It’s the most stunning thing. You must see this.”

  Willow followed the seamstress around the counter, then through a door to the back workroom.

  “Join us, Lady Willow,” Madame Boulereau said when she noticed her entry into the room.

  Willow rushed toward the small gathering. But it wasn’t Madame Boulereau that caught her attention first, or the four seamstresses who worked in the shop that she noticed. But Mr. Blake Edison, and his friend, Mr. Liam McGregor.

  Without warning her heart began a steady racing in her breast, and her cheeks turned warm when his gaze met hers.

  “Good day, Lady Willow,” Mr. Edison said, greeting her with a broad smile and a gleam in his eyes. Mr. McGregor also made his greeting.

  “Good day, Mr. Edison. Mr. McGregor.” Willow glanced at the focus of everyone’s attention. “Oh, my,” Willow said, staring at a stranger who sat on a stool in front of a low table. “What is it?” She studied the peculiar contraption in front of the stranger.

  “My lady. Allow me to present Mr. Amasa Bemis Howe. Brother of the famous Mr. Elias Howe, inventor of the Howe sewing machine. Mr. Howe, Lady Willow Gilchrist.”

  The man at the table stood and bowed. “My lady.”

  “Mr. Howe.”

  “Mr. Howe has brought us one of his American sewing machines.”

  “A sewing machine?”

  “Yes, my lady. Have you ever heard of it?”

  “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen one.”

  “Then come look,” Mr. Howe said. “I was about to give Madame Boulereau a demonstration.”

  Willow stepped near enough that she had a good view of the demonstration. Blake Edison stepped close enough behind her that she could feel the heat from his body.

  “The purpose of the sewing machine is not to replace the exquisiteness or the specialty of the hand-sewn garment,” Mr. Howe explained, “but to complete garments in record time. This will open the door for companies to manufacture garments that are ready-to-wear.”

  The gathering watched as Mr. Howe took two pieces of material and by pushing a treadle with his feet, caused the needle to move up and down through the fabric. The process was noisy and it was impossible to understand exactly how it worked, but when he reached the end of the fabric he cut the thread and held it up to reveal that the two pieces were sewn together—ten times faster than a fine seamstress could manage it by hand.

  There was a loud chorus of “oohs” and “aahs”, then Madame Boulereau took the fabric from Mr. Howe’s hands and inspected it. “It’s terribly good,” she said on a hushed whisper. She passed the material to Mr. Edison, who then handed it to Willow.

  “I don’t believe this,” Willow said on a whisper. “Have you sold any of your sewing machines in London yet?”

  Mr. Howe shook his head.

  “Then I believe your luck has changed,” Mr. Edison said. “How many machines did you bring with you?”

  A smile lit Amasa Bemis Howe’s face. “I came with five. And I’ve just set up a shop in Cheapside to produce more right here in London.”

  “Excellent! Then I shall buy all five.”

  Mr. Howe’s jaw dropped. “They do not come cheaply, Mr. Edison.”

  “I didn’t expect they would.” Mr. Edison turned to Madame Boulereau. “May Mr. Howe and I use your office to discuss business, Madame?”

  “Of course, Mr. Edison.”

  “Liam,” Mr. Blake said to his friend. “Join us.”

  Mr. McGregor nodded, then followed Mr. Blake and Mr. Howe up a flight of stairs to Madame Boulereau’s private office.

  “What do you suppose Mr. Blake intends to do with five sewing machines?” Willow asked when the shop workers returned to the floor and she was alone with Madame Boulereau.

  “I have no idea, but whatever his plan, it is guaranteed to make him money.”

  The dressmaker cast a quick glance up the stairs, then looked back at Willow. “I see you brought your sketchbook with you. May I see what you’ve created since the last time I looked at your designs?”

  Willow handed Madame Boulereau her sketchbook and watched the seamstress as she thumbed through the first design, then the next. Butterflies soared in her stomach when she saw the modiste’s face light up with each new design she saw.

  Willow doubted her day could get any better.

  Chapter 6

  Blake sat in Georgette’s office and considered what he’d just done. The risk he was taking was monumental, but his gut instinct told him he’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity. And he’d never gone against his gut instinct.

  He rose and walked to a small cupboard on the wall where Georgette kept a supply of liquor with which they often celebrated another purchase of materials. He poured himself two fingers of brandy and emptied the glass in one swallow.

  “Don’t you know it’s never wise to drink alone?” Georgette Boulereau said from the open doorway.

  Blake refilled his glass, then turned to face his friend. But his gaze didn’t rest on Georgette. Instead, it shifted to Lady Willow, who stood beside her. “Would you care to join me, Georgette? Lady Willow?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Madame Boulereau answered.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Edison,” Lady Willow said. “I’m afraid it’s too early in the day for me.”

  “Very wise,” Blake said, taking Georgette a glass of the special wine she preferred.

  When they were all seated, and Liam McGregor had returned from showing Mr. Howe from the building, Blake looked at the people facing him. “I know you’re curious as to why I purchased all of the sewing machines Amasa Howe had with him,” Blake said. “First of all, Georgette, allow me to assure you that it wasn’t to compete with your business.”

  Madame Boulereau laughed at his suggestion, as he knew she would.

  “Oh, Blake. You could never compete with my seamstresses. There is no comparison between the exquisite work they do and the simple stitch the machine makes.”

  “You are so right,” Blake said, lifting his glass to salute Georgette.

  “So why did you purchase them?” she asked.

  “Have you ever heard of ready-made-gowns?”

  “Of course. More and more stores carry ready-made garments. As of yet, it hasn’t affected my business. The women who come here still want the specialty and superb fit of hand-made gowns. But there is a growing number of women who are eager to buy a ready-made dress and not have to spend their limited free time sewing one themselves. Shop girls and the like.” Georgette paused to consider what Blake’s purchase of five sewing machines meant. “And you are going to provide that service for them?” Georgette asked.

  “Yes. I am going to go into the ready-made garment business.”

  Lady Willow sat up straighter in her chair and spoke for the first time since she’d entered the room. “That’s a marvelous idea. Do you realize the benefits to the women, as well as to your business?”

  “I believe I do,” Blake responded. “But I’m interested in what benefits you see?”

  “Oh goodness. Well, the most obvious is the use of the material that hasn’t sold. Rather than holding it at a loss, you now have a use for it. Much of it can be used to make items of clothing that can be sold to the stores that handle ready-made clothing.”

  “That’s one of the benefits I considered,” Blake said.

  “There is also the employment you would provide several women who need to earn money to feed their families. You would, of course, have to have several additional employees to manage your shop, go to the various stores that sell ready-made clothing and take ord
ers. Then there would be the staff responsible for making the patterns and cutting out the material. And…”

  Blake couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm he heard in Lady Willow’s voice as well as the glimmer in her eyes. “I’m impressed, Lady Willow. It seems you know a great deal about the clothing industry.”

  “I… well, I just…”

  “Lady Willow has made it a hobby to learn everything there is to know about what it takes to create a masterpiece,” Madame Boulereau said.

  Blake studied the expression on Lady Willow’s face and knew there was more to the excuse Georgette offered than she was saying. He was determined to discover what that was.

  “What is the first thing you intend to do, Blake?” Madame Boulereau asked.

  Blake smiled. He’d hoped Georgette would be too curious about his plans not to offer to help him. “That’s simple, Georgette. The first thing I’m going to do is find someone who is an expert in the seamstress business to help me. Or perhaps a tailor.”

  Georgette’s expression turned serious. “A tailor, indeed. And who might that be?”

  “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “Would you happen to know someone who is qualified to undertake a venture of this magnitude.”

  Georgette took a sip of her wine. “I know of only one person who is qualified to make a success of the project you intend to start.”

  “And who would that be? Mind you, I want only the best.”

  “Then the best you shall have.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Me.”

  Blake dropped his head back to his shoulders and laughed. Liam joined him. “Of course,” Blake said when he stopped laughing. “Why didn’t I think of you?”

  “You did think of me, you blackguard. You just wanted to force me to volunteer. And I know why.”

  “Why would that be, Madame?”

  “So that when your business is such a success that we are all overworked and cannot keep up, I cannot accuse you of forcing me to help you. You will always be able to remind me that I was the one who foolishly volunteered to help you.”

  “That will always be on the tip of my tongue, Madame. Those exact words will always be at the ready.”