Chapter 13: The Concert and the Noble Struggles (rewrited)

June 2nd marked the grand beginning of the "Golden Jubilee Celebrations", honoring the Queen's 50-year reign. A significant occasion. A monumental event. A perfect excuse for the British public to party like they'd never partied before.

Barron stepped outside his apartment and was immediately greeted by an enthusiastic London dressed in red, white, and blue. The British, normally the picture of restraint, had transformed into a wild, flag-waving, tea-drinking, overly polite yet strangely aggressive carnival.

Everywhere he turned, people were hosting street parties, awkwardly dancing in public, and drinking like they were preparing for another round of Viking invasions. Shops even decided to sell products at 1952 prices, which sounded like an excellent idea until the first shopkeeper realized selling a loaf of bread for 3 pence wasn't financially sustainable.

Ah, British traditions. A delicate balance between deep reverence and absolute madness.

Today, Barron had to attend a thank-you event hosted by the royal family, followed by an outdoor classical music concert near Buckingham Palace.

Now, normally, Barron would have been mildly excited about a social gathering like this—after all, where else could he exchange forced pleasantries with people he barely remembered? However, after his meeting with the Queen the day before, he had completely abandoned any hope that the royal family would offer help with his financial woes.

Still, as the soon-to-be Duke of Devonshire, showing his face at these events was a necessity. And besides, the concert promised to feature some of the most famous musicians from around the world. Worst case? He could at least pretend to be cultured while secretly judging everyone's choice of opera attire.

Of course, Barron's predecessor—the original second son of the Duke—hadn't exactly been the most politically savvy noble. He hadn't been groomed for power like his older brother, and his main achievements in high society consisted of noting which ladies were particularly attractive and which ones might be willing to run off for a scandalous summer fling.

Unfortunately, this meant Barron now had to endure the painful process of pretending to recognize important people and their families.

Ah yes, Lord… something. From the House of… probably England.

His saving grace? Since reincarnating into this body, he had developed a much sharper memory and quick-thinking ability, which meant that instead of panicking, he could now recall people's names, titles, and financial standings with terrifying precision.

As Barron entered the event, he was immediately greeted by a middle-aged man with the confident stride of someone who either had an amazing business proposal or was about to ask for money.

"Lord Barron, what a pleasure! I'm Ian Bute, Viscount of Bute, and this is my wife, Chris."

Barron smiled politely and shook his hand. The man had the look of a seasoned businessman—well-dressed, well-spoken, and probably very good at pretending to care about Barron's grief.

"I was deeply saddened to hear about your father's passing," Viscount Bute said with a dramatic sigh that suggested he'd practiced in front of a mirror.

Barron raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Did you know my father well?"

"Absolutely. We discussed a business partnership about the redevelopment of the Victoria Gas Tank in King's Cross, London."

Ah. There it was. The real reason for this heartfelt reunion.

The name sounded familiar—one of the many properties listed in the Devonshire family's extensive asset catalog. But considering the family's current financial crisis, the last thing Barron needed was another ambitious renovation project.

Seeing Barron's hesitation, the Viscount wasted no time in shifting gears. "Actually, Lord Barron, I have a better proposal. Instead of redeveloping the land together, I could just buy it from you outright. This would provide you with immediate funds—which, I imagine, could be rather useful at the moment…"

Ah yes, the "I'm helping you by taking your valuable assets off your hands" strategy. Classic.

Barron took the business card the Viscount handed him, smiling as if he were genuinely considering the offer. "I appreciate the proposal. I'll be in touch."

Which, translated from noble-speak, meant: I will pretend to think about this while frantically looking for better options.

After escaping the Viscount's sales pitch, Barron soon found himself face-to-face with the Prince of Wales and his two sons, Prince William and Prince Harry.

The Prince of Wales greeted him enthusiastically, and before Barron knew it, he was being introduced to the two young princes.

Prince William—two years younger than Barron—was currently studying at the University of St. Andrews, which meant that Barron had at least one thing he could make small talk about: university coursework and how to survive it without developing a caffeine addiction.

Meanwhile, Prince Harry—who was still in high school—looked slightly shy but had the unmistakable energy of someone who, in a few years, would make headlines for all the wrong reasons.

They exchanged pleasantries, smiled for some photographs, and then mercifully, it was time to move to the outdoor concert area.

The event was spectacular.

18 members of the royal family, countless nobles, celebrities, and an audience of 12,000 people gathered to watch an incredibly expensive classical music concert.

From what Barron had heard, this event had taken two years to prepare, cost a small fortune, and brought together some of the biggest names in the music industry.

Even beyond the palace grounds, over 40,000 people had gathered to watch the concert on giant outdoor screens.

The atmosphere was grand. The music was beautiful. The entire setting screamed refinement and class.

And then there was the Duke's daughter sitting next to Barron.

A young noblewoman, incredibly eager and painfully persistent, who had somehow convinced herself that Barron was the perfect candidate for her next great romantic adventure.

Every few minutes, she would lean in and whisper yet another invitation:

"Lord Barron, you must come to our private gathering later—just a small, exclusive event!"

"Lord Barron, we're organizing a weekend trip to the countryside—oh, you'd love it!"

"Lord Barron, you simply must join us at the club next Friday! The finest company will be there!"

By the third invitation, Barron was certain that if he so much as blinked in agreement, he would wake up engaged to her by morning.

Note to self: Avoid eye contact. It only encourages them.

And so, as the orchestra played on and the celebration continued, Barron sat back, sipped his drink, and came to one conclusion:

Being a noble in financial ruin was hard.

Being a noble in financial ruin while dodging ambitious socialites? Even harder.{ Patreon has early release chapters as well as extra Art }

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