Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

"Disgraceful?" Richard chuckled, lowering his head to examine the other letters in his hand. "Do you really think I'm that bad at covering up?"

“No, it’s because you’re too honest,” Louise leaned closer. “It’s not a good thing when socializing at court.”

"And what about wine knowledge?" Richard asked. "How do you plan to teach me? Give me a wine list to memorize, or open a bottle for me to taste?"

Louise looked up and thought for a moment: "At least you need to know which years have good wines. If someone asks you at the dinner party, 'What wine do you like?' you can't just say 'Anything.'"

"That makes sense." Richard nodded. "Is this the first time you've helped someone prepare? Teaching someone how to infiltrate your circle step by step?"

"Yes, you're the first. The people I know are either born without having to learn anything, or they fight tooth and nail to get in, learn a ton of rules, but forget who they even are."

Suddenly, Louise wrinkled her nose and looked curiously at the letters in Richard's hand: "Who wrote you all these letters?"

"Most of them are bills, supplier and worker salaries, and new locks." Richard tossed some of the letters aside. "Those two guys last night only took a minute to pick the warehouse lock. I replaced it with the latest lever lock this time."

"No, that's not what I meant," she closed her eyes and sniffed again, "Lily of the Valley, she wrote to you too."

Richard was stunned. His nose, which was ravaged by the acrid coal smoke every day as he walked through the factories of London, didn't smell it at all.

He took out one of the letters that was clearly different from the others, and brought it close to his nose. It was indeed that faint scent of lily of the valley.

"Don't you want to open it and take a look?" she asked.

"Aren't you angry?" Richard was a little hesitant to speak.

"Why? She's just a client," Louise said, crossing her arms. "She might have something urgent to attend to."

Richard hesitated for a moment, then tore open the seal and pulled out the letter. The handwriting was delicate, and it contained only one line: "Come to the store when you have time. There are some things we need to discuss in person. —E."

This must be about the favor he owes her. Richard's heart pounded at the thought of accepting a spy's mission.

"That woman, what's her name?" Louise asked, looking at him.

"Eleanor".

"Eleanor what?"

"Eleanor..." Richard spread his hands. "I don't know her last name."

Louise chuckled lightly: "You don't even know a woman's last name, yet you dare accept her letter?"

Richard held the letter in his hand, his fingertips tracing the edge of the paper a few times. He knew he couldn't lie, at least not completely.

"She's helping me," he said.

"How can I help you?"

"Find Greenwood for me." Richard's voice lowered. "She's been in London for a long time, knows a lot of people, and can find out things I can't."

Louise leaned back in her chair, her hands folded on her thighs.

"A clothing manufacturer," she said, "could help you investigate an arms dealer?"

Richard's mouth was slightly open. He hadn't said that Eleanor was in the clothing business. From the moment he spoke until now, he had never mentioned the words "designer" or "clothing store."

How did Louise know?

“I’ve heard of her,” Louise explained. “The clothing store on Old Bond Street, the designer who specializes in women’s wear. Ladies and young ladies of high society like to order clothes from her, and even countesses mention her name over tea.”

She paused.

"She has a certain reputation with me, I just didn't expect that you would be working with her."

Richard's back tensed.

"If you find it difficult, you don't need to explain to me who she is right now," Louise said, her head bowed. "But she is indeed a beautiful woman."

Richard felt a lump in his throat. He watched as Louise's shoulders twitched slightly, and then she buried her face in her hands, curling up in the chair like a wronged canary.

Richard panicked, and he knelt down and grabbed her other hand.

"Louise, there's nothing between us..."

Before he could finish speaking, he saw her face.

She wasn't crying; she was laughing, as if she had been holding it in for a long time, her eyes curving into two crescent moons.

"You..." Richard's face flushed red instantly, burning from the base of his neck all the way to the tips of his ears.

"I'm sorry," Louise covered her mouth, her laughter escaping through her fingers, "the way you looked just now, you were like a thief caught red-handed, not knowing where to look."

Richard squatted on the ground, caught in a dilemma. He tried to stand up, but her fingers were already interlocked with his.

"Go ahead," she said softly, "but don't let her write to you again."

"No," he said.

Louise paused for a moment.

"She can wait."

Richard reached out and gently cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing a tiny arc on her cheekbone.

Louise's smile slowly faded. Her eyes were still curved, but her lips were no longer smiling; they were slightly parted, as if she were waiting for something.

Richard stood up, bent down, and kissed her.

Louise's fingers gripped his collar for a moment, then released and pressed against his chest. Her lips were soft, carrying a hint of lilac fragrance.

The geraniums outside the window swayed in the wind, and dewdrops rolled off their petals, silently disappearing into the soil.

A few seconds later, they separated, their nostrils briefly touching.

Louise's face was flushed, perhaps the color of rose rouge. Her breathing was still a little erratic, and her fingers were still pressed against his chest, where she could feel his pounding heartbeat.

"You... owe me an explanation," she said.

"I know."

"Once you've finished dealing with all your mess, you'll have to tell me properly, who exactly is she?"

Richard buried his head between their intertwined fingers and smelled the violet scent on the inside of Louise's wrist.

"Okay," he promised, "but I can't guarantee you'll like it."

Louise gently nudged him: "Then let's talk about it when you can guarantee it."

She released Richard's hand: "Go ahead, don't keep me waiting too long."

Richard stood up, still clutching the letter in his hand. Instead of putting it back in his pocket, he walked to the fireplace.

The fire was burning brightly, occasionally crackling softly, when he tossed the letter in.

The piece of paper landed on the flames, its edges curling up first, and charring spreading from the edges towards the center. The writing twisted and deformed in the firelight, finally turning into a wisp of smoke that dissipated from the chimney.

"The fireplace will get dirty," Louise said, resting her chin on her hand, but Richard could tell she was quite pleased.

"Let Harold clean it up."

"Let him rest for a while."

Richard walked to the door and glanced back at her. Louise sat where the sunlight and firelight met, the pale pink of her morning gown tinged with a warm orange, like an oil painting that hadn't quite dried.

The letter in the fireplace had burned out, leaving only a few thin ash flakes that settled in the gaps between the firewood.