"Your Highness, Prince Regent."
Alexio's voice cut through the tense silence while Leopold was still puzzling over how to salvage this disaster.
"This is not a marriage of convenience at all."
Leopold's hand, which had been pressed to his temple, slowly lowered.
"*What* does that even mean?" His tone dripped with skepticism. "If it's not a marriage of convenience, are you truly trying to claim this is a *love match?*" He laughed—bitter and humorless. "How delightfully romantic."
"As expected, Your Highness grasps the situation immediately." Alexio's response was utterly serious. "This *is*, indeed, a love match."
*What?*
Leopold's eyebrows shot upward. He stared at the Duke, searching for some sign of jest or mockery.
He found none.
Prince Arthur and Madame Pembroke, who both knew the true circumstances of the arrangement, looked even more stunned than the Regent himself.
"No matter what anyone else may claim," Alexio continued smoothly, "this marriage is founded on love. I fell deeply in love with the princess and pursued her affections persistently. Though the princess was hesitant initially—as any modest young woman would be—she eventually opened her heart and accepted my feelings."
He delivered the narrative with such natural eloquence, such perfect conviction, that anyone unaware of the actual facts would have assumed he was recounting genuine events.
"I understand Your Highness has been beset by many difficulties of late." Alexio's tone shifted—still respectful, but carrying an edge of calculation now. "Wouldn't a love match between the princess and myself provide a fascinating story for *everyone* to enjoy?"
The phrasing was light, almost casual.
The implications were anything but.
Leopold's eyes narrowed as he caught the deliberate emphasis.
"A love match that *'everyone'* will appreciate..." He spoke the words slowly, working through their meaning.
*Everyone.* Not just the nobility. Not just the court. But the *commoners*. The abolitionists. The reformers calling for an end to aristocratic privilege.
A royal princess choosing to marry for love rather than political advantage—and choosing a half-nobleman, no less—would send a powerful message. It would suggest the royal family was capable of change. That bloodlines mattered less than genuine affection. That even the most elevated members of society valued the same things ordinary people valued.
For the first time since arriving, Leopold's expression softened.
His furrowed brow smoothed.
"I had thought," he said dryly, "that the laudatory stories about the Duke of Pembroke's ingenuity were confined to the sphere of business."
He regarded Alexio with new appreciation.
"It seems you possess talents beyond merely making money."
Before the Duke could respond, Madame Pembroke surged to her feet.
"*Alexio.*" Her voice cracked like a whip. "Don't mislead His Highness the Prince Regent with such transparent fabrications. What possible benefit could marriage to a *half-nobleman* provide the princess?"
She couldn't follow all the unspoken messages passing between Alexio and the Regent—but she recognized clearly enough that the situation was slipping beyond her control.
"You must be more careful in your words and actions." She turned toward Leopold, shifting her appeal. "The princess has inherited the noble blood of both duchy and kingdom. If her pure lineage is *tainted*, it will deal a devastating blow to the image of the royal family."
Her speech began as a warning to Alexio and ended as a plea to the Regent—a testament to the panic churning beneath her composed exterior.
"Indeed." Leopold's response was maddeningly neutral. He turned back to Alexio, dismissing Madame Pembroke's objection without directly addressing it. "Duke of Pembroke, we haven't had sufficient opportunity to speak privately. I know you're a busy man, but do you have any time available in your schedule today?"
The question was courteous.
The intention was unmistakable.
Madame Pembroke's face went white.
---
## — The Carriage Ride Home —
Madame Pembroke bit her lip hard enough to taste blood as she climbed into the carriage for the journey back to the Pembroke estate.
*This is bad.*
She had lost. Or at minimum, she was losing. The Prince Regent had sided with Alexio—or was on the verge of doing so.
*How did I miscalculate so badly?*
She had assumed—foolishly, it now seemed—that the royal family would support her position. The monarchy was, after all, the very embodiment of nobility. Surely they would oppose allowing tainted blood into their sacred lineage?
But Prince Leopold's satisfied smile when speaking with Alexio had shattered that assumption.
"How clever," she muttered bitterly.
Alexio had spoken of a *love match* specifically in the Regent's presence. To openly object to such a narrative would be to insult Leopold—to suggest he approved of crass financial transactions over genuine romantic sentiment. Madame couldn't afford that.
All she and Derek could do now was wait for the Prince Regent's decision.
*But what did Alexio offer him? What bait did he dangle?*
If she could identify the incentive, perhaps she could counter it. Perhaps she could still turn this disaster around.
"We must find a way to stop this." She spoke half to herself, thoughts racing. "Prince Arthur has already chosen Alexio as his son-in-law, but the only person with authority to prevent the marriage is His Highness the Regent. We must persuade him before—Derek?"
She had been talking for several minutes without receiving any response.
Madame turned to find her son staring absently out the carriage window, completely ignoring her.
Fury sparked in her chest.
She reached out and slapped him—not hard enough to leave a mark, but with enough force to sting.
"Are you going to continue behaving like this?" Her voice rose with each word. "When your brother marries, we'll be—"
"Thrown out like beggars." Derek's tone was utterly flat. "I remember, Mother. You've mentioned it countless times."
The response was so unexpectedly calm—so utterly unlike his earlier shocked stupor—that Madame Pembroke froze mid-tirade.
She stared at her son.
"You... remember?"
"Of course." Derek finally turned to face her. "Isn't that what you discuss constantly?"
"Yes, but—" Madame examined him from head to toe, searching for signs of fever or intoxication. "If you *understand* the gravity of our situation, why are you so calm? We need to devise a strategy to prevent this marriage *immediately*."
"Do we really need to prevent it?" Derek shrugged, the gesture almost lazy. "His Highness the Regent has made his approval quite clear. I doubt he'll reverse his position now."
He lifted the corners of his mouth with his fingers, mimicking Leopold's satisfied smile with eerie accuracy.
Madame Pembroke felt her headache intensifying.
"It's unacceptable to simply surrender!" Her hands clenched into fists. "Your father built the Pembroke fortune—I won't allow Alexio to steal it entirely!"
"I don't want to lose it either, Mother." Derek's voice remained maddeningly reasonable. "I enjoy living at Pembroke Manor. I'd prefer my allowance to remain as generous as it currently is."
"Then you *must* prevent Alexio's marriage—"
"I don't think that's necessary."
"*What?*"
Unable to follow her son's logic, Madame pressed both hands to her temples. The throbbing behind her eyes had become almost unbearable.
Derek reached out and began gently massaging her shoulders.
"As you said," he murmured, "when the new Duchess arrives, you'll lose your position as mistress. Your authority will evaporate."
"Yes." The word came out as a groan.
"It would be unwise to oppose the Prince Regent's will directly..." Derek's fingers worked at a particularly tense knot. "And since dissolving a marriage after the fact is extremely difficult, wouldn't it be better to focus on *managing* the situation rather than preventing it?"
Madame's eyes snapped open.
She twisted in her seat to stare at her son.
"That... makes sense."
The idea was far too sophisticated for Derek—who typically thought no further ahead than his next dalliance with a chambermaid—to have conceived independently.
Derek tilted his head, meeting his mother's admiring gaze.
"We can ensure that the princess—who will soon become Duchess—is on *our* side." His tone was almost cheerful now. "You can continue pressuring her to treat you as the true mistress. You can refuse to hand over the household keys. You can make her life sufficiently miserable that she turns to us for support."
"Yes..." Understanding dawned across Madame's features. "The Duchess cannot seize the keys from me by force. Not even if she *was* a princess beforehand."
This was precisely why she had chosen Adelina as the bride in the first place.
The girl seemed gentle. Naive. Easily manipulated. She had spent her entire life locked away in that crumbling mansion with minimal contact with the outside world.
Most royal women possessed iron wills—trained from birth to command households and navigate political intrigue. But Princess Adelina appeared as fragile as a flower petal caught in the wind.
Even if circumstances forced Madame to accept the marriage, she felt confident she could manage the new Duchess.
Alexio was so obsessed with stealing Derek's intended bride that he seemed blind to the weakness of the woman he was actually acquiring.
*Fool*, Madame thought with vicious satisfaction. *You've won the battle and lost the war.*
Her headache began to recede as she imagined future scenarios. Derek, noticing his mother's expression softening, continued in a more animated voice—clearly pleased to be receiving something other than criticism for once.
"If things proceed this way, my brother can continue working himself to exhaustion, and we can continue enjoying the fortune he earns." He paused, then added with deliberate casualness: "Besides, there's no law requiring the Duchess to bear an heir from *Alexio specifically*."
"*What?*"
Madame's hand rose instinctively to strike—then froze mid-swing.
Derek, who had reflexively braced for the blow, looked back at his mother in confusion.
Her expression had transformed entirely.
"That's... not a bad idea at all."
Derek blinked.
Madame Pembroke's mind raced through the implications.
Cuckoo birds, she recalled reading once, lay their eggs in other birds' nests. They destroy the host's eggs first—ensuring their own offspring receive all the care and resources.
There was no law preventing humans from following nature's example.
She studied her son with fresh appreciation.
Derek was undeniably handsome. Warm coloring, soft features, an easy charm that made women of all classes melt like butter in summer sun. Alexio was attractive too, certainly—but his preference for dressing entirely in black, as though perpetually in mourning, created an aura of coldness. Of distance.
Between the gloomy Duke who wore funeral colors regardless of occasion, and her radiant son who glowed like sunlight...
Well.
Seduction would hardly be difficult.
Madame Pembroke had always criticized Derek's promiscuity—had scolded him endlessly for his affairs with chambermaids and merchant's daughters.
But perhaps, going forward, she would need to *encourage* such behavior.
At least when directed toward the appropriate target.
Her lips curved into a smile—slow, deliberate, utterly without warmth.
"Derek, darling." She reached out and patted his cheek almost affectionately. "I think it's time we discussed how you might... *befriend* your new sister-in-law."
Derek's answering grin was sharp as broken glass.
"I thought you'd never ask, Mother."