Chapter 52
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 52
"Welcome, Your Grace. It is an honor to finally host you."
Count Essex greeted the young Duke with a smile so wide it threatened to split his face. If not for the barest shred of dignity his title afforded him, his attitude was so obsequious he might have thrown himself to the floor.
And for good reason. The man before him was a Battenberg. Beyond banks and railways, his family controlled dozens of steel mills and automobile factories along the Oltempoze River, as well as several companies chartered in the King's name. They had amassed a fortune that far surpassed even the royal family's.
He was a titan among titans, holding the economy of Ingram in the palm of his hand. Even those who remembered the Duke's childhood and had once looked down on him, or those who dismissed young men on principle, no longer dared to doubt that the family's recent successes were entirely his doing.
'Which is precisely why the King covets him all the more.'
Who, after all, could remain indifferent to such wealth? Especially when the South was, for all intents and purposes, utterly destitute.
The young no longer wanted to be tenant farmers. They preferred going to the city over tilling the soil or swearing loyalty to a lord.
They wanted to work in Battenberg's majestic steel mills and automobile factories, to be covered in grease from head to toe while sipping coffee, reading penny newspapers, and supporting their families on wages that were double what their parents had ever earned.
The old nobility, whose families had accumulated wealth for generations through vast farmlands, were losing their tenants and growing poorer by the day. Instead of curbing their lavish spending, they sold their land. As their holdings shrank, so did their agricultural income, and lacking money, they sold yet more land. It was a vicious cycle.
A quick-witted few used the capital from liquidating their estates to plunge into new businesses, but they were a tiny minority. Most of the nobles left in the South were either fools left behind by the times or petty criminals complicit in their region's decay.
'But as of today, that might all change.'
Count Essex clutched at his chest, his heart pounding with anticipation, and politely guided the Duke and his companion to the study. Looking at his earnest, respectable face, one would never imagine he was the same man who had been harassing a maid just moments before.
"I've also sent word to Count Somerset. He is staying at a nearby villa, so he should arrive before you have a chance to grow bored. Until then, there is plenty of time to enjoy a cup of hot tea laced with fine brandy… Please, have a seat, Your Grace."
Theodore sat on the long couch as invited. It seemed they had scrambled to prepare the moment they received word of his visit, as the study showed clear signs of a hasty cleanup. The flowers, roughly plucked from the garden and shoved into a vase, were a crude attempt at decoration; the furniture looked as though its dust covers had been ripped off just moments ago; and a fine layer of dust still coated the window frames.
In a clumsy attempt at hospitality, a bucket of ice and several bottles of liquor had been placed on the table. Seeing the young, voluptuous maids standing by to welcome them, Edgar shot them a wink.
"It is a rather modest space, isn't it? I wasn't aware you would be gracing us with your presence in person, so my preparations are somewhat lacking…"
"We gave you little notice. Pay it no mind."
"I am relieved it does not offend Your Grace's sensibilities. Ah, since you are here, why not stay for a few days? We are about to begin a hunt this afternoon."
"That is exactly what I was hoping—"
"No, thank you," Theodore cut in. "More importantly, I would prefer it if you dismissed the staff."
At the flat refusal, Count Essex forced an awkward smile and dismissed the maids. In that brief exchange, Edgar had somehow managed to charm a handkerchief from one of them. He shrugged at Theodore's sharp glare, his expression seeming to say, What can I do? My charm is a curse.
Count Essex glanced at Edgar, then cleared his throat, pretending not to have witnessed the little farce. "Though you explained the situation over the phone," he began, "I would like to hear the details now that we are face to face. You wish to invest in the Southern horse racing business? In the Wellesley Stakes?"
"Not exactly."
"Not exactly?"
"We intend to start a horse racing business, but we will not be taking over existing racecourses or events."
"Which means…"
"I'll need a map."
Count Essex sprang to his feet like an eager servant, rummaged through his desk, and pulled out a stack of old maps. Some smelled of decaying paper, and even the cleaner ones bore place names that were a decade out of date.
Theodore slowly traced an invisible line over a worn map, connecting Linden to the major cities of the South.
"Within three years, a new railway line will be built. It will pass through Linden, Denver, Heddington, and Gibbs Hill, then run through Bath. Its destination is here, the southernmost port city."
"My goodness…"
Greed flared in Count Essex's eyes. Had anyone else said this, he would have dismissed it as a cruel joke and demanded to know their source. But the man speaking was the Duke of Battenberg.
"If that happens, the South will see rapid development. Once transportation improves, factories pushed out of Linden will move here one after another… Bath, in particular, will benefit the most."
So, he wasn't entirely blind to the political and economic climate. Having perfectly grasped the implications, Count Essex wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
"But doesn't Walton already hold the monopoly on the Southern horse racing business?"
"Right here," Edgar interjected at the perfect moment, placing a royal charter stamped with the state seal on the table. "This is the new charter granted to His Grace by the King."
The Count, who had been shooting Edgar displeased glances ever since the handkerchief incident, feigned ignorance.
"…And this gentleman is?"
"An investment expert," Theodore said. "And my cousin."
"Edgar Lowell Marlborough."
A thoroughly skeptical gaze swept over Edgar from head to toe. The Count seemed to find it impossible that such a frivolous man could be a blood relative of the Duke. Still, he couldn't very well argue the point, so he quickly averted his eyes.
"Then, you truly… plan to build a new racecourse?"
"The largest in the South," Edgar answered lightly, as if to lift the heavy atmosphere. "We're considering this location." He pointed to an empty plot of land not far from Bath.
Upon seeing the location, Count Essex gasped and leaned against the table, panting for breath.
"Your Grace, this is…"
"It spans half of the Essex estate and half of Somerset's. The most magnificent building in Ingram's history, second only to the royal palace, will be erected here. All you have to do, Count, is sign this transfer agreement."
"This is… this is not a matter I can decide on my own. May I make a quick call to my lawyer—that is, my family's investment expert?"
"Go ahead."
"Just a moment. Please, wait just a moment."
Face flushed, the Count hurriedly rose and left the study. The moment the door clicked shut, Edgar leaned an elbow on the back of the couch and crossed his legs in a relaxed, roguish pose.
"I never thought you'd build an entire racecourse for a single woman."
"I was already weighing Liege in the East against Somerset. Both were suitable, and the projected returns were identical. I simply chose the one that better suited my personal circumstances."
"Your personal circumstances? Are you really planning to marry your hidden woman in the South?"
Marriage. The word made Theodore let out a dry chuckle. Marry Vanessa Siren Somerset? Nothing would make a bigger laughingstock of the Battenberg name.
Thanks to his uncle's scheming, Vanessa Siren Somerset was a noble who was also not a noble—a fact she herself was likely unaware of. That was probably why, despite her beauty, she only ever received marriage proposals from deeply flawed men.
"Theodore."
The voice that had so sweetly called his name echoed in his memory of that night. He had to admit it: since that day, Vanessa held a rather special meaning for him.
That small, slender, supple body; the cheeks that flushed so easily when their eyes met; her eyes, her nose, her soft, plump lips… Theodore leaned his head back against the couch. Just recalling certain memories of that woman left him feeling parched.
Even so.
"Marriage is a bit much."