Rich Man

by Laura Landon

  “Of course. I’d be glad to.”

  Lady Willow rose from her chair and walked to Georgette’s desk. She took out a piece of paper and a pen and prepared to write. That was when Blake noticed the red of her cheeks and the unbridled enthusiasm on her face. He suddenly realized that she was as excited about this new venture as he was.

  “Very well,” Blake said. “The first detail we must decide is where our factory will be located. For now, I think we can set up in the rear of Edison Textile Imports. At least, until we outgrow that location. By then, I will hopefully be able to purchase the warehouse next to Edison’s. It will give us the room we need until we are forced to expand.”

  “You are quite confident of the success of your new business,” Madame Boulereau said with a teasing gleam in her eyes.

  “I am. I’m as confident as a man can be when starting something new.”

  “Then I have no choice but to do my part to guarantee your success.”

  Blake, Liam, and Georgette raised their glasses to toast their new partnership.

  . . . .

  Willow wrote as fast as she could. Her excitement rose to a fevered pitch. She wanted to add to the conversation, but there wasn’t time to stop writing long enough to add her opinions.

  She couldn’t believe this. She was a part of the conception of a new business. A business that she was sure would not only earn a profit in record time, but would provide work for countless women.

  “The next item we’ll have to take care of is the hiring of six women to learn how to use the new sewing machines.”

  “Six?” Mr. McGregor said. “But there are only five machines.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Edison answered. “But we cannot risk that one of our sewers might become ill, or have to miss a day because of an emergency. We cannot have one machine sit idle an entire day because one of our sewers is absent.”

  “Very wise,” Willow said as she wrote frantically.

  “I’m glad you agree,” Mr. Edison said, and Willow realized that she’d spoken out loud.

  Willow lifted her head and looked into Blake Edison’s smiling face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give voice to my thoughts.”

  “No, Lady Willow. Please, feel free to offer your opinions.”

  Willow lowered her head. “Thank you, Mr. Edison.”

  “I also think it’s time to stop calling me Mr. Edison. My name is Blake.”

  “And my name is Liam,” Mr. McGregor said.

  “It’s a pleasure… Blake. Liam. And you may call me Willow.”

  A smile lifted the corners of Blake Edison’s mouth and Willow’s heart expanded in her breast. There was something quite appealing about him. Something that drew her to him and refused to release her.

  “I will take care of hiring the women to run the machines,” Madame Boulereau said. “I have several women in mind who I believe might be perfect for the position.”

  “We will also need about a dozen more women to design the patterns, cut out the pieces, and do any hand stitching that is required,” Blake added. “Is it possible for you to hire additional women to fill these positions?”

  “Yes.” Madame Boulereau took a sip of her wine, then set down her glass. “The most important position that will need to be filled is that of a supervisor. This will require someone who is not only trustworthy, but who understands every aspect of the business you envision.”

  “Do you have anyone in mind for that position?”

  “As luck would have it, I have the perfect person in mind. Madeline, one of my seamstresses. I will hate to lose her, but there is no one more capable. And I have a young seamstress who will be quite thrilled to assume Madeline’s present duties in my shop.” Madame Boulereau rose from her chair and walked to the opposite side of the room. “Madeline will not come cheaply, though.”

  Willow finished making notes of what had just been said, then lifted her gaze to look from Madame Boulereau to Blake Edison. A broad grin slowly changed the features of his face and took him from handsome to magnificent.

  “Why doesn’t this surprise me?” Blake said. “I should have known you would require your pound of flesh.”

  “Not a pound of flesh, my boy. Only twenty percent of the profits you reap from your venture.”

  “Oh, you are a shrewd business woman, dear friend. But what choice do I have? I cannot do this without your help, so I suppose I must meet your demands.” Blake turned his gaze and faced Willow. “Be sure you get that down in writing, my lady. Madame Boulereau demands twenty percent of the profits from the business I am starting, which I reluctantly agree to pay her.”

  “And…” Madame Boulereau interrupted.

  “More? You have another demand?”

  “Yes.” Madame Boulereau took her empty wine glass from the table and walked to the cupboard and refilled it. “I have one more requirement,” she said after she’d taken a sip. “I should like you to use as many as possible of the bolts of material in my storeroom that haven’t sold. Perhaps some of them can be used for the garments we will sell as ready-made products.”

  “I suppose you expect me to buy the material back from you?” Blake countered.

  “Of course, my friend. I can hardly hand the material over to you at a loss.”

  “Hm. If you assume twenty percent of the profits then you’ll assume twenty percent of the overhead? That should just about offset the cost of the fabric, I should think.” Blake watched the swift calculations speed through the woman’s mind as clearly as if they were chalked on a blackboard.

  “Ah, you are too shrewd,” she finally sighed. “Careful though, my boy, or you’ll end up a miser,” she said on a laugh.

  He grinned, unable to hide his boyish delight. “Now, I can only think of two more details to take care of. We need someone to design the patterns for the ready-to-wear garments we will make.”

  “You do not need to concern yourself with that, Blake,” the seamstress said. “I have the perfect designer in mind. And I know she will gladly provide the designs for any item we need.”

  Willow’s heart began a steady thumping in her breast. She knew Madame Boulereau intended for her to provide the patterns that would be used for the ready-to-wear garments.

  Willow wanted to jump from her chair and squeeze Madame Boulereau in a hug to show her how happy she was. Her designs would finally be worn by someone other than just herself and her mother. She wanted to shout for joy, but she couldn’t allow anyone to know the designs were hers.

  “And we need someone to select the material that will be used for each dress,” Blake added.

  “I already have the perfect person in mind.” Madame Boulereau turned toward Willow. “Who better to match each design with the perfect material than Lady Willow.”

  Willow felt all eyes turn to her.

  “Would you consider assisting us?” Blake asked.

  Willow couldn’t believe this was happening. There was nothing she would enjoy doing more, but…

  Her mother’s words echoed in her head. Her warning to not let anyone discover her love for designing, or for working with materials, and yet…

  How could she pass up an opportunity like this? How could she say no to her dream?

  Willow placed her pen on the paper where she’d taken notes and looked first to Madame Boulereau, then to Blake Edison. “I would love to assist you in your new business,” she said, realizing she truly meant her words. “But if anyone ever discovered what I was doing, I would be ruined. Not only would I cause a scandal that would affect me, but my mother and father would also bear the sting of my indiscretion. I’m afraid I could never do anything that would bring them embarrassment.”

  “What if we guaranteed that no one would ever discover the part you play in our business venture?”

  Willow let her gaze lock with Blake Edison’s. “How can you make such a guarantee?”

  “Quite simple,” he continued. “A nondescript carriage will be provided for your use. You can take it from
Madame Boulereau’s to the warehouse. While there, you can spend whatever time you need to select fabric samples the seamstresses will need for the gowns. I will make sure you are not recognized while there, and assure that you are safely returned to Madame Boulereau’s.”

  “And for propriety’s sake,” Madame Boulereau continued, “you may be accompanied by your maid or my head shop girl.”

  Blake turned toward Willow and angled his head as if he had made a decision from which he would not retreat. “And one more thing,” he said. “You must receive recompense for your efforts.”

  Willow began to object but he held up his hand. “I would never insult you by offering a wage, my lady. But I shall put aside an amount every month which you may direct to any charity of your choosing. You cannot refuse.” He smiled. “Or we have no deal.”

  Willow considered what Blake Edison and Madame Boulereau were suggesting. Perhaps, just maybe, she could pull this off. She would even tell her mother what she was doing. She was hopeful that if she told her mother only the basic outline of the role she would play in Blake Edison’s plan, her mother might even give her approval.

  That would be her answer. She would tell her mother only the details that were important, and let her mother make the decision for her.

  She wouldn’t mention Blake Edison, or that she’d be spending a great deal of time at Edison Imports. She’d only reveal the points she hoped her mother wouldn’t find objectionable. That would give her a better chance of gaining approval. If her mother gave her permission—and how could she not if the funds she earned went to charity—then Willow would agree.

  She lifted her eyes and locked her gaze with Blake Edison’s. “May I have some time to consider your offer?”

  “Of course,” he answered. “We will not be ready to begin our operation for several weeks. The seamstresses need to be contacted, then trained on the machines. Plus, there are many arrangements to be made before we can begin.”

  Willow felt a wave of relief. “Thank you. I promise you an answer within a weeks’ time.”

  “That will be perfect, my lady,” Madame Boulereau answered. There was a hopeful expression on her face. “Take whatever time you need. I know this is a difficult decision that comes with certain risks.”

  Madame Boulereau was correct. The offer came with risks, but those risks were worth taking. They’d allow her to live her dream. Surely her mother would realize how important this was to her. She couldn’t imagine that her mother would forbid her to have this chance.

  Willow considered how her mother would react, and wondered what she would do if her mother refused to give her permission to be a part of this venture.

  And more importantly, Willow wondered if she would be willing to give up this chance to do what she’d always dreamed of doing if her mother said no.

  Chapter 7

  Willow had managed very little sleep since she’d returned home from Madame Boulereau’s exactly one week before. The main reason for her lack of sleep was the discussion she knew she had to have with her mother. And the fear she harbored that her mother’s answer would not be the one she wanted. It didn’t help that she’d also spent a part of every day of the last week with Lord Kendrick.

  One afternoon they’d gone for a drive through Hyde Park. Another they’d gone to a picnic Lady Gunnersfield had hosted in honor of her twin daughters’ twenty-first birthday. And nearly every night she and Lord Kendrick had attended a Society function of one kind or another.

  She knew she should have used the times that she and Lord Kendrick were together to indicate how she felt about him. Her mother had been right. She hadn’t encouraged his suit. She hadn’t given him the encouragement that was necessary in order for him to state his intentions. But neither had he wooed her. He had offered no gentle compliments, no endearing words. And time was running out.

  Her father had taken her aside only this morning to inform her that the Duke of Somerset had called on him the day before to voice his displeasure because Willow hadn’t indicated yet that she would welcome Lord Kendrick’s proposal. The duke was impatient, relating to her father that each time his son had begun, she had stopped him before he could ask for her hand.

  But how could she consider marrying Lord Kendrick when the man who consumed her thoughts both day and night wasn’t Lord Kendrick? It was Blake Edison.

  No matter where she was, or how large a crowd she was in, Blake Edison’s face appeared in her mind. His face consumed her dreams. Although Willow knew it was impossible, she even thought she saw him in the crowd at the concert she’d attended last night. Which made her realize that agreeing to be a part of the new venture that he and Madame Boulereau were creating was undoubtedly the biggest mistake of her life.

  For the thousandth time since they’d asked her to join them, she doubted the wisdom of spending more time in his presence.

  “What has you so deep in thought?” her mother asked.

  Willow hadn’t even realized her mother had entered the morning room where Willow had gone to be alone to think.

  “I… that is… I…”

  Her mother sat on the sofa and gathered Willow’s hands in hers. “What’s wrong, Willow? And don’t tell me that nothing is wrong because something has bothered you all week. What is it?”

  “Oh, Mama. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Then perhaps we should talk about this problem of yours and come up with a solution together.”

  Willow nodded. “Have you heard about a new invention by a Mr. Howe called a sewing machine?”

  Her mother looked surprised. It was obvious that the invention of a sewing machine wasn’t the topic Willow’s mother had anticipated. She couldn’t imagine why the invention of the new machine bothered Willow so.

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

  “I saw one. At Madame Boulereau’s. Oh, Mama, it’s wonderful. The machine can make more than two hundred stitches in just one minute, and each stitch is the same as every other stitch.”

  “Oh, my,” Willow’s mother said on a sigh. “But how can that possibly upset you. I can see where Madame Boulereau would see the invention as a threat, but…”

  “Actually, Madame Boulereau is in awe of the machine. She rightly believes that the women who can afford to buy hand sewn gowns and specialty dresses will continue to come to her. And I agree. At least for the foreseeable future. But she also believes, as do several other people, including myself, that the demand for ready-made garments will only increase. There are stores that carry a limited assortment of ready-made dresses already, and that number will only increase.”

  “I’ve heard this. The tittle-tattle has it that the prices of these ready-made dresses are affordable and that the gowns are well made.”

  “They are. I’ve seen some.” Willow pulled her hands out of her mother’s grasp and locked them in her lap. “Last week when I went to Madame Boulereau’s to look for material for your gown, a Mr. Howe was there with one of his machines. He showed us how it works. When he finished, Madame Boulereau purchased every machine he had with him. She and the man who provides her with fabrics for her shop are going into business together. They’re going to create a line of ready-made dresses to be sold in stores all over London.”

  “How remarkable. But why does this news trouble you? Don’t you think their business will be a success?”

  “I think it will be a smashing success,” Willow answered. “I also think Madame Boulereau will become very wealthy selling ready-made gowns and the business she starts will put hundreds of women to work.

  “Then what has been bothering you?”

  “They’ve asked me to help them,” Willow said in a rush. She needed to get the words out before she lost the courage to say them.

  “You? What part would you play in their business?”

  “Madame Boulereau would like to use my designs for the gowns that will be sold. She also wants me to select the fabrics used for the gowns.”

  “Oh,
Willow,” her mother said on a sigh. She reached over and placed her hand atop Willow’s. When she lifted her gaze, Willow saw the wetness in her mother’s eyes. Her heart sank in her breast.

  “Mother, do you know how much this would mean to me?”

  “Of course I do. I know how much your designs mean to you. But do you know the risk you would be taking?”

  “Why do you think I’ve managed so little sleep this past week? All I can think of are the risks I will be taking. But Madame Boulereau said I would not have to come to the shop where they’re being sewn but once or twice a week.”

  “And where would that be?” her mother asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. All the details haven’t been worked out.”

  “What other arrangements has she made to keep your involvement a secret?”

  “She said she would send a carriage for me. One that cannot be recognized. And I will take Marie with me. I’ll never travel alone. And I’ll make as many of my designs here as I can so I won’t be gone so often. I’ll mostly have to go to select fabric to match the designs.”

  “Oh, Willow,” her mother said, rising to stand by the window that overlooked the street outside.

  “Please, Mother,” Willow said standing close behind her mother. “Try to understand how important this is to me.” Willow wrapped her arms around her mother and placed her head on her mother’s shoulder.

  Willow’s mother slowly turned until she faced Willow. “I know how important this is to you, Willow. But if Society discovers what you’re involved in, you’ll be ruined.”

  “Are you forbidding me to share my designs with Madame Boulereau, or is it just that I may not go to the warehouse?”

  Willow’s mother didn’t answer for several long moments and the knot in the pit of Willow’s stomach grew heavier.

  “I need time to think about this, Willow. There’s too much at stake for me to make a decision today that I’ll regret tomorrow.”

  Willow released a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Mother. That’s all I can ask.”