Garden of May

“Welcome, Your Grace. It is an honor to have you.”

The Count of Essex greeted the young duke with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. If not for the bare minimum of dignity a nobleman was required to maintain, his deference was such that he would have cheaply pressed his forehead to the floor.

And for good reason—the man was a Batenberg. He controlled not only banks and railways but also a dozen steel mills and automobile factories along the Oltempoz River, as well as several companies chartered in the king’s name, amassing a fortune far greater than that of the royal family.

He was, in short, the titan of titans, the man who held 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, even those who were predisposed to dismiss any young man, no longer dared to doubt that all of the family’s recent achievements were the work of the duke himself.

Which is precisely why the king covets him so, the Count thought.

In truth, who could remain aloof in the face of money? Moreover, the South was, for all intents and purposes, suffering from destitution.

The young men no longer wished to be tenant farmers. They wanted to go to the cities rather than till the soil or swear fealty to a lord.

They wanted to work, covered head to toe in grease, in Batenberg’s magnificent steel mills and automobile factories, to sip coffee, to read newspapers that cost a few pennies, and to provide for their wives and children with that money. And they earned twice as much as their parents ever had.

The old aristocrats, who for generations had accumulated wealth from their vast farmlands, lost their tenant farmers and grew poor. Rather than reduce their spending, they sold their land. As their land dwindled, so did their income from it, and with no money, they sold more land. It was a vicious cycle.

A few of the quicker ones took the money from selling their lands as seed capital and ventured into new businesses, but they were a minority. Most of the nobles remaining in the South were either fools who had fallen behind the times or men involved in criminal activities.

But as of today, that could all change.

Clutching a hand to his excitedly pounding heart, the Count of Essex politely escorted the duke and his party to the study. To look at his sincere and upright face, one would never imagine that this was the same man who, just moments before, had been harassing a maid.

“I have also sent word to the Count of Somerset. He is staying at a villa not far from here, so he will arrive before you grow bored. But before that, I trust there is ample time to enjoy a cup of hot tea with a fine brandy… Please, be seated, Your Grace.”

Theodore sat on the long couch as the Count suggested. The study showed signs of having been tidied in a hurry, likely as soon as the Count received the call about the visit. The flowers, hastily picked from the garden and shoved into a vase, were a crude arrangement that barely served its purpose. The furniture looked as though the dust covers had been whipped off in a rush, and the dust on the windowsills remained untouched.

In a paltry attempt at hospitality, a bucket filled with ice and several bottles of liquor had been prepared on a table. Edgar winked at the young, alluring maids who greeted them.

“It is a humble space, I’m afraid. I wasn’t expecting you to come in person, so our preparations are somewhat lacking….”

“We were the ones who called on such short notice, so please don’t concern yourself.”

“I am relieved if it does not offend Your Grace’s aesthetic sensibilities. Ah, since you are here, why not stay for a few days? We were just about to begin a hunt this afternoon.”

“That is just what I was hoping for….”

“We have to take the evening train back. Before that, I would appreciate it if you would clear the room.”

At Theodore’s curt refusal, the Count of Essex gave an awkward smile and dismissed the maids. In that brief moment, Edgar, who had somehow managed to wheedle a handkerchief from one of the maids, shrugged at Theodore’s sharp glance, as if to say, What can I do? I’m so charming, they throw themselves at me.

The Count of Essex shot Edgar a sidelong glare, then cleared his throat, pretending not to have seen the little charade, and began to speak.

“You explained the situation over the phone just now, but since you are here, Your Grace, I would like to hear a bit more detail. You wish to invest in the South’s horse racing business, you say? The Wellesley Stakes?”