The stationery was heavy enough to break glass. Cream-colored cardstock, edged in genuine gold leaf, bore the embossed crest of the Croft family–a lion rampant, but significantly, it was no longer alone. Under Victoria’s direction, the crest had been subtly redesigned to include a vine of ivy wrapping around the lion’s sword.
*The Christening of Hope Victoria Croft, Alistair James Croft II, and Arthur Malcolm Croft.*
*Saturday, The 25th of May. The Estate.*
These were not requests for attendance; they were summonses. The envelopes were dispatched via private courier to the monarchs of industry: the tech giants of Silicon Valley, the oil barons of Dubai, and the old-money families of the Hamptons.
“It’s too much,” William noted, watching the stack of outgoing invites. “We’re baptizing babies, Victoria, not crowning them.”
“We are doing both,” Victoria corrected, signing the final manifest. “The market needs to see stability. They need to see a line of succession. This isn’t just a party, William. It is a declaration that the anarchy of the last ten years is over. We are planting the flag.”