The passing of a beloved friend was hard no matter who it was, but Aurore felt different when it came to Anthony. In so many ways the entire row of the business district felt so very empty without him, but that did not keep the whispers from coming. Like sharks to blood in the water, The Dwyer Trading Company was to be picked apart until it was just bones. 

Aurore prayed the heir would be enough, but many times before she witnessed so many sons fail. England may still have a crown but here on these waters against that horizon there was no rules or regulations to protect a man’s (or woman’s) hold in the market. 

De Costentin & Company wasn’t built on a foundation of what one would consider proper, but the hidden missives and double meaning of little symbols in her ledger spoke of a language older than the one they spoke. It was a code long lost from a war fought in the shadows. 

Large windows of a bohemian import cast eerie vine-like shadows across the stones of the streets but the designer swore that it was the latest fashion and eventually everyone would be building in the new art style. Frankly, she was far too practical for something so elaborate and the whole thing reminded her far too much of Prague. 

Behind her large desk a manifest was being combed over, as well the list of the women she wanted to invite to tea, and if one were to truly look…her guilty pleasure was there as well, the latest issue of Vogue. Paris’ obsession with the peacock jewel tones certainly wouldn’t end anytime soon; but she was here for it. 

Fintan would just have to turn his eye to the latest diamond to grace her wrist. 

“Madame,” her secretary began, “A Mr. Dwyer is here to see you.” 

Aurore closed the magazine inside the manifest and stood so that she could great her guest. She was nobility now by title only, but old habits died hard. She would expect him to show his respect.