Adrian
The bells of St. Andrew's rang until their stones shook, their jubilant toll echoing through every alley and square. The results had been read aloud from the council steps — Adrian Vale, the new Lord Mayor of New Albion. The cheers had been thunderous, swelling like a tide of hope that seemed to wash over the whole city.
Adrian stood before the crowd, hands lifted not in conquest but in gratitude. His voice carried across the square, steady though thick with emotion.
"My friends," he began, "this victory is not mine alone. It belongs to every worker who rose before dawn, every mother who sent her child to school with faith that tomorrow might be brighter, every soul who believes that truth, not deceit, should guide our city. You have entrusted me with more than office — you have entrusted me with your hopes. I vow not to squander them."
Applause thundered, hats thrown skyward, banners waving high. He bowed his head slightly, humbled by the sight, then withdrew into the cool shadow of the council hall where his closest allies waited. Lord Gillingham, frail but smiling, clasped his hand. "You've earned it, Adrian. See that you keep it."
Emily and Charlotte lingered behind, the two women radiant in their own way —Emily's laughter quick and sparkling, Charlotte's composure sharp and assured. When the hall had emptied of the well-wishers, Adrian turned to them, a rare softness in his eyes.
"I owe you both more than I can ever repay," he said, his voice quiet. "It was your courage, your words, that cut through lies when I could not. You carried my honor when it was most endangered. Whatever history remembers of me, let it also remember you."
Charlotte smiled, bowing her head with grace. "We only gave truth a voice, Mr. Vale. It was you who made the people want to listen."
Adrian's heart tightened. He had grown accustomed to her clarity, her brilliance — an ally who was never dazzled by the surface of things, who demanded substance. Yet before he could frame the thought, Emily touched his arm and drew him aside.
Her eyes, usually bright with mischief, were tender now. "Adrian," she whispered, "you know I adore you. You are my brother in all but blood. But don't be blind."
"Blind?" he echoed, puzzled.
She leaned closer, her words meant for him alone. "Charlotte. She is your equal— in mind, in courage, in fire. You've both spoken of a city without walls of class, without the arrogance of birth. Don't you see? You've already begun building it together. Evelyn loved you for your ambition. Charlotte loves you for your strength. And you… you will need her."
For a moment, Adrian could not speak. The weight of her candor settled in him like a stone dropped into a still pond. He looked over to where Charlotte stood, speaking animatedly with Gillingham, her posture alive with conviction. She seemed a force unto herself, yet one he was drawn toward by invisible threads.
He turned back to Emily, his throat tight. "You would bless this?"
Emily's smile was small but sincere. "I would. Evelyn would, too. And perhaps in that blessing, we can all begin again."
Outside, the cheers had not faded. They were calling his name, yes — but Adrian knew, in that instant, that the future being written was larger than him. It would be written with allies, with vision, with love reborn in new form. And for the first time in months, he allowed himself to believe in tomorrow.
Charlotte
Charlotte Wilson had long made a study of people —their words, their silences, the way they shifted when pressed. To her, New Albion was a theatre of masks, and she enjoyed nothing more than glimpsing the truths behind them.
She had noticed Adrian Vale months before she ever spoke with Emily Hartwell. It was not during one of his speeches, though she later admired those; nor was it at one of the endless political salons, where men puffed out their chests and declared visions they scarcely believed in themselves. No —she first marked him on a frost covered morning outside the factory quarter, when a group of striking workers blocked the street.
Most gentlemen would have sent for constables, or at the very least driven their carriage through with disdain. Adrian had stepped down instead, walking into the press of bodies with his coat collar turned up and no sign of fear. He had spoken to them calmly, directly, listening more than lecturing. Charlotte had not caught his words from where she stood, but she saw the effect: the way hostility softened into reluctant respect, the way tempers cooled without a baton lifted. That, she thought, was rare. That was worth watching.
When she crossed paths with Emily weeks later, the latter flushed with indignation over the smears against Vale, Charlotte had already formed her opinion. Here was a man with integrity, but also a man too naïve to defend himself in the games of society. He had truth, but not yet armor. Emily, with her impulsive heart, could not have waged that battle alone. Charlotte stepped in to help — not for Emily's sake only, but because she had no wish to see New Albion handed to men like Crowne.
Her pen cut where Adrian's honor would not allow him to. She relished the elegance of dismantling Clara's fabrications with evidence, one by one, until the woman's web collapsed under its own weight. Still, Charlotte's satisfaction was tempered by unease.
Clara's vanishing unsettled her. Society laughed, chalking it up to shame, to melodrama befitting an actress who had overplayed her part. Yet Charlotte knew better. People like Clara did not slink away into the night of their own accord — not when there was still stage-light to bask in. And the timing was too precise: just when exposure left her cornered, she was suddenly gone, neatly erasing the last thread that could be tugged to unravel the greater scheme.
She had not shared this suspicion with Adrian — not yet. His triumph was too fresh, his grief for Evelyn too near the surface. He needed to believe the storm had passed. But Charlotte's instincts whispered otherwise. Crowne's hand was in this, she was certain. The man reeked of calculation, and Clara had been both useful and dangerous to him. If she had vanished, it was because he willed it.
And so Charlotte kept her watchful silence, even as she congratulated Adrian, even as she allowed Emily to nudge them toward one another with affectionate determination. She admired his steadiness, yes. But she also knew steadiness could not survive untested. And when the next storm came — as surely it would — she hoped to stand beside him, not in the shadows, but openly, as an equal.
For Adrian Vale might be the city's hope, but hope without vigilance was only a dream.
~ End of book 1~