Rich Man

by Laura Landon

  Willow’s mother turned and walked to the door, but she stopped before she left the room. “Why did you ask my permission for what you’ve been asked to do?”

  “Because I didn’t want to go behind your back.”

  “What if my answer isn’t the one you want to hear? Will you adhere to my wishes even then?”

  At first Willow wasn’t going to answer her mother. But her mother deserved an answer. Even if it wasn’t one she wanted to hear.

  Willow shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said and she truly meant exactly that.

  . . . .

  Blake hadn’t had a moment to himself for the last two weeks. Once Mr. Howe brought the five sewing machines to the warehouse everything moved at a rapid pace. He and Liam made a temporary work space for the machines. When they were set in place, the six seamstresses came to practice using them. The other women that Madame Boulereau had hired to make the patterns and cut the pieces came for training, but they were limited in the training they could receive. Lady Willow Gilchrist hadn’t indicated whether or not she would be a part of their business venture. Blake waited anxiously each day for her to share her decision.

  A new shipment of fabrics had arrived earlier in the day, and as usual, Blake had sent word to Georgette to arrive to make her selection. He was especially excited over the materials that had come in this shipment. There were several fine silks, satins, and brocades. Those always sold well. Once Georgette made her selections, the other linen-drapers could choose their fabrics. When they finished, Blake would have a few days that were slower. Those were the days when they could hopefully get their business up and running.

  Blake heard a carriage approach, then stop in front of the warehouse. He went to the door to greet Georgette. He’d only taken one step out into the sunshine when his heart beat its warning. Georgette hadn’t come alone. Lady Willow had come with her.

  “My lady,” he greeted when he reached the carriage. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you.”

  “I’m sorry I took so long to return.”

  His smile broadened. “You’re here now. That’s all that’s important.”

  Blake helped Madame Boulereau from the carriage. “Georgette,” he said, lifting his friend’s fingers to his lips. “This is indeed a special day.”

  “I knew you’d be pleased that I brought Lady Willow with me. And,” Madame Boulereau held out a folder. “I brought several designs that I believe will work perfectly. I will hand them over to Mary to have the girls make the pattern pieces so they are ready to cut out when Lady Willow chooses material that will go with each design.”

  “Are you going to reveal the name of your mysterious designer?”

  Georgette clutched the designs to her breast. “She wishes to remain anonymous and if I want to continue to receive her designs, I must adhere to her demands.”

  Blake turned to Willow. “Do you know the mysterious female’s identity?”

  “I’m as in the dark as you, Mr. Edison. Madame Boulereau hasn’t revealed her identity to me either.”

  “Then I will have to be content not knowing.”

  “Yes, you will, my friend,” Madame Boulereau said with a smile on her face.

  Blake gave each lady an arm, and escorted them into the warehouse. He paused when Lady Willow stopped just inside the door.

  “I don’t believe I’ll ever become accustomed to the thrill of being surrounded by such beautiful materials.” She turned in a circle as she lifted her gaze to take in the massive bolts of cloth on both levels of the warehouse. “This is like a dream come true.”

  Blake looked at the excitement and the expression of wonder on Lady Willow’s face and was struck by a feeling he’d never experienced before. There was something about her that tugged at his heart and made him feel more for her than he dared. All those months that he’d schemed to use Lady Gilchrist in his effort to destroy the Duke of Somerset had been swept away the moment he’d met her. How could he consider doing anything that might hurt her now that he’d glimpsed her brightness? How could he destroy pure perfection?

  “Follow me,” Blake said as he took Georgette’s arm and escorted her through a double door that led to what had been a storeroom and was now a large open room where the patterns would be laid out and cut. The pieces of each gown would then be sewn together on the five machines that lined one side of the room, and in a corner on the opposite side of the room the final hemming and handwork would be done to complete the finished gowns.

  Blake stopped to allow Georgette and Willow to take in the area. Georgette’s gaze moved over the expanse and her expression changed to one of pure satisfaction.

  “You approve, my friend?” he asked.

  “How could one not, Blake. As usual, you have taken a leading step in what will surely become a successful venture.”

  “Successful for both of us,” Blake said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “And what about you, my lady? Are you pleased with what you see?”

  Blake wouldn’t have had to ask the question. The look on Willow’s face spoke volumes.

  “Oh, my,” the lady said, then she rushed forward to examine each area. “Oh, my,” she repeated as she ran her gloved fingers over the polished tables where the pattern pieces would be drawn on huge sections of thin brown paper. She moved to the tables where the material would be laid out and the pieces cut and commented that their large square surfaces were the perfect height for the work. She passed each sewing machine, trailing her fingers across their quiet bridges and silent arms, then appraised the five chairs where the women who did the final handwork would sit. They weren’t made of cheap, uncomfortable lath, but were nicely turned and padded. She smiled at Blake, in a sweetly grateful way, as if thanking him for his kindness in providing this quality seating for the workers. And finally, she strolled the area where the finished gowns would be pressed and made ready for delivery to the stores that would sell them.

  When she came to the final station, she looked up and her gaze met his. Blake’s heart slammed against his ribs. He was never so moved as he was when she looked directly at him with the light of admiration in her eyes.

  “This is spectacular,” she said in a whispered tone. “Simply spectacular.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” Blake said, unable to shift his gaze from her face.

  “How could one not approve? You have moved with astonishing speed to get your sewing room ready. And yet in every way you’ve thought of your workers’ comfort.” She smiled. “Will your workers begin yet today?”

  “Yes.” Blake turned his attention to Georgette. “As soon as Madame Boulereau shares the designs she has in her folder so the pattern pieces can be made.”

  “Then let us begin,” Georgette commanded.

  “May I see which design you’ve chosen as the first to be sewn?” Willow asked.

  “Of course,” Georgette answered. “You will want to know what design I’ve chosen so you can select the material you think works best for it.”

  Madame Boulereau carried the folder with the designs to the table and the workers all gathered round. She removed the first design and placed it on the table, then the second, and the third, and the fourth. There were six in all that were laid out for their perusal.

  Blake couldn’t claim any knowledge of gown designs, but from the “oohs” and “aahs” that sounded when each design was presented, it was obvious the women seamstresses approved of their choices.

  “Which one should we begin with?” Madame Boulereau asked Madeline, the woman who’d been promoted as supervisor.

  “Oh, Madame, I cannot possibly decide. They are all perfect.”

  “Then you choose, Lady Willow. Which one would you like to be the first?”

  A strange look lit Willow’s face, a look that indicated she’d been given the greatest honor. She took a step closer to the designs, studied them, then pointed to the third design. “This one, the walking suit,” she said. “Then this one next.” She pointed to a c
harming tea gown. “I will select material for these two first.”

  The seamstresses took the designs and started making pattern pieces while Lady Willow took Liam and two other workers and went to the floor to select from the material she’d flagged the last time she was here. When she was finished and the men with Liam had returned to the sewing area with the material she’d chosen, she came to stand beside Madame Boulereau.

  “While they do the cutting would you like to see the latest fabrics to arrive, Madame Boulereau?” Blake asked.

  “Yes, Blake. I would like that very much.”

  “How about you, Lady Willow? Are you ready to take a tour through the fabrics?”

  Blake’s heart stammered in his chest when she looked at him with her face alight, her eyes widened as if she’d just been given a puppy…

  …and a pony …and every other special gift she’d ever wanted.

  Chapter 8

  Willow followed Madame Boulereau through the fabric warehouse as she had the last time they’d chosen material. Today was no less thrilling. Liam walked with Georgette, and Willow followed, with Blake at her side.

  Georgette selected the choicest fabrics, and Liam marked them with a flagged pin. Willow did the same. She stuck a flagged pin on the corner of every fabric she thought would be ideal for the ready-made gowns they would be making. When they finished, Liam escorted Georgette to the office, where they would record the transaction, but Blake held out his hand to stop Willow from following.

  “I’m going to show Willow the older fabrics in the back storeroom that Georgette and I have chosen to be used when there is a design for which they are adequate.”

  “Join us when you’re finished,” Madame Boulereau said before she stepped to the office with Liam.

  “Are these the fabrics that haven’t sold?” Willow asked.

  “Yes. But don’t feel as if you’re required to use them simply because they’re here. If you don’t think they’ll sell, ignore them. There’s no sense wasting material, and having our seamstresses spend valuable time producing a garment that won’t sell.”

  Willow knew Blake was right. If the material was such that it wouldn’t sell, adding the cost of a seamstress to the material would only increase the loss on that garment more substantially.

  Willow walked at Blake’s side, then stopped when they reached the storeroom. He opened the door, then placed his hand at her back to usher her in.

  The place where his hand touched her warmed as if he’d set her ablaze. She tried not to react, but it was impossible not to. She turned to see if he’d felt the same. She was sure he couldn’t have, except… the expression on his face made her think he had.

  He looked at her for several moments, then stepped away from her. “Follow me,” he said. His voice was husky and raw. And he separated himself from her as if she’d frightened him.

  Willow journeyed down one aisle, then another. Blake let her pass him, then followed her as if he didn’t want to be too close to her. Neither of them spoke. Nor did they look at each other. It was as if Blake didn’t trust himself to look at her. Which was fine. Willow didn’t trust herself to look at him either.

  “Is there anything here that can be used?” he asked when they’d finished.

  “Yes. In fact, several.”

  “Georgette will be glad to hear that.”

  Willow smiled. “And there are others on the warehouse floor that I didn’t mark as well as some in here. They can be used when the weather turns, some of the wools and velvets. It’s too warm now, but it won’t be in a few months.”

  He nodded his understanding. “This might be more beneficial than I earlier thought.”

  “Are you afraid you’ll lose money on this venture?” Willow asked. For the first time she realized the risk Blake Edison was taking. The cost of the sewing machines, plus wages for the workers, plus the initial outlay of material was quite substantial. Not to mention the pattern paper, thread, buttons, and who knew what else.The wrong dress designs, or unappealing fabrics that women refused to buy could cause him to lose money when he could least afford to. But instead of looking worried, he looked anything but.

  A smile brightened his face and the butterflies that had so briefly settled inside her took flight. How was it possible for him to affect her as he did?

  “No, I’m not afraid that I’m going to lose money. The possibility that women won’t be interested in buying gowns instead of spending precious hours of their busy days making them won’t happen. This is an idea whose time has come.”

  “I do believe you’re right. The more I consider what you’re doing, the more convinced I am that it will be a huge success.”

  “As am I. But I wouldn’t be so confident if it weren’t for Georgette’s help and designs, as well as your assistance in selecting the fabrics to be used.”

  Willow didn’t tell him that the designs were hers. The less Blake Edison realized she was contributing to his venture, the safer she would be.

  “Are you ready to join Georgette and Liam to celebrate the completion of another transaction?”

  “Would you mind if we took one more look at the fabrics in the warehouse first? There were some on the second level that I’d like to look at one more time, in case they might be used to add variety to what I’ve already chosen.”

  “Of course. Choose any of the bolts that you think can be used for our ready-made gowns.”

  They returned to the warehouse, and Willow climbed the stairs to the second level. She quickly found the aisle where she remembered seeing the cloth she wanted to look at one more time. When she came upon it, she stopped without warning, and turned. She found Blake dangerously close to her.

  She held out her hands so she wouldn’t run into him and pressed her palms to his chest. She quickly pulled them back as if he’d burned her but it was too late to ignore their connection. He took a step away from her as if she’d had the same effect on him.

  Willow knew her cheeks were red. They had to be. They felt as if they were on fire.

  This was a dangerous game they were playing. She should be stronger. She should remember that people who played with fire got burned, and every voice within her warned her that Blake was a fire that could consume her.

  In her embarrassment, she lowered her gaze and turned away from him, then walked in the opposite direction. It took her several moments to gather her thoughts and remember what she was doing and why she’d come here.

  She found at least a half dozen fabrics she wanted to use and stopped to pin a flag on each one. When she reached the end of a row, she turned her gaze to where Blake was standing beside her. “I’m almost finished,” she said. “I only want to look at some cotton prints I remember seeing before.”

  “Of course. I remember you looking at them. Allow me.”

  Blake extended his arm and Willow took it.

  “How are you going to promote your ready-made gowns?” Willow asked as they made their way through the rows of fabrics. “That will be key to the success of your new venture.”

  “We’ve already started,” he explained. “Liam has spent the last several days visiting shops all around London that already sell ready-made gowns. He’s made appointments with the shop owners to show them samples of our finished products, then take orders. He has quite a few shops that are eager to see our dresses.”

  When they reached the fabrics Willow remembered seeing before, she stopped to pin a flag on a sunny yellow striped cotton. “That’s a wonderful idea. It’s also brilliant marketing. As soon as the seamstresses have several gowns finished, you’ll know exactly where to take them first.”

  “Yes. And Polly, one of the girls who worked on the floor in Georgette’s shop, has gone to nearly every linen-draper who doesn’t already carry ready-made dresses along with their fabrics. She has quite a substantial list of shops that are interested in stocking ours.”

  Willow continued to the next bolt of cotton material she’d seen earlier and pinned it with a fla
g. “That’s an excellent strategy. I’m sure that once they see the quality of the work your seamstresses do, they will all want to carry your gowns.”

  “We can only hope,” Blake said. “As soon as a good selection of the ready-made gowns are finished, Liam and Polly will take them around and get orders. That will tell us a great deal about the success of our business.”

  Willow pinned a flag on another cotton print, then turned. “You’ve put a great amount of responsibility on Mr. McGregor’s shoulders.”

  “That’s because I have a great deal of confidence in him.”

  Willow continued down the aisle, even though she didn’t remember seeing any more bolts of material in this area that she thought they could use right now. “Have you known Mr. McGregor a long time?”

  “Almost my whole life.”

  “That must be the reason you’re such good friends.”

  “Yes. We both owe each other a great deal.”

  Willow paused. She wanted to ask Blake about his childhood. Where he’d grown up, how many brothers and sisters he had, if he’d had a happy childhood or not. But she didn’t. The more she knew about him, the more closely connected she’d feel toward him. And she couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Even though Lord Kendrick hadn’t asked her to marry him yet, he would. It was only a matter of time until he did. He’d already spoken of how important her dowry was to him and his father. And she knew how important her marriage was to Phin and Joe’s futures.

  Over and over Kendrick had promised her that he would spend her dowry wisely. He told her without hesitation that he admired her and was certain that they’d fit well together. That in time he had no doubts that they would learn to care for each other. But through his promises, Willow couldn’t forget that her dowry was the main reason for their marriage. Not that he desired her, or loved her.

  She believed him and knew that he was sincere. She also knew how badly her father wanted the match. And why. She couldn’t back out of the agreement. That would disappoint her father more than anything she’d ever done… unless, of course, society discovered that she’d become a working girl.