Life of Being a Crown Prince in France-Chapter 646 - 555: The Irresistible Temptation

Chapter 646: Chapter 555: The Irresistible Temptation

Saint Petersburg.

In the midst of Neva Street, the laughter and somewhat boisterous music inside Anichkov Palace disrupted the tranquil twilight.

Alexei raised his glass to the young noble who was standing on the balcony railing, shouting loudly, “Jump already! I bet 100 rubles he can make it through the piece. Does anyone dare to bet against me?”

A slightly plump noble leaned over and whispered, “Count Bobrinsky, Primakov has already drunk a whole bottle; he’s going to fall…”

“No, you haven’t seen his capacity for liquor,” Alexei said as he patted the black bear next to him that was holding a mug with its paws and guzzling voraciously, “Ivan, Sergei has never gotten drunk, right?”

The bear nodded quite humanely before discarding the mug, turning round to push the pianist aside, and clumsily climbed onto a chair. It raised its bear paws to strike the piano keys, producing a chaotic noise.

...

“Sergei, Ivan is urging you on, dance already!!”

Alexei drained the liquor from his glass, his eyes flicking to the long-faced middle-aged man beside him, and casually tilted his head saying, “I bet 200 rubles Primakov won’t fall.”

Now, via the earnings of the Gemini Trading Company, he had achieved financial freedom and had become one of the leading businessmen of Saint Petersburg; 200 rubles was a trivial amount to him.

“300 rubles! Who will bet against me?” he continued to up the stakes.

The long-faced middle-aged man seemed to be infected by his madness, also gulping down the liquor in his cup. He turned to look at the young man tottering on the balcony railing and accepted loudly,

“Alright, I’ll take your bet for 300 rubles that he will fall!”

Alexei was delighted: “Excellent, let’s start, Sergei! Where’s the music?”

The musician, seeing his piano occupied by Alexei’s pet bear, helplessly picked up a violin and hurried to the balcony to begin playing.

Primakov followed the music, singing loudly, while dancing on the handrail that was no wider than a palm.

Although it was the third floor, he showed no fear; perhaps the alcohol made him forget to be scared. He staggered a few times but miraculously regained his balance and continued flailing his limbs.

The nobles in the room all gathered around, cheering and egging him on, occasionally passing filled glasses to him as encouragement.

Seeing the long-faced middle-aged man watching Primakov nervously, Alexei approached and said, “Count Chikolin, I’ve heard that the British man who recently arrived is here to discuss a big deal?”

Count Chikolin was the second assistant to Russia’s Foreign Minister, presently in charge of receiving Lord Grenville.

He had drunk quite a bit that day and was mostly preoccupied with the bet. He nodded subconsciously, “Ah, right. They’re talking about increasing trade volume and mentioned something about developing Crimea.”

“That does sound promising,” Alexei smirked, “But they must have offered quite a few conditions to be so generous, right?”

“What else could the British be concerned with? It’s always about raising tariffs on French goods, or reducing trade with France…”

As Count Chikolin spoke, he suddenly paused, looking at Alexei asking, “Why do you suddenly ask these things?”

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The latter thought to himself it was, of course, because the French Ambassador to Russia had asked him to help gather information.

Since Lord Grenville landed in Riga, the French Ambassador to Russia had been on high alert, trying to ascertain the British’s intentions. However, his efforts yielded little, and in the end, he had to follow the Crown Prince’s original instructions to seek out Count Bobrinsky when faced with difficulties.

Alexei busily said, “As a businessman, I must understand as much as possible the direction of trade between nations, so I can make money, right?”

As he was speaking, the black bear squeezed onto the balcony, attempting to dance with Primakov, who was taken by surprise and stumbled backwards, flipping over with an “Ah—”

Fortunately, servants had laid straw beneath the balcony, which saved him from a deadly fall.

Upon seeing this, Alexei pretended to be angry and said, “This stupid bear shouldn’t have been allowed to drink so much!”

He signaled his attendant to hand over a purse containing 300 rubles to Count Chikolin, who immediately brightened with a smile, “Thank you for your generosity. It truly is a clever animal, haha.”

After pocketing the purse, feeling obligated, he then whispered into Alexei’s ear, “Count Chikolin, you may want to start making preparations, such as trying out the Baltic Sea shipping routes.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems His Majesty the Tsar is rather interested in the English proposal,” the assistant to the Foreign Minister spoke even more softly, “and he has already sent for Prince Potemkin to return from Iasi to Saint Petersburg to discuss the matter.”

Alexei quickly adopted an appreciative expression and said, “You’ve been a great help to me; it seems I really need to allocate some ships to the Baltic Sea.”

Prince Potemkin was effectively Russia’s “Chancellor,” currently engaged in constructing newly acquired territories in Moldavia, that is, eastern Romania. The Tsar summoning him back in such a hurry signified that the British had truly impressed her.

And, since Potemkin’s political allegiances leaned toward being pro-British, he would most likely not reject the olive branch extended by the British.

The next day, Alexei went to see his brother, Crown Prince Paul, and indirectly inquired about the purpose of the British’s visit.

However, the latter also had not penetrated the core of Russian politics—Catherine II did not favor him. So, the information Alexei got from him was even less than what he gathered from the party.

Soon, the French Ambassador to Russia turned the intelligence from Alexei into a coded message and dispatched a messenger to deliver it to Paris with the utmost speed.

…

On the northern coast of the Black Sea.

Above the Eju Grassland, over a hundred elite Russian cavalrymen escorted a glittering carriage, racing northward.

In the carriage, Potemkin weakly reclined in his seat, using his remaining right eye to look at the Tsar’s Secretary opposite him, “Baron Herabovitsky, there are no outsiders here, please tell me the truth, what exactly do the British want?

“His Majesty would never recall me from Iasi for some ‘new trade agreement.’ Unless… she misses me.”

As one of Catherine II’s many lovers and the “evergreen ivy,” he found it increasingly difficult to receive the Empress’s favor due to his worsening health.

Especially since he disregarded the doctor’s advice and indulged in a bout of gluttony at the beginning of the year, which had completely devastated his digestive system.

But he continuously fantasized about returning to the Tsar’s bedside, just like he had more than a decade ago.

“Cough…” Herabovitsky coughed awkwardly and then said, “The truth is, England does indeed intend to engage in many trade relations with us, but from what I’ve heard, they seem to have mentioned Poland.”

“Poland?” Potemkin narrowed his single eye, then shook his head, “But there are no opportunities in Poland at the moment. It would be difficult for us to take on Poland alone, after all, we must always keep an eye on the Ottoman Empire and Persia.”