“Le mariage et le célibat ont tous deux des inconvénients; il faut préférer celui dont les inconvénients ne sont pas sans remède."

Nicolas De Chamfort

The reception dedicated to the arrival of the Marquis Dorion is in full swing. Quiet music plays gently, the waiters carry the wine, and in addition, guests can go to a special table and take a bowl of dessert. The guest of honor has already been introduced to Lady Almikonte. It is just a meeting, not an engagement, so Mireya has not become enraged. True, she greeted the Marquis extremely coldly, but she didn't cross any lines, or exceed the limits of etiquette. In fact, she rarely does so in front of strangers.

“Well, what do you think of the groom?” I whisper to David, with whom I am attending the reception.

“He seems to be a decent man." He replies. “It's hard to say from just one encounter, of course. But, in my opinion, he's worthy of the bride.”

I skeptically purse my lips. My impression of the Marquis is not so positive. Though not quite too bad, I could not say the same. In general, the Duke did not lie: Lord Dorion is indeed handsome. Tall, solidly built, he has blond hair and blue eyes; he could probably even be called beautiful. But something prevents me from using this adjective. The point is the first thing I look for is a sign of intelligence in a person's eyes. In this case there are distinct problems in this field. Anyhow, that is my first impression. The Marquis looks parochial. This is how it is when you look at a person and wonder: why did the gods choose for him to be born an aristocrat? It seems that he would look much more in his element as a peasant somewhere in a village.

However, I refrain from sharing these reflections with David — what for? Surely he'd accuse me of being too critical, the way he already has a couple of times in such cases. So we just once again pass the groom surrounded by courtiers and sit next to Ilona, who is poking her spoon around in a bowl of jelly with a very sour look on her face.

“Did a cockroach crawl into your bowl?” I ask, noting the expression of disgust on my friend's face.

“It would be better if it did,” Ilona does not hesitate to answer. “At least that would bring me some entertainment. You know some people say you can read cockroaches and foretell your future betrothed.”

At the same time she throws a short look at David, and I at the Marquis.

“You know, it’s better to avoid landing a betrothed like this one,” I chuckle. “But what is wrong with the jelly?”

“It is sweet,” Ilona disgustedly drawls.

“What do you think it should be?” I am surprised. “It's a dessert.”

“I don’t know.” Completely disillusioned with the vase's contents, Ilona puts it and her spoon aside. “Whatever, just not so sugary. The taste is making me nauseated.”

David's eyes widen for a second. The poor man is clearly not prepared for such vulgar statements from the mouth of a noble lady. I quietly stretch my foot out and gently nudge my friend’s toes. She smiles, but refuses to take my hint. Ilona prefers to communicate with others as is most convenient for her.

However, this time it is not that important. Glancing at the clock, David apologizes and bids us farewell.

“What — you're leaving already? So early?” Ilona asks in surprise.

“I have to,” David smiles. “I promised my mother I would not return home too late.”

“Is she going to sing you a lullaby?” knowingly asks my friend.

This time I kick her more thoroughly. But David does not take offense, just smiles at the joke and says:

“She was not feeling well. I promised her to sit with her a little and read to her before bedtime.”

“And how does she regard your frequent visits to the Duke's palace?” Ilona asks curiously.

“Positively,” David says. “Extremely positively.”

“Well, that's wonderful. I wish your mother a speedy recovery.”

“Thank you.”

David leaves, and Ilona and I continue to observe the reception.

“Does he love his mother so much?”

“Who?” I did not even realize that we were talking about my young man. “Oh, David. How should I know? Maybe he lied, and he is going to visit his mistress.”

I cannot understand the reason for my own irritation.

“You know, maybe that wouldn't be so bad,” Ilona remarks.

“Fie, what cynicism!” I wince. “Okay, yes, he loves his mother. Why, is that bad?”

“It's good.” Ilona retorts, however, she looks a bit grim. “It is very good. For his mother. You know what, my friend? If you need a man who loves his mother, get a son, not a husband.”

“In short, you just do not like David,” I conclude

“Why do you say that? I like him, “Ilona says, pretty indifferently . “He has virtually no bad qualities. He doesn't scheme, nor abuse alcohol, is not a womanizer, loves his mother. Doesn't sniff tobacco even.” My friend opens her eternal snuffbox, sniffs while closing one nostril and sneezes with relish. “In general, he consists of a continuous absence of flaws.”

“Okay, let's talk about Mireya's groom." I wisely choose to change the subject. ”What do you think about the Marquis?”

Ilona responds to this question less positively than about David.

“Good looking, narrow-minded, but secretive.” She issues her verdict. “In essence, a dime a dozen.”

“The main thing is that Mireya isn't thrilled with him,” I say.

“Mireya would not be happy even if the God of Love Himself kneeled before her,” Ilona replies. “Just because he was chosen for her by the Duke.”

I have to agree with my friend there. It is unlikely that the groom has any chance to catch Lady Almikonte's fancy.

“Anyway, he's really not the best match for her,” acknowledged Ilona, absently tapping her knuckles on the lid of the snuffbox.

“Now the question is how to thwart the wedding.” I cut to the chase.

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I have a few. But first, I'm thinking we should try the easiest way.”

“Which is what?”

I take a sip from my goblet and look thoughtfully through the transparent glass.

“Only I don't know whether this is the correct move or not. I would try to talk to the Marquis himself. Just to tell him that Lady Mireya does not wish to enter into this marriage. Then there are two options. Either he will turn out to be an honorable man and won't want to marry a girl against her will. In this case, all our problems will be resolved by themselves.”

“Or he won't.” Ilona easily guessed the second option.

“That's right.” I confirm the obvious. “Therefore, then we'll have to play against him, as was expected. But in my opinion, we should not discard the elementary outright. First, we should try to make the Marquis our ally. The only thing that I'm unsure about: if he refuses, it means we have shown him our hand. What do you think?”

“This is hardly important,” says Ilona. “The Duke knows anyway that Mireya just will not give up. While in a discussion with the Marquis you won't reveal any specific plans.”

“That's for sure.”

I sit back and look closely at the Marquis, who is in conversation with the Duke. I am already planning the upcoming conversation. Of course, it will be necessary to talk with Mireya beforehand and get her to approve the initiative.

“What does this one want from us?” Ilona asks in amazement. “Did he really manage to guess the topic of our discussion?”

I frown and turn my head just in time to meet the eyes of the approaching Estley.

“Lady Inessa,” he says to me, after greeting Ilona with a polite nod. “Well, are you going to visit me tonight as well as yesterday?”

Ilona's gaze suddenly loses all traces of boredom.

“Why do you ask, Lord Cameron?” I ask caustically. “Do you miss me that much?”

“I don't really care, one way or another,” he says. “But Robert is very interested. Since this morning he has pestered me with questions. “Will Lady Antego bestow her visit upon us today? Or maybe the gods will be merciful, and she will pass by?”

“You should pray, Lord Cameron,” I advise. “Ask the gods for mercy. They say it helps.”

“Thank you. I will be sure to do so.”

With these words he retreats, but Ilona, on the contrary, moves up her chair even closer to mine, until they are flush against each other.

“Nessa, my dear,” she says gently. “How should I interpret that?”

“Very simply,” I mutter. “Last night because of all the talk of marriage I was very shaken up. As a result, I burst into Estley’s bedroom.”

“A great way to treat shaky nerves!” Ilona laughs. “My friend, you are not hopeless after all! And how did it go?”

“Wonderfully,” I state grimly. “But not too productively. Although not quite. I inadvertently contributed to the strengthening of the institution of family and marriage. I kicked Baroness Lastly out of his bed. You know, in addition to all his other affairs, the scoundrel also takes married women to his bed.”

“Well, Lady Lastly he doesn't need to take,” Ilona points out seriously. “She'll come all on her own. Oops, what did I just say?”

Her last exclamation makes me throw up my head. I see the same Baroness virtually glued to the elbow of Estley, who is speaking to Dorion.

“No, will you look at that!” I whisper indignantly. “This Lady Lastly is lusting after him as if he were the last man on earth!”

My clever pun for some reason pleases me to a great extent.

“You know,” muses Ilona, “maybe you should get married, so as to take a lover like Estley.”

I just snort in response, but my friend obviously likes her own idea.

“Perhaps, Nessa, I was wrong. David is a good candidate for a husband. He will make a very convenient husband. As convenient – she squinted slyly — as Baron Lastly.”

“Personally, I'm interested in something else right now,” I answer dreamily. “Namely, how to go over this villain and destroy his plans for Mireya's wedding.”

Then I smile tenderly at Lord Cameron, who seems to have sensed we are talking about him.

Yes, I am going to try to negotiate with Marquis Dorion on good terms. However, attempts at amicable agreements aside, you should be always ready for war, and, if possible, even before it begins. Therefore, before paying a visit to Mireya's groom, I take my cloak and veil, leave the palace and head to a familiar address.

Officially, this is a bookstore, which sells manuscripts exclusively devoted to geographical science. In fact, the man who owns the shop, Antoine Safie, is a first class specialist in gathering information. This man knows everything about everyone, and if by chance he does not know something, he can discover it very fast. For a small fortune, naturally. But it is quite normal: high quality work deserves great reward. Especially when the work is very delicate, and is not always legal.

I do not want to even imagine how many informants work for this man, and I prefer not to know who from Mireya's circle is among them. I have no doubt that they exist. Simply because the ducal palace is a place where someone like Safie must have his own ears. Otherwise he just would not be worth the price of the bread he eats.

So now I am sitting across from him in one of the interior rooms of the shop. The room is spacious, but feels small, as it is crowded with a huge amount of furniture and belongings. A table, one chair for the host and two for visitors, a couch close by, several cabinets and shelves laden with books and littered with piles of papers, dusty maps hanging on the wall, some even spilling from the desk onto the floor, and a couple of globes to top it all off.

I have no doubt that all of these simply serve as props. The really important documents are not stored in plain sight. More to the point, they are not stored here at all. Safie prefers to work without leaving any traces. He simply gathers information and conveys it to the client verbally. That way, he trades in things which cannot be touched, tracked or presented in a court of law. He doesn't even collect evidence for his clients. He only informs them precisely where this evidence can be found. But the client or someone the latter hires will need to actually go and physically collect it.

Across from me sits a short, stout man, with dark hair that is desperately losing the battle with baldness. The hair shamefully recedes, retreating away from the top, but still lingers on the head in a kind of a wide ribbon, as though still waiting in the wings, hoping to re-conquer the lost summit. Sly smile, small oily eyes. One would think that my companion is looking at me like a cat at a bowl of cream, and while we're talking he's only thinking about how to get that cream. But I know perfectly well that behind this deceptive exterior hides a cold mind, the tranquility of a boa constrictor, and top level professionalism.

“So, Mr. Safie, I need dirt on Marquis Gustave Dorion.” No need to beat around the bush, pretending at first that I came here solely for small talk and mean nothing untoward. What for? We have known each other well for a long time. I have repeatedly used Safie's services on Mireya's behalf. “Any evidence that might compromise him.”

“Compromise him under what circumstances, and to whom?” the shopkeeper asks busily. “Before the law, the priests, high society?”

I nod understandingly: the nature of the information required is directly dependent on the purpose for which I need it.

“To clarify, it is necessary to obtain information that would break off his engagement to Lady Almikonte.” I formulate the problem.

“I see. I will try to do my best. But there are difficulties.”

“What kind of difficulties?”

His words make me anxious. Has Estley really managed to put a spoke in my wheel here as well? But no, as it turned out, it is something else entirely.

“I have already had the opportunity to gather some information about the Marquis,” Safie explains. “He is, after all, a noble man, and therefore fairly well known in certain circles. Alas, I have nothing of real value for you and Lady Almikonte among the information available to me. In a manner of speaking, the Marquis is a surprisingly boring man. He has never committed anything seriously defamatory. He hasn't broken any laws. Well, really, the fact that he used to spend an occasional night at the brothel with two girls at once cannot be considered compromising!”

“No, it cannot,” I am forced to recognize after some thought. “If it were to happen now, when he actually has a bride, then yes. But not before. Although if these girls were fourteen years old...”

Safie shakes his head with a knowing smile, smashing my fragile hopes to pieces.

“All the girls were of age at the time.”

“So, no," I throw up my hands.

“Of course, I will try to dig up some more,” promises Safie. “But perhaps there are other directions?”

I consider, staring with unseeing eyes at one of the old maps.

“Let's put it this way.” I decide. “I need any information that could drive a wedge between the Duke and the Marquis.”

“I understand.” Safie bows his head. “I do not promise, but I will do my best.”

“How much?”

I reach for my blue silk purse, embroidered with silver threads. The embroidery depicts an owl sitting on a branch. I like this pattern; in the palace I have a cushion decorated in the same way.

“Fifty.” He names quite a tidy sum.

I am, however, surprised by something else.

“So little? This is less than usual.”

“For regular clients, I sometimes make discounts,” grins the "shopkeeper".

I shake my head.

“Oh, no, Mr. Safie. I do not need any discounts from you. I need a guarantee that the information about the purpose of my visit will not reach your other clients. For that I am ready to pay well. So I will give you fifty now, and another fifty at our next meeting.”

My companion gratefully bows his head. As though he would refuse that! A handful of coins migrate from my wallet to the table, where, incidentally, they do not stay for long either.

“I'll notify you as soon as the information gathering is complete. I'll try to make it happen as soon as possible,” promises Safie. “Of the results, as usual, I will inform you at the meeting itself. I hardly need to tell you about the importance of security and secrecy.”

“Of course.”

I myself don't relish the prospect of Estley intercepting a letter containing such interesting data.

At that we part, and I proceed with a good conscience to attempt to reach a peace agreement with the Marquis. It is frequently better to enter into these agreements, just in case, carrying a large gun.

Marquis Dorion welcomes me into the living room assigned to him by the Duke for the duration of his stay in the castle. It is all decorated in shades of brown — upholstery, carpets, curtains, vases, picture frames. The designs are based on the contrast of dark brown to light beige. We sit down on comfortable, deep armchairs with wide armrests.

“So, Lady Antego, what brings you here?”

The Marquis is the very embodiment of courtesy and hospitality.

I sigh and look down shyly, as though not daring to start a conversation concerning such a delicate matter.

“You see, Marquis, I am here on behalf of Lady Almikonte.” Judging by the look, his interest in the conversation clearly increases after that admission. “There is one important thing that I have to discuss with you.”

Again I pretend to be "embarrassed."

“I am all ears, milady.”

The Marquis' tone is encouraging. I hesitantly look at him askance.

“And ... you will not be angry with me?”

“Of course not, how can I become angry with such a charming girl? So what are else are you authorized to say to me?”

Now, the politeness of his tone conceals impatience. Well, let's get to the point. I look at the Marquis with a straight and honest gaze.

“The fact is that Lady Mireya does not want to marry you.”

“What?”

It seems that this confession stuns him.

“Please don't take it in the wrong way.” I hurriedly continue. “It is not you personally. Milady does not want in any way to hurt your feelings with this statement. After yesterday's reception, she said that you have made a very favorable impression, and, are no doubt, a noble gentleman. However, Lady Mireya does not intend at this stage of her life to be married. This is not included in her plans. The Duke decided to make life arrangements for her without as much as letting her know of his plans. It is extremely... upsetting for Lady Mireya.”

“What then, if that is the case, do you want from me?”

This time his voice sounds much colder.

“Milady is asking you for cooperation.” I feign the begging look of a "lady in distress." “If you refuse to marry her, the Duke could not insist on it any further. Such action on your part would show generosity and nobility. Lady Mireya's gratitude would know no bounds. I assure you that you would find in her a good friend and would be able to count on the assistance of Miss Almikonte in all areas within her influence.”

The Marquis grins, looking at me with a grim curiosity.

“But what of her dowry, Lady Antego?” he asks. “I doubt that help from Miss Almikonte in any areas could replace such an impressive sum. After all, I suppose she does not plan, after renouncing the marriage, to allow me to manage the money?”

From this point on, of course, it is clear to me that continuing this discussion would be pointless. Dorion has already given his answer. But the conversation should come to its logical conclusion.

“I don't think so,” I say understandingly.

The Marquis laughs softly.

“In this case, you understand that this is not a serious conversation. I would be a fool if I were to agree to do Lady Mireya's bidding.”

“Does it not bother you, marrying a woman who does not want you as her husband?”

It is now my turn to look at him without hiding my curiosity, this time without feigning fragility and vulnerability.

“Not really,” not at all ashamed, the Marquis admits. “Her dowry more than compensates for this inconvenience. Also, she has not had time to really get to know me. I have no doubt that after a longer acquaintance her opinion will change.”

I smile. You certainly do not lack self-confidence, Marquis. But one thing you do not know for sure: from now on there will be a war waged against you, in which the other side knows no mercy and takes no prisoners. Sooner or later you will regret that you did not choose to seek your profit elsewhere.

“Well, anything can happen,” I reply with a false smile. “In this case, I think our conversation has come to an end. I should go. Relax. I hope you enjoy your stay in the palace.”

To this remark Dorion replies with a curt nod, but hastens to detain me, expressing his interest in a different circumstance.

“Tell me, Lady Antego, when Lady Mireya moves to my palace, will you accompany her?”

I hesitate with the answer, fearing a trick question. Why would he care about that? Of course, if Mireya is forced to marry after all, I would never leave her. I would go with her, even if it were not to the palace of the Marquis, but to a peasant's hut. But to phrase it that way outright would be unwise. After all, we are talking about the house of my interlocutor.

“It is hard to say yet,” I reply vaguely. “It is too early to make such a decision.”

“Nevertheless, please consider my question.” The Marquis leans forward, and his fingertips touch my hand. “I would be glad to see you in my palace. Do believe it; I know how to be hospitable.”

“I have no doubt,” I beam, pulling my hand back — supposedly simply because I just stood up from my chair. “I wish you all the best, my lord.”

I return with mixed feelings from the wing allotted to the Marquis and his retinue. On the one hand, I am angry at Dorion; at the same time — as we often do in such cases – I curse the entire male sex. On the other, the last part of the conversation could be beneficial to me. Maybe I can take advantage of it to prevent Mireya's wedding. However, first I should check to see what Safie has been able to dig up.

I am still not far from the living room, when I see Lord Cameron in the hallway. The Earl walks towards me, so he is probably on his way to visit the Marquis. Obviously, this encounter does not improve my mood.

“Lady Inessa!” If Estley's radiant smile were to be believed, his mood is just perfect. However, I never believe that smile. “What brings you here? Wait, I think I can guess. You tried to dissuade the Marquis from marrying Lady Almikonte? And, judging by your expression, the attempt has been unsuccessful?”

I almost grit my teeth; this bastard with his damn insightfulness once again manages to throw me off my game. Anyway, now my mood is ruined completely.

“Lord Cameron, your jealousy goes beyond the bounds of decency.” A caustic smile beams from me. “Honestly, what do you care what exactly I was doing in the chambers of the Marquis? After all, we are both adults still unburdened by family ties, are we not?”

“I think your mistress would be very pleased to hear such a confession,” says Estley, raising an eyebrow.

Is he really trying to threaten me?

“Would you like to visit her right now and see how she reacts?” I suggest.

“It is tempting,” responds Estley. "But alas, I need to speak with the Marquis. I suppose that he will accept my business proposal more readily than yours.”

“As long as at the end of the conversation he refrains from making you the same business offer he made me,” I cannot help but comment.

“Which was?” asks Estley.

I shake my head teasingly.

“Let it be a surprise.”

A short curtsey on my part makes it clear that this conversation is over.

“I hope that nothing terrible happened to the Marquis or his butler?” Estley shouts after me.

“Not yet.” I reply optimistically, without turning or slowing down.

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More chapters come soon. The whole book here - https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88