Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

On Wednesday evening, before the seven o'clock bell rang, Richard entered the white mansion through the back door.

The kitchen was already bustling with activity, with cooks carrying silverwares as they moved about, the air filled with the aroma of roasted meat and the sweet scent of cream.

He wiped the tips of his white gloves again, stood at the end of the corridor, and lined up with several other temporary waiters.

The steward was dressed similarly, but the expensive watch chain peeking out from his inner pocket distinguished him from the other servants.

"Everyone's here, right on time." He scrutinized each person, carefully checking their attire for any flaws.

"You're in charge of the champagne." The steward looked at Richard and pointed to the wine cabinet at the end of the corridor. "Put six glasses on a tray, no more. When pouring, don't lift the glasses, understand?"

Richard nodded and carried the tray into the banquet hall.

The hall was already decorated, with gilded candlesticks so long they seemed to reach the ceiling, illuminating the trembling mountain of desserts in the center of the table. But the cloying sweetness was drowned out by the rich fragrance of roses and tuberoses all around. Two hundred freshly cut flowers were piled up in every corner of the room.

As the doors opened, guests entered one after another, with elegant ladies in formal attire arm in arm with men striding confidently, their diamonds and medals gleaming.

Among them, the most eye-catching was undoubtedly the Prince of Wales, the future Edward VII.

A slightly overweight young man in his early twenties, with a European-style beard and ruddy cheeks, laughed loudly and patted the shoulder of the person next to him.

"Albert, you lost badly last time!" The prince's voice boomed, echoing across half the hall. "I told you that horse had an old injury in its front leg, but you insisted on betting. Aren't you heartbroken now?"

The man beside him shook his head with a forced smile: "Your Highness indeed has exceptional insight; I should listen to you."

"Just listen to me!" The prince took a glass of champagne from Richard's tray, he had never been so close to a monarch. "There's a new match in Newmarket next week, odds are six to one, I've already bet three thousand, are you in or not?"

"I agree! If Your Highness says I agree, then I agree."

The prince downed the champagne in one gulp. His gaze swept across the hall and suddenly stopped on a young woman in a light pink dress, his eyes lighting up.

"Sir Mordaunt!" The prince did not address the lady by her name directly, but instead feigned concern and went to her male companion.

Mordant? Richard was sure he'd heard the name somewhere before, but his mind was too fogged up by the flowers to think straight. He could only keep serving drinks to his guests, glancing occasionally at the three people chatting.

But the three of them walked further and further away, and their voices gradually became inaudible. Suddenly, Richard saw that familiar figure: Eleanor.

She was dressed to the nines today, wearing a deep green satin dress with a low neckline, her blonde hair pulled back, revealing a section of her pale white neck.

She stood behind Mrs. Mordaunt, a smile on her lips, but her gaze was not on anyone.

Mrs. Mordaunt was wearing the same dress that Richard had seen in her workroom a few nights earlier.

"Eleanor, what are you doing..." Richard stared at them, lost in thought.

"Young man," a voice pulled Richard back to reality. He turned around to see a gray-haired gentleman looking at him. "There's no wine on your tray."

Richard looked down and saw that the tray was empty, and the spare tray next to it had also been taken away.

"Excuse me, sir." He bowed slightly and turned to walk towards the wine cabinet.

There wasn't much champagne left in the bottle, so he replaced it with a new one, rearranged the glasses, and picked it up to walk back.

As he walked down the corridor, he caught a glimpse of the garden entrance out of the corner of his eye.

The prince stood with another young woman, their distance between them was unusually close.

He wore the same smile Richard had seen in the banquet hall, the frivolous, flirtatious smile that tinged with alcohol, the one he had given Mrs. Mordaunt to when he called her name.

He leaned forward, as if to say something private, but was suddenly interrupted by the servant beside him, who handed the prince a letter.

The prince unfolded the letter, skimmed through it, and then his smile vanished.

He squinted and looked again. Suddenly, his face went from rosy to pale, and then from pale to ashen.

He folded the letter and pinched the bridge of his nose. Richard was more familiar with this expression; it was anger, but he suppressed it, his jaw muscles taut like stone.

Immediately afterwards, the prince strode toward the stairs, his leather shoes clattering heavily on the marble steps, until a dull thud echoed from upstairs as the door slammed shut.

boom!

The two watched in horror as the prince's figure disappeared at the end of the stairs.

Then, Eleanor came into his view, looking quite relaxed.

She deliberately turned her head and winked at Richard; she had noticed him long ago. With a flick of her hair, she walked toward the garden.

She was inviting him to follow her. Richard's mind was in turmoil, but he couldn't care less. A Prussian female spy had appeared at the Prince's private party, and then the Prince had erupted in fury—there was only one possibility: blackmail.

"Sorry." Richard put down the tray he was carrying, loosened his tie, and jogged to catch up with her.

The garden was much darker than the banquet hall, with gas lamps spaced a few steps apart, and the cool night breeze cleared Richard's head a bit.

He walked around a clump of boxwood trimmed into a spherical shape and saw several velvet tents standing in the middle of the lawn, their pure white tarpaulins billowing gently in the evening breeze.

Eleanor was sitting inside, legs crossed, with an unopened bottle of red wine on the table and two glasses upside down beside it. He lifted the curtain and went in.

"You're here?" She gently touched her chin. "I knew you wouldn't be absent."

"I didn't expect you to know the Duchess?" Richard sat down opposite him and picked up the bottle of red wine. There was no label on the bottle, only a handwritten year: 1847.

"Open it for me, after all, you're still wearing this outfit." Eleanor moved to sit next to him, and the scent of lily of the valley filled the air.

Richard uncorked the bottle, poured a third of the contents into each glass, and pushed one of them towards Richard: "Happy now? Or do you just like being waited on?"

"I like you serving me, Richard." Eleanor took the glass, buried his nose in it, and took a deep breath. "If you have a question, ask it."

"What did you show Prince Wells?" Richard asked.

"The letter, you saw it, didn't you?" She took a sip.

"Do you want to answer my question or not?" Richard frowned as he looked at her.

"You're a smart person, guess."

She was indeed teasing him. Richard had to find the answer himself. He swirled his glass, searching his mind for any connection between the Mordaunt surname and the Prince of Wales.

Suddenly, it dawned on him that this was the Mordaunt divorce scandal that had rocked British aristocratic circles.

Sir Charles Mordaunt's young wife, Harriet, had an affair after their marriage, with the man being the then 26-year-old Prince of Wales. This was the first time in Britain that a prince had to testify publicly in divorce court.

"You're using the prince's infidelity to blackmail him?" Richard looked at Eleanor in surprise, not expecting this woman to be so audacious as to personally blackmail a prince.

"You...are you really a prophet?" Eleanor put her arm around his shoulder, making him feel a chill run down his spine.