Antony

My mind is still on the diamond when I awake the next morning. Slim golden rays filter through a narrow slit amidst the heavy velvet drapes. I stretch my limbs and rise from the bed.

I still don't know why the Crown would trust my family with such a heavy responsibility.

Perhaps the reason is that we are one of the few families who remain strict loyalists in all matters concerning the stability of the Monarchy.

It is no new news that many dukes are following the lines of Wentworth and licking boots wherever political favor weighs.

Even amongst us, the French have many sympathizers. I worry that if the Crown cannot listen to the plight of the poor, the deep divides we have today will only grow wider.

The Danbury house is, by my estimate, the only one that has remained staunchly devoted to the Crown's aims. But even then, it seems like a big reward.

Or it could be that this is a prelude to something greater.

Maybe the Crown intends to involve me in something more political—something that would need me to travel between France and here—and play a role in the country's stability.

The thought is welcoming. Freeing, in fact.

Fueled by my thoughts, I make my way back to the dining hall.

Elaborate cornices and mouldings grace the high ceilings, showcasing intricate designs of acanthus leaves and floral motifs.

The walls are adorned with rich damask wallpaper in hues of gold and cream.

A row of tall, arched windows bathes the dining hall in natural light, their curtains made of luxurious silk billowing gently in the breeze.

The long dining table takes center stage, crafted from mahogany and intricately embellished. It is set with elegant silverware, delicate porcelain china, and crystal glassware.

Fresh flowers in ornate vases grace the table—Mother likely woke up early this morning and supervised which ones would feature today. It is a little ritual for her.

I settle into my seat, driven by the sumptuous aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Delicate plates of eggs Benedict, perfectly poached and drizzled with a velvety hollandaise sauce, are laid before me.

Platters of crisp bacon and sausages, their exteriors almost bursting open from being fried to perfection, follow. I watch as the table is filled with a manner of fresh breads, tarts, pies, and spreads.

Like always, I look up at Hastings, the butler who stands before me.

We share a secret code, something I learned as soon as I found out how much food went to waste around here. He knows I won't have more than coffee and one pastry.

Mother hardly eats breakfast, and father prefers his down at the gentlemen's club. Hastings ensures whatever remains goes to the kitchen staff or is sent out to a shelter nearby.

I refuse to sit here and watch all this food go to waste.

Mother comes in shortly. "Darling," she says, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "Your father and I were talking about hosting a gala to showcase the diamond."

I balk for a second. "Is that safe? Especially after what just happened? I don't think we need the unwanted attention, Mother."

"Oh, nonsense." She waves a hand, beaming. "This is a huge sign that the Crown still favors the Fitzroy family. Can you imagine how many women will be eager to build an alliance with you once this news spreads?"

"Mother," I sigh, exasperated. "This is a political move. It has nothing to do with—" I can't bring myself to finish. The hurt look in her eyes does it for me.

I drain the last of my coffee and get up. "I have to go. I have a meeting with an Intelligence Officer over at Trafalgar. Let's talk tonight."

Before she can go into another lecture about how many women will throw themselves at me because the Crown has trusted my family with a politically significant jewel, I stride out of the dining room.

I beckon to Gil and ask him to get the carriage ready. A few minutes later, I am headed to The Trafalgar Club. Right at the entrance, I come face-to-face with a gentleman in a tailored black suit.

"Your Grace," he speaks sotto voce. "I am honored to meet you. I am Major Charles Radcliffe, head of the Royal Intelligence Bureau. The queen has entrusted me with coordinating our efforts to gather information on Napoleon Bonaparte."

I nod in response and usher him inside. "The pleasure is all mine."

We settle down, and I order two coffees before we begin.

"What does the Crown want to focus on?"

"There is news of a Berlin Decree, which would become the key component of Bonaparte's Continental System. Do you know about this system?"

I did. "It's a policy to isolate us and undermine our economy. This means there will be more restrictions on trade between us and the rest of Europe, I assume?"

Radcliffe nods. "Yes. From what I have gathered, another decree is set to be made the following year, and if this goes on, things will become worse for our ports.

"The Berlin Decree has already declared the ports under blockade and forbidden trade with any countries who have connections with us.

"It extends to the ships—any ship previously docked in Britain or carrying British goods faces the threat of confiscation."

"And Bonaparte is confident that all other European nations support this madness?"

"There's immense political pressure to conform. Napoleon's influence has stretched into the making of puppet governments all over the continent.

"He has also convinced nations that by cutting off trade with us, they can bolster their own economies and build a self-sufficient continental market."

"Or grow as a whole, but leave Britain in the dust."

Radcliffe gives me a wan smile. "That sounds about right. So, the most important thing we're aiming for right now is to gain an understanding of what the blockade means for us.

"Unfortunately, there's a significantly high possibility of war on the horizon."

The hairs on the back of my arms stand up. "A full-out war?"

"I cannot be certain yet. Our messengers have faced increasing difficulties with carrier pigeons, and travel between the two nations is an arduous, not to mention complicated task.

"But yes, if war breaks out, it will be a full-fledged one. And we may be at a distinct disadvantage."

"Why do you say that?" I ask. "Surely, we have enough men and armaments."

"Yes, but they, apparently, have a master plan that can undo us all."

"A master plan?"

Radcliffe leans in close, his face suddenly tense. "It would end us, Your Grace. It would mean the complete and total annihilation of our country."