Rich Man

by Laura Landon

  “You seem quite lost in thought tonight,” Lord Kendrick said, interrupting her woolgathering.

  “Oh, pardon me, my lord.” Willow smiled shyly. “I was just thinking about… well, actually, about nothing in particular.”

  “Why do I have a difficult time believing that? Your mind must house a thousand simultaneous thoughts.”

  Willow laughed. “Yes, I do believe it’s quite crowded up there.”

  Quinton turned her in a circle and when they neared the open French doors that led to the terrace, he wrapped his arm around her waist and escorted her from the ballroom.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Willow, but I’d like to speak privately with you.”

  Several spikes of nervousness shot through her. She knew what Lord Kendrick wanted to speak to her about, and as they made their way down the graveled path in Lady Weldon’s garden, Willow struggled to choose the words she would use to answer him when he asked her to marry him.

  Paper lanterns lit the path, but Willow kept her gaze lowered as if she couldn’t see the path clearly and needed to concentrate on where she stepped. They walked in silence until they reached a wooden bench beneath a large tree decked out with pretty paper lanterns that bobbed ever so gently in the evening breeze.

  Willow sat and clutched her hands in her lap while Lord Kendrick paced before her. He was nervous. Willow would have had a great deal of sympathy for him if she weren’t so nervous herself. Is this the way it was with all couples at this point in their relationship? Somehow, she thought she’d feel more excitement instead of an emotion that resembled dread.

  “I know you’re aware of what I want to discuss with you,” he said, still pacing nervously. “I will get down on one knee if you’d like, Lady Willow—”

  “No,” Willow interrupted before Lord Kendrick could do exactly that. “That’s not necessary.”

  Lord Kendrick sat on the bench beside her and took her hands. His knees touched hers and Willow waited for her flesh to warm where they touched.

  It didn’t.

  “I want you to know that I hold you in high esteem. You are perfection personified. I know I don’t deserve a woman as perfect as you, but I promise I shall spend the remainder of my life doing everything in my power to earn your favor.”

  Lord Kendrick lifted Willow’s hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. Surely such a display of passion would elicit a reaction. She said a silent prayer that she would feel something. Anything. Even a slight whisper of emotion.

  “I know there is no great passion between us,” he said, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “But please, be assured that things will change once we marry. I will devote every day of my life endeavoring to earn your affection. Every day of my life proving that your faith in me is not misplaced.”

  Willow opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. She wanted to ask how he intended to earn her affection. Did he think affection was a commodity that he could buy? Did he believe they would fall magically in love the moment they spoke their vows?

  “And more than anything, I want you to know that I will not waste the money that comes with your hand. I will use your dowry to make Somerset Estate the grand property it once was. A mansion you will be proud to call your home.

  “The rolling hills of our family estate will once again be filled with sheep and livestock. The tenants will have the supplies and equipment they need to grow bounteous crops. And we’ll grow old together reaping the benefits of all we have sown.”

  Willow’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach. Her hopes and dreams for a love match were fading before her eyes. She wanted to reach out and hold tightly to her dreams so she didn’t lose them. But one by one the dreams she’d harbored for a happy future slipped their tether and floated into the nighttime sky where they dimmed and remained out of reach.

  Willow knew she had no choice. She’d promised her father that she’d do what was expected of her. That she would accept Lord Kendrick’s proposal when he asked. But now that he was about to ask the question that would bind them together for the rest of their lives, she felt her courage leave her.

  “I am asking that you do me the great honor of becoming my wife, Lady Willow. I promise to give you my whole heart, and never do anything to cause you distress. I promise to cherish you and make you happy to the best of my ability.” He gathered her hands in his. “Will you marry me, my lady?”

  Willow opened her mouth but no words came. She couldn’t answer him. She didn’t want to marry him. He wasn’t the man she wanted to live with for the rest of her life. Then she thought of Phin. And Joe. And knew she didn’t have a choice. She had to marry someone who could give her brothers estates where they could thrive. Estates that would be theirs. Land that they could call their own. Homes in which to raise their children.

  Willow tried to speak again, but when no words came, she simply looked at the Marquess of Kendrick… and nodded.

  “Oh, you have made me the happiest of men,” Lord Kendrick replied, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing them.

  Willow looked at his head bent over her hands. She should be happy, but instead, she felt… defeated.

  “May I ask a favor?” she said.

  “Anything. Anything at all,” her future husband said.

  “Would you please kiss me?”

  His smile broadened. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my lady.”

  Quinton stood and extended his arms to assist her to her feet. When she was near him, he wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head.

  His lips touched hers. They were firm and warm, not unlike Blake Edison’s. And they pressed against hers as Blake’s had. But that was where the resemblance ended.

  He tilted his head and deepened his kiss. It was the same demand to give more of herself that she had experienced with Blake, and she did. She met Quinton’s request with heartfelt obedience, but when she tried to give him more, she found she had nothing more to give.

  Quinton’s breath turned ragged, but Willow found hers remained steady and calm. She skimmed her hands up Quinton’s chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. But that move added nothing to the intensity of their kiss.

  Willow wanted him to break their contact, but she didn’t turn her face from him to force their kiss to end. Maybe she needed more time to become accustomed to his kisses. Maybe she needed to encourage him more fully. But nothing she did changed how his kiss affected her.

  He kissed her with more ardor and she tried to follow his lead and become more involved. Nothing changed. Eventually their kiss ended. That’s when Willow saw the disappointment on Quinton’s face.

  “We should be going in,” Quinton said. “It’s getting late.”

  Willow wanted to apologize. The lack of passion was her fault. She knew it was. But she couldn’t find the words to tell him that. Instead, she took one step with him, then stopped. “Are you going to tell your father that I’ve agreed to marry you?”

  “Would you prefer that I don’t?”

  Willow knew by the uncertainty in his voice that he feared she intended to take her acceptance back. “No, you may tell him if you’d like. As I will tell my parents, as well. But I am going to ask that they don’t announce our engagement yet. I know once word gets out, we will be pushed to set a date and start preparations.” Willow lowered her gaze. “I’m not ready for the parties and festivities to begin just yet.”

  “Then I will refrain from mentioning that we discussed our engagement, because if Father knows I asked and you accepted, all of Society will know within the hour.”

  Willow smiled shyly.

  “Unless you would like to reconsider the answer you gave me,” Lord Kendrick said. He was giving her a way out. He was providing her an opportunity to change her mind and reject his offer of marriage.

  Willow thought of Joe and Phin. “No, my lord. I don’t need to reconsider my answer. I accept your offer of marriage. I only ask for a little time to accustom myself to the idea of becoming y
our wife.”

  “Then you will have the amount of time you require.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Lord Kendrick extended his arm to usher her back inside, then stopped and lowered his arm back to his side. He looked her in the eyes and tilted his head in question. “Is there someone else, my lady? Does someone else possess your heart?”

  Willow rushed out her answer. “No, my lord. There is no one else.”

  Blake Edison’s face flashed before her but she quickly pushed it aside. There was no one else. There could never be anyone else.

  . . . .

  Blake left his office in the recently finished Edison Ready-Made Garments warehouse and entered the pattern room. Several women were busy drafting pattern pieces from the designs Madame Boulereau brought them on a regular basis.

  He moved from there to the cutting room. Eight women stood at tables and cut the pattern pieces from the fabric Willow had chosen for each gown.

  Next to the cutting room, Blake entered the sewing room. The noisy clack of the twenty-five steadily working treadle machines was music to his ears. It never ceased to amaze him how one piece after another, when sewn together, could magically turn pieces of material into a gown of superb quality. Blake was in awe of the process, as well as the women’s skills.

  The last room at the end of the building was the finishing room. There, the sewn garments went to be hemmed and the finishing buttons, button holes, hooks, and eyes were added before the gowns were pressed and folded for delivery.

  Edison’s Ready-Made Garments had been in business for a mere three weeks now and the cutters and sewers couldn’t keep up with the orders Liam and Polly brought back every day. The demand was that great.

  Blake stood with his hands locked behind his back and rocked on his feet. He marveled at the success of the ready-made garment business. If orders continued at the rate they were coming in, Blake would have to buy more sewing machines and hire even more workers. Even the men working in the warehouse complained they couldn’t get their regular work done because of the added task of moving bolts of fabric to the cutting floor.

  Blake tried to keep his mind focused on his business, but his gaze returned to the door. Maybe she’d come today. It had been more than a week since she’d last been here, and he desperately wanted to see her again. The last few times she’d come, she’d avoided being alone with him. It had been that way since the day he’d kissed her.

  He turned on his heel and walked to his office. He didn’t like it when she avoided him. He missed talking to her. He missed her witty sense of humor. He missed listening to how her mind worked. He missed following her thinking process as she sifted through a problem to find a solution. She had a clever eye for fashion, as well as a brilliant business mind. For someone who had no business experience, she was a natural-born businesswoman. And today when she came, he was going to force her to interact with him. If she came today.

  Blake checked the doorway again in hopes that the door would open and she’d enter the building.

  “Watching for her won’t do any good. She’ll be here when she comes.”

  “What are you doing back already?” Blake snapped at Liam. “You’re supposed to be out getting orders.”

  “I stopped.”

  “You stopped? Why?”

  “Because I went to my first two customers, Ludland’s Linen-Drapers and Rupert’s Fabrics and Goods. They both told me our gowns are wildly popular. They can’t keep them in stock.”

  Blake smiled. “That’s good to hear.”

  “Ludland’s placed an order for six hundred gowns, and Rupert’s ordered seven hundred. That makes a total of one thousand three hundred ready-made gowns.”

  “What!” Blake spun to face his friend. “What did you say?”

  “I said I got orders for—”

  “One thousand three hundred?” Blake paced the area before Liam, then stopped in front of his friend. “Did they say when they needed them?”

  “As soon as we can provide them.”

  “Bloody hell!” Blake said, slapping his thigh with his fist. “There’s no way we can have that many ready in less than two months. We’re lucky to turn out seventy-five gowns a day.”

  “I know,” Liam said.

  “And we haven’t completed the orders we already have.”

  “I told them we’d get them to them in lots of twenty, every day or so.”

  “Was that acceptable?”

  “Yes.” Liam looked around. “Has Polly returned yet?”

  “No, but it’s early. She doesn’t usually return until—” Blake turned when the door opened and Polly entered. The expression on her face warned him that she had what she thought was exciting news. But she didn’t know that if she came with a large order, Blake would consider it anything but good news.

  “You aren’t going to believe the orders I got from my first three stops,” she said. Excitement oozed from her.

  “How many?” Liam asked.

  “Five hundred from my first stop. Five hundred from my second stop. And four hundred from my third. That makes—”

  “One thousand, four hundred gowns,” Liam said looking at Blake. “That makes—”

  “Nearly three thousand gowns,” Blake said as he fought the pain in the pit of his stomach. “Get Madeline, and join me in my office.”

  He should be excited. He should be swinging from the chandeliers, but how could he? There was no way he could have three thousand gowns sewn and delivered inside of a month. And that was without taking any more orders.

  Hell, Willow hadn’t been here for nearly a week and Madeline had come to him just this morning because she was going to run out of fabric by the end of the day.

  He stormed to his office, then stopped short when the outside door opened. He said a quick prayer and looked to see who was here.

  Willow stood in the entrance with Madame Boulereau at her side. She walked forward and the rays of sun that had surrounded her seemed to follow.

  Blake studied her for as long as he dared, then breathed a sigh of relief.

  Everything would be all right. Willow was here.

  Chapter 11

  “Is something wrong?” Willow asked when Liam ushered her and Madame Boulereau into Blake’s office. Polly and Madeline were already seated in front of Blake’s desk.

  “Yes,” Liam answered, “but wrong in a good way.”

  Willow helped Madame Boulereau into a chair, then sat in the last empty chair before Blake’s desk. When she was settled, she lifted her head. Her gaze locked with Blake’s and the butterflies bolted into flight yet again.

  Willow lowered her gaze. How could her heart betray her like this? How could her body react to him with such ferocity when nothing could come of the emotions she was experiencing? How could she look at the broad set of his shoulders and the strength of his arms and not want to be held by him? How was it possible to do something so harmless as look him in the eyes, and her gaze automatically lowered to his lips, and her body burned with the desire for him to kiss her?

  Why couldn’t Quinton affect her in the same way? Why couldn’t her body strum with desire when Lord Kendrick touched her, held her, kissed her? Why did Blake Edison alone have that effect on her?

  Willow forced herself to focus her gaze on Blake. The expression on his face told her very little. Only the steady turning of the pen in his hand indicated his agitation.

  “I need to catch everyone up on what has happened,” he said, still turning the pen in his hands. “Liam and Polly went out this morning to get orders from the shops that sell ready-made gowns. We anticipated that these shops would have orders of one hundred to two hundred dresses a month. This morning, Liam and Polly came back with orders for nearly three thousand gowns.”

  Willow couldn’t stop her cry of excitement from escaping. Nearly three thousand gowns. That was unbelievable. She’d known from the moment Blake introduced the idea of ready-made gowns that they would be popular, but this was far
beyond what she expected.

  “Can you complete that many gowns in time?” Madame Boulereau asked.

  Willow focused on Madame Boulereau’s face and her heart swelled. The pride she saw when the woman looked at Blake brought tears to Willow’s eyes. The gleam of satisfaction when she asked the details of the orders filled Willow with a sense of gratification that was indescribable. Willow was a part of something monumental. She was involved in a venture that would have a lasting effect on the clothing world, and Madame Boulereau knew it, too.

  “We’ll do our best,” Blake answered. “We have twenty-five machines, and each machine is able to assemble four gowns a day. That’s one hundred gowns per day. That’s three thousand in one month, which would fill the orders we have now. But with finishing and allowing for errors we can’t count on that completion rate. And we can’t stop taking orders. We have a good reputation and want to keep our customers. If we can’t supply the number of gowns the shops want, the owners will have no choice but to go where they can get the number of gowns they require.”

  “Can we afford to buy more machines?” Liam asked.

  “We don’t have a choice. I’ll contact Howe right away and have him ship more as soon as possible.”

  “How many more?” Madame Boulereau asked.

  “One hundred.”

  The room turned deathly silent.

  “And we’ll have to get in larger shipments of material,” Blake said as he made notes on a piece of paper in front of him. “And we’ll need to hire more seamstresses. Can you handle this, Georgette?”

  “I’ll begin contacting acquaintances as soon as we’re finished here. And I have two or three seamstresses from my shop that I can loan you.”

  “Liam,” Blake said. “I want you and Polly to go back out and make the rounds of all the shops that have placed orders with us. Explain to the owners that orders have surpassed our wildest expectations, and we are doing everything in our power to meet their needs in short order. Ask them to provide us with an estimated weekly number of gowns that they will need, and explain that we’re adding more machines to fill the burgeoning orders. Also inform them that we will shortly be adding women’s robes and nightwear to our line of clothing.”