CHAPTER 197: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND NINETY SEVEN

In a private room of a respectable city tea shop, the air was thick with the scent of brewed Earl Grey. Sunlight struggled to pierce the heavy velvet curtains, leaving the room in a state of perpetual, serious twilight. Here, insulated from the noise of the street, Baroness Augusta held court. Seated at a round table with three of Ellington Textiles’ most senior advisors, she projected an image of dignified sorrow.

The advisors were older men, their faces etched with the seriousness of their positions. They listened intently, their teacups untouched on their saucers. Anne sat beside Augusta, a pale and silent figure, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes downcast. She was the perfect portrait of a devoted daughter.

Augusta placed her hands on the table, her fingers laced together. She looked at each man in turn, her gaze direct and full of a carefully practiced sincerity. "What does family mean?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying a weight that commanded the room.

The advisors exchanged brief, uncertain glances.

Augusta did not wait for an answer. "It means to help each other out in times of hardship," she answered herself, her voice trembling just slightly. "To protect what you have built together. My husband, as you all know, grew this establishment that his dear father started. He poured his life, his very soul, into these textiles." She paused, placing a hand over her heart.

She turned her head to look at Anne, a sad smile on her face. "And now, Anne and I are trying to protect it. We are trying to hold the family together."

Anne offered the advisors a weak, fleeting smile before looking down at her hands again, playing her part perfectly.

Augusta turned back to the advisors, her expression shifting to one of profound pain. "I can’t say I’ve been a perfect mother," she confessed, her voice cracking. "I have made my mistakes. But how... how could my other daughter, Delia, do this to us?" She shook her head slowly, as if in disbelief. "By disrupting the loan process, she puts the entire company at risk. She jeopardizes the livelihoods of hundreds of workers. How could she do this to her family who raised her, who gave her everything?"

One of the advisors cleared his throat. "A terrible business, Baroness. Truly terrible."

Augusta let out a long, weary sigh, the sound of a woman carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. "All I want is just one thing," she said, her voice now soft and weary. "When my dear husband... when Anne’s father... is well again and returns to us, I want to show him that the establishment he worked so hard on is in good hands. That we all did not let it fall apart in its time of greatest need."

The advisors nodded their heads in unison, their expressions a mixture of sympathy and resolve. Augusta had played her part flawlessly. She had their complete support.

Meanwhile, in another tea shop across town, the atmosphere was entirely different. This one was bright and airy, filled with the cheerful chatter of patrons and the light clinking of spoons against porcelain. Sunlight streamed through the large, clean windows. Here, Amber and Delia sat at a small table, a pot of jasmine tea between them.

"Baroness Augusta and Anne are poking around everywhere," Amber said, her voice low and serious as she took a delicate sip of her tea. "Aiden’s sources say they have met with at least five different advisors in the last two days."

Delia sighed, stirring her own tea though she had no intention of drinking it. "The advisors are responding too. They see her as the Baron’s wife, speaking on his behalf." She looked at Amber, her expression troubled. "That is why she and Anne have been granting audiences to pamphleteers. They are building a public story of a family in crisis, with Augusta as the hero."

Amber nodded her head, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "She is a better actress than anyone on the Albion stage." She set her cup down. "Did you look over the list Aiden gave you? The one with all the advisors and investors?"

"Yes," Delia replied, her focus sharpening. "I even brought it with me." She reached for her reticule, a small, elegant handbag, and opened the clasp. She pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. She unfolded it on the table between them, smoothing out the creases. It was a long list of names, each followed by a percentage.

"I saw something when I was reading it this morning," Delia said, her finger moving down the columns. "Something strange." She stopped her finger near the top of the second column. "There’s someone who invested in the establishment, and their share is bigger than every other advisor. After my grandfather’s and my father’s original shares, theirs is the next largest."

She pointed to the number on the paper to show Amber. "Look. It’s 9.9%."

Amber leaned in, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "Nine-point-nine," she repeated thoughtfully. "That’s a deliberate number. Anyone who owns 10% or more must have their name made public in the company’s annual report. I believe they purposely bought it just below the threshold to not have their identity be public knowledge."

"Exactly," Delia agreed. This single shareholder held almost as much power as the entire council of advisors combined, yet they remained a complete secret.

"Did you check the name?" Amber asked, her voice urgent. "Is it someone you know? A rival family? A foreign investor?"

Delia’s eyes scanned the line. The name looked oddly suspicious, not like any noble family name she recognized. "No," she replied, shaking her head. "I haven’t heard a name like this before. It doesn’t sound familiar too."

Amber leaned back, a grim, determined look on her face. The seriousness of their situation was becoming clearer by the second.

"We will have to find where that person lives," Amber said, her voice firm. "It might be best to go and meet them personally. We must bring them to your side before that woman gets to them first." She tapped a finger on the table for emphasis. "Baroness Augusta is using the fact that she’s representing your father to get the advisors to delegate their votes to her. If she finds out about this person and convinces them to do the same, you will lose any chance you have of stopping her. It will be over."

As Amber was talking, laying out the reality of their fight, Delia’s eyes had not left the paper. She wasn’t just looking at the name now; she was looking at the address written beside it in Aiden’s neat script. It wasn’t an estate or a city residence. It was something else. Her finger traced the words as she read them aloud in a soft, stunned murmur.

"Lord Carlisle Austen. From the Gilded Cage."