The Shadow of Great Britain

The study room at Kensington Palace, candlelight flickering beside the fireplace, the flames licking at the logs.

Conroy stood in the center of the room, one hand clutching the back of the armchair, the other holding a letter that had been opened and refolded.

The edges of the paper were slightly crumpled, as if it had been forcefully crumpled.

He had read this letter three times.

Every word, every sentence, every paragraph conveyed a sense of calm and decisiveness. No matter how he analyzed it, he couldn’t find any hint of concession in this letter.

The familiar handwriting on the letter was evidently Leisen’s, but the signature was unmistakably—Alexandrina Victoria.

Conroy could feel the blood in his knuckles slightly throbbing, as if it were about to break through the veins with his next breath.

”Refusal.” He slowly uttered the word, his voice devoid of any fluctuation: ”Refusal...”

The servant standing by the fireplace dared not speak, bowed his head, and quietly retreated.

Conroy turned around, slowly pacing to the floor-to-ceiling window.

The garden outside was swallowed by the night, the birds in the distant shrubs startled for some reason, flitting past the branches.

His figure reflected on the glass window, merging with the darkness outside.

Conroy considered himself never one to give up easily, never!

Eighteen years, eighteen years!

He had given everything for this system, for this family, for this regency career he deemed unfinished.

He accompanied the Duchess of Kent through years of widowhood and marginalization, managing the household with one hand and maintaining political connections with the other.

He always thought that as long as he persevered to the end, the princess living in the greenhouse would eventually understand gratitude.

But now?

This child, this child he had raised with his own hands, dared to refuse him all with the tone of a future queen!

This ungrateful ingrate, she hasn’t even ascended the throne yet, and she dares to treat him like a lowly servant. If she really ascends the throne...

Conroy clenched his fists; he neither roared nor lost his temper.

He merely reached out and threw the letter into the fire, slumping onto the sofa behind him.

In an instant, countless dreadful thoughts arose in his mind, including the idea of revealing the mystery of his wife Elizabeth Conroy’s parentage.

He slowly lifted his head, gazing at the portrait above the fireplace, a faded reproduction depicting Windsor Garden during George III’s reign. There was no princess, no queen in the garden, only symmetrical avenues and marble statues.

Conroy stared at that statue for a long time, a strange light suddenly appearing in his eyes.

”They have all forgotten her name...” Conroy murmured softly: ”But I haven’t.”

He stood up, walked to the desk, and took out a moldy long box from the bottom drawer.

It was a letter from many years ago, the paper yellowed, the ink blurred to indistinct edges.

”When I was young, I used to wonder...” Conroy muttered to himself, as if confessing to the air: ”Why Elizabeth seldom spoke of her mother, why her father, my late father-in-law Benjamin Fisher, was merely an Irish lower-ranking officer, yet was able to rise all the way to become a general, and even had enough funds to send her into high society...”

Conroy caressed the yellowed letter, muttering: ”My dear Elizabeth, you were born during your father’s service in Canada. Was General Benjamin Fisher truly your father? Or do you actually know that your biological father was someone else... Who is he? You know, don’t you, Elizabeth? You just pretend not to know, for old Benjamin was indeed an excellent father and well worth your respect... But... you should have been a daughter of the Royal Family... Just like Victoria, that girl who can hardly tell the importance of things, you are both daughters of the Duke of Kent!”

Conroy found himself momentarily lost: ”If not, then why, after marrying you, was I immediately chosen by him to be his Deputy Chief of Staff, and then appointed as the manager of Kensington Palace?”

At this thought, Conroy couldn’t help but harbor malicious thoughts, sitting quietly on the sofa watching the fire devour the letter until the last bits of ash rolled down.

But finally, the remaining reason extinguished the self-destructive plan that had formed in his mind.

From a family perspective, exposing Elizabeth’s dubious lineage would only cause her distress, for even if Elizabeth wasn’t General Fisher’s daughter, it wouldn’t alter the genuine father-daughter bond between Elizabeth and General Fisher.

From a practical standpoint, exposing a royal scandal at this moment, though affecting Victoria’s succession, was not what Conroy wanted to see.

After all, his current desire was to secure a respectable position and a generous pension after Victoria’s ascension. And exposing this matter, although it would undermine Victoria’s reputation, would still find it challenging to shake her place in the line of succession. Even if, by the remotest chance, Victoria couldn’t succeed and the Duke of Cumberland ascended, Conroy still wouldn’t achieve what he wanted.

Moreover, speaking ill of the Duke of Kent would greatly affect the Duchess of Kent’s perception of him, causing the departure of the last ally fully supporting him.