Although I had said we needed to wait patiently until the fish finally bit, it wasn't as though I had been doing nothing in the meantime.
"Oh my… does that mean the shoes Her Majesty wore at the wedding were also a gift from you, Your Royal Highness?"
"Yes. They were custom-made by a craftsman whose company I know quite well."
"Good heavens! I tried everywhere to find a pair like them, but no one would sell them to me. By the time I discovered where they were made, the order list was already full…"
"So I've heard," I replied with a smile. "The speed at which information spreads among people these days is quite astonishing. I'm told the orders flooded in almost immediately."
I had recently begun investing in the clothing business, hoping to attract wealthy VIP customers—but the results were proceeding even more smoothly than expected.
Apparently the promotional effect of the Queen's high heels had far exceeded my predictions.
To be honest, when I first saw Victoria's wedding dress—which covered her feet completely—I assumed the shoes would barely be visible and therefore wouldn't generate much publicity.
Yet somehow the noble ladies had noticed the heels anyway.
Not only that—they had even tracked down where the shoes were being sold.
It seemed I had underestimated the determination of aristocratic women when it came to fashion.
"Not just at the wedding," another lady said eagerly, "but recently Her Majesty wore another pair of those shoes at a banquet. They were absolutely beautiful."
"That's right," another agreed. "They don't simply make one taller—the entire figure looks more elegant."
"You must have designed them with that in mind when they were made. But why are they so scarce?"
"They require far more craftsmanship than ordinary shoes," I explained. "If the heel were to break, the wearer could easily be injured. So they must be produced with great care."
"Ah… is there truly no way to obtain a pair? I even asked my husband to find them, but he said it was impossible."
The desperation of the noble ladies—and even Victoria's own attendants—was almost amusing.
They were all eager to obtain a pair of the new high-heeled shoes.
I struggled to suppress a satisfied smile.
Victoria herself remained somewhat conservative about such matters, but high society in Britain was currently enjoying a veritable age of indulgence.
The economy was growing.
Technology was advancing.
And when money flowed so freely, people naturally wished to spend it.
Grand parties and balls were held several times a week, and fashionable gentlemen and ladies competed to display their wealth.
In the original course of history, perhaps Victoria's later emphasis on moral restraint had been her way of sounding a warning bell to an upper class that had begun drifting toward excess.
At present, however, the British elite lived lavishly.
And those who lived lavishly were always eager to appear even more exceptional.
How did one accomplish that?
Since ancient times, the most effective method had always been the same.
Adornment.
Jewels.
Luxury goods.
Yet among the very highest aristocracy, even that approach had limitations.
A large diamond?
A sapphire necklace?
Anyone wealthy enough could buy those.
Which meant that in such circles, the most valuable items were not simply expensive.
They were rare.
Something money alone could not easily obtain—that was the true luxury.
And now the high heels worn by Queen Victoria were becoming exactly that kind of object within aristocratic society.
A new style of shoe personally introduced by the Queen at her wedding.
Not merely decorative, but flattering—making the wearer's legs appear longer and her figure more graceful.
And because supply was so limited, the difference between someone wearing them and someone not wearing them was instantly noticeable at a party.
"If you truly wish," I said kindly, "I could contact the craftsman. Perhaps a few pairs were set aside."
"R-really?"
"If Your Royal Highness would do that for us, we would be immensely grateful."
"Haha, of course I should help. All of you here are trusted friends of Her Majesty. Naturally that makes you friends of mine as well. If you ever encounter difficulties, please do not hesitate to tell me. Even if no pairs have been reserved, I can ensure yours are among the first delivered. You should receive them within the week."
I paused slightly before adding,
"And of course, there will be no need to pay. Consider it a small gesture of goodwill."
"Oh my! The Duke of Bedford is hosting a party this weekend. I can wear them there! Thank you so much!"
Perfect.
With this, I had secured the goodwill of the noble ladies who frequented the palace—and amplified the publicity effect as well.
Nothing captured the hearts of the wealthy quite like a luxury item they couldn't easily purchase.
The women who conversed regularly with Victoria at court were not merely fashionable aristocrats.
They were members of influential families.
They were also the engines of palace gossip—the ones who spread rumors throughout high society.
Winning their favor meant gaining a powerful advantage in the subtle battles of reputation among the elite.
And if a few pairs of shoes could buy that influence, it was practically free.
Of course, once high heels became widely available among aristocratic ladies, the effect would fade.
But that wasn't a problem.
I knew quite well the kinds of things wealthy women adored in the modern era.
All I needed to do was introduce a few of them ahead of their time.
And here in Britain, I possessed the greatest promotional model imaginable.
Queen Victoria herself.
It was around the time I was steadily building the image of a fashionable yet considerate Prince Consort that a messenger suddenly arrived.
"Your Royal Highness! The Prime Minister requests that you come to Parliament immediately."
Right on schedule.
I had already suspected that sooner or later they would summon me.
Still, the moment I began thinking the time had come, the message arrived immediately.
That suggested they were quite desperate.
"Very well. Let us go."
Considering the timing, the crisis likely wasn't in Asia.
Most likely it was in America.
And if so, I could already guess what the situation looked like.
They were probably beginning to realize something important.
You see?
You cannot manage without me.
Parliament
"So you insisted we discuss this matter later, and now look where we are!"
Ah.
That thunderous voice could belong to only one man.
Even before entering the chamber, I could hear the unmistakable roar of the Prime Minister, Charles Wellesley.
Since the failed attempt of Charles I of England to arrest members of Parliament centuries earlier, British monarchs had avoided entering the House of Commons.
When the sovereign needed Parliament, the tradition was to summon them to the House of Lords instead.
But that custom applied only to the monarch.
Other members of the royal family were not bound by it.
By the time I entered the chamber, the debate was already reaching its climax.
"You may argue that His Royal Highness had to resign as Foreign Secretary," Wellesley continued angrily, "but how long do you intend to leave the position of Canadian Plenipotentiary vacant? Months have passed since the wedding! Baron—how many months has it been?"
"Well… technically, appointments to the administration fall under the responsibility of the Prime Minister, do they not?"
"Since when was the Canadian Plenipotentiary part of the Cabinet? It was a temporary post created by Parliament itself!"
"But still—"
"The Governor General of Canada is begging for help!" Wellesley snapped, waving a document. "That is not exaggeration—it is written right here!"
The large letters were clearly visible:
Please help us. The situation will soon become uncontrollable.
"I warned you repeatedly that someone must replace His Royal Highness and take responsibility for Canada," Wellesley continued. "Now the United States is even demanding that we investigate whether escaped slaves have fled into Canadian territory!"
He turned sharply.
"Mr. Gladstone. Who does the Whig Party propose for the position?"
William Ewart Gladstone hesitated.
"To be perfectly honest, Prime Minister… there does not appear to be anyone capable of fully replacing His Royal Highness. The black settlers in Ireland and Canada trust him deeply. That is why his policies worked."
"Then find someone capable! The situation is spiraling out of control!"
A tense silence filled the chamber.
At last, Benjamin Disraeli spoke carefully.
"There is something I do not understand."
"Yes?"
"Is not His Royal Highness still the Canadian Plenipotentiary?"
"…What?"
"Parliament established a fixed term for the position," Disraeli continued calmly. "Unless that term has expired, His Royal Highness technically still holds the office. He resigned as Foreign Secretary, certainly—but the two posts are separate."
The logic was flawless.
Even Gladstone and Henry John Temple could find no immediate rebuttal.
Disraeli continued.
"Britain has not welcomed the husband of a reigning queen in nearly a century. There are no clear laws governing the matter. Some royal husbands—like William III of England—ruled jointly with their queens. Others—like Prince George of Denmark—held no political authority whatsoever."
"That is why confusion has arisen."
He glanced around the chamber.
"Can anyone here cite a definitive law stating that the Prince Consort cannot serve as Canadian Plenipotentiary?"
No one answered.
"If His Royal Highness maintains political neutrality within Britain," Disraeli continued, "why should service in Canada be considered a violation of that neutrality?"
His argument was airtight.
And everyone knew it.
Disraeli finally turned toward me.
"Your Royal Highness. If Parliament were to request it—would you be willing to resume responsibility for Canada?"
All eyes in the chamber turned toward me.
"If the matter is truly as serious as it sounds," I replied calmly, "then I am prepared to fulfill my duty to the nation."
Disraeli nodded slightly.
"Then I propose we resolve the matter properly through a vote."
Moments later, the motion passed with a clear majority.
The office of Canadian Plenipotentiary remained mine.
I watched the result with quiet satisfaction.
After all—
Once is difficult.
Twice is easy.
Even if the Canadian crisis ended, the struggles over influence in Asia were only beginning.
And when those conflicts erupted…
What then?
I folded my hands behind my back and smiled faintly.
Everything, of course,
was for the nation.
A very useful phrase.
I would need to practice saying it convincingly.
Because I would be using it for a long time.