One Night with a Duke (12 Dukes of Christmas #10) - Erica Ridley Page 0,15
it’s my favorite kind. You can ask me anything, at any time. I’m an open book.” He affected a grand pose. “His Grace and I are collaborating on a textiles venture. Or we will be, once he and my business partner arrive, and we’re able to impress and astonish him with the merits of our proposal.”
“His Grace will be investing in textiles?” Angelica said in disbelief.
“Finished ones,” Mr. MacLean clarified. “Stylish apparel for the not-particularly-discerning man who wants to look like the pinnacle of taste and fashion. Calvin wanted to call it Dandy-in-a-Box, but I talked him into Fit For a Duke. We’re selling the feeling of being indistinguishable from one’s betters without fussing with valets and tailors. One needn’t know fashion plates to look like one. All at affordable prices, as easy as picking a favorite picture from a catalogue.”
“That’s... clever,” she admitted. “If you launch Fit For a Duchess, I would probably order a gown or two.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Your entire wardrobe is full of exact copies of one item.”
“Why would... How did you...”
“It’s my job to be observant,” he explained. “I travel about, looking for the most profitable opportunities, and then I exploit them. For example, I—What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said tightly. “‘Travel,’ ‘exploit’, ‘most profitable.’ I suppose you’re involved in slavery.”
“I am not,” he said, aghast. “Trafficking slaves is technically illegal on British soil and ought to be fully illegal throughout the Empire and everywhere. Hell is not good enough for men who believe themselves gods over others. The only business ventures that interest me are those that provide opportunities, not conscienceless schemes to take opportunities away. I want to lift people up, not keep them down.”
Angelica stared back at him without speaking. Even with the slave trade becoming illegal on English soil seven years ago, it had not stopped many aristocrats and wealthy land owners from maintaining ownership of existing slaves. In fact, many increased efforts overseas, where there were not so many laws to impede turning a tidy profit.
Some men who did not dabble in slavery did not refrain by choice. They lacked the funds to purchase a ship of terrified human beings, or the connections to build a plantation.
Mr. MacLean claimed to be morally opposed to the horrid practice on all counts. In his case, Angelica found she believed him.
He had treated her from the very first as though neither her gender nor her color had any bearing on what sort of person or how talented a jeweler she might be.
She was relieved Mr. MacLean championed abolition. He was a stranger, a tourist; yet a growing part of her hoped he would keep coming around.
She concentrated on setting emeralds so he could not see her face. “Is this your first business venture?”
“My hundredth,” he replied.
Skeptical, she lifted her eye from her loupe.
“Not all ventures are successful. My first several were dreadful failures, yet some of the most important things I’ve ever attempted, because I learned from them. For years now, every partnership has been profitable. At different levels, of course. One cannot expect the same percentages from a mullioned window factory as a lemon-ice cart. The principle is the important thing.”
“You invested in a lemon-ice cart?”
“No,” he said. “I invest in talent. Calvin is the most brilliant clothier I have ever known, and it will be my privilege to help him bring his designs to those who would not otherwise have access. On my travels, I have met talented sculptors, philosophers, inventors, professors, architects. If the only thing standing between them and success was a few pounds here or there and a wee bit of advertising, well, that’s where I come in. What good is a logical mind or piles of coin unless one puts them to good use?”
“You don’t just invest in people,” she said slowly. “You invest in ordinary people.”
He nodded. “Why invest in the firstborn son of a wealthy nobleman? He’s already got every advantage life has to offer, and probably no good ideas to show for it. Whereas there are a thousand brilliant notions a day—perhaps millions, who knows?—that are thought and forgot because the people who had them could not act on them.”
“That’s... very sweet.”
“It’s not sweet,” he said quickly. “It’s self-serving and lucrative. Every person I help to succeed, helps me to fatten my bank account. I’m not funding charities, Miss Parker. I’m providing capital in exchange for healthy interest rates. I make money using other