Free The Headmistress of Rosemere by Sarah E Ladd Page B

venture.”
    “You are, are you? Shocking.” William pinched the bridge of his nose. When wasn’t Riley investigating this or that, looking for a way to further line his pocketbook? “And what, pray tell, are you exploring this time?”
    Riley rubbed his hands together as if enjoying the banter. “Textiles.”
    William snorted. Textiles. With an abundance of sheep in the area, textiles and weaving had long been a way of life in Darbury and the surrounding villages. It was only a matter of time before Riley set his sights to finding a way to exploit it. “And what do you know of textiles?”
    Riley shrugged, his ever-present crooked grin flashing in the shadows. “At present, very little, save for the fact that with all the wool available right here, it would be a lucrative venture. If done properly, that is to say.”
    “Is that so?” William tapped his thumb on the arm of the chair. He had the distinct suspicion that Riley was leading him down a path of sorts, and William, with sore ribs and throbbing temples, was in no mood for games. “And how exactly would one go about doing it properly?”
    “That is where my new colleague, Jeremiah Carlton, comes in.” Riley’s easy smile slid across his broad, square face.
    William leaned his head back. “What happened to your colleague in timber—that chap from Devonshire?”
    “Bloody dull fellow. I never could trust a man with a French name. Back to what I was saying. Carlton has experience in power looms. Seems he tried to open a factory up around Manchester, but rioters burned it to the ground in the dead of night. Rogues.” Riley shifted his weight and licked his lips. “I have made the decision to align myself with Carlton financially in this venture, but we are lacking a major component.”
    William propped his boots up on an ottoman and stared at the square toes. Ah, so this was it. He asked the question, already knowing the answer. “And what does this have to do with me?”
    Riley smirked. “You own something we need.”
    This wasn’t the first time that Riley had approached himabout land, and one plot of land in particular: the spot of land that Rosemere was on.
    “I’m not selling you Rosemere, Riley.”
    Riley looked hurt. “You haven’t even heard my plan.”
    “Don’t need to. That land is leased.”
    Riley pushed an ottoman out of the way with his foot and sat down on the chair facing William’s. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We go back a long time. This property means a great deal to you. To your father. I don’t mean to pry, but clearly you are in a situation. I’m not here to judge. I’m here as your friend. And I am offering you money that you clearly need. And you’d be doing me a tremendous favor. I will pay you more than what the house and land are worth. Let me deal with the legality. I’ll even cut you in on the profits. At least think about it.”
    William jumped up from his chair, having momentarily forgotten about the ache in his ribs until the sudden movement gave him a jolting reminder. He recognized the truth in what Riley said. But if he lost his land, what did he have left to fight for? “I don’t need to think about it. I’ll not sell it.”
    “You are a stubborn fool. Always have been.” Riley slumped back in his chair.
    “I have tenants at Rosemere. I can’t evict them.”
    “Why not? I’ll pay more.”
    He stared at Riley, trying to ascertain if he was in jest. People live there. Work there. And have for decades. He couldn’t evict them without notice. Without explanation. Was his friend really that self-serving?
    Riley did not relent. “Not all your land is leased. What about Latham Hill?”
    William adjusted his forearm on the chair’s arm. Latham Hill was a small plot of land adjacent to the Rosemere property. The rocky soil, unfarmable, was used for grazing. But the land didpossess one enticing attribute—access to River Thaughley. But if William’s plan was to be