Chapter 555: An Irresistible Temptation
Petersburg.
Laughter and a cacophony of music disrupted the tranquil dusk in Anichkov Palace, located in the middle of Neva Avenue.
Alexei raised his glass to the young nobleman standing on the balcony railing, declaring loudly, "Dance! Ha! I bet 100 rubles he can finish this entire tune. Anyone care to wager against me?"
Nearby, a slightly stout nobleman leaned in and whispered, "Count Bobrinsky, Primakov has already downed an entire bottle; he's going to fall..."
"No, you haven't seen his capacity for drink," Alexei countered, patting the black bear beside him, which was guzzling wine from a goblet held in its paws. "Ivan, Sergei never gets drunk, does he?"
The black bear nodded with surprising human-like understanding, then dropped its goblet, turned, and pushed the pianist aside. It clumsily clambered onto the chair itself, raising its paws to pound the keys, producing a chaotic cacophony.
"Sergei, Ivan's urging you on! Dance!!"
Alexei drained his glass in one gulp, his gaze flicking to the long-faced middle-aged man beside him. He turned his head as if casually, declaring, "I bet 200 rubles Primakov won't fall!"
Thanks to his profits from the Gemini Trading Company, he had long since achieved financial freedom and had even become one of Petersburg's leading businessmen. 200 rubles was practically nothing to him.
The long-faced middle-aged man seemed infected by his wild enthusiasm. He too gulped down his drink and, looking at the swaying young man on the balcony railing, loudly responded:
"Alright, I'll bet you 300 rubles. He'll fall!"
Alexei rejoiced. "Excellent! Get started, Sergei! Where's the music!"
The musician glanced at the black bear dominating the piano—Alexei's pet—then resignedly picked up a violin and hurried to the balcony to play.
Primakov, meanwhile, sang loudly along with the music, all while dancing on the railing, which was barely a palm's width across.
Though they were on the third floor, he showed no fear—or perhaps the alcohol had simply made him forget it. Several times his feet stumbled, yet he miraculously regained his balance, continuing to flail his limbs.
The nobles inside gathered around, cheering and egging him on, periodically handing him brimming wine glasses as encouragement.
Noticing the long-faced middle-aged man nervously watching Primakov, Alexei leaned closer and inquired, "Count Chekorin, I hear the Englishmen who arrived recently are here to discuss a major business deal?"
Count Chekorin was the second assistant to Russia's Foreign Minister, currently in charge of hosting Lord Grenville.
He had also drunk a considerable amount that day, and his attention was primarily on the bet. He nodded almost instinctively. "Ah, yes, they said they want to increase trade volume, and I believe Crimea was mentioned for development."
"That's certainly good news," Alexei remarked, pursing his lips. "But if they're being so generous, they must have made quite a few demands, wouldn't you say?"
"What else would the British want? It's always about us raising tariffs on French goods or reducing trade with France..."
Count Chekorin paused, abruptly startled by his own words, and looked at Alexei. "Why are you suddenly asking about this?"
The latter thought, 'Of course, the French ambassador to Russia asked me to help gather information.'
Ever since Lord Grenville disembarked in Riga, the French ambassador had been on high alert, diligently seeking to uncover the British's objectives. However, his efforts had yielded little, forcing him to ultimately follow the Crown Prince's original instructions: to seek out Count Bobrinsky whenever faced with difficulties.
Alexei quickly replied, "As a businessman, I must understand the direction of international trade as much as possible. That's how I make money, isn't it?"
Just as he was speaking, the black bear squeezed onto the balcony, attempting to dance with Primakov. Startled, Primakov immediately missed his footing and tumbled outwards. "Ah—"
Fortunately, servants had spread straw beneath the balcony, sparing him from a fatal fall.
Seeing this, Alexei feigned anger. "Hey! That idiotic bear shouldn't have been allowed to drink so much!"
He gestured for a retainer to hand the money bag containing 300 rubles to Count Chekorin. The latter's face immediately lit up. "Ah! Thank you for your generosity. It truly is a clever animal, haha."
As he pocketed the money bag, feeling indebted, he leaned into Alexei's ear again. "Count Bobrinsky, you should prepare in advance then, perhaps try the Baltic Sea route."
"What do you mean?"
"His Imperial Majesty seems very interested in the British proposal." The Foreign Minister's assistant lowered his voice even further. "Furthermore, Her Majesty has already sent someone to Iasi to summon Prince Potemkin back to Petersburg to discuss the matter."
Alexei quickly adopted a grateful expression. "You've helped me immensely. It seems I truly must dispatch some ships to the Baltic Sea."
Potemkin was Russia's de facto "Prime Minister," currently engaged in developing newly conquered territories in Moldavia, specifically eastern Romania. The Tsar's urgency in recalling him suggested that the British had truly swayed her.
Moreover, Potemkin leaned pro-British in the political spectrum and was unlikely to refuse the British's olive branch.
The next day, Alexei went to find his elder brother, Crown Prince Paul, subtly probing him for the purpose of the British visit.
Unfortunately, Paul himself hadn't entered Russia's core political circles—Empress Catherine II disliked him. Thus, Alexei gained even less information from him than he had at the party.
Soon after, the French ambassador to Russia transcribed the intelligence Alexei had given him into a coded letter and dispatched it to Paris with the utmost speed.
...
The northern shore of the Black Sea.
Across the Yedisan Steppe, over a hundred elite Russian cavalrymen guarded a gilded carriage, galloping northwards.
Inside the carriage, Potemkin leaned weakly against the seat, his sole remaining right eye fixed on the Tsar's secretary opposite him. "Baron Khrapovitsky, there's no one else here. Please, tell me the truth: what exactly do the British want?"
"Her Majesty would never make me abandon my duties in Iasi and return for some 'new trade agreement.' Unless... she misses me."
As one of Empress Catherine II's long-standing favorites, his increasingly poor health made it difficult for him to win the Empress's favor any longer.
Especially after a bout of overeating earlier in the year, against his doctor's strict warnings, a digestive system ailment had completely debilitated him.
Yet he still fantasized about once again accompanying the Tsar by her bedside, just as he had over a decade ago.
"Cough..." Khrapovitsky gave a slightly awkward cough, then continued, "In fact, Britain genuinely seeks extensive trade cooperation with us. However, I heard they likely brought up Poland."
"Poland?" Potemkin narrowed his single eye, then shook his head. "But Poland currently has no opportunities whatsoever. It would be difficult for us to handle Poland alone, especially since we must constantly keep an eye on the Ottoman Empire and Persia."
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