Chapter 153: William in English, Guillaume in French (7) Have you ever watched fantasy novels or films? You know—things like The Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones, the works that devoured the entire world and remained as eternal romantic fantasies in our hearts.
If you look there, you'll see countless races.
Imperialist elves who treat every other race as insignificant creatures, scheming humans plotting something in the shadows, and dwarves with bushy beards swinging mugs of ale and axes.
Among them, the most eccentric are undoubtedly the dwarves, who must have ruined their personalities from spending their entire lives buried underground digging mines.
Ah, why am I suddenly talking nonsense?
Because when you travel nearly 120 kilometers from Dover to London surrounded by hundreds of bearded guards who look like dwarves, you can't help but think such things.
Imagine hundreds of men marching outside the carriage window wearing skirts and looking exactly like Gimli from The Lord of the Rings.
Once, when the column halted briefly for a rest, I even asked one of them.
"Lieutenant Colonel, isn't it cold dressed like that?"
"Haha! We Scots live in places colder than this wearing nothing but kilts!"
Perhaps Tolkien imagined the race of dwarves after seeing Scotsmen. Of course, since he couldn't base them directly on real people, he probably just made them shorter.
As I sat sealed inside the carriage for nearly a week, passing the time with such ridiculous thoughts, someone approached the window and tapped lightly.
"Your Excellency, we will soon arrive at Buckingham Palace. Please prepare to meet His Majesty the King."
"Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel. I suppose this is where we part ways. You've worked hard over the past week. If you ever come to France, visit our company. I will personally treat you to the full Paris experience."
"Haha, yes. I will certainly visit, Your Excellency."
The Scotsman, who looked strong enough to fold a man in half, smiled brightly and nodded.
Now that we were about to part, those thick beards and skirts suddenly didn't seem like such strange fashion items. Perhaps this was what people called affection.
The guards at Buckingham Palace opened the white gates and allowed my carriage to pass through. We crossed gardens and rose fields that had lost some of their beauty after the flowering season ended, and then I saw a group of people waiting outside.
"Your Excellency Guillaume de Toulon, Controller-General of Finance. Welcome to the British Empire. His Majesty the King is waiting inside."
Following a nobleman who appeared to be the Lord Chamberlain, I entered Buckingham Palace.
Just as he said, a middle-aged man wearing golden garments sat in an elegant chair waiting for me.
"Your Excellency the Controller-General, His Majesty the King."
"Welcome to Great Britain, Frenchman. I am George, King of England and Ireland."
"I pay my respects to Your Majesty."
I knelt on one knee and bowed my head before the King of Britain.
Seeing this, King George smiled slightly with interest.
"Fortunately, the concern of my chamberlain did not come to pass."
"Y-Your Majesty…!"
The chamberlain who had brought me here stammered in embarrassment.
"Do you know what he told me? He said I should be careful because Guillaume, the Controller-General who hates monarchies, might attack me! Hahaha!"
At the king's words, I slowly turned my head and glanced at the chamberlain.
"Ahem…!"
"Still, the man who eliminated two Louis is bowing his head before me. Now that I think about it, perhaps I am the one in danger!"
"Y-Your Majesty…!!!"
"It's a joke, a joke. You people never know how to laugh things off. Isn't that right, Guillaume?"
Good heavens. Either this man's mind had gone a bit crooked, or his sense of humor was terrifying. He was not an ordinary madman.
October 25, 1792.
British Empire, London.Buckingham Palace.
"For the visit of His Excellency Guillaume de Toulon, Controller-General of Finance of the Kingdom of France!"
"To the visit!"
"To the visit!"
"To the visit!"
"Thank you, everyone. I'm truly overwhelmed by such hospitality."
I spoke as I swallowed the whiskey a waiter had poured for me. Of course, not all of it—just a very small sip.
The day after meeting the king, a welcoming event had been prepared in my honor. Naturally, I couldn't be absent. But alcohol could lead to mistakes, so I had to exercise restraint.
"How is it, Your Excellency? The whiskey is quite drinkable, isn't it?"
"Well, it seems even better than many French wines."
"Hahaha! Is that so!"
Actually, it tastes terrible.
You English may not know this since grapes don't grow on your soil, but wine is the finest drink—and the finest wine is French. Poor Englishmen, living without wine.
"Please try this as well. It was prepared by the finest chef in England."
"…Ah, yes. It looks delicious. What… ingredients does it use?"
"Hahaha! Why not taste it and find out for yourself? Go on, please try!"
Damn it!! Get that incompetent cook away from me immediately!!
I swallowed my rising anger and instead loosened my tongue inside my mouth.
"Ah, yes… truly… even better… than some French dishes."
Well, there had been a minor crisis, but anyone would say that was excellent lip service.
Still, could such food really compete with French cuisine? The absurdity alone was enough to make my head spin.
But who was I? A professional businessman.
Even if I wanted to spit out my true feelings, no one in the world could surpass me in flattering speech and swallowing pride.
After all, this was no ordinary opportunity. If I made a mistake here, the consequences would be severe.
For the powerful politicians and business magnates of modern times, there are quiet luxury restaurants where they exchange information.
For the nobles of the eighteenth century, gatherings like this served the same purpose.
People laugh, drink, and enjoy fine food together.
"Ah, my son has reached the age for marriage. Do you know any suitable young ladies, Baron?"
"I hear the daughter of a certain count is seeking a match this season. What about her?"
"Excellent! I shall repay this favor generously later."
Marriage negotiations take place.
"Good evening, my lady. I simply had to approach you because of your beauty."
"Oh my, you mustn't say such things."
Young men and women meet and fall in love.
"Look at the way they dress! How can anyone call themselves nobles dressed like that?"
"I quite agree, Duke. Tsk, tsk."
And gossip flows freely.
All of that is packed into gatherings like this.
Social gatherings filled with schemes and intrigue—only the capable survive.
And every gentleman and lady here was a potential customer for our luxury business, as well as a source of valuable information.
Holding a glass of whiskey, I began walking around the lively ballroom searching for a target.
Someone talkative. Someone who would spread rumors far and wide.
If they happened to have strong connections or ties to the East India Company, even better—but even without that, it would suffice.
"…So do you know what the Duke of Canterbury said this time?"
"…You remember that gentleman I met at the last ball?"
"…If they propose building more ships of the line, there might be duels in Westminster."
Listening to other people's conversations while wandering around with whiskey in hand made me feel like a spy from a secret agent novel.
Then, as I continued circling the ballroom, I heard something intriguing.
"…I'm trying to marry my son into the royal family this time. Do you know of any clever strategy?"
"To Princess Elizabeth?"
"What nonsense? Princess Elizabeth already has countless suitors. If we want better odds, it would be wiser to aim for Princess Charlotte."
"Hmm… you're right. Don't worry. I'll look into it."
Hmm. A noble family prestigious enough to propose marriage to a princess.
Bingo.
I loosened my neck, rolled my tongue a few times in the air, and slowly approached the two men conversing in the corner.
"Ahem. Good evening."
"Oh? Good evening. But I don't recognize you. Are you acquainted with him?"
"No. I don't know this gentleman either… Who might you be?"
I spoke politely to the two nobles looking at me with curiosity.
"Pleased to meet you. My name is Guillaume de Toulon, from France."
"Oh! The guest of honor of this event!"
"A pleasure to meet you, Your Excellency."
The two nobles extended their hands, and I shook them firmly in turn.
"But why would the guest of honor come to such a corner of the hall?"
"Well… I rather enjoy listening to people's conversations."
"Haha, that's quite an unusual hobby. But if you enjoy listening to conversations, why approach us instead of the others?"
The noble who had mentioned marrying his son to a princess asked.
"I did not intend to overhear it, but I happened to hear something quite interesting."
"Hmm. Marriage talks are hardly rare among nobles."
He stroked his chin as if puzzled by my interest.
"Ordinary marriage talks are common. But discussions involving the royal family are rather rare."
"Haha, is that so?"
"If it would not be rude, I would very much like to hear more."
I pulled out an empty chair at their table and sat down.
After all, the greatest advertisement in the world is drama—especially romantic drama.
At the same time.
City of London.Lambeth Industrial District.
"So what exactly are you asking us all that for? When we finish work, when we start work, what we eat… Did some factory owner from the next district send you?"
"Well, nothing changes either way, does it?"
"That's true enough. Anyway, thanks for the money. I'll be able to have a glass of rum tonight."
"I'll come again tomorrow to ask a few more questions."
"That suits me just fine. Heh."
The English worker wiped soot from his face with his sleeve and slipped the coin Florian had given him into his pocket.
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