They descended the grand staircase. Heads turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind over dry grass. The Duke of Ashbourne never brought companions to social events; he was a brute who drank alone and scowled at debutantes. The sight of him with a striking, unknown woman in dark silk sent a shockwave through the ballroom. Clara kept her chin parallel to the floor, channeling the haughty, untouchable arrogance her father had taught her to mimic.
They navigated the edge of the dance floor, moving steadily toward the card room at the back of the estate.
"Ashbourne!"
The voice cut through the music, loud and dripping with false camaraderie. Clara felt Arthur's arm go rigid. She turned slightly.
Lord Westfall was pushing his way through the crowd, his fat face flushed with wine and triumph. Beside him walked the Marquis de Villette, the French envoy, looking as elegant and venomous as a viper. Both men wore ornate Venetian masks, but their arrogance made them instantly recognizable.
"I did not expect to see you here, Your Grace," Westfall said, stopping in front of them and blocking the path to the card room. He glanced at Clara, his eyes dragging up and down her silk gown with undisguised sleaze. "And with such mysterious company. A new ward?"
"A trusted advisor," Arthur replied coldly. "Move aside, Westfall. I have an appointment."
Villette laughed, a soft, mocking sound. He seamlessly slipped into French. "The poor idiot is probably looking for a place to cry. The Cadiz contracts were signed this morning."
Clara's grip on Arthur's arm tightened. She didn't react, keeping her face a perfect blank mask.
"There is no need to rush off," Westfall continued in English, a cruel smile stretching his mouth. "I was hoping to buy you a drink, Ashbourne. As a consolation. I heard the Spanish guilds rejected your final offer this morning. A pity about your merchant fleet. I suppose they will make fine fishing boats."
Arthur looked at Westfall with absolute, chilling indifference. "I withdrew my offer from Cadiz three weeks ago. Keep the Spanish routes. I have no use for them."
Westfall frowned, his triumphant smile faltering. "Don't play the fool. There are no other routes to supply the railways. You are ruined."
Before Arthur could answer, a tall, powerfully built man with pale blonde hair stepped out of the card room. He wore a stark white military uniform, completely devoid of medals save for a single silver crest on his collar. He stopped next to Arthur and looked at Westfall with aristocratic disdain.