"Money is a great servant but a bad master." Francis Bacon

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Chapter One

London, England

1805

"It has been an absolute pleasure, gentlemen," boasted Cassian as he collected his winnings from his weekly card game.

Henry Weatherby groaned as he tossed a number of bank notes onto the table. "You always have the best luck, Kensington."

Cassian chuckled as he collected the money. "I suppose I have just developed a good intuition for people. I can call a bluff."

"Intuition, my arse," swore Geoffrey Hounslow. "Just bloody lucky," he muttered as he too paid what he owed.

"Well, gentleman, my wife expected me home hours ago so I had best be off to face the music," murmured Percy Townsend.

"Townsend, how about you stop fretting about getting in trouble like you are a little schoolgirl and stay for a whiskey. Have a little fun," teased Cassian. Cassian snapped his fingers to summon the servant that was attending their table at the club. The servant appeared instantly and Cassian ordered a bottle of their most expensive ale.

Townsend frowned and looked down at Cassian. "This is gambling, Kensington, not fun. While my wife might be demanding, I still would rather please her than you." Townsend paid what he owed and left them.

"Can you believe him?" Cassian asked Weatherby and Hounslow.

Weatherby laughed. "You will understand when you marry, Kensington."

"Yes, you are still a baby in comparison to us," added Hounslow.

"Marry? I have no time to marry," rebuffed Cassian.

"No, but plenty of time to fool around while flashing your dashing smile at every giggling young girl you come across." Weatherby raised a disapproving brow. "Perhaps a wife would do you some good. But alas, I must follow Townsend. My wife awaits me, as well."

"Goodnight, Kensington," said Hounslow, "until next week."

Just as his friends had left, the servant returned with the bottle of whiskey. Not wanting the ale to go to waste, he poured himself a generous glass.

Cassian did not know whether Townsend, Weatherby, and Hounslow were really his friends. They were rich men. Cassian was a rich man. Were not rich men supposed to associate with each other, gamble, and complain about their women? Cassian did not have a woman, but he had plenty of money to gamble with.

Cassian was one of the richest men in London. In just under three years, he had made himself a fortune that meant he was the envy of every man in the city, and the desire of every woman.

Cassian had been fortunate in a speculation that had benefitted him nearly a thousand pounds. With that money he had purchased his first factory. Cassian had made his fortune in industry, and was always looking to acquire struggling factories.

He owned seven factories in London, and a dozen more in the north of England. He was responsible for nearly fifteen hundred souls in his factories, which was not a responsibility he took lightly.

Cassian worked hard. He had made something of himself. So when he was not working, he liked to enjoy himself. He indulged on fine clothes, ales, and women. He lived in a luxurious London townhouse and he was quite content.

Cassian finished his whiskey and left the bottle on the table, as well as payment for the servant's services that evening. Perhaps the servants could enjoy the fine ale together. Cassian was suddenly not in the mood to overindulge.

At that moment, a pair of arms wound their way around his waist. The sweet scent of her perfume permeated the air around him. He knew it was Fanny, one of the girls who worked at the club. Fanny was one of the prettiest girls in their employ. Her lovely blonde hair was always perfectly pinned, and she always wore appealing gowns.

"Did you have a nice evening, Mr Kensington?" Fanny whispered.

"I did, thank you," he replied with a smile. He turned around to look at her just as he checked the time on his gold pocket watch. It was nearing midnight. He supposed he ought to return home to bed. "But I have to go home unfortunately." He left her embrace to put in his fine coat.

Fanny sighed impatiently. "But why?" she whined, pouting her full lips.

The sound annoyed him. "I have to work," he replied. "Goodnight, Fanny. I will be back for cards next week." He was due to inspect one of his factories in the morning. His very first factory, actually.

Angel Faith Textiles. It had only seemed right to thank his angel Faith in some way. Perhaps, wherever she was, she might one day walk past the factory and see that it was named for her. Perhaps one day she might even purchase fabric from a dressmaker and see his business name and be reminded.

He owed his life to that woman. He owed everything to her. Wherever she was, he hoped she was alright and he hoped she was proud. He had made something of himself, just as she had asked.

Cassian swiftly left the club, thanking their servant on his way out, and made his way out into the cool London evening. It was nearing the end of October, and there was a real bite to the air.

Cassian's driver, Mr Green, was waiting for him, and opened the door to his carriage promptly. Cassian's carriage was another one of his large purchases. Not an expense was spared on the luxurious interior. Only the best fabrics, panelling, and lighting were installed.

"Home, Mr Kensington?" called Mr Green.

"Yes, home," he replied.

Cassian lived in Kensington. He had selected the area partially as it shared his name, but mostly because of the prestige of the address. He was very proud to own his own home, when only three years earlier he had not owned a pair of shoes.

Cassian's townhouse was large, lavish, and white, and stretched four storeys high. A white set of steps greeted every visitor, and they led up to a navy coloured door. He promptly left his carriage as soon as it had stopped outside his house and he climbed the steps two at a time.

He knew that his household would be in bed, and so he opened the front door himself. Cassian kept a small, but efficient household. His butler, Geoffrey Wade, had essentially educated him on what it was to be rich. He served him, took care of household affairs, and controlled the staff.

Four housemaids took care of the housekeeping, and his cook and kitchen maid kept him eating like a king. He ate something different every night. It was not hard to surprise Cassian as he had very little experience with refined dishes.

His house was filled with all of the things that rich people ought to own. Paintings, sculptures, and varying pieces of furniture that were never really used. He owned a piano that had never been played and his drawing room had never been sat in.

Cassian did not entertain, and he preferred to keep to his study when at home.

Cassian climbed the two flights of stairs up to the third floor. His private quarters, as well as several unused bedrooms, were on the third floor.

Once inside his bedroom, Cassian closed the door, and then proceeded to remove his cravat. He discarded it on the trunk that lay at the end of his bed. He removed the pile of notes that he had won in tonight's card game and quickly counted it.

Sixty pounds.

Such a sum would have made him a rich man three years earlier, but now, sixty pounds felt like pocket change. He placed the money on his bed as he removed his coat, waist jacket, shirt, boots and breeches. He then slipped a nightshirt on over his head and picked up the bank notes again.

Cassian opened the drawer beside his bed and set the notes in there temporarily. He would take them to his study in the morning and record the income. Cassian owned very few personal possessions. Of course, he had things, but hardly anything that mattered.

What did matter was in this drawer. His mother's crucifix necklace. The first pound he had ever profited. And the little jewelled ring his angel had gifted him three years before.

Cassian reached into the drawer and picked up the ring. He had never had the ring appraised, or looked at by a jeweller, but he knew the stones were real. Three exquisite diamonds sat atop the gold band, sparkling just as much as they had the day his angel had given it to him.

Cassian had never had any inclination to sell it. Not even in the beginning. He had made a promise to himself, and to Faith, three years ago. He would make something of himself, and he would find her. He would show her just what he had done with her money, and he would give the ring back to her.

He put the ring away and climbed into bed. He sighed as he turned down the light in his lamp. His existence was a lonely one, even now. He had friends of a sort, and a household to serve him, and a woman to keep him company now and then, but he was still alone.

***

Cassian awoke to the sound of his drapes being opened. He squinted and covered his eyes as the sunlight hit his face.

"Good morning, sir," chirped Nancy, one of his housemaids. "Breakfast is served."

"Thank you, Nancy," grumbled Cassian.

Once he had heard his bedroom door close, he threw back the bedclothes and wandered over to his breakfast table. Cassian rarely ate breakfast down in the dining room. He liked to eat quickly before moving on to his study.

Cassian was dedicated to his work, meticulous with his ledgers, and determined to be a success. He had only recently returned from a trip up north to inspect his factories there. He liked to be well informed of the goings on, the workers, the working conditions, everything. He had only just put in an order for half a dozen wheels to be installed in his cotton mills to make it easier on the workers' lungs.

Cassian picked at his boiled egg and took a few sips of tea before he dressed for the day. He had too much to do before he left for Angel Faith Textiles. He was due there at nine, and he wanted to go over the numbers prior to leaving.

Cassian knew that rich men employed valets, but he had not quite got used to that idea yet. He could dress himself, and Wade took care of everything else anyway, so what need did he have? He pulled on a fresh pair of breeches and chose an ivory waist jacket and a dark coat.

Cassian attached his pocket watch and placed it in his pocket, and then pocketed his sixty pounds in winnings, before running his fingers through his untameable, thick, curly black hair.

His hair had grown back, and was as unruly as ever.

Cassian descended the stairs to the second floor and entered his study. His study was a simple room with a large desk covered in books and folders. His books shelves were quite empty, as he was not an exceptionally well read man.

His mother had seen to it that he learned to read, but he had not had the opportunity to ever really read a book. Now, he did not have the time.

Cassian's desk was organised chaos. He knew where everything was and the maids knew not to touch anything. Now that he was returned from the north, he put those ledgers away. He would pull them out again once he received figures from his managers.

He pulled one of the leather bound ledgers from the pile, and ran his fingers over the embossed "AFT" on the cover. This was his first ledger, purchased for his first factory.

Angel Faith Textiles manufactured fabric. He purchased fibres, such as the cotton he manufactured in the north, and his workers converted the fibres into fabric. Once it was a usable material, his workers then dyed or printed the fabric, and it was then sold on in bolts to dressmakers and such at a profit.

Cassian read over the numbers, memorising what they paid for fibres last quarter, and what profit was generated from sales. A tidy sum, indeed. Fifty-six women were employed at Angel Faith Textiles, as well as his manager, Gregory Drew, and a second-in-charge, overseer Henry Towler.

Cassian checked the time on his pocket watch. It was half-past eight. He needed to leave. He closed the ledger and tucked it under his arm and proceeded to make his way downstairs.

He could hear that his household were awake and working. Rooms that were left vacant were being dusted. Silverware that was never used was being polished.

Cassian did not see the appeal in sitting at a dining table meant for sixteen while dining alone. Perhaps ... one day ... if he was not alone.

Wade quickly made his way into the entry foyer to open the door for Cassian. "Can we expect you home for luncheon, sir?" he asked.

Cassian smiled at his faithful butler. He knew he was not the most traditional of masters. "Just supper tonight. Thank you, Wade."

"Good day, sir," farewelled Wade.

His driver, Mr Green, was waiting for him as this was a prearranged trip.

"Good morning, sir," greeted Mr Green as he opened the door for Cassian.

"Good morning, Green," replied Cassian as he climbed inside. Mr Green closed the door and Cassian settled down on the comfortable seat.

It was not a terribly long journey to Angel Faith Textiles. They had arrived within thirty minutes but Cassian was running a few minutes late.

He climbed out of the carriage and looked up at his building. The first building he had ever purchased. He smiled with pride. The large sign on the front of the building had a lovely halo, with the words "Angel Faith Textiles" written below it. The halo was purposefully positioned above the word "Faith".

Cassian truly wondered if Faith had ever happened upon a bolt of her own fabric at any time. He remembered exactly what she had been wearing the day they had met. Well, he remembered everything about her. But he knew that she wore fine clothing made from the fabrics that he manufactured. He prayed that she knew this was all because of her.

Cassian climbed the steps up to the factory door and let himself in. He enjoyed the busy rhythm in his factories. Each floor was dedicated to part of the process. The ground floor housed the looms. After going through the looms, the fibres were then transported through each of the rooms in the factories. The fibres were wound, warped, sized, and then woven before the newly manufactured fabric could be dyed and printed.

"Ah, Mr Kensington, you are here," cheered his manager, Gregory Drew as he descended the narrow staircase that led to the upper levels.

"Yes, Mr Drew," replied Cassian. "Apologies if I am late. London traffic."

"Of course," replied Mr Drew. "Not at all."

Mr Drew was slightly shorter than Cassian, and was about a decade older than him. All of Cassian's managerial employees were older than him.

Mr Drew smiled at Cassian, the skin around his grey eyes crinkling. He then extended his hand out to Cassian. "Are you well?"

"Yes, very well, thank you," he replied. "And you? How is your wife?" he asked as he shook Mr Drew's hand.

"Oh, Margaret is fine. Always something to complain about, though," he replied dismissively.

Cassian found that was the usual response he heard from men when he asked after their wives. They complained too much. They nagged. They gave their husbands headaches when they should be grateful to their husbands for providing.

His friends at the club would always complain about their wives. They seemed to have affection for them, but they always complained.

It did not entice Cassian into the institution. He did not want to complain about his wife. It was not a kind way to talk about the woman one had vowed to love.

"Give her my regards," replied Cassian.

"Thank you, sir," replied Mr Drew.

"How goes things?" he asked.

"Shall we go upstairs to my office?" suggested Mr Drew.

Cassian nodded and followed Mr Drew up the narrow staircase. As he was used to the luxurious staircases in his Kensington home, the narrow ones were a little unnerving.

As they moved from floor to floor, Cassian could see the female workers moving the fibres through the varying steps. They all looked very focussed. He wanted to speak to as many women as he could before he left. He prided himself on maintaining good working conditions.

His workers up north in the cotton mills had complained to him about lung illnesses after inhaling too much of the excess cotton. Upon hearing this, he had immediately put in an order for wheels to be installed in each factory to help with this problem.

Mr Drew's top floor office was quite stuffy, but an open window was helping with the air flow. The office itself was crowded with furniture and papers.

Cassian was not too self-important that he sat behind the master's desk. He sat in one of the little wooden chairs before Mr Drew's desk and opened the ledger.

"Will Mr Towler be joining us?" asked Cassian.

"He is directing the new girl," replied Mr Drew. "He will come up soon, I imagine."

Cassian nodded. "Alright. Quarterly reports," he began.

Cassian and Mr Drew spent a good half hour discussing the income and expenses of Angel Faith Textiles. Sixty women were now employed, to compensate for the demand. Business was good.

Eleven women had left the factory for other jobs, or to get married, and fifteen had been taken on, the latest only the day before. Mr Drew was planning on taking on at least a dozen more in the coming weeks.

Cassian was pleased. Angel Faith Textiles was his favourite. It had to succeed.

"Thank you for all your hard work, Mr Drew. I appreciate it." Cassian closed his ledger, now with updated numbers, and tucked it under his arm.

"Thank you, sir."

"I am going to go and speak to some of the women now, but I will say goodbye before I leave."

Cassian made his way through each of the rooms in the factory, talking to as many of his workers as he could. He was happy to hear that there were not any health complaints about conditions, mainly quiet requests for an increase in wages.

After his discussion with Mr Drew about the state of things, he believed there could be the possibility of an extra shilling a week. But he would not discuss it until all the calculations had been done.

He found his second overseer, Henry Towler, on the ground floor, supervising the women working on the looms. Mr Towler was only a few years older than Cassian, but he had an air of self-importance about him. Cassian had only taken him on after Mr Drew had vouched for him. He was yet to impress Cassian, but he did not have any overwhelming reason to sack the man except for a gut feeling.

"Ah, Mr Kensington. I heard you were due to visit today," greeted Mr Towler.

"How are you?" Cassian asked, forcing a smile.

"Good, good, sir," replied Mr Towler. "Very good this morning. Listen, I have had an idea."

"Go on," said Cassian carefully.

"With all the extra workers being taken on, it is getting hard to keep track of the level of performance. We want to ensure that we have exceptional standards, don't we?"

Cassian pursed his lips.

"Well, I have been thinking about taking on an assistant ... in house," he continued.

Cassian arched an eyebrow. "An assistant?" he repeated. In house? He wanted one of the women to assist him? He did not like the sound of that at all. Just as he was about to reject Mr Towler's request, he continued.

"Yes, the girl we took on yesterday. I see great potential in her. I would like to take her under my wing."