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renovated to house the
    household of the Prince and Princess, and would soon play host for the first time to its young master and
    mistress. But the seat of government still rested within the red brick walls of St. James, where the
    martyred Charles I had spent his last night on earth. His son had defiantly vowed that the Stuarts would
    reign there for ever after, and from that day to this the Stuart line had boldly held court within those same
    red walls.
    Today the whole kingdom was Henry's guest. Pavilions had been set up on the grounds, dispensing wine
    and roast meat to all who cared to partake, as well as paper favors printed with the likenesses of the
    Prince and Princess. Dancing floors had been laid among the trees, and musicians played for all who
    cared to dance.
    Within the Palace itself, the King hosted such important men as the Earl of Malhythe, Baron Grenville,
    and the Lords-Lieutenant of both New Albion and Ireland, all of whom had come to witness the treaty.
    Even Prince Frederick was here, to grudgingly witness his sister's wedding, and to sign the Danish Treaty
    into existence.
    The Duke of Wessex moved about the edges of the gathering like the wraith at the feast. He had
    escorted Sarah here, but for the moment she was attending the Princess, and his place was here, seeking
    out information.
    But what information? Somewhere in London a French spymaster met with his English agent: was it here?
    Wessex gazed at a party of Albionese lords: Jefferson, Jackson, Burr. His general briefing on the
    Albionese political situation had only touched on the high points of the web of New World politics, but he
    did recognize the three men before him—each of whom, in his way, was important in New Albion
    political life.
    Thomas Jefferson, Earl of Monticello and Lord-Lieutenant of New Albion, looked calm and even
    content: he ruled Britain's presence in the New World with an Augustinian detachment, presiding over the
    turbulent New Albion Parliament which met in Philadelphia, the colonial capital, a location
    equally-inconvenient to all the delegates.
    Burr and Jackson were another matter, a badger and a fox each intent upon an independent New World
    kingdom, each for his own purposes. Jackson had spoken openly of clearing the Indians from the land to
    make way for British colonists, though he had not received much support for the notion. Burr was more
    subtle. He spoke beguilingly of the vast mineral wealth of the New World that lay fallow for men of vision
    to harvest. The lure of gold was powerful, and Burr was a persuasive man. If he managed to raise enough
    support among the New Albion lords, and somehow raise an army…
    If only , Wessex thought wistfully, it were as simple as shooting him . But political murder created more
    problems than it solved. Better to watch enemies you knew than destroy them and face trouble from an
    unknown enemy.
    He accepted a glass of wine from a server, moving on through the press of celebrants—each intent more
    upon his own interest than upon the wedding celebrated here today—until he had reached Lord
    Malhythe.
    Colworth Rudwell, the Earl of Malhythe, was in some sense a colleague of Lord Misborne, though they
    were masters of separate fiefs in Britain's intelligence community. He was a conscious epigone, even in
    the 19th century preferring the powdered wig and ruffles of an earlier age. Like Wessex, the late Charles
    James Fox, and half the peers of England, Malhythe could trace his lineage back to Good King Charles.
    He was attached to the Horse Guards in some inexplicit fashion, coordinating the reports from the
    Army's Exploring Officers and sharing the information where needed. Malhythe and Misbourne had
    clashed several times in jurisdictional disputes as military and political intelligence fought for ascendancy.
    "My lord Earl." Wessex bowed. "A great day for England, is it not?"
    "A better day when the Heir is born. Then His Highness can extinguish himself upon the