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

  RICH MAN

  by Laura Landon

  Book One

  RICH MAN | POOR MAN | BEGGAR MAN | THIEF

  ©2018

  Prairie Muse Books Inc

  Chapter One

  Blake Edison sat in the large leather wing chair angled before the crackling fire in his private office above Edison Textile Imports’ warehouse and breathed a heavy sigh. He took a sip of brandy and let his mind travel back to the beginning. To the day when he’d first met his mentor and savior, Silas Witherspoon, the former owner of the warehouse that was now Edison Imports.

  With a stabbing of remembrance of that day fourteen years ago when he’d come in search of a job, he reminded himself of how fortunate he’d been to take the chance that Witherspoon would employ him.

  He’d been a scrawny sixteen-year-old lad who hadn’t had a meal in nearly two days and was desperate enough that he would have begged for the opportunity to earn a crust of bread. Instead, he was given a gift more valuable than one meal. He was given the chance to climb out of the hellhole in which he’d been living and make something of himself. Silas Witherspoon had not only hired him, but had made it possible for Blake to become one of the wealthiest men in London.

  He couldn’t have known how his world would change that day.

  He remembered it well, stepping into that warehouse and a moment later being greeted by an ear-shattering pop that sounded as loud as if a gun had been fired. But it wasn’t a gun exploding. A shelf piled high with massive bolts of heavy material had snapped in two. The thick fabric bolts started to slide from the shelf and would have fallen to a spot where Silas Witherspoon stood directly below it. Blake reacted without thinking and pushed the man to safety before a quarter ton of fabric crushed him.

  That day was the beginning of a relationship that continued until the day Witherspoon took his final breath. Silas took Blake under his wing and treated him as his son. He taught him everything there was to know about the fabric and textile business and gradually, as age overtook him, turned the running of his textile business over to Blake. He taught him where to buy the best materials and what fabrics would be most in demand each season. He schooled him on how to barter for the best prices. And most of all, which sellers to trust to provide materials of the highest quality.

  Blake had learned a great deal since that harrowing day thirteen years ago. And he’d put that knowledge to good use.

  Over the years, Edison Imports had become one of the best-known names in the textile import business, making Blake one of the wealthiest men in London. Wealthy enough to accomplish his only goal in life: to exact revenge upon the man who had abandoned him and his mother. To destroy the man who hadn’t cared enough for his own flesh and blood to give a damn whether his son had lived or died. Indeed, the man who thought both Blake and his mother died long ago and rejoiced in that knowledge.

  So Blake spent each and every day doing everything in his power to see that the man paid dearly for his sins.

  Blake took a deep swallow of the brandy in his glass and waited until he heard the sound of Liam McGregor’s footsteps approaching. He knew it was Liam, the only person in Blake’s life he considered a friend. The only person who knew as much about Blake as Blake himself did.

  Liam was a cheerful lad and a good worker. But more importantly, he had a good head on his shoulders. He adapted to running the warehouse as if he’d been born to the position. Blake didn’t know what he’d do without Liam’s help. Nor did he know what he’d do without Liam’s friendship. Hopefully, he’d never find out.

  Blake looked up at the knock on the door. It opened when Blake bade his friend to enter.

  “I knew I’d find you here,” Liam said when he closed the door behind him. “It would be impossible for you to go home for the evening before you found out if everything went well.”

  “Did the Mermaid dock?” Blake asked as he poured his friend a glass of whiskey. Liam had never developed a taste for brandy, convinced that it was what people high in the instep drank.

  “She did,” Liam said after he’d taken a swallow of whiskey, then folded his six-foot-three-inch frame into the wing chair next to Blake. “I ordered the men to leave the cargo aboard and not unload it until morning,” he said, stretching his legs out before him. He might not indulge in fine brandy, but good boot leather was quite another thing to Liam, and tonight his boots still held this morning’s high shine. “There’s a heavy mist falling. There’s no need risking any of the material getting wet.”

  Blake nodded. “Did you get a look at any of the stock?”

  Liam smiled. “You’re going to be especially pleased with this shipment. There’s a wide variety of silks from Italy and Venice, and satins, brocades and damasks. And an assortment of the finest cottons I’ve ever seen.”

  Blake poured more brandy into his own glass and took a swallow. Sale of the material on the Mermaid would provide him a handsome profit. Just as the next cargo of fabrics would when the Wayfairer docked in a week.

  With the demand for fashionable gowns increasing each year, the linen-drapers of London couldn’t get enough fine fabrics to supply the modistes and seamstresses they served. Edison’s Textiles had earned a reputation as one of the premier suppliers of the finest fabrics, and it sounded as if this shipment would certainly confirm their status among London’s best purveyors of cloth. The bolts of fabric that had arrived tonight would no doubt be nearly gone in a few days’ time. And Blake’s bank account would be fatter by far.

  “I want you to hire extra dock workers to unload the cargo in the morning. When all the bolts are safely in the warehouse, I’ll send word to Madame Boulereau. She will have first choice of the materials, as usual. When she’s selected what she wants from the new fabrics, we’ll send word to the linen-drapers that our new shipment has arrived.”

  Liam looked at Blake over the rim of his glass. “Don’t you consider your debt to Madame Boulereau paid by now?”

  Blake turned his glass in his hands and watched the amber liquid swish back and forth. “My debt to Madame Boulereau will never be paid. If not for Georgette, I would have lost Edison Textiles the year after Silas died and I was left to run his import business on my own. If Georgette hadn’t purchased the stock I had on hand, I would have been bankrupt.”

  “You know she considers your debt paid,” Liam answered.

  “Perhaps,” Blake said, knowing Liam was right. “But you never know when I might need another favor. And there’s no one I trust more than Georgette. Plus, her clients include the cream of London Society. She’s the most sought-after dressmaker in London. Her designs can’t be equaled and the knowledge that she acquires her material from Edison Textiles is beyond price.”

  “Then she’s going to be very pleased when she sees the fabrics you have for her this trip.”

  Blake sat back in his chair and finished his brandy while he and Liam discussed what needed to be done with the shipment that had just arrived. After an hour or so passed, Liam rose from his chair and made to leave.

  “Oh, by the way,” he said when he reached the door. “You might be interested to know that your decision not to invest in Lord Shandling’s venture was a wise one. The venture went bankrupt and the men who invested lost their money.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes. All of them.”

  Liam hesitated at the open doorway. Blake knew there was something more he wanted to say and Blake was sure he knew what it was. He might as well confront the subject head on. “Yes? Is there something else?”

  “Don’t you think you’ve done him enough harm?”

  A f
iery shard of anger stabbed through Blake’s chest. “He will never have endured enough,” Blake ground through clenched teeth. “He’ll never have paid enough.”

  “But don’t you see what your hatred for him is doing to you? It’s turning your heart harsh and brittle.”

  “Then I will live with a heart that’s brittle. It’s not as if I’ll need my heart for anything else.”

  “Perhaps not now, Blake. But perhaps some da—”

  “Good night, Liam. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  His friend nodded farewell, then closed the office door behind him.

  Blake sat without moving for several minutes after he’d heard Liam’s footsteps on the stair treads, then heard the warehouse door close behind him.

  A myriad of emotions crashed about inside him, and yet Blake couldn’t put a name to any one of them. If he had to describe what he felt knowing that the venture the Duke of Somerset had invested in had gone bankrupt, it could best be described as satisfaction. Or perhaps pleasure that one more nail had been driven into the coffin of the man Blake despised more than anyone on the face of the earth.

  Blake lived for the day when he would hear that the Duke of Somerset had invested too recklessly, or had gambled too heavily, and was so deeply in debt he had to sell everything that wasn’t entailed. Then Blake would buy what his father was forced to sell.

  Blake walked to the liquor cabinet that stood against the wall and refilled his glass with more of his fine brandy. He would enjoy watching the Duke of Somerset sell his possessions. And he would see to it that he himself would become the owner of everything the duke was forced to lose. When the Duke of Somerset had nothing to his name but a mountain of debt and a future in debtor’s prison, Blake would ask him how it felt to be without a coin in his pocket, or a crust of bread to eat. Blake hoped the duke would beg to be taken in—so Blake could turn him away.

  Blake lived for the day when the Duke of Somerset realized he’d lost everything he’d once owned. Lost it to his bastard son. The bastard son he refused to claim.

  Chapter 2

  Lady Willow Gilchrist walked the perimeter of the ballroom with her two close friends, Lady Jane Maynard and Lady Mary Franklin. Mary and Jane had promised to keep her company and help her avoid being surrounded by swains who were determined to press their suit because of the massive dowry that was rumored to come with her. So far, Willow’s maneuvers had been successful. They’d been able to evade even the most determined fellows trying to catch Willow alone.

  “I think it’s time for us to get something to drink,” Mary said, nodding discretely to her right where Lord Westfield was crossing the ballroom floor with a determined look on his face.

  “I do believe you’re right,” Jane added, then hooked her arm through Willow’s and led her to the opposite end of the ballroom where a table had been laid with two bowls of punch. They chose cups from the bowl that was missing an extra added ingredient that made those who imbibed overly much a little giddy, then took a sandwich from the silver platter and found a quiet spot to hide out for a while.

  “Is your father still determined to allow Lord Kendrick to court you?” Mary asked after they were settled.

  Willow took a slow drink of the punch, then set her cup on a passing footman’s tray. She didn’t even try to hold back her exasperated sigh. “The Duke of Somerset called on Father this afternoon. I couldn’t hear all that was said between them, but yes, Father approves of Kendrick’s attentions. The only remark I heard that gives me hope is that Father told His Grace that if I refused to accept his son’s attentions, he would not force the courtship.”

  “And do you intend to refuse his attentions?” Jane asked.

  “I don’t know,” Willow said, although she knew she dared not.

  Willow had four older brothers whom she loved with every ounce of her being. Since she’d come along when they were older, they treated her like the princess they thought her to be. And she’d do anything for them. Anything. And marrying Lord Kendrick would allow her to give each of them what they very badly needed.

  Willow wasn’t supposed to know the facts surrounding her marriage, but she did. The Duke of Somerset had visited her father nearly six months past, and when he left, the outline of a marriage contract had been drawn up that spelled everything out. In exchange for her hand in marriage, the Duke of Somerset would receive an astronomical amount of money—money left to Willow by her dear grandmother. It was enough to pay his creditors and keep him out of debtor’s prison. His Grace was that deeply in debt. And her father would receive two Somerset estates that were not entailed. These estates would go to her two younger brothers, Joe and Phin. While her father was by no means poor, his wealth wouldn’t extend so far as to purchase estates for his younger sons. Using Willow’s dowry to entice Somerset into gifting her father the two small estates was the only way to accomplish it.

  Phin had married Effie last spring. Effie was as close as possible to being a sister to Willow. Unfortunately, she hadn’t come with land that could be used to house her and Phin, and they’d been forced to reside with Willow’s parents since their marriage. Willow’s marriage to Lord Kendrick would give them an estate they so desperately needed.

  Willow was even more eager for Joe to benefit from her marriage to Lord Kendrick. Willow knew Joe had feelings for her good friend Jane, but according to Phin, Joe refused to act on those feelings until he could provide his wife with a home. Willow’s marriage to Lord Kendrick would give Phin and Joe homes of their own, and make Jane the happiest woman alive when Joe could court her.

  “So what about Lord Kendrick?” Jane repeated.

  “He is quite handsome,” Willow said, answering Jane’s question. “And I find him easy to converse with. He has above average intelligence, and no habits I find disgusting.”

  “Then why haven’t you encouraged him?” Mary asked. “It isn’t that he hasn’t made an effort to single you out.”

  “Perhaps because I’m not sure I can ever love him.”

  Mary stifled a giggle that included an unladylike snort. “Since when is love a prerequisite for marriage. Have you forgotten that marriages are formed on the largess of the dowry a woman can bring to the union?” She rose and fanned a limp tendril from her forehead. “Let’s find some air, shall we?”

  Jane rose, then looped Willow’s arm through hers and led her to the French doors at the back of the ballroom. Mary followed.

  Willow was glad to be free of the stuffy ballroom and took in a fortifying breath when they reached the out-of-doors.

  “I agree with you, Willow,” Jane said when they were out of earshot of anyone inside the ballroom. “I find it quite depressing to think of spending my life with someone who doesn’t love me. And whom I might find it impossible to love.”

  Mary stepped closer to Willow and Jane as if she wanted to make sure her next words couldn’t be overheard. “Mother said that you may not think you can love the man you marry, but in time it’s possible to become comfortable enough with him that you can pretend you’re in love.”

  “Do you think your parents love each other?” Willow asked Mary. As many times as she’d been in Mary’s parents’ company, she’d never considered that they didn’t love each other. They always seemed quite content with one another.

  “Of course they love each other,” Mary said, then paused. “At least, I think they love each other. They seem as if they do.”

  “Then I’m sure they do,” Willow said, feeling the need to reassure Mary. “You’d more than likely be an only child if they didn’t. And you’re not. You have two brothers and two sisters.” She looked at Jane. “And you have three sisters and a brother. And I have four brothers, even if they are several years older than me.”

  Jane tilted her head to the side. “What does the number of brothers and sisters have to do with whether your parents love each other or not?”

  Mary looked at her friend with a startled expression on her face. “You do know how women
get babies, don’t you?”

  With a look of frustration, Jane placed her fists on her hips. “Of course I know where babies come from.”

  “Then where?” Mary demanded, forcing Jane to admit whether or not she really knew.

  “My grandmother brings them. Our nurse always tells Father when Mother is ready for another baby, and Father sends for Grandmama. When she arrives, she goes up to see Mother and she gives her a baby.”

  Willow couldn’t suppress her surprise. Neither could Mary. “Does your grandmother arrive with a baby?” Willow asked. “Have you ever seen the baby when your grandmother brings it?”

  “I’ve never seen it, but she must have it packed somewhere in her trunks. How else would she get it into the house and up to where Mother is waiting?”

  Willow and Mary stood in shocked silence for several moments. Willow couldn’t believe Jane was so naïve on these matters. It wasn’t that Jane had just come from the schoolroom. This was their second Season, and all three of them had been quite sought after. Willow couldn’t believe Jane’s mother hadn’t spoken with her about what happened in the bedroom between a man and a woman.

  But then, Jane’s mother was the daughter of one of England’s favorite cardinals. Perhaps like her daughter’s school chums she had piously avoided such topics around her sheltered offspring.

  “Now isn’t the time,” Mary said, giving Willow a look that said she knew what Willow was thinking. “Willow and I are going to have a chat with you, Jane. A chat your mother should have had with you a long time ago.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re suggesting,” Jane said.

  “That’s why we need to have a talk. You don’t know anything that you should. I can’t believe you’ve managed this long without being ruined.”

  The three friends were stopped from saying more when the Marquess of Kendrick, the Duke of Somerset’s son and heir, walked through the French doors to step out onto the terrace. He was accompanied by Lord Darworth and Lord Hedley.