Chapter 15
The Duke of Cornwall's mansion blazed with the light of a thousand candles, its imposing Georgian facade announcing the wealth and power of one of England's most influential men. Carriages lined the circular drive as London's elite arrived for what promised to be the social event of the season.
Alexander adjusted his white gloves as he and Anthony approached the grand entrance, both men impeccably dressed in black evening wear. To any observer, they appeared to be simply another pair of aristocrats arriving fashionably late to enjoy an evening of dancing and political networking.
"Remember," Anthony murmured as they climbed the marble steps, "you are the enigmatic Duke who is charming but reveals nothing of substance."
"And you are the brilliant cousin who manages my business affairs with remarkable acumen," Alexander replied quietly. "Though that last part is not entirely a performance."
Inside, Cornwall House was a testament to imperial wealth.
The ballroom soared three stories high, with crystal chandeliers casting rainbow light across walls adorned with priceless art that had undoubtedly been acquired through colonial ventures.
The cream of British society circulated beneath painted ceilings depicting scenes of Britannia's global dominance.
Alexander felt his jaw clench involuntarily at the opulent display, knowing intimately the human cost of the wealth that surrounded him. Every gilded surface, every precious ornament represented suffering he had witnessed firsthand.
They moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with various lords and ladies, politicians and businessmen.
Alexander played his part perfectly—mysterious enough to maintain intrigue, charming enough to disarm suspicion, while his eyes constantly scanned the room for both threats and opportunities.
They had been there perhaps half an hour when a ripple of movement through the crowd indicated the approach of someone important.
The Duke of Cornwall himself was making his way toward them, accompanied by the Earl of Derby and two other men Alexander recognized as significant political and business figures.
"Your Grace," Cornwall said as he reached them, his voice carrying the smooth authority of a man accustomed to command.
He was a tall, distinguished man in his fifties, with silver hair and shrewd blue eyes that seemed to catalog everything they observed.
"How wonderful that you could join us this evening. "
"The pleasure is entirely mine, Your Grace," Alexander replied, offering a respectful bow while internally steeling himself for what he knew would be a dangerous conversation.
The Earl of Derby stepped forward warmly. "Your Grace. I had hoped to have a word with you tonight. My daughter has spoken of you on several occasions since your own ball — most favorably, I might add."
"Lady Catherine is very kind," Alexander said with a smile that gave nothing away.
"Ah yes." Cornwall's smile widened, and he turned the full attention of those penetrating blue eyes on Alexander.
"The mysterious returned Duke. You must forgive an old man's curiosity, Your Grace — but I find myself genuinely fascinated by the example you set.
A man who has lived eight years entirely outside of all this.
" His gesture took in the ballroom, the chandeliers, the painted ceiling.
"Surely you have formed observations the rest of us at home would never think to consider.
I should be most interested to hear how the longer view has shaped your sense of — well.
Our own arrangements. Our political life.
Our society. The world we have built here and ask such men as yourself to inherit. "
The small circle around them had gone very quiet. Several heads, Alexander noticed, had turned at the edges of the group.
"You honor me, Your Grace, by assuming I have answers worth the asking.
" Alexander's voice was perfectly even. "I will say only this.
A man who has stood inside a system and then outside it learns that nothing is so natural as it appears from within.
Whether what one sees from the outside is improvement or regression depends entirely, I find, on what one was looking at to begin with.
" He gave the smallest of smiles. "Which is a long way of saying I have opinions, certainly. None of them suitable for a ballroom."
A polite murmur of appreciation moved through the listeners. Cornwall's smile did not falter, but Alexander felt the man's interest sharpen — the way a hunter sharpens when the quarry proves more difficult than expected.
"Spoken like a true diplomat," Cornwall said warmly.
"Though I confess myself a little disappointed.
I had hoped for something more — adventurous.
The rumors about your time away, you must understand, are quite extraordinary.
Tales of native shamans, spells cast and broken, a duke half-tamed and half-wild — all manner of exotic romances.
I am sure they are grossly exaggerated. Are they? "
"My Lord, if I confirmed them I would only encourage them. If I denied them I would only make them more interesting. I find the wisest course is to neither feed nor starve a rumor, but simply to outlast it."
A small ripple of laughter ran around the group. The Earl, Alexander saw, was watching him now with what looked very much like pride — the proud father pleased with his prospective son-in-law's command of the room.
"Admirably handled." Cornwall inclined his head in mock concession, but the cataloguing blue eyes had not left Alexander's face.
"I see you have learned the most valuable skill our world has to offer, Your Grace — how to say nothing in particularly elegant terms. Your late father had the same gift. We shall make a Lord of you yet."
Alexander allowed himself a faint smile and said nothing.
Cornwall's gaze drifted, as if idly, to Anthony.
"And Mr. Harrington. I have meant to say to you for some weeks now — if your cousin had not returned when he did, I should very likely have tried to recruit you for some of my own concerns.
Your reputation for strategic thinking and a steady head in difficult markets precedes you.
We do not see enough young men of your quality in the City these days. "
Anthony inclined his head, perfectly modest. "You are too generous, Your Grace."
"It is not generosity. It is observation.
" Cornwall's smile turned warm. "As I have been telling Charles, we are all of us growing wealthier and more powerful through our various small partnerships in the colonial concerns.
It was wise of me to involve your late father, Your Grace, and wiser still to keep your cousin so closely informed.
We sit on the edge of a most prosperous time. "
Alexander felt the chill rise in his blood at the casual mention of partnerships, knowing exactly what those relationships represented. He kept his face entirely still.
"Indeed," he said. "And I intend to keep matters precisely as they are. For the present."
Cornwall did not react to the for the present. He simply held Alexander's gaze for the briefest of moments — and Alexander knew that he had heard it, and filed it, and decided to leave it where it lay.
"Excellent," Cornwall said warmly. He lifted his glass. "Then let us drink to the bonds that unite men of vision and ambition."
Glasses rose. Alexander touched his to the rim of Cornwall's, met the older man's eyes briefly over it, and drank.
He thought, for one foolish moment, that the encounter was over.
"Oh — Your Grace. Before I forget." Cornwall lowered his glass, his tone perfectly conversational, as a man remembering something incidental. "Tell me. Lady Beatrice Ashworth — do you know her from before your time away, or have you become acquainted with her more recently?"
The world did not, in fact, stop. The orchestra continued. Two ladies behind Alexander continued an animated conversation about a poet whose name he did not catch. A footman moved past with a tray of champagne. None of this was changed by what had just been said.
What changed was Alexander.
He kept his eyes on Cornwall's face — on those steady blue eyes that were watching his with the patience of a man who could afford to wait a very long time for an answer.
"Lady Beatrice." Alexander allowed himself a small, polite frown of recollection, as though sorting through introductions.
"Quite recently, in fact. She approached me at — I forget the occasion.
She asked whether I had found London much altered since I left it.
" His mouth curved very slightly. "Rather as you have just done, Your Grace.
The widow Ashworth and yourself are perhaps not so dissimilar in your conversational instincts. "
The Earl laughed at this, delighted. "Oh, Beatrice Ashworth. Yes, she is quite a character. Entirely unconventional — to the point of delusion, very nearly — but I confess I have always admired the woman's passion and perseverance."
The Earl's warmth about Beatrice rolled on for another sentence or two, perfectly oblivious. Cornwall's smile, polite and indulgent, did not waver. He waited until the Earl had finished, and then he turned back to Alexander.
"And do you know her well?"
"I have met her once, Your Grace. We exchanged perhaps a dozen sentences. I could not claim to know her at all." Alexander gave the smallest of bows. "Though I will defer to the Earl's longer acquaintance. He paints a far more vivid portrait of the lady than I should be able to."
Cornwall held his eyes a moment longer. Then he smiled — a small, genuine smile, the smile of a man who had received exactly the answer he expected and was satisfied with the asking.