by Laura Landon
She was aware of how careful she had to be so no one ever discovered she associated with a modiste and a tradesman. Knowing that she’d lowered herself to mingle with the working class would destroy her father. And ruin his dream of her becoming a duchess.
“Where have your thoughts flown?”
Willow lifted her gaze and found Blake studying her. “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”
“Yes, you were and I’d love to know what you were thinking. From the frown on your face, your thoughts weighed heavily upon you.”
“Not so heavily,” she answered, trying to put a smile on her face.
The look on his face said he didn’t believe her, but it was impossible to reveal what she’d been thinking, so she didn’t bother.
“I believe I’m finished here,” she said, then turned to join Madame Boulereau and Liam in Blake’s office. But as she took her first step, her foot caught on a bolt of material sticking too far into the aisle. She reached out to catch herself, but before her hand touched a bolt of fabric, Blake had her in an embrace and was holding her next to him.
She knew she should push out of his arms. Knew it wasn’t wise or safe to remain locked in his embrace. But as if she didn’t have the strength to move, she remained cradled against him.
Willow felt as though she’d forgotten how to breathe. Her gaze locked with his. Then he slowly lowered his focus to her lips.
He was going to kiss her. She knew he was considering the wisdom of doing so, just as she was considering the wisdom of allowing him to do something so dangerous.
She should stop him. She knew she should. But her body didn’t react to what her mind told it to do. She wanted to know how his kiss would affect her. She was desperate to discover how much more powerful his kiss would be when just his touch was an earthshattering experience.
He lowered his head and his lips met hers.
A thousand firebrands shot through to every part of her body. His lips were firm and warm, and the longer he kissed her, the more control he seemed to have over her.
He tilted his head to gain more access, then deepened his kiss. The melding of their lips was a demand for Willow to give more of herself to him. And she did. She met his request with heartfelt obedience. Then gave him even more.
Their breathing accelerated to a ragged edge. She skimmed her hands up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. He didn’t break their contact, but kissed her with even more passion.
Willow wasn’t a novice at kissing. Neither was she experienced. But never had she been kissed with anything near the fervor of this kiss. Never had a kiss affected her like Blake’s kiss did, and Willow feared that if she didn’t stop their kiss now, the passion she felt would pull her under and she’d drown.
Blake must have felt the same. With a harsh moan he lifted his mouth and broke off their kiss.
Thankfully, instead of stepping away from her, he brought her close to him and wrapped his arms around her to hold her steady. Willow was glad. If he had released her, she was certain she would have collapsed to a pile on the floor. Her legs were that unsteady beneath her.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. The frantic pounding of his heart echoed in her ear, and she knew without a doubt that he’d been transported by their kiss as surely as she had.
When she finally had control over her limbs, she stepped out of his arms and lifted her gaze. The expression on his face exhibited as much confusion as she felt.
What had she done? How could she have been so foolish?
“That can’t happen again,” she gasped in a voice that was harsh with emotion. “Promise me that it won’t.”
Blake Edison raked his fingers through his hair and nodded. “It won’t. I promise you that it won’t.”
Willow turned on her heel and left him standing where he was. On unsteady legs, she made her way to the office where Liam and Madame Boulereau were finishing their transaction and sank into the nearest chair.
Blake joined them eventually, but it was a long while after she’d walked away from him. And his gaze didn’t meet hers.
Chapter 9
Blake didn’t know what had happened to him. Never had a kiss enflamed him like the kiss he’d shared with Willow. He sat in the room with Liam and Madame Boulereau as they toasted today’s success, but he avoided looking at Georgette. He knew if he did, his friend would realize that something was amiss with him. She was keen to worldly matters and it was impossible to hide anything from her.
“While you and Mr. McGregor and Mr. Edison finish your discussion,” Willow said, “I’m going to go to the sewing room and make sure the seamstresses know which material will be used for each design.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Madame Boulereau said. That comment was followed by Blake’s suggestion that Liam go with her to have the warehouse workmen move the rolls of fabric to the area where the seamstresses could work with them.
When Willow rose to leave, Liam followed, and Blake and Georgette were left alone. Georgette took a sip of the liquor remaining in her glass, then focused on him.
“Are you going to share what’s going on between you and Lady Willow, or are you going to force me to embarrass you with what I think?”
Blake let loose a laugh that didn’t sound like it was linked to anything humorous, then threw the remaining liquor in his glass to the back of his throat. He welcomed the burn as it traveled the entire way to his gut. “You always were too perceptive, Georgette.”
“But did you have to kiss her?” Georgette added.
“How did you know?”
“Perhaps it was the flush to Lady Willow’s face when she returned. Or perhaps it was the speed with which she entered the room, as if she were escaping something? Or her swollen lips? Or the fact that once she sat down she refused to lift her gaze to look any of us in the eye? Or the fact that today, for the first time, she accepted a glass of wine when it was offered? Or… Need I go on?”
“No,” Blake said, refilling his glass. “And there’s no need to reprimand me. I already know that kissing her was a monumental mistake.”
“My guess would be because you enjoyed it entirely too much.”
Blake took another swallow of the liquor in his glass.
“You know rumors in the ton have Lady Willow and the heir to the Duke of Somerset nearly ready to walk down the aisle.”
Blake shot to his feet. “Yes, I know.” He moved in front of the window that looked out onto the main thoroughfare that connected his warehouse to the street that led to Fleet Street. It was a well-traveled way.
“Although I don’t know the reason why, I know about your hatred for His Grace. Let me only say that it would be far beneath you to use Lady Willow to exact any sort of revenge on His Grace, or his son.”
“Give me some credit, Georgette. I would never use Lady Willow to exact revenge on anyone. Let alone the duke.”
But the moment the words left his mouth, he knew them for the lies they were. He’d use the archangel himself if it would destroy the Duke of Somerset. He hated him that much.
“See that you don’t, Blake. I feel responsible for Lady Willow, and would take it as a personal insult if you caused her any grief.”
Blake had been duly warned. He changed the subject before Georgette had reason to do more than simply issue him a warning.
“How long do you anticipate it will take for each seamstress to complete a gown?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Georgette answered. “We’re in uncharted territory. I’ve warned everyone that they would be putting in extended hours at the beginning. It helps that all the seamstresses are knowledgeable in every stage of the process to complete a gown. Pattern pieces are being cut out as we speak, and all of the workers will assist in the early stages of the process, at least until they have work to do in their own area.
“When the first gown is constructed, that gown will move to a worker doing the finishing handwork. When that
gown is completed, the workers assigned to pressing the gowns will conclude the process. And that gown will be ready to sell.”
“I’m impressed, Georgette,” Blake said, finishing his brandy. “You have done a stellar job organizing all this. I couldn’t have managed without you.”
“And I couldn’t have envisioned and acted on this venture without you. I’m as excited as I was when I started my dressmaking business all those years ago.”
Blake rose, then held out his hand to assist Georgette to her feet. “Should we go see how our new venture is progressing? I’m interested to see how well the ladies are managing these uncharted waters.”
“By all means. It might also provide you with the opportunity to fix any problems between you and Lady Willow. A little groveling never hurt anyone when it was warranted.”
Blake looped Georgette’s arm through his and led her to the door. She was correct. It had been a long time since he’d groveled, but in this instance, it was warranted. It was important that he convince Lady Willow he would never again be so forward.
Except, the second he and Madame Boulereau stepped into the area that had been cordoned off for their new business, his eyes caught sight of Willow, and every part of him wanted to walk to where she stood and take her in his arms and kiss her until they were both sated.
His promise to Willow was going to be harder to keep than he’d imagined.
. . . .
Without turning, Willow knew the moment Blake Edison entered the room. The air contained a charge that had nothing to do with the excitement of watching one seamstress after another take the cut pieces to their assigned machine and begin the steady treadling motion of sewing seam after seam.
Willow had removed her cloak and gloves, and was working alongside the cutters whose shears rendered crisply-cut sections from different colored fabrics. As they cut the pieces, she brought over another bolt so there would be no lag in production. From the speed at which the machines were able to put the gowns together, it was obvious that more workers would be required.
Blake focused on Willow again as she struggled with a heavy bolt of material.
“Jeremy,” she heard Blake bellow at one of the young workmen. “Come here.”
When the lad rushed over, he pointed to where Willow stood. “Stay with Lady Willow at all times whenever she’s here and do whatever she tells you to do.”
“Yes, sir,” the lad answered.
Willow looked up and her eyes caught Blake’s. “You are not to lift anything over the weight of a feather,” he yelled over the din of people talking and the noisy sound of the sewing machines working. “Do you hear me? Tell Jeremy what needs to be moved and he will move it for you.”
Willow opened her mouth and Blake knew she intended to argue. He narrowed his glare and she closed her mouth. Instead, she turned to Jeremy. “This bolt of material goes to the second table,” she said, and the lad Jeremy rushed to do her bidding.
She was grateful that Blake had the foresight to escort Georgette to a spot far enough away that the woman couldn’t argue with him. Willow knew if Georgette had the opportunity, she’d give him a tongue lashing that would leave scars. And the reason for her scolding wouldn’t just be for treating Willow as if she were some hothouse flower. It would be for the kiss they’d shared earlier as well.
. . . .
When the lad was out of hearing, Willow turned to inform Blake that she didn’t need to be treated like a delicate flower, but he’d already moved away from her and was walking between the sewing machines.
Willow tried to force her temper to rise at being treated as she had, but every time she looked at him, she realized his actions were meant to protect her. How could she be angry over that?
Even though he’d grown up far away from the titled nobility of London, it was as if he understood how they lived. As if he knew how Society treated titled young ladies. And no one in Society would have allowed any of their members—male or female—to do physical labor of any sort.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Blake say something to Liam McGregor, then Blake left the sewing area. A short while later Madame Boulereau came to her.
“Blake would like to see us in his office,” she said.
Willow gave some last-minute instructions to Jeremy, then followed Liam and Georgette from the room. “Do you know what Mr. Edison wants?” she asked Liam as they climbed the stairs.
“No, he just said he wanted to see us.”
When they reached Blake’s office, Liam opened the door and Willow followed Georgette into the room. Three chairs were placed before Blake’s desk and Willow took the chair furthest from the center of the desk. She didn’t want to be directly in Blake’s line of sight. Georgette took the center chair, and Liam the last chair.
“You all had the opportunity to see the progress of the sewing room,” Blake said, leaning back in his chair. “What do you think?”
Blake focused on Madame Boulereau first. Willow was glad. If anyone was the expert on the construction of gowns, and the work it took to complete the process, she was the most qualified.
“I believe you are going to need to hire twice as many workers as you have now, Blake,” she said. “To keep the process moving, you’re going to need several more people cutting the material so the machine-workers don’t sit idle. And more seamstresses doing the hand work.”
While Madame Boulereau spoke, Blake was busy taking notes.
“What suggestions do you have, Willow?”
“Do you want all of them?”
His gaze lifted from his paper. If she thought he might be angry at her flippant answer she was very wrong. A broad smile lit his face and he laughed. “There are that many?” he asked. His eyes twinkled with merriment.
“Probably more than you wish to hear.”
“I want to hear everything you noticed.”
“Very well.” Willow took a deep breath and relaxed. “First of all, the workers need more light. Perhaps a paraffin oil lamp suspended over each work area, or a gas lamp, with mirrors on the walls to reflect the light. And with an extra drip pan so the oil doesn’t spatter on the fabric. Gas would be better, of course, if it can be rigged.”
Blake nodded his agreement as he wrote down her suggestion.
“I agree with Madame Boulereau. You need to hire a greater number of workers. Especially those cutting the pattern pieces, and those doing the hand work.” Willow paused and she felt all eyes focus on her.
“Yes?” Blake encouraged.
Willow cleared her throat. “I would like to encourage you to keep an open mind to purchasing more machines.”
“More, my lady?”
“Yes.” Willow said the word with all the confidence she felt.
“How many more do you suggest I purchase?”
“Perhaps… twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five!” Liam McGregor and Madame Boulereau said in unison.
“I know that sounds like an exorbitant amount, but…” Willow stopped to gather her courage. “…I truly believe you have embarked on a monumental venture, Mr. Edison. I think there is no end to where this could be in six months or a year. You can start with women’s gowns and dresses, but there is also a need for children’s clothes. And coats and cloaks. And nightgowns and robes. And…” She stopped. “I believe this is only the beginning.”
He leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. Her heart flipped in her breast and the butterflies that had barely managed to rest, took flight again.
“Thank you, Lady Willow. Then may I assume you won’t think me foolish when I tell you that I just sent word to Mr. Howe to ship me twenty more of his sewing machines as soon as possible.”
“You what!” Liam said springing forward in his chair.
“Yes, I ordered twenty more sewing machines. And…” He placed his pen on the desk. “…I just purchased the warehouse next to Edison Textile Imports, to turn into Edison’s Ready-Made Garments.”
“That’s a very bold move, B
lake,” Madame Boulereau said, but the expression on her face indicated she approved of what he’d done.
“I have a lot of confidence in the future of ready-made clothing,” Blake said, “and I wholeheartedly agree with Lady Willow. Dresses and gowns are only the beginning. No one grows out of their clothes faster than children, and I think that will be an open market.”
“The fact that you are one of the first to begin selling ready-made clothes will only work to your advantage,” Willow said.
“To our advantage,” Blake corrected.
Willow couldn’t help but smile. “That you are in the ready-made garment business before the market is saturated with garment providers will definitely be a benefit to. . .us.”
Blake nodded his agreement, then picked up his pen and prepared to write. “I believe you mentioned you had several suggestions of improvements to make. Please, continue.”
And Willow did. But as she made her suggestions for needed improvements, she increased the number of workers and work stations by twenty.
She focused her attention on the man who’d had the foresight to start Edison Garments and knew she was in the presence of a business genius. Not only could he see into the future when presented with a new venture, but he wasn’t afraid to take risks.
It was obvious that Blake Edison went after what he wanted with everything he possessed. And nothing got in his way.
Chapter 10
Willow danced a second dance with Quinton, Marquess of Kendrick. It was a waltz. The night was coming to an end, and Willow had to admit she didn’t mind seeing it finish. She’d stayed up far too late last night working on designs for nightgowns and robes that Blake wanted to add to his line.
Willow couldn’t hide her excitement. She found it stimulating to create nightwear that was both serviceable and attractive. She had no experience to attest to this, but she assumed even married women wanted to look attractive for their husbands. Especially in the bedroom.
As she twirled around the ballroom, she couldn’t help but picture a robe made from a soft satin. Or perhaps a silk brocade. Or even…