The nobles and citizens of the British Empire firmly believed that theirs was the greatest and most powerful nation on Earth.
After defeating Napoleon of France—the only rival Britain had faced in Europe—this belief had become almost an unquestioned fact.
Russia existed as a potential threat, of course, but no one in Britain believed their country weaker than Russia. They merely regarded it as a dangerous rival that could not be left unchecked.
In other words, Britain stood as the undisputed strongest power in the Western world.
Many among the aristocracy and the public even believed, privately, that there was no country anywhere on Earth stronger than the British Empire.
India had already been forced to its knees. The only remaining challenge was China—the ancient Middle Kingdom that had dominated the East for thousands of years.
But the Qing Empire that ruled China was no easy opponent, and British intellectuals were well aware of that fact.
The pressure exerted by its sheer numbers alone—four hundred million people—was staggering.
Even if Britain gathered not only its homeland population but every colonial subject as well, the total might still fall short of half the Qing Empire's population.
Military scholars often summarized the problem like this:
"If Britain and Qing were to meet in a direct battle, Britain would never lose tactically. But tactical victory and strategic victory are two very different things."
If Qing continued to press forward with overwhelming manpower, Britain—limited by the difficulties of fighting a distant war—would inevitably suffer severe losses.
This assessment was widely shared not only in Britain but throughout Europe.
Technology favored the West.
But numbers were numbers.
Even if one achieved victory after victory on the battlefield, defeat would eventually come if the capacity to sustain the war collapsed.
Europe had learned that brutal truth during the Napoleonic Wars, and no one had forgotten it.
And then, suddenly, someone shattered that deeply rooted assumption.
Killian Gore, the Earl of Arran.
A nobleman with Asian blood in his veins.
Drawing on his deep understanding of Asian nations, he insisted that Britain's traditional view of the East was fundamentally mistaken.
And he did not merely argue.
Through remarkable diplomacy, he proved his point beyond any doubt.
The trade deadlock with Qing that had lasted more than ten years was resolved.
No one quite knew what methods he had used, but Qing itself had practically handed Britain the justification for war.
If it had ended there, Killian Gore might have been remembered simply as a brilliant diplomat.
But he had also achieved success in the war itself.
Admiral George Eliot declared:
"I merely commanded the fleet. The overall strategy was determined entirely according to the Minister's guidance."
Another officer remarked in astonishment:
"Whenever we followed the Minister's instructions, Qing reacted exactly as he predicted. His foresight borders on prophecy."
And Charles Eliot testified:
"This war could never have been lost. From the very beginning, the strength of the Qing military and every response they might make already existed inside the Minister's mind."
Such articles flooded the newspapers—whether conservative or liberal.
As a result, the British public quickly came to understand who had truly led the war.
Especially during the months when Killian Gore was sailing home from Asia.
His achievements were so numerous, and the rumors surrounding him so many, that people could no longer distinguish truth from exaggeration.
And the greatest driving force behind those rumors was none other than the social circles dominated by Britain's upper-class ladies.
"Oh my, is that really true?"
"It is! My husband knows Mr. Disraeli quite well—you know, the Member of Parliament who is close to the Earl of Arran. According to him, the Earl had predicted this outcome even before he left Britain."
"Good heavens. How brilliant and admirable. I heard the Prime Minister only hoped he might resolve the trade issue. To think the results surpassed expectations so dramatically."
"Exactly!"
Women in nineteenth-century Britain were not permitted to participate directly in politics, but they greatly enjoyed discussing social and political issues in their salons.
Even if they could not participate themselves, they could influence matters indirectly by shaping the opinions of their husbands.
Naturally, however, the conversation often drifted toward gossip.
And when a rising figure of immense influence appeared on the political stage, that tendency became unavoidable.
Especially when the man in question was young—and handsome.
In such circumstances, one might say seventy percent of salon conversation was guaranteed.
Even in the salon of Lady Emily Lamb—one of the most influential hostesses in London society—the topic was unavoidable.
She was the sister of Lord Melbourne, leader of the Whig Party, and the wife of Lord Palmerston, another leading Whig politician.
"Ladies, have you heard the news? There's a rumor that the Minister is descended from an eastern royal family."
"Oh yes! I heard that too. Everyone already knew he was of Irish and Asian heritage—but apparently that Asian blood belongs to royalty!"
"I remember someone once claimed he came from a slave background. Perhaps that was simply a malicious rumor meant to damage his reputation."
"Those people should be prosecuted! Imagine how terribly our Minister must have suffered because of such lies."
Although the salon belonged to the sister of the Whig leader, Killian was now referred to as "our Minister."
The logic was simple: if a man was both handsome and brilliant, of course he belonged to everyone.
"Lady Lamb, your husband must know the truth of the matter. Have you heard anything reliable?"
"I heard something a few days ago," she replied thoughtfully. "Not China—but somewhere even further east. Japan, I believe. Apparently the Minister may descend from the ruling class there."
"That's odd. I heard something different. A friend of the Minister—Mr. Wellesley—told me that the Minister was born in Korea."
"I heard that as well. But my husband insists that the rumor about royal ancestry concerns Japan, not Korea."
At first glance the statements seemed contradictory.
But the British aristocracy interpreted them in an entirely different way.
"Ah! Then it must mean that a Japanese royal married into Korea, and their descendants eventually produced the Minister."
"Yes, that must be it."
From a European perspective, royal families of different nations intermarrying was perfectly normal.
Thus the ladies naturally concluded that Killian Gore was both a Korean prince and a descendant of the Tokugawa shogunate.
"That certainly explains why the Minister understands Asia so well."
"My husband heard from the Prime Minister that the post of Foreign Secretary was originally meant to be temporary. But now it seems impossible to replace him. He'll likely remain in office until the current ministry ends."
"Even after a change of government, wouldn't he remain? Europe is beginning to expand into Asia. If Britain wants to maintain its influence there, we need someone like the Earl of Arran."
"Indeed. By the way—our Minister is still unmarried, isn't he? I wonder which fortunate lady will secure such a husband."
"I hear there are many families interested. If I had a daughter of the right age, I might have made inquiries myself."
Most politicians who rose to the highest ranks eventually married—except for rare lifelong bachelors like William Pitt.
But Killian Gore was still young, and no engagement had ever been announced.
His only potential weakness—his mixed Irish and Asian heritage—no longer mattered after such extraordinary success.
The Queen herself had granted him an English noble title.
And now there were rumors of royal blood from the East.
By the standards of lineage, he could now rival many of Britain's oldest aristocratic families.
For parents with daughters of marriageable age, he was an irresistible prize.
"I heard the Bane family is quietly preparing a proposal."
"Really? I heard the Earl of Nottingham's family is interested."
"I've heard the Earls of Buchan and Falkland are considering it as well."
"My goodness—so many competitors! At this rate we might hear wedding news soon after he returns."
What began as a casual remark gradually hardened into accepted truth.
Soon the gossip spread beyond the salons.
"Darling, did you know? The Earl of Arran is descended from the royal families of Korea and Japan!"
"Dear, I heard the Earl of Buchan is preparing to marry his daughter to him!"
The rumors flowed from salon to salon, from wives to husbands.
And in the age before rapid communication, such stories multiplied endlessly.
Newspapers printed them freely.
Verifying the truth would require sending someone all the way to Asia—a journey that would take half a year.
If one newspaper waited for confirmation, another would publish first.
And so the headlines appeared:
"Shock! Does the Earl of Arran possess the blood of an eastern royal dynasty?"
"The secret behind the Earl's knowledge of Asia—what kind of kingdoms are Korea and the Tokugawa realm?"
"France laments once again: Why does our nation lack a noble with royal blood from Asia?"
"Is the Asia expert Minister Killian Gore about to marry? The Morning Chronicle has obtained exclusive information that a certain noble family is pursuing the match."
A brilliant young minister who had proven Britain the strongest power in the world.
A man whose veins supposedly carried the blood of distant eastern kings.
And now, rumor said, he would soon marry.
Once the gossip ignited, it spread without a single moment of verification, swelling into the greatest topic in London.
Within less than a month, the rumor had hardened into accepted fact:
Killian Gore would announce his marriage immediately after returning home.
Kensington Palace
The residence of the Queen—symbol of the British Empire.
Many had argued that Kensington Palace was far too small for royal governance.
But Victoria liked it.
One day she would have to move to Buckingham Palace.
Still, she wanted to delay that moment as long as possible.
Kensington was where she had grown up.
Though it held many painful memories, the happy ones had grown stronger in recent years.
Precious moments.
Memories of excitement she would never forget.
Even after becoming Queen, those feelings had not changed.
The person who brought her the greatest happiness had departed for Asia.
But she had not felt sad.
He had gone there for diplomacy—and had returned having elevated Britain's prestige through war.
He had proven that the British Empire was the strongest power not only in the West, but in the entire world.
And through negotiation he had secured enormous gains.
India.
Singapore.
Hong Kong.
Tainan.
Shanghai.
No European nation possessed such a network of ports across Asia.
And none ever would.
Russia still struggled desperately just to find a single warm-water port.
Though she never admitted it aloud, Victoria could not hide the quiet satisfaction she felt whenever she read reports of Killian's achievements.
The higher his reputation rose, the more pleased she felt.
When news arrived that he was succeeding brilliantly, she went to sleep smiling.
Why had Killian worked so tirelessly in China?
It was all for the future.
And she was certain that the future he envisioned included the one thing she hoped for as well.
But then—
"Ha… ha… what a fascinating rumor."
"Isn't it? The ladies of London can hardly drink tea without discussing it."
Victoria quickly sipped her tea to suppress the emotions rising inside her.
Lady Frances Anne Vane, the Marchioness of Londonderry.
Along with Emily Lamb, she was one of the most influential women in London society.
She was close to the Conservative Party and had long taken interest in Killian.
Her vast fortune from coal mining had funded many royal charities, and Victoria often invited her for tea.
It was from her that Victoria first heard the rumor of Killian's marriage.
At first, the Queen had found the idea utterly absurd.
Who exactly had decided he was getting married?
Had Killian secretly fallen in love with someone?
"No… that's impossible. He must love—"
Victoria stopped herself.
Baroness Lehzen constantly insisted that the Earl of Arran was utterly devoted to her.
This had to be a rumor.
But no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, the gossip refused to die.
Ridiculous.
Utterly ridiculous.
Killian probably hadn't even considered marriage yet, while fools everywhere indulged their fantasies.
After all, the woman he truly liked was someone else.
Still.
The rumors would end today.
Because she had obtained undeniable proof.
"Marchioness, I regret to say the rumor has already been proven false."
"…Truly?"
"Of course. This letter arrived at the palace today. The Minister must have learned of the absurd gossip as soon as he landed and hurried to explain himself."
Victoria waved the letter gracefully.
She had not even asked.
Yet he had written a long letter immediately.
The first part was personal.
But the final section was worth reading aloud.
"Let me state this clearly, no formal marriage negotiations have taken place with any family. The rumor that I will announce a wedding after the victory celebration is entirely false and without merit."
"Ah, I see. So no family has officially approached him yet. As expected of Your Majesty—you learn the truth faster than anyone in the salons."
"Well, the Minister is a patriot who always places the nation first. His devotion to me… to the Crown… is quite remarkable."
If only people would stop staring at fruit that was clearly out of reach.
But Lady Londonderry's eyes suddenly brightened.
"Thank goodness. I feared it might already be too late."
"…Too late?"
"My daughter Emily will turn eighteen next year. And as a mother, I simply wish for her to find a good husband. At first I hoped she might marry John Spencer-Churchill, the Duke of Marlborough's eldest son…"
"…But?"
A terrible premonition crept into Victoria's mind.
"But in terms of future prospects, the Earl of Arran may be the better match. I was wondering if my daughter might meet him at the victory ball you are hosting…"
Victoria heard something crack faintly in her temple.
Yet she calmly set down her teacup.
"Relationships between men and women are private matters. There is no need to inform me beforehand."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. And if the match succeeds, I will certainly show my gratitude."
"…I wish you luck."
Once Lady Londonderry left, Victoria's smile vanished.
If she allowed things to continue like this, someone might truly succeed.
"That will not do."
When Killian arrived…
she would settle matters once and for all.
And as for the Marchioness's daughter—
unfortunately, the young lady would not have even a single second to speak with him at the ball.
The victorious minister of the British Empire would spend the entire evening at the Queen's side.
"If she wants a husband, she can marry that Churchill fellow."
Victoria sighed.
"It's been a year since I last saw him… and this is what I'm worrying about?"
Then she frowned slightly.
"If he didn't want me to worry, he should have reassured me more."
When he returned—
they would have a long discussion.
Victoria gazed at Killian's letter.
A moment ago it had seemed charming.
Now a small spark of fire burned in her eyes.