Chapter 39
DRASKO
As expected, the announcement about the Mawr Auction caused a hurricane of rumors.
Who would be attending?
Who would bid?
The official catalogs were sent out to the attendees. But what were the “mystery” items, yet to be announced? The catalogs were shared, reprinted, quoted, and published in multiple newspapers. The Crimson Tear was, again, at the center of speculations.
And the wealthy were already quarreling over the diamonds.
The German steel heiress was rumored to have claimed her stake on the obsidian raven, the Guardian of the Night.
The marchioness was planning to bid on Cupid’s Spear , but so did her sister, and the two uninvited each other from their birthday parties.
The president of the Bank of London was furious. His daughter refused to marry the wealthy French importer unless he fetched her the Europa’s Abductor at the auction.
A rumor circulated in the higher circles that anyone who would dare bid on the Crimson Tear would be life-banned from the Duchess of Trent’s circles. The rumor was, of course, true. The duchess had her vain heart set on the legendary diamond.
Telegrams flooded the Benham Auction House and the Mawr offices.
People from all over the world begged to attend despite the overwhelming number of requests and the restricted capacity of the auction house.
The wealthiest offered extraordinary sums of money for the pieces in an attempt to purchase them in advance.
Carriages crowded the auction house as some paid personal visits to Mr. Kleinstein in a futile attempt to buy his favors.
The streets around the auction house were blocked off and guarded by armed men day and night.
“It is madness, Mr. Mawr!” the director said in a telegram just this morning.
Madness was the greed with which the wealthy competed for the jewels.
But even the bluest of blood needed a lesson once in a while. And Drasko was determined to teach one as he arrived at the Duke and Duchess of Trent’s house at noon.
The most annoying thing about visiting noblemen was the wait. Despite having the most excruciatingly boring lifestyle and an army of servants, the noble houses always greeted the visitors the same way:
“Please, wait.”
And there came a half an hour of wait, the intended “expectation” of Their Graces .
Except Drasko valued his time, and the Duke and Duchess of Trent were pushing it.
So, when the two appeared in the hallway, condescendence on their faces as they sashayed toward him, Drasko purposefully looked at the clock on the wall and smiled most gracefully, greeting them.
“Mr. Mawr! What a surprise!” the duchess sang.
Eccentric in her tastes, she reminded him of a cockatoo in her bright red dress, a garnet necklace with emerald accents, and a carriage for a hat on her head.
“Indeed,” the duke said. He was more like a hippopotamus, calm on the surface but with sharp teeth if needed.
“I am afraid I am pressed for time,” Drasko interrupted as the duchess started talking about tea and such nonsense. “Apologies for such short notice. I have come here to let you in on the decision I’ve made.”
“A decision?” the duchess cooed as if the affairs of the mortals were below her. “Does it have to do with the auction?”
She expected anything but what Drasko said next. “Certainly. I am moving the auction to Paris.”
“Paris?!” the duchess gasped in alarm. “Oh, my, but that is impossible, Mr. Mawr! What a dreadful idea?—”
“You see,” Drasko interrupted, smiling again most politely, “my wife is the most brilliant piano player in London. You know that, Your Grace.”
“Well, yes?—”
“And I would like her to play for the most honorable people who appreciate her talent.”
“But of course! Certainly! But?—”
“But!” Drasko cut the duchess off again.
“It seems that this country is not accepting the certain intricacies of our marriage. Or me. Or perhaps not able to separate our personal matters from her talent. As I remember, when Ristofori, the conductor of the London Orchestra, was scandalized by an affair, high society flooded his concerts like his infidelity was the highlight of his talent. My wife dared to leave a nobleman for what was best for her, and she is being punished by the ton. The artistic status quo in England is a bit too patriarchal for my taste. France, on the other hand, is very much more liberal. The Prime Minister himself wrote to her, inviting her to play for his biannual government ball.”
The couple exchanged panicked glances.
“Mr. Mawr,” the duke said with extreme politeness. “I assure you, my wife and I are true patrons of music.”
“I know that and appreciate it.” Drasko bowed gracefully, conjuring the most concerned expression.
“But you see, the marchioness will not let my wife play at her ball. And that upsets me deeply. I planned to give this city the most praised jewelry masterpieces, and in return, this city merely…” For deeper effect, Drasko pursed his lips and nodded as if in pained contemplation.
“Oh, that is appalling!” the duchess exclaimed in feigned disdain. “The marchioness? How unlike her!”
Drasko checked the clock. He was getting tired of this little circus.
“Unfortunately, I have to leave,” he said. “We have guests for dinner tonight. My wife is performing. So, you see, I have to hurry. I cannot upset her. She is such a sensitive soul.”
The duchess glanced between him and the duke. “But Mr. Mawr?—”
“Unless…” Drasko cocked his head as if in contemplation.
The duchess froze.
The duke swallowed hard.
“Unless?” they asked at the same time.
“Unless you’d be willing to grace us with your presence for dinner at my house.
My wife is dedicated to her craft. And I’m dedicated to her.
You are so very welcome to stop by, as patrons of music and all.
Considering you might not hear her play in London anymore.
Or attend the auction in France,” he added quieter.
“Perhaps, we can find a way out of this unfortunate circumstance with the marchioness and all…” He trailed off and locked his eyes with the duke.
“I shall not be blackmailed, Mr. Mawr,” the duke warned, his chin trembling, and his wife elbowed him not so discreetly.
Drasko bowed just slightly. “Of course not, Your Grace.”
If the titled wanted to play games, he’d play along. He had learned a long time ago that everything was a negotiation. And for the first time in centuries, titles weren’t the main leverage—wealth and power were.
“You are not like the French,” Drasko explained, marveling at his own sugary flattery.
“They don’t have your dignity. And the French Prime Minister’s wife should not be wearing the biggest English treasure, the Crimson Tear.
But she probably will. Hmm. Thank you so very much for seeing me, Your Graces. ”
He turned on his heel and walked out, chased by the shocked stares of the Duke and the Duchess of Trent.