Rich Man

by Laura Landon

  Lord Kendrick sat for several moments without moving. When he turned his head, his gaze traveled from the hem of her gown to her bodice before it rested on her face. “Did you design the gown you are wearing tonight?”

  “I did,” she answered. “I also designed the gown my mother is wearing. And I selected the material they were to be made from.”

  “Your gown is beautiful,” he said.

  “Thank you, my lord. That is a great compliment coming from you.”

  Kendrick was silent. When he spoke, there was a hint of disappointment in his voice, but Willow couldn’t allow him to forbid her from continuing with her passion. Especially now that Blake Edison had embarked on a venture that would not only change the garment industry forever but would give her the opportunity to use the talent she’d been given. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. It wouldn’t be long before she would see the gowns she’d designed, as well as the material she’d chosen for those gowns, strolling the finer streets of London. Perhaps in time, across all of England.

  “I assume you take your designs to a seamstress to have them made. Who might that be?”

  “Madame Boulereau. She has a shop off Fleet Street.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  “Trust her with what?”

  “With your secret. From revealing to Society that you secretly create designs of the gowns you and your mother wear.”

  “I trust her implicitly.”

  Lord Kendrick rose and stood looking out into the darkness. Willow knew he was weighing on the one hand how desperate he and his father were to have her dowry and on the other hand how great a risk he was taking by marrying someone who could become the target of a scandal and ruin his standing in Society.

  Actually, it appeared that what she’d revealed didn’t bother him nearly as much as it would bother his father. Perhaps he was afraid his father would discover Willow was involved in something Society would consider scandalous and they would ostracize her and ruin his family’s proud name.

  “I find that I need a day or two to consider this new development,” he responded in a strained voice.

  “Of course.” Willow rose. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”

  Lord Kendrick turned. “I realized from the moment I first met you to expect the out-of-the-ordinary from you. It was apparent that you are a strong woman and have a will of your own.”

  “Does that disappoint you?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “I’m more afraid that I will disappoint you, my lady. I fear that, in time, your strength will overpower me.”

  Willow wanted to protest his remark. She almost beggared herself by saying that she, a mere woman, could not possibly overshadow a man such as he. But she was afraid he was correct. “I think it might be wise to return to the ballroom,” she said. “We’ve been gone long enough.”

  Lord Kendrick nodded, then crossed to her and held out his arm for her to take. Willow placed her hand atop his arm and waited for a shiver of emotion to rush through her.

  But none did.

  . . . .

  Blake shifted the papers on his desk as he tried to organize the orders that Polly and Liam had brought back with them. By the time they’d finished taking orders they had demands for thousands of dresses, from the simplest day dresses to dresses that required more detail, dresses for shopping, for an evening out, and dour black widow’s weeds for those in mourning.

  On his chart, he made a list of all the shops and linen-drapers who’d given Liam and Polly an order, cross-referenced with the quantity of dresses they’d ordered. Next, there was a column with the number of dresses Polly and Liam had guaranteed Edison’s would deliver to them each week.

  They’d be able to produce more gowns when the machines he’d ordered from Howe’s new production center on High Holburn arrived, which should be soon. The irons for the additional pressing stations had already arrived. Until all was in place, his workers would have to finish as many each day as possible. The cutters continued to work at high efficiency and already had carefully organized stacks of cut goods awaiting the new machines.

  Blake looked forward to the day when he had a hundred machines humming in unison, making several hundred dresses each day. And more importantly, he was certain the demand would always be great.

  He lifted another stack of orders and started writing them down when he heard a noise from beyond his office door. It sounded like someone had entered the warehouse and he couldn’t think who might have come at this hour of the night.

  He listened closer, and when he didn’t hear anything else, thought he might have imagined the noise. But base instinct him told him to check.

  Blake walked to his office door and opened it, then stepped out into the large warehouse. He looked to the side door where the employees entered but saw nothing. Then he took another step deeper into the warehouse and checked the large warehouse door on the side that was only opened when shipments of fabrics arrived. He saw nothing.

  Satisfied that he was alone, he turned back toward to his office. Before he took one step, he was blindsided by a thick slab of wood. The force of the wood hitting him on the side of the head and shoulder stunned him.

  Before he could recover from the blow, four strong arms grabbed him from behind and restrained him.

  Blake fought against the arms that held him captive. He struggled to escape, but the large plank came down across the side of his head again. His eyes rolled and his mind refused to think. Blake fought as hard as he could to escape. He knew if he didn’t get away from his attackers, he didn’t stand a chance.

  The two men holding him twisted his arms back so the man in front of him had clear access to his body.

  Blake kicked out with his feet and felt a sense of satisfaction when his right boot caught the assailant in the groin. The man’s yelp of pain echoed in the empty warehouse and Blake kicked out again. If he could get one arm free, he’d stand a better chance of fighting. But his hope of escaping was short-lived. A fourth man appeared from the shadows and pelted Blake with one lethal blow after another.

  Blood streamed down his face from cuts on his cheekbones and his bloodied nose, from his mouth and from a deep gash on his forehead. His eyes were swelling shut and he had a difficult time seeing. But the beating didn’t stop. Again, and again the giant of a man before him punched him in the ribs and the gut. When Blake couldn’t hold his head up any longer, the man stepped behind him and kicked him in the kidneys.

  Blake was losing consciousness. His legs buckled beneath him as the beating continued. When he could hold himself upright no longer, he sank to the floor.

  If he thought the beating might stop once he was on the floor, he was mistaken. The two men who’d held him while the others took turns beating him now took turns kicking him in the ribs. Blake struggled to pull his hands over his head to protect his face, but the blows didn’t stop.

  They were going to kill him. And they were taking their time.

  He had no way of knowing when he lost consciousness, or how long after that the beating stopped. He’d lost awareness and didn’t remember the final blow. He knew it would take a miracle to survive this beating.

  And he wasn’t sure there were any miracles left for him.

  Chapter 12

  Willow woke early the next morning. The conversation she’d had with Lord Kendrick had kept her awake most of the night. Then, when she was finally able to fall asleep, she did little more than toss and turn beneath the covers.

  She had but two choices ahead of her: marry Kendrick and give up her dream; or refuse Kendrick’s offer of marriage and live the rest of her life with the guilt of knowing that she’d destroyed her brothers’ chances for happiness.

  Which meant that she didn’t have a choice at all.

  Willow dressed and went down to breakfast. She was later than usual, but if either her mother or father remarked on the lateness of the hour, she’d use last night’s outing as an excuse. Although, she doubted they’d comment.<
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  When she entered the breakfast room, her mother was sitting at the table. It looked as if she’d finished eating earlier but was taking her time with her coffee. Or that she was intentionally waiting for Willow to come down.

  Willow walked over to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. “Good morning, Mother.”

  “Good morning, Willow. Fill your plate and join me.”

  Willow went to the sideboard and put eggs, a slice of bacon, and a toast point on her plate, then took it to the table and sat across from her mother.

  “Did you sleep well, dear?” Her mother motioned for their butler to refill her coffee. When their cups were filled, she dismissed the staff so they were alone.

  “Yes,” Willow answered. “Quite well.” It wasn’t the truth, but any other answer would force an explanation which she simply was not up to at the moment.

  “I noticed that you spent quite a long while in the garden with Lord Kendrick last night.” Her mother added sugar to her coffee and stirred it longer than usual. “What did you talk about for all that time?”

  Willow noticed that the tone of her mother’s voice when she mentioned the amount of time she’d spent with Lord Kendrick was almost as bland as if she were reading Cook’s list for the market. The nonchalance of her words didn’t deceive Willow for a moment. She knew her mother wanted to know if Lord Kendrick had indicated his intentions last night, and if she had accepted his proposal.

  “You’ll be pleased to know that Lord Kendrick expressed his feelings for me, Mother. And indicated that he wanted to marry me.”

  “Oh, Willow! What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that I would be honored to be his bride, but first I needed to tell him something.”

  Her mother looked both surprised and shocked. “What could you possibly have to tell him?”

  “My passion for designing.”

  Her mother placed her cup in her saucer with a clang. “Surely you didn’t, Willow! Why would you want to tell him that? You might have ruined everything!” Her mother paused, then her face grew serious. “Did you? Did you ruin everything?”

  “I don’t know, Mother. I may have.”

  “What did Lord Kendrick say?”

  “He listened to me, then indicated that he was surprised by my confession. He asked if I’d considered how Society might react if they discovered I worked at something that was far beneath me. He asked if I knew the risk I was taking. Then, he asked if I intended to continue designing. I told him I did.” Willow stopped to swallow. “When I finished, he asked for a day or two to consider what I’d told him.”

  “Oh, Willow.” Her mother sighed, then dropped her hands to her lap. “How could you?”

  “How could I not? Do you expect me to stop designing completely?” Willow looked into her mother’s face. “I can’t, Mother. I won’t.”

  “What if Lord Kendrick takes back his proposal?”

  “Then I will know even my dowry wasn’t enough for him to want me. But if my dowry is important and he still wants to marry me, then I will marry him. Remember, Mother. The Duke of Somerset needs my money as much as we need the prestige of his name and the gift of his two estates for Ben and Phin.”

  Her mother looked at her with a shocked expression on her face.

  “Yes,” Willow answered. “I know about Father’s demand for two estates in return for my dowry.”

  “Oh, Willow,” her mother sighed.

  “It’s all right, Mother. I understand. It’s what females are valued for.”

  Willow wished she hadn’t sounded as if she pitied herself, but she couldn’t help it. Marrying Lord Kendrick would result in everything she wanted in life being taken away from her.

  “There are many advantages to marriage, Willow,” her mother said. “There’s a home of your own, and children. And you are marrying the future Duke of Somerset. You will be a duchess.”

  “I know, Mother. I’ll be a duchess.”

  “Don’t underestimate the importance of your position. It will be to your advantage.”

  Her mother stopped when she heard footsteps coming toward them.

  “Father,” Willow greeted as her father entered the breakfast room. Something was wrong. Willow could tell the moment she saw her father.

  “What’s the matter, Edgar?” her mother asked when she saw her husband’s face.

  “I have some bad news.”

  Willow’s heart raced in her breast. “What is it, Father?”

  “It’s your dressmaker’s shop. It burned to the ground last night.”

  “What!” Willow pushed away from the table. “Oh, no! Was Madame Boulereau harmed? Is she all right?”

  “I don’t believe she was harmed, but everything in her shop was destroyed. All the material and the gowns.”

  “I have to go.” Willow stepped to the door.

  “Why do you have to go, Willow?” Her father stood firm as if he intended to stop her. “You can do nothing for the dressmaker.”

  “I can be with her. I can show her my concern and support.”

  “But—”

  Willow ignored her father’s attempt to stop her and rushed to the door.

  “Wait, Willow,” her mother cried. “You can’t go by yourself. You must take Marie with you.”

  “Very well,” Willow cried as she ran from the room. She raced up the stairs and within minutes ran from her room with Marie in tow. A few moments later they were in the carriage and on their way to Madame Boulereau’s.

  . . . .

  Willow wasn’t sure what she’d find when she arrived at Madame Boulereau’s dress shop, but it wasn’t the absence of Madame Boulereau or any of her seamstresses.

  “No one knows where Madame is,” Marie said when she returned from inquiring as to Madame Boulereau’s whereabouts. “Would you like to return home?”

  “No, Marie. Tell the driver to take us to Mr. Edison’s warehouse.”

  “Are you sure, my lady?”

  “Yes, Marie. I’m sure.” Willow stepped back inside the carriage and waited for Marie to inform their driver where she intended to go.

  Within moments, Marie sat across from her and the carriage was traveling toward Blake’s warehouse. When they arrived, Willow dismounted as the carriage stopped. She ran into the warehouse, praying she’d find Madame Boulereau unharmed. But the second she entered the warehouse she came to a heart-wrenching halt.

  Something was wrong. The workers were gathered around Blake’s office door. Some of the women were sniveling into handkerchiefs clutched in their hands. Others wept outright.

  Willow knew something terrible had happened. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. A feeling of dread reached to every part of her body. On legs that trembled beneath her she walked to the crowd gathered before Blake’s office door.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked the first worker she came to. It was one of the women who did the hand sewing—one of the women Madame Boulereau had sent to Blake when they’d first started.

  The woman turned and Willow stared into red-rimmed eyes that had shed many tears. “What’s the matter?” she repeated.

  “It’s Mr. Edison. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

  Willow’s heart shattered in her breast. Her legs weakened beneath her and she had to reach out to the woman next to her to support herself. “No,” voices shouted in her head, but she could have spoken the word aloud. She wasn’t sure. How could she be sure of anything after hearing words that would change her world forever.

  “No,” she repeated and staggered toward Blake’s office door. She reached for the handle with fingers that trembled so violently she was unable to grasp the knob on the first try. Only after repeating the task several times was she able to open the door.

  She stepped into the room on legs that barely held her upright. Willow refused to believe that Blake was dead. She couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. She couldn’t imagine someone with his strength and fortitude falling prey to any sickness. Or being overpow
ered by anything or anyone. And yet…

  Blake’s office was empty. Willow knew Blake had turned the storeroom beyond his office into living quarters because he often stayed the night. She walked to that door and entered the room.

  She’d never been inside his private room, but didn’t bother to take in her surroundings. She wasn’t interested in the contents of the room, but in the person on the bed located on the opposite wall and the people who surrounded it.

  A short, gray-haired man stood closest to the bed. He’d removed his jacket and had the sleeves of his white shirt rolled to the elbows. His shirt was damp as if he’d overexerted himself. As Willow watched, he swiped his forearm across his forehead several times to wipe away the perspiration that had gathered on his brow. “Thread another needle,” he issued, and Liam raced to a table and grabbed another needle and put thread through the eye. “Longer thread this time,” the doctor ordered.

  Liam cut the thread and handed it to the doctor. It wasn’t until the doctor turned that Willow caught her first glimpse of the man on the bed. If she hadn’t known who he was, she wouldn’t have recognized him.

  Both Blake’s eyes were swollen shut and there were several bloody gashes on his forehead and cheeks. His face was an angry shade of blacks and blues and there was a deep wound on his head where blood had matted his hair to his scalp.

  Willow tried to hold back an agonizing moan but failed. How could she be silent in the face of what someone had done to him?

  “My lady,” a voice said from beside her.

  Willow turned and looked into Madame Boulereau’s tortured features. She held out her arms and wrapped them around Madame Boulereau’s small frame. “Will he be all right?”

  “I don’t know, my lady. The doctor doesn’t believe so, but he doesn’t know Blake as we do.”

  “What happened?”

  Madame Boulereau shook her head, but the expression on her face told Willow that perhaps she did.