shadow of britain

Chapter 851 The trapped beast still fights
In the Kensington Palace study, candlelight flickered by the fireplace, flames licking the wood.

Conroy stood in the center of the room, one hand gripping the back of the armchair, the other holding the letter that had been unfolded and then folded again.

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

He has read the letter three times.

Every word, every sentence, every paragraph exudes a sense of calm and determination. No matter how he analyzed it, he couldn't find any indication of willingness to back down in this letter.

The familiar handwriting on the letter was clearly from Rezen, but the signature was clearly written as Alexandrina Victoria.

Conroy could feel the blood pulsating slightly between his knuckles, as if it would burst out of his veins with the next breath.

"Refuse." He uttered the word slowly, his voice completely flat: "Refuse..."

The servant standing by the fireplace dared not utter a sound, bowed, and quietly withdrew.

Conroy turned around and slowly walked to the French windows.

The garden outside the window had been swallowed by the night, and birds in the distant bushes were startled and flew up from the branches for some unknown reason.

His figure was reflected in the glass window, blending into the darkness outside.

Conroy considers himself a person who never gives up easily, never!

Eighteen years! Eighteen years!
He gave everything for this system, for this family, and for the regency he considered unfinished.

He accompanied the Duchess of Kent through her widowhood and marginalization, managing household affairs while maintaining political connections.

He always believed that as long as he persisted to the end, the princess who had lived in a greenhouse would eventually learn to be grateful.

But now?

This child, the child he raised with his own hands, actually dared to reject everything from him in the tone of a future queen!
This ungrateful wretch! She hasn't even ascended the throne yet, and she dares to treat him like this, like a lowly servant. If she really did ascend the throne...

Conroy clenched his fists, but he neither roared nor lost his temper.

He simply reached out, tossed the letter into the fire, and slumped onto the sofa behind him.

In an instant, countless terrible thoughts arose in his mind, including revealing the secret of his wife Elizabeth Conroy's parentage.

He slowly raised his head and looked at the portrait above the fireplace, a faded replica depicting Windsor Gardens during the reign of George III. There were no princesses or queens in the garden, only symmetrical avenues and rows of marble statues.

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

“They’ve all forgotten her name…” Conroy murmured, “but I haven’t.”

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

It was a letter from many years ago; the paper had long since yellowed, and the ink had blurred the edges.

“When I was young, I had my doubts…” Conroy murmured to himself, as if speaking to thin air: “Why does Elizabeth rarely talk about her mother? Why did her father, my father-in-law Benjamin Fisher, rise through the ranks to become a general, despite being just a junior Irish officer, and have enough money to send her into high society…”

Conroy fumbled with the yellowed letter, muttering to himself, "My dear Elizabeth, you were born while your father was stationed in Canada. Was General Benjamin Fisher really your father? Or did you know, in fact, that your biological father was someone else... Who was he? You know, don't you, Elizabeth? You're just pretending you don't know, after all, old Benjamin was indeed a very good father, and he was certainly worthy of your respect... But... you should have been a royal daughter... You and that yellow-haired girl Victoria, who can't tell what's important, were both daughters of the Duke of Kent!"

Conroy paused, somewhat lost in thought, and said, "If that weren't the case, why would I have been chosen by him immediately after marrying you to serve as his adjutant, and then appointed as the steward of Kensington Palace?"

Thinking of this, Conroy couldn't help but feel a wicked thought. He sat on the sofa and watched quietly as the fire consumed the letter until the last bit of white ash rolled off.

But in the end, his remaining rationality extinguished the self-destruction plan that had just formed in his mind.

From a family perspective, exposing his wife Elizabeth's questionable lineage would only hurt her, because even if Elizabeth was not General Fisher's daughter, it would not change the genuine father-daughter relationship between Elizabeth and General Fisher.

From a practical standpoint, while the royal scandal breaking at this time might affect Victoria's right to succession, it is not what Conroy wants to see.

After all, his current goal is to obtain a respectable position and a generous pension after Victoria ascends the throne. While exposing this matter will damage Victoria's reputation, it is unlikely to shake her position in the line of succession. Even if Victoria is unable to succeed to the throne and the Duke of Cumberland ascends instead, Conroy's desired things will still remain unfulfilled.

Moreover, gossiping about the Duke of Kent would greatly affect the Duchess of Kent's opinion of him, thus causing his last remaining ally to leave him.

Most importantly, Conroy currently lacks sufficient evidence to prove that his wife Elizabeth is the Duke of Kent's illegitimate daughter, and if he were to expose this rashly, he might end up getting himself into trouble.

Conroy slowly stood up. He gritted his teeth and thought for a long time before muttering to himself, "Since she won't even leave me, her brother-in-law, with the last bit of dignity... then I'll have no choice but to give her the necessary discipline."

……

It was late at night, but the Duchess of Kent's room was still lit.

She sat on the sofa, wearing a deep red velvet robe, holding an ivory snuff bottle in her hand, looking tired yet alert.

Her daughter, Victoria, had gone to bed according to her usual schedule, but the Duchess knew that the girl lying in front of her, though her eyes were closed, was actually not asleep at all, just like her mother.

Even so, she preferred to lie in bed pretending to be asleep rather than say another word to her mother.

The bedroom door was gently pushed open, and Conroy walked in.

He didn't bow, but simply stood by the door, glanced at Victoria sleeping in bed, and then beckoned to the Duchess. The Duchess understood and stood up, following Conroy out the door.

The two had barely left the room when the Duchess spoke up impatiently, "The Earl of Liverpool came to see me this evening. He said he had done everything in his power, but unfortunately, he still couldn't change Delina's mind. I heard he also brought a letter, saying it was from Delina? Could she have rejected your request in that letter?"

“It’s worse than rejection.” Conroy said, emphasizing each word: “She excluded me from the royal arrangements, refused to appoint me, refused to cooperate, and refused to be dignified.”

The Duchess's expression changed slightly, but her tone remained gentle: "But...she's already eighteen, we can't continue like we used to..."

“She still lives under this roof,” Conroy interrupted her, his tone chillingly calm. “Her possessions are not yet independent, her residence is still with you, and her servants are still under the control of Kensington Palace. She is the future queen, but not now. For now, she still lives under her mother’s protection.”

The Duchess lowered her eyes and did not respond immediately.

“Your Highness,” Conroy paced down the corridor with his hands behind his back, “you know what she’s planning. She’s distancing herself from us; she’s plotting something we can’t see with that policeman, with Arthur Hastings, and with Lyzen. She’s started to see us as enemies.”

“She’s still young,” the Duchess sighed. “She was instigated… she misunderstood our motives.”

“She didn’t misunderstand.” Conroy leaned closer to her and said, “She did it on purpose. She wants to get rid of you, Your Highness, not just me.”

The Duchess suddenly raised her head, her eyes filled with undisguised pain and panic.

“I know you’re reluctant to admit it, but you can’t let her get away with this any longer.” Conroy’s tone softened. “We can’t just stand by and watch her hand herself over to those people. We have to act; this is our last chance.”

"how do you want to do it?"

“It’s not what I want to do,” Conroy said coldly. “It’s you, Your Highness. You are her mother, so you have the right to ask her to rest on the grounds of her poor health. You can suspend her contact with the outside world, restrict Lyzen’s comings and goings, and replace the servants to ensure that her life is not disturbed by external forces.”

“Isn’t this the same as locking her up?” The Duchess of Kent seemed somewhat frightened. In Conroy’s presence, she never displayed her usual aristocratic authority, but rather resembled an ordinary German woman: “Just like with Ramsgate…”

She also remembered Ramsgate.

A year ago, Ramsgate witnessed her daughter, who was weak and had just recovered from an illness, curled up in bed.

At that time, Victoria's eyes showed not docility, nor fear, but defensiveness, hatred, and a deep-seated loathing, like the subconscious resistance of an animal cornered against a wall—a scene of a trapped beast fighting back.

At that moment, she realized for the first time that she might have truly lost her daughter's heart.

That memory was like a needle stuck in her bones. Although the Duchess often tried to forget it, and even bought Victoria many things she usually wanted afterward in an attempt to ease the tension between mother and daughter, Victoria agreed verbally, but the intimacy between mother and daughter could no longer be found in her every move.

The Duchess felt a dull ache in her breath whenever she thought about that incident before falling asleep.

She lowered her head, biting her lip, her eyes unconsciously welling up with tears: "John, I can't... I don't want to see her looking at me like that again."

“She won’t see you that way anymore.” Conroy’s voice was soft, yet carried an irresistible coldness: “She no longer sees you as her mother. She now prefers to see Lyzen as her mother, Hastings as her father and brother, and Leopold as her guide. And you, do you still expect her to come and hug you, to call you ‘Mom’?”

"When she called me 'Mom,' it never sounded natural..." the Duchess stammered, trying to explain, "There's been some misunderstanding between us..."

“Misunderstanding?” Conroy almost scoffed. “What kind of education did she receive from childhood? What kind of life did she live? Her food, clothing, daily necessities, books, teachers, and daily rituals—we put so much thought and effort into every single arrangement… How could she possibly misunderstand? Not only did she not misunderstand, she knew your love for her better than anyone else, but now she’s indifferent to it all. Your Highness, she’s punishing you.”

The Duchess's knuckles slowly turned white, and the snuff bottle slipped quietly from her palm, crashing onto the carpet with a thud.

“I know this is difficult for you, but it’s not a matter of feelings.” Conroy stepped forward, standing in front of her, and tenderly stroked her cheek. “It’s a matter of order. You are not only her mother, but also the Duchess of Kent and the guardian of the Prince of Wales. You are an indispensable symbol in the succession plan. If you are weak today, she will kick you out of her life tomorrow, just as she did to me today.”

"She...she's still just a child..."

“She’s no longer a child, she’s 18,” Conroy sighed. “She’s an adult, she knows how to control others, how to set up a scheme to get the Earl of Liverpool to speak for her, how to package refusal as a stance, and how to glorify humiliation as integrity. She’s more mature and more dangerous than we imagined.”

These words finally made the Duchess raise her head, a hint of unease appearing in her eyes, as if she were realizing for the first time that she was no longer the center of her daughter's world.

"You mean...she doesn't need me anymore?"

"Precisely because she no longer needs you, you should seize this last opportunity to make her understand that she cannot live without you."

Conroy spoke slowly and firmly: “We will not imprison her, we will not insult her, and we will not harm her. We just want her to know that her world is still under her mother’s control. Her door will be closed at nine o’clock every night, and Lyzen must apply to visit her. You must check and read her letters. She is not allowed to go out without permission, nor is she allowed to receive any visitors other than those you have authorized. Your Highness, please believe me, I am not asking you to punish her, but to give her a chance to turn back.”

Conroy gently took the Duchess's hand: "If you don't do this, she will only go further away. You know in your heart that if she really takes the throne, the first thing she will do is to kick me out of London and kick you and me out of her life."

The Duchess of Kent remained silent.

Seeing that she was wavering, Conroy pressed his advantage, saying, "Aren't you afraid? What kind of people are around her? Either villains like Arthur Hastings or gossipy women like Lyzen. What kind of queen will they make her? Do you really think the country will allow her to govern according to her own whims just because she's cute and capricious?"

This time, the Duchess of Kent did not refute it.

She sat quietly, as if still processing Conroy's prepared speech.

Conroy didn't press her, but slowly knelt down: "Your Highness, I don't want a position or any reward. I only hope you can retain your status as a mother. I will arrange everything carefully. I will have the locks on her door secretly changed, making them indistinguishable from the old ones. As for Leizen, we won't directly expel her; we only need to send other maids to guard her all day. You will control the correspondence, and all decisions will still be made by you."

The Duchess stared at him for a long time, then nodded gently: "Until she calms down."

Conroy stood up, a look of satisfaction finally appearing on his face. He kissed the Duchess's hand. "You made the right decision, Your Highness. Starting tomorrow morning, the East Wing will remain closed. Just as you said, she's been too hot-headed."

(End of this chapter)