Chapter 82 – The Queen’s Spring Ball
Rosenoire House – the Palace that housed the monarch and her family – opened its doors today to the upper class for the Spring Ball.
Court officials had been preparing for the occasion for over a month, ensuring everything would proceed without fault. A number of invited reporters and journalists would be present, moving through the halls and taking notes for publication the next day.
Unlike the dim lighting Jade had experienced in the parish Square, the palace was illuminated as bright as day. Rows of gaslights lined the walls, their glow a testament of modern industry, while crystal gasoliers intertwined with grand chandeliers, banishing the gloom of winter and heralding the arrival of spring.
Aristocrats, gentry, renowned professionals, prominent merchants, politicians, high-rank military officers – together they formed a gathering of influence that, in many ways, governed the kingdom.
Ashborne disliked approaching such people with calculated intent, yet Eleanor was right: If he wished his ideas to be spread smoothly, he would need to win their nods.
But first…
His gaze swept across the crowded room. This was the antechamber to the main ball room, where guests waited for the royal family’s arrival. People clustered in familiar groups, exchanging murmurs about the latest news – essentially scandals and gossip unlikely to reach the newspapers or the public – catching up after the long winter apart.
Ashborne stood beside his father, Lord Wexleigh, and his sister, Eleanor.
Eleanor remained quiet, as she always did in such settings. She avoided these gatherings whenever possible, disliking the scrutiny of married ladies – particularly the middle-aged Mamas who managed their households and delighted in matchmaking. They would inevitably attempt to pair her with their sons, boys she found insufferably arrogant and dull. Unfortunately, declining an invitation to Queen Seraphina’s Spring Ball – even on the grounds that she was not yet of the age for the social season – was out of the question; as the daughter of the Earl of Wexleigh, she was obliged to attend. In truth, she would much rather have remained in the comfort of her own room. Her expression, composed and distant, revealed none of her displeasure.
Lord Wexleigh, by contrast, moved with ease through this sphere of polite vanity. He conversed with acquaintances he did not particularly care for, because it was too early for him to join the circle of his friends – a group that would clearly repel others. Though Ashborne was quite certain his father was subtly deflecting probing questions, he was surprised that no one noticed Lord Wexleigh revealing nothing of substance. It was a skill Ashborne was supposed to have learned but failed to master – a skill Eleanor had quickly adapted to seemed to possess by instinct.
The Earl cast his son a teasing, knowing glance before smoothly redirecting a topic brought up by a baron – one that had begun to edge toward Ashborne – toward recent developments in railway expansion.
Ashborne allowed himself a quiet breath of relief. This baron, who appeared to be flattering his father and had recently allied with new money, was not among those he intended to converse with tonight. He had already resolved to seek out those who had rejected his suggestions in previous correspondence. But before that, he had to secure his dances to avoid unnecessary interruptions.
“Dowager Countess Canareith,” Ashborne quickly stepped forward and bowed politely to the small, slender lady he recognised from their TRPG sessions. “My lady, may I have the honour of the first dance?”
The elderly lady – who, had Jade been present, might have thought looked awfully similar to the grandma from Looney Tunes’Tweety Bird show, and even spoke like her – laughed with evident delight. “Oh, Lord Ashborne, my dear, of course!”
The Dowager Countess quickly wrote his name onto her dance card – a fan-shaped token issued by a court official in the cloakroom – and secured him for the first quadrille. She squinted at the remaining entries. “I seem to have forgotten my lorgnette… Lord Ashborne, would you read the second and third dance for me? The lettering is rather small.”
“Waltz for the second, and polka for the third, Lady Canareith,” Ashborne replied after a brief glance.
The Dowager Countess gave a soft hum. “A waltz will do, but my knees cannot endure a Polka. I shall retire to a quiet corner for conversation by then.”
“In that case, I shall be bold enough to ask, my Lady,” Lord Wexleigh stepped forward with a courteous bow. “May I have the honour of your first waltz?”
“Why, Lord Wexleigh, of course!” The old lady chuckled, giving his shoulder a light pat. “It’s been some time since we last met, and I must compliment your excellent health, my Lord. You seem taller than before!”
“I am flattered, Countess,” Lord Wexleigh replied with a small laugh. “For a man who has long since ceased growing, your compliments greatly bolster my pride.”
And Lord Wexleigh smoothly introduced Eleanor to the old lady. Ashborne noted the brightness in his sister’s eyes, and highly suspected she would gladly stick around the old lady, especially if the Dowager Countess preferred quieter corners, away from the more insistent noblewomen.
Ashborne turned his attention back to the room. He accidentally caught many sheepish glimpses and polite smiles from several debutantes, which he quickly turned away from, lips tightened slightly. He soon fixed his gaze on a familiar figure and marched forward.
“Halesworth!”
A slightly tanned man of similar height turned, brow lifting in recognition as he met Ashborne’s gaze.
“Ashborne,” he said as his friend approached. “It is rare for you to seek me out before the ball begins.”
Halesworth had been Ashborne’s roommate at university, and the two had remained close ever since. Both possessed quirks others found eccentric, and it was precisely that oddness that had drawn them together.
Lord Davies Halesworth, youngest son of the Marquess of Nearleigh, and Lord Theodore Ashborne, heir to the Earl of Wexleigh – both firmly positioned among the highest ranks of their peers – had attended countless gatherings together. Over time, they had developed a mutual strategy: to avoid being pressed into dances, particularly by eager debutantes, they would retreat to a corner and engage in conversations few ladies cared to follow. Such as – “I should very much like to tell you about my rainforest expedition,” Halesworth said brightly. “Such peculiar plants and insects, you would scarcely believe they exist!”
“And I would enjoy hearing it, but that is not why I sought you out.” Ashborne replied, lowering his voice, “Where is your sister?”
Slightly surprised by Ashborne’s change of topic, Halesworth frowned, studying him. “I thought you had no interest in my sister? In any case, you are too late – she married a fortnight before last Harvest Day. It’s a shame you did not attend her wedding, since it was just in the capital of the neighbouring kingdom. The weather there was spectacular, and the culture was fascinating.”
Ashborne rolled his eyes. “I’m asking because I would like to dance with her and speak with her about her charity interests. If I recall correctly, she was quite fond of establishing a clinic?”
“That’s true,” Halesworth said, giving Ashborne a brief, assessing look. “I have been away from the kingdom for only half a year, yet I return to hear your name everywhere. Perfumeries, Clean Air Act… and now this? You are stretching yourself thin, Ashborne. Take on too much, and you will end up accomplishing nothing. Do remember I warned you about that.”
Ashborne inclined his head. “Yes, I am aware. In fact, I had already been reprimanded for it…”
“A deserved reprimand!” Halesworth snorted. “Someone ought to have knocked some sense into you before you scandalised the public with those reports on perfumeries hazards.”
Of the two, Halesworth had always been the more overtly reckless. Yet, as close companions often share a hidden grain of the same wood, he had long anticipated the day Ashborne might finally court catastrophe. He had imagined the man’s boldest venture would be a daring expedition abroad to some uncharted frontier, or the founding of a new family branch across the seas. He never suspected that the quiet, reserved Ashborne would instead choose to shake the entire kingdom in such an unexpected fashion.
“I am well aware. It is for that very reason I seek alliances.” Ashborne interjected, laying out his intent plainly. “From perfumeries to the Clean Air Act, and now clinics – it all concerns public health. The ripples… no, the waves, far exceed my capability. I have already enlisted men of science and politicians to accelerate implementation; however, the common folk will never grasp the necessity of these reforms without guidance. They require instruction alongside their treatment, to that end, establishments such as clinics offer the most practical theater for such education.”
Halesworth did not respond immediately. He simply raised a brow, and studied Ashborne with a long, suspicious look, his lips curing into an expression of mixed emotion that Ashborne preferred not to decipher.
So Ashborne quickly pressed on, “Where’s your sister? I’d like to request her for the second quadrille. Or the second waltz, if she prefers.”
Still, Halesworth didn’t answer. “That is not how you usually handle matters. And don’t tell me this came from Lord Wexleigh either. Who’s behind all of this?”
“... I’ll find your sister elsewhere.”
Ashborne turned to leave, but Halesworth hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him back.
“I must be certain you are not being puppeted by some unseen mastermind,” he said in a low, measured voice. “Ashborne, you have never harboured the slightest ambition of entering politics, yet here you are, leaping like a grasshopper into this meadow of strangling power. It is a dangerous game you play.”
“Which is why, once I have identified those I may trust, I shall retreat and remain observant,” Ashborne replied evenly. “There are benefits to be found beneath the surface, but a sense of moral is necessary to rein in such rampant greed. I require their approval tonight, for this is the one rare moment they are all gathered. I have no time for polite dances with debutantes; I shall request a few turns with the Mistresses of the House who are active in charity. In the intervals between dances, I will speak with those members of the House of Lords who truly care for public health…”
They spoke in low voices. To anyone watching, it would seem like they were exchanging tales of Halesworth’s rainforest experience, nothing unusual. Since the rise of steamships, such adventures had become fashionable topics, eagerly shared by returning travelers.
No one would have suspected that their conversation remained entirely unconcered with distant jungles. Only a few keen-eyed had noticed Ashborne’s name tucked away within the acknowledgement of the latest scientific papers. Nowhere was his patronage overtly linked to the public push for the Clean Air Act.
Across the room, debutantes scanned the crowd, searching for suitable matches. Silk and embroidered gowns wrapped them like carefully tended roses. Jewelry shimmered like morning dew on petals. They stood poised, smiling and blinking demurely, trusting that beauty and refinement would draw the attention of a worthy gentleman… a gentleman like Ashborne. Or Halesworth.
Ashborne could feel those gazes pricking at his back. His patience thinned.
“Halesworth,” he said, more firmly this time. “Where is your sister? My time is–actually, I can visit her another day. I’ll ask another mistress for a dance…”
“She’s there.” Halesworth grabbed his arm and steered him in another direction. “Now, talk. Tell me everything, and I’ll help you secure more allies after the ball.”
“Hm?” Ashborne raised a brow, then smiled. “Fine.”
As they moved through the crowd, he began recounting part of his side of story during Halesworth’s months at sea.