Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The Armstrong family—not the Armstrong who landed on the moon, but Baron William George Armstrong—once monopolized British artillery orders, and the British government even appointed him as the inspector of the Woolwich Arsenal.

By this time, his business had expanded to naval guns, steel, and even machinery production lines, employing thousands of people. He was undoubtedly the most promising person to become the empire's private military industrial overlord.

"I remember he manufactured breech-loading cannons, how come he's involved in the small arms business?" Richard asked.

"You must have seen him at the arms bidding a few days ago, the inspector from the arsenal?" Eleanor put down his glass, looking at him mockingly. "The British government even made him inspect the cannons he was building to ensure they met standards. Do you think he'll stop there?"

Richard fell silent. If all the British garrison troops and colonial soldiers were to be re-equipped, the profits could exceed one million pounds.

This was also the reason why he decided to develop the Martini-Henry rifle. However, he did not expect that he would be facing the most dazzling military industrial giant in Britain in the 1860s.

"Armstrong hates the inefficiency of government factories; he ruthlessly crushes competitors with his steel monopoly," Eleanor reached for the envelope. "You have no chance, Richard."

This time, Richard didn't stop her. Instead, he stroked his chin and asked, "So Greenwood was just their outpost? No wonder he came up with the idea of ​​tampering with the steel; someone was giving him pointers..."

"Oh, poor child, but it's not entirely hopeless..." Eleanor eagerly opened the envelope as soon as she received it. "The British government has made it clear long ago that private manufacturers are a 'last resort' and can only be used as a supplement."

"So you think I'll stop at being evenly matched with him?" Richard looked at her with a smile.

"Oh, ambition!" Eleanor licked his lips. "I like ambitious men."

She pulled out the letter and read it under the light. The smile on her lips gradually faded. Finally, she put the letter back on the table, pressed her fingers against the corner of the paper, and looked up at him.

"Is everything you wrote... true?"

"Of course." Richard nodded. "You people in Paris can certainly verify this in this direction; it's much better than being like headless flies before."

"Very good," Eleanor folded the letter. "I will inform Paris and congratulate you on surviving."

"Hmm? What do you mean?" Richard frowned.

"I heard you were almost killed by my colleague in Switzerland. He never expected you to make this suggestion." Eleanor turned and leaned on the table.

"You have connections with Scarface?" Her words piqued Richard's interest. Perhaps he could use Eleanor to expand his influence in Paris?

"I'm sorry, I just found out too," she said, picking up the scissors again and returning to the clothes rack. "Our jobs are separate, and we rarely interact."

"That's a shame." Richard sighed, his gaze shifting to Eleanor's unfinished dress. "Who...who is this dress for?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Eleanor paused, her scissors still in her hand. "I guess they didn't even think to invite you."

"Where are you inviting me to go?" Richard was bewildered. What major event had he missed? He searched his memory.

"There's a private party in Hyde Park next week," she said, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "Spending all your time by the princess's side, yet you haven't even stepped into their circle?"

Hyde Park is London's royal park, inextricably linked to one name: the Prince of Wales, whose favorite recreational area. Eleanor's specific mention of Louise further confirms the aristocratic nature of the banquet.

Eleanor's scissors started moving again, the blades scraping against the satin with a few crisp sounds.

"Who will be going?" Richard asked.

"Those who are meant to go will go," she said, smoothing out the wrinkles with her fingers. "Your free questioning privileges are over; you'll have to pay to ask any more questions."

Richard stepped forward: "Well then, can you find a way to get me in there? For a fee."

"You?" Eleanor covered her mouth and chuckled a few times, as if she had heard a funny joke. "You'd probably feel out of place there, wouldn't you? There are no targets for you to shoot at, just cocktails, endless comparisons, and endless conversational rhetoric."

"Just tell me if it's okay or not." Richard frowned. Royal banquets in Britain are a mixed bag, but small gatherings like this are usually attended by key figures in British society, and Richard would do anything to get in.

"No," Eleanor refused bluntly, "although I would love to see you at the party..."

She picked up a ruler and gently measured him: "I'm afraid there's no suitable place for you there."

"You mean, they invited you?" Richard was deeply shocked that the prince would invite a completely unknown designer to his private banquet.

"You underestimate my reputation, Richard." She smiled meaningfully. "If there's nothing else, I need to get back to work. Please leave."

"Alright, goodnight." Seeing that there was no way to persuade Eleanor, Richard could only put on his hat, turn around and leave her workspace.

It was late at night when the carriage stopped at the alleyway in Kensington.

Richard got out of the car and walked the last part of the way by himself. The light in the villa was still on, not the one in the hallway, but the one in the living room.

He pushed open the door. The gas light in the entryway had been dimmed, and only a table lamp on the coffee table was still on, along with a cold apple pie.

Louise leaned against the sofa, hugging a cushion. She wasn't asleep yet, but she was almost. Her head slumped down little by little, each time it almost touched her knees, it would jerk up, her eyelashes fluttering twice, before continuing to slump down.

He stood at the door for a while, then carefully went inside, but the uncooperative floorboards creaked.

She looked up, her eyes not fully open, but she smelled the scent first. Her nose wrinkled slightly: "You're back."

"Yeah...sorry," Richard said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, "I didn't expect you to be waiting for me."

Louise watched Richard walk from the entryway to her side. As he sat down, he wrinkled his nose again: "Lily of the Valley."

"what?"

"You smell like lily of the valley." She placed the cushion aside. "It smells wonderful, like a high-end French product."

"It's...it's hers," Richard stammered. "I was at least two meters away from her, I swear."

"The apple pie is cold," Louise said, pulling her hands into her sleeves.

"I saw it... I'm sorry," Richard said, taking off his coat and tossing his hat aside. "Is this better?"

Louise crossed her arms and leaned closer to Richard, sniffing him like a cat: "Much better, smells like you again."

"...What do I smell like?" Richard sniffed his shirt.

"Smells like someone who should take me back to my room," Louise yawned.

Richard stood up, reached out to her, and pulled her up from the sofa, her hair brushing against his chin.

"The deal is all done?" Louise looked up at him.

"You said it yourself, there's no client I can't handle." Richard helped her up.

"You're a fool..." Louise said as she walked up the stairs. "Goodnight."

The door closed, and the living room became quiet, with only the hum of the gas lamp breaking the silence.

Richard slumped wearily into the sofa. He was determined to attend the banquet next week.