George ca back to the table, a single glass of water held carefully in his hand. He saw Anne hunched over the flimsy pamphlet, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. He took a quick peek at the headline as he neared the table.
He sat down and placed the glass of water in front of her with a soft click. "Looks like Duke Philip has gotten himself into another spot of trouble again," George said, his tone casual, trying to start a conversation.
Anne dropped the pamphlet, her full attention now on him. "Duke Philip? Another trouble?" she asked, her eyes sharp with a sudden, keen interest.
George nodded, pleased to finally have so information that she found valuable. "He has a reputation for it," he began to explain. "Always making bold, risky business moves. My father used to say that he was too ambitious for his own good..."
But Anne was no longer listening to him. Her mind was already racing, connecting the dots, seeing the potential in this new piece of information.
~ ••••• ~
At the grand headquarters of the Carson Textile Establishnt, Dowager Duchess Elena was sitting in Duke Philip’s chair. She sat behind his large, imposing mahogany desk, her posture as straight and unyielding as the oak tree outside the window. Philip was standing in front of the desk like a young lad called to his father’s study, his hands clasped behind his back, ready to be reprimanded.
The air in his own study was thick with his grandmother’s silent, simring fury.
"Did you bribe them?" Elena asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
Philip was silent. His gaze was fixed on a point just over her shoulder.
"Did you bribe the forr port officials, Philip?" Elena asked again, her voice slightly raised now, cutting through the silence like a whip. "Those n wouldn’t have sided with your rash decision to change suppliers for no reason. They know what the Carsons import. They wouldn’t have approved the use of those fabrics unless their palms were greased." She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "Speak for yourself. Tell what happened."
"I didn’t do anything immoral," Philip replied, his voice a low murmur. "Business sotis needs a bit of... oil... to help the wheels run smoothly. You know that better than anyone, Grandmother."
"Every business has its own dirty linen that it prefers to hide in the closet," Elena retorted, her voice sharp with scorn. "But there is a line, Philip. A line that our family does not cross. You do not cause potential harm to others by knowingly using inferior materials, just to cut costs and spite your brother. And if you are foolish enough to go down a certain shady path to get a job done, you had better do the best possible job to save your own face and avoid gossip." She picked up the pamphlet from the desk, the one Anne was now reading across town. "We have a reputation to uphold. A reputation that my husband and I spent a lifeti building."
"Yes, Grandmother," Philip replied, his head bowed in a show of submission.
Elena continued, her voice now cold and full of a practical urgency. "If this new spring line project isn’t at least half done before the beginning of winter, it will be a big, public failure. It will do incredible damage to all we have worked so hard for. Do you understand what I an, Philip?"
"Yes," he replied, his voice still low. "I will handle it. I can promise you that."
Elena got up from the chair and walked past Philip, her movents stiff with disapproval. She stopped for a bit at the door to say one last thing, her back still turned to him. "I do not want to see my family’s establishnt on the front of a cheap gossip pamphlet for a bad reason ever again."
Philip bowed his head again. "I am sorry, Grandmother."
She walked out, leaving him alone in his own study. He stood there for a long mont in the silent, imposing room. He then took his cane, walked to his seat behind the grand desk, and sat down. His fingers began to drum a frustrated, rhythmic beat on the polished wood.
His aide, a young man nad Lewis, entered the study, bowing his head respectfully. "What are you going to do now, Your Grace?"
Philip looked up, a cold expression on his face. The humility he had shown his grandmother was completely gone. "What else is there to do?" he replied with a dismissive shrug. "Then to go and bribe the new officials, of course." He saw no lesson in his grandmother’s words, only a problem that more money could solve.
Lewis looked uncomfortable. "But, Your Grace, that approach already caused issues the last ti. My sources say these new n are not like the forr port officials. They are scrupulous. They can’t be easily bought."
"Nonsense," Philip said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "When soone refuses money, it simply ans the amount offered was not enough. Everyone has a price, Lewis. Everyone." He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a cold light. "This ti, we will give them a little more than they are expecting. A lot more. We will give them enough to keep their mouths shut for a lifeti."
"With what money, Your Grace?" Lewis replied, his voice quiet but firm. "We don’t have that kind of disposable capital anymore."
Philip looked at his aide, his expression turning from annoyance to disbelief. "How co?"
"The money that is left in the discretionary accounts is for the spring line project," Lewis explained, his gaze steady. "And even with that, we are still short of our projected costs because of the delays and the new, more expensive suppliers. The only way to secure the kind of funds you are talking about is to co clean. To tell the Dowager Duchess about the financial shortfall and ask for her help."
The suggestion was logical. It was also the one thing Philip would never do. He slamd his hands down on the polished mahogany desk with a loud, violent bang. The force of the blow made Lewis flinch and take a half-step back.
"And what do you think that ans, Lewis?" Philip snarled, his voice a low, dangerous hiss. "I should tell her that I can’t handle things? That I have failed? So that she can have the perfect excuse to say I am not fit to lead this company and put my dear brother, Eric, in charge instead?"
"I didn’t an it that way, Your Grace, I swear," Lewis apologized quickly, his head bowed.
Philip stared at him, his eyes cold and hard. "I thought you were the ambitious one, Lewis," he said, his voice now dangerously soft. "I recall you ca to work for , and not for my brother, because you believed I was the one who would climb to the top. Because you wanted to climb the ladder of success right alongside . Is that not right?"
Lewis nodded, not daring to et his master’s gaze. "Yes, Your Grace."
Philip relaxed back in his seat, the picture of a man in control once more. "Then use that clever thing that is sitting on your neck and start thinking of a real solution," he commanded. "Now."
Lewis stood there, his mind racing under the intense pressure of his master’s gaze. He was trapped. If he failed, he would be dismissed. If he succeeded, he would be tied even closer to this dangerous, unstable Duke. His ambition won out. He thought hard for a while, connecting the dots of their various problems—the lack of funds, the need for bribes, the delayed project. A new, corrupt, but undeniably clever idea began to form in his mind.
"Your Grace," he began, his voice hesitant but clear. "What if... what if we were to generate a new source of inco? Quickly and quietly."
Philip leaned forward, intrigued. "Go on."
"Our main brand, the Carson na, is built on quality," Lewis explained. "But the commoners, the masses... they do not care for the fine quality of our fabrics. They only care for a low price. What if we take inferior materials, cheap textiles sourced right here in Albion, and use them to complete our recent clothing line, the one that is already in production? We could sell them cheaply, to the common folk, through back-alley rchants. The profit margin would be incredibly high."
He paused, letting Philip absorb the idea.
"The money we make from that venture would be more than enough to bribe the new port officials into silence. And it would provide the extra funds we need to finish the high-quality spring line project on ti, without having to ask the Dowager Duchess for a single coin."
Philip tapped his chin, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. He liked the idea. It was ruthless, clever, and it solved all of his problems at once. "And how do you think we can do all of this discreetly?" he asked. "And where, exactly, do we get these inferior materials on such short notice?"
Lewis had already thought of the answer. "Perhaps," he said, his voice a low, whisper, "Ellington Textiles can help you, Your Grace."
Philip pondered the words. The Ellingtons.
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