"A lot of money?" his father repeated. "How much do you want? I need specifics."
What Phillip wanted was money that would allow him to build a factory and then use that factory to produce steel.
That's right. Steel — the backbone of the Industrial Revolution.
Its versatility was unmatched. Stronger than wrought iron, yet more workable than cast iron, steel could be forged into rails, boiler plates, machine parts, tools, weapons, and eventually even bridges. Phillip knew from memory that no true industrial base could exist without a reliable supply of steel.
The Duke gave him a long look, waiting for his reply.
Back in his world, he thought in terms of millions of pounds and corporate budgets with line items for R&D, salaries, and procurement. Here, the currency was guineas and pounds sterling, estates and rents. He knew in theory what furnaces, rolling mills, and casting shops would cost in the 18th century, but converting that to the money of this world… he was lost.
He closed his eyes briefly, drawing on memory. In his old world, a modern steel plant could run into hundreds of millions, but here? The technology was primitive, the scale smaller. He remembered reading that in the early 1800s, a new blast furnace could cost £20,000–30,000, while a full ironworks complex might rise to £50,000 or more.
"Father," he said slowly, "I estimate it would take at least twenty thousand pounds to start properly. Perhaps more. Enough to construct blast furnaces, purchase land near coal deposits, and hire skilled men. If I aim smaller, I will only build another workshop. If I aim for steel, it must be large enough to matter."
The Duke raised an eyebrow. "Twenty thousand?"
Phillip realized too late that he may have named a number absurdly high by the standards of a noble's disposable funds. In his old life, it was the price of a mid-range car. Here, it was a fortune. Enough to buy entire estates.
"Do you even understand the value of what you are asking?" his father asked sharply.
Phillip bit his lip. He didn't. Not fully. He only had fragments from books and lectures, an engineer's knowledge of production but not an aristocrat's sense of money in the 18th century. To him, steel was worth everything — but how to put a price on it, in a world still running on horse-drawn carriages and timber beams?
"What business do you intend to start with twenty thousand pounds?"
Phillip gulped a mouthful of saliva. This is where he must pitch his business so he could convince an investor to invest in his idea. After all, looking at the situation right now, his father is the investor. Of course, he'd want to know what business he was going to start that requires that large amount of money.
"Father, are you familiar with steel?" Phillip asked.
The Duke narrowed his eyes. "Steel? I have heard of it. Imported blades, tools, a few fine implements from the Continent. Rare, expensive. Iron, on the other hand…" He leaned back in his chair. "That I know well. Our estates have iron fittings, iron nails, even the cannon foundries speak of it constantly. Iron is common. But steel… that is something else. What makes it worth twenty thousand pounds?"
Phillip nodded, forcing himself to slow down and speak plainly. "Iron comes in two common forms. Wrought iron, which is soft and bendable but lacks strength. And cast iron, which is hard and strong but brittle — strike it wrong and it cracks. Steel sits between them. It is both strong and workable. You can forge it into rails that will not snap, plates that will not buckle, blades that hold an edge, boilers that can withstand greater pressure."
His father's brow furrowed. "Boilers?"
"Yes," Phillip pressed on. "Every steam engine, which I know you are familiar with since they are already in use, depends on iron boilers. But iron cracks under heat and pressure. Steel boilers would be safer, last longer, and consume less fuel. And it does not stop there. With steel, we can build bridges that span rivers, ships with stronger hulls, machines that run faster, and tools that never dull. It is the material that can lift this country beyond anything our rivals can match."
The Duke was silent for a moment, tapping his fingers on the armrest. Finally, he asked, "And how did you know these things? You were never a bright student from the start."
Phillip recoiled from that statement. Of course, the Duke doesn't know yet that his original son was replaced by a man from the 21st century, still, it kind of hurts a little.
"I do a lot of things in my spare time, reading books. In any case, father, twenty thousand is all I need to start the business."
"Twenty thousand is a lot of money my son," the Duke said and continued. "How about this? I will give you five thousand pounds first and prove the concept to me. I'm sure with that money you can start working with your idea."
"Five thousand," Phillip repeated the word. If he were to calculate its value using inflation, that would be like one million pounds in 2024. That's still a lot of money.
To think that his father would give in to this idea, just how rich his new parents are?
Well, the Duke of Wellington was not merely a landowner who lived off rents. According to Phillip's inherited memories, his father's fortune came from a wide network of estates and enterprises.
The Hershey estates stretched across several counties, each producing income. Tenant farmers paid rents in cash and kind, and with rising demand for grain during the wars, even agriculture had become profitable. Beyond that, the family owned mines, coal pits in the north and iron ore deposits in the Midlands. These were leased out to contractors, but the royalties alone poured thousands of pounds a year into the family accounts.
Shipping was another pillar. The Duke invested in merchant vessels decades earlier, and those ships now brought back colonial goods — sugar, cotton, tobacco — commodities that sold for fortunes in London's markets. In recent years, he had even backed insurance ventures at Lloyd's, further multiplying his wealth.
On top of land, mines, and trade, the Duke held political clout. As Secretary at War, he received favors, contracts, and influence. Army suppliers, cannon foundries, and textile producers all courted his favor. It wasn't outright corruption — not openly — but no one could deny that his connections to Parliament and the Crown made him a man of extraordinary reach.
Five thousand pounds, then, was not ruinous for him. Painful to part with, yes, but within his means. He could risk that much on a son's ambitious idea, especially if the reward promised was control over a new industry.
"Okay father, I'll take the five thousand pounds."
His father nodded. "Great, now don't think this is money that I can just throw over. I need proof of concept. If you can't make your idea, I will turn that into a loan and you will have to pay for it."
Phillip looked at his father with a determined expression. He was being challenged. And he doesn't mind being challenged. In fact, he welcomes it.
"Even if it works father, I will still pay you," Phillip said.
"I'll give you the money now," his father said at last.
Phillip blinked. "Now?" He half-expected a chest of coins to be dragged into the study.
The Duke allowed himself a thin smile. "Not in coin, boy. Five thousand pounds in gold would fill a cart and invite every highwayman between here and London to slit your throat. No - I'll speak with our banker. You will receive a draft, drawn on our account at Coutts. Present it to him, and he will open credit in your name. With it, you can pay contractors, purchase land, or hire men.
Phillip nodded slowly, realizing how close he had come to embarrassing himself by expecting cash. In his world, money moved by electronic transfer. Here, it moved by paper, signatures, and trust in institutions like Coutts or the Bank of England.
Well, with the funds secured, he can start his goal of industrializing this world. After all, even when a day hasn't passed yet, he already missed the conveniences it brings.
I'm going to be a billionaire here.