"This book will make you rich. Filthy stinking rich. You will never need to work again. You will spend the rest of your life on the Riviera sipping piña coladas and listening to Sinatra. And even if this doesn't happen, Andrew Tobias will provide you with such a wealth of wit that you will retire with a vast fortune of laughter. " --Christopher Buckley, author of Wry Martinis As Newsweek put it, "Andrew Tobias remains the funniest of the financial writers." Forbes identified him as "one of the financial community's most pithily perceptive observers." In My Vast Fortune, the bestselling author of The Only Investment Guide You'll Ever Need tells the amusing and illuminating story of how he amassed dizzying (well, to him) wealth. Then, he describes the unusual ways he's put it to work. Among his more famous money adventures are: His personal campaign against smoking in Russia, which began when he spotted an opportunity to buy cheap TV airtime for commercials. "Excuse my pronunciation, " he told ninety million Russians night after night, "but I have something important to tell you." His decision to buy real estate in Miami over the phone, without ever seeing it. For the price of a swank two-bedroom apartment in New York, Tobias realized he could buy most of a neighborhood--so he did. Oops. The tragicomic story of liberal as slumlord. His crusade to fix the auto insurance mess, which pitted him against--of all people--his onetime hero Ralph Nader. After spending $250,000 of his vast fortune on a referendum in California (where he has never lived), Tobias came to two conclusions: 1) "Each of us has a calling and--though appallingly boring--auto insurance seemed more and more to be mine" ; and 2) "Ralph Nader is a big fat idiot." Finally, Tobias addresses your vast fortune and offers his wisest tips on how to make it and how to spend it. Witty and compassionate, Andrew Tobias is a plutocrat for the nineties, a capitalist with a heart. If you enjoyed The Only Investment Guide You'll Ever Need, you'll love My Vast Fortune.

The storm of the night was over. The winds had subsided almost as quickly as they had risen on the previous evening--as is ever the case in the West Indies and the tropics generally. Against a large number of ships of war, now riding in the waters off Boca Chica, the waves slapped monotonously in their regularity, though each crash which they made on the bows seemed less in force than the preceding one had been; while the water looked less muddy and sand-coloured than it had done an hour or so before. Likewise the hot and burning tropical sun was forcing its way through the dense masses of clouds which were still banked up beneath it; there coming first upon the choppy waters a gleam--a weak, thin ray; a glisten like the smile on the face of a dying man who parts at peace with this world; then, next, a brighter and more cheery sparkle. Soon the waves were smoothed, nought but a little ripple supplying the place of their recent turbulence; the sun burst forth, the banks of clouds were dispersed, the bright glory of a West Indian day shone forth in all its brilliancy. The surroundings, which at dawn might well have been the surroundings of the Lower Thames in November, had evaporated, departed; they were now those of that portion of the globe which has been termed for centuries the "World's Paradise." The large gathering of ships mentioned above--they mustered one hundred and twenty-four--formed the fleet under the command of Admiral Vernon, and in that fleet were also numbers of soldiers and marines who constituted what, in those days, were termed the Land Forces. There were also a large contingent of volunteers from our American colonies, drawn principally from Virginia. The presence here both of sailors and soldiers was due to a determination arrived at by the authorities at home in the year 1739, to harass and attack the Spanish West Indian Islands and possessions in consequence of England being once again, as she had been so often in the past, at war with Spain. Now that fleet lay off Cartagena and the neighbourhood; some of the officers and men--both sailors and soldiers--were ashore destroying the forts near the sea; the grenadiers were also ashore; the bomb-ketches were at this very moment playing upon the castles of San Fernando and San Angelo; the siege of Cartagena had begun. Upon the quarter-deck of one of the vessels of war composing the great fleet, a vessel which may be called the Ariadne, the captain walked now as the storm passed away and the morning broke in all its fair tropical beauty, and while there came the balmy spice-laden breeze from the South American coast--a breeze soft as a maiden's first kiss to him she loves; one odorous and sweet, and luscious, too, with the scents of nutmeg and banana, guava and orange, begonia, bignonia, and poinsettia, all wafted from the flower-laden shore. But because, perhaps, such perfumes as these, such rippling blue waves, now crested with their feathery tips, such a bright warm sun, were not deemed by Nature to be the fitting accompaniments to the work which that fleet had to do and was about to do--she had provided others.

Leonie Conyngham’s family had lost their fortune and she was left with only her pride and her beauty. The Duke of Thornbury had designs on her, along with shrewd Edward Longhurst. Imogen Longhurst was determined to destroy Leonie for daring to rival her for handsome Sir Guy de Lacy. Leonie knew that one moment of weakness would undo her but she was so tempted… Regency Romance by Sandra Heath; originally published by Signet