The boy followed the prince. First, they had to leave the hall. Walking down a wide corridor in the same luxurious Gothic style, the prince led Richie into a small hall—though that depended on what one compared it to. It was about ten meters long and six meters wide: quite large for an ordinary cottage, but, compared to the palace, it was merely a model of modesty.
There were many children in the room, ranging in age from four to fourteen. Not nearly as many as the adults in the ballroom—only about thirty—but they made so much noise that they could easily drown out all the conversations of the men and women in the grand hall.
Five teenagers, around twelve to fourteen years old, kept to themselves as a separate group, carefully ignoring the little ones. The children Richie's age tended to stick with their peers.
Four women in strict dark dresses—apparently nannies—kept a watchful eye on the children. In addition to them, several waiters were setting a large table, and a pair of entertainers were present: a young blonde girl in a bright dress embroidered with flowers, and a man in a dark suit.
The children clustered around the entertainers. Apparently, something interesting was happening there. Only the older children refrained from taking part in the contests; the rest eagerly raised their hands and shouted answers in response to the girl in the flowered dress.
Surprisingly, all the children were dressed in whatever they pleased. Only Richie stood out in his tailcoat, while two other boys his age wore black suits: one, a slightly chubby brown eyed brunette with plump cheeks, and the other, a fair haired, blue eyed lad.
A four-year-old boy with wheat-colored hair, dressed in a white sailor suit, suddenly broke away from the crowd and ran up to Prince Charles. He exclaimed joyfully,
"Dad! We're playing riddles here. I guessed one!"
Prince Charles smiled warmly at his son and said,
"Well done, Henry."
Another boy, about seven years old—the same fair haired one in the suit—separated himself from the group and also approached Prince Charles.
"Dad, are we going to be here much longer?" he asked.
"Much longer, son," Prince Charles replied. "Bill, meet—" he gestured toward Richard, "—this is Richie, the son of my friend Gerald Grosvenor. Richie, these are my children," he continued, indicating the seven-year-old, "William," and then the smaller boy, "and Henry."
"Nice to meet you," Richie said, putting on the most charming smile he could muster. He shook Henry's hand first, then William's.
In truth, the transmigrator was in shock over whom he was speaking with. These little boys were the elite of Great Britain—princes. William was second in line to the throne, Henry was third, and Charles himself was first.
"Well, children, I'll leave you," Prince Charles said warmly. "Have fun, and don't forget to behave yourselves."
With that, Prince Charles left the children's room.
William proved to be a cheerful, energetic child. He grabbed Richie by the hand and dragged him along.
"Come on, Richie. I'll introduce you to a friend."
"Okay, Bill."
William led Richard to an eight-year-old brown-haired boy in a suit and immediately said,
"Look, Jas, this is Richie. Richie, this is Justin."
"Nice to meet you," Richard said.
It wasn't easy for the transmigrator to communicate with children, but he clearly understood that there were no ordinary kids here. For now they were children, but in a little while they would become princes, dukes, and lords—in short, the elite. It was far better to be on friendly terms with such people from childhood. That was why Richard diligently pretended to be an eight-year-old boy and, unlike his interactions with classmates at school, tried to speak with them as an equal and genuinely befriend them. Yes, there was self-interest involved, but a boy with the mind of an adult could hardly act otherwise.
Justin, unlike the active and sociable William, turned out to be shy.
"Hi," he muttered quietly.
Richie recalled his father mentioning a lord's son who was supposed to attend the event, so he asked,
"Guys, do you know Finch-Fletchley?"
"Um…" Justin became even more embarrassed and murmured, "That's my last name. Why?"
"Oh!" Richard exclaimed happily. "My father said your dad is in his hunting club. He mentioned that you'd be here, and I wanted to be friends with you."
"Um…" Justin hesitated. "You want to be friends with me?"
"Yeah," Richard nodded seriously. "And I want to be friends with you too, Bill."
"Great!" William exclaimed, delighted. "Let's go to my room, and I'll show you my toys…"
Richard had expected different behavior from children of the elite—more maturity, more restraint. In his previous life, having been an ordinary person with no contact with high society, he imagined aristocratic children as being constantly supervised by tutors, drilled relentlessly, smarter and more sensible than their peers. His predecessor's life before the transmigration had only reinforced that impression.
But it turned out they were no different from ordinary kids their age.
But in fact, this was a good thing, and it pleased the transmigrator.
Everything was so simple with children. You said you wanted to be friends, and a minute later you already were. On the one hand, the value of such friendships seemed negligible. On the other, as people grew older, they remembered their childhood friends and subconsciously treated them more warmly. And often, those early bonds grew into genuine, strong male friendships.
For the sake of such bonds, Richie was even willing to sincerely pretend to be a child—to look at toys, play games, and do other lighthearted things.