“Welcome, Empress. I have heard much of your reputation.”
Victoria’s greeting was barbed.
“A pleasure, Queen.”
Even by protocol, this was not right.
Strictly speaking, in terms of precedence, she ranked below me.
She was a queen, and I was an empress.
Maria of Russia, Eugénie of France, and myself of Austria. The mistresses of Europe’s three great powers all bore the title of empress.
And yet she alone, the monarch of Britain, which prided itself on being the strongest nation in the world, was a queen.
It was not for nothing that she would later become obsessed with a title like Empress of India.
When her own daughter, Princess Victoria, became Empress of the German Empire, she could not bear the thought of ranking below her daughter and threw such hysterics that her ministers wrung out the title of Empress of India for her, did they not?
The Queen Victoria before my eyes was radiating that complex with her entire body.
“Reputation? You flatter me.”
I played innocent as I answered, but there was no way I did not know the true meaning behind the reputation she spoke of. I had heard it so often from my mother-in-law that I was used to it.
To be precise, it was infamy.
The heretic of the European royal houses.
The daughter-in-law who defied her mother-in-law.
The willful empress who ignored imperial etiquette and flitted here and there as she pleased.
To Victoria, who had lived her entire life as an incarnation of duty and discipline, I must be nothing less than a walking cautionary tale.
On top of that, there was one more point that had rubbed her the wrong way.
So she doesn’t like that Prince Albert personally sent me an invitation.
Her husband, no less—the consort she believed she held firmly in her grasp—had personally written to a young and beautiful, if ill-reputed, empress far away in Vienna and asked her to come.
Whether it was jealousy or the instincts of a control freak, displeasure was lodged in her eyes.
“I hear that you find the Viennese court stifling and often travel between Hungary and Italy. I wonder whether the air of London will suit you.”
“I thank you for your concern, but I simply love free air. And I could not ignore the sincerity contained in the courteous invitation the Prince sent me. I came because I trusted the judgment of one who loves art and industry.”
At my words, Prince Albert gave a dry cough and turned his gaze away, while Queen Victoria’s eyebrows rose.
“Ah, haha… Mother, has the atmosphere of the palace not changed completely now that Her Majesty the Empress is here?”
“Indeed, my dear. She is an honored guest from Vienna, so we must treat her well.”
Sensing that the atmosphere was becoming dangerous, Edward and Prince Albert hurriedly stepped in and tried to mediate between us, and Charlotte also looked flustered, as if she had not expected things to go this far.
Victoria glared at me for a moment, then lifted her chin.
“Very well. The reception is ready, so let us move.”
She took Charlotte by the hand, whirled around, and led the way.
Looking at her back, I clicked my tongue inwardly.
Good grief. She is only forty, and already so stiff-necked.
“…Did you not say it was dinner earlier?”
“That was my understanding as well.”
Bertie could not give a precise answer to my question.
“Surely she would not have me attend a banquet without even letting me recover from the journey.”
Fortunately, my prediction was correct.
What the Queen had spoken of was not a grand dinner, but teatime accompanied by a light luncheon.
But my relief lasted only a moment.
I looked down at the unidentified meat pie on my plate.
Wasn’t British court cuisine supposed to serve French food?
I took one bite and quietly set down my fork.
Did they accidentally drop it into the North Sea while seasoning it with salt?
I rinsed my mouth with black tea and covered it up with a vague smile.
Victoria cleaned her plate as if this truly were delicious.
“This is food prepared by a chef our British Empire is proud of, yet it seems it does not suit the Empress’s palate.”
Do the British sincerely think this is delicious? Or does it simply not suit my taste?
I looked around, and Bertie and Prince Albert were eating with relish, while Maximilian and Charlotte were disposing of the food with dark expressions.
They were serious.
When I returned to my room, I told Hunyadi,
“Wake me before the banquet preparations.”
I need to sleep, at least.
I have never been on such a draining trip.
*
At the evening banquet hall, I encountered an unexpected person.
“Count Buol.”
“I greet Your Majesty the Empress.”
Ah, right… I had not thought that Count Buol would have been invited as well.
But his expression looks quite bad.
“Count Buol. The reason you are in that position is because I chose you.”
Let us make that clear, shall we? It was not Archduchess Sophie who kept you alive. It was I.
“My apologies, Your Majesty. Please forgive my rudeness.”
“I will let it pass.”
Even after being called out, his expression still looks bad.
And it is not as though Count Buol is new to court life.
“If you are unwell, you may retire first.”
“No, Your Majesty.”
So it really isn’t because of me that he looks like that?
I turned my head and surveyed the banquet hall.
Beneath the glittering chandeliers, British nobles gathered in twos and threes, laughing and chatting.
But whenever their gazes touched me, I could feel them turn strangely cold.
He must have suffered greatly in London.
“Count, between us… British food is honestly tasteless.”
Having confirmed that I was not the source of his dissatisfaction, I returned my tone to normal.
“If only the food were tasteless, that would be a mercy. The alcohol is tasteless as well.”
In other words, he dislikes both the people and the policies.
“Do not be deceived by appearances.”
“I know. This is a country that uses a lion, which does not even live in its own lands, on its coat of arms.”
At my joke, Count Buol seemed to relax slightly and drank the champagne he had only been holding.
At least unicorns and double-headed eagles are imaginary creatures, so I can understand them.
Palmerston’s gaze lingered on me for a long time.
Viscount Palmerston…
“That man is the head of the anti-Austrian faction.”
Isn’t he the prime minister who started a war just to sell opium?
They say Englishmen are gentlemen, but there is no way an old man who winks at me is a gentleman.
“He is not the one I wish to meet.”
One of two.
“Gladstone or Disraeli. Which of the two do you think would be more beneficial to us?”
Count Buol frowned. Both men were giants who would succeed Palmerston, but their inclinations were polar opposites.
“…Disraeli of the Tory Party would likely be more aligned with us. Gladstone is likely to criticize us over parliament, the constitution, and military expansion. The fact that he regards us, a multiethnic empire, as oppressors is also a mark against him.”
I nodded, listening closely to his opinion.
If we try to please the liberals, Josef’s head is likely to explode…
Moreover, like Palmerston, there is the problem that he supports Italian unification.
“What other grounds do you have for judging Disraeli to be the better choice?”
“He has no interest in systems of government. However, he is highly likely to use us as a counterweight against France and Russia.”
Hmm—
“Count Buol, approach Disraeli. That will be better than demands that we overturn our constitution and imperial system.”
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
Edward was also highly likely to support that side more. Morality, duty, faith… at a glance, are they not all words perfect for sermons?
“One moment.”
Count Buol looked puzzled, but he waited as ordered.
“I have made a new friend in Britain, you see.”
Holding my glass of champagne, I called Edward over.
“Prince of Wales.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Over there, who is the gentleman in the black suit with the grave expression, lecturing someone? He looks almost like a tutor.”
At the place my fingertip indicated stood William Gladstone.
He had caught someone and was passionately expounding on something.
The moment Edward heard my question, his shoulders twitched.
“Ah… that is Chancellor of the Exchequer Gladstone.”
Instinctive aversion was buried in his voice.
“Why do you look like that? As though you have seen a wolf.”
“A wolf would be preferable. That man… every time we meet, he spends thirty minutes preaching about morality, duty, and faith. It is even more suffocating than speaking with Father.”
Perfect.
My prediction was exactly right.
To a fun-loving, free-spirited teenage boy, a moral instructor like Gladstone could only be the number one person to avoid.
I nodded with a sympathetic expression.
“Oh dear, that must be exhausting. There are a few people like that in Vienna as well, so I know the pain quite well.”
“You too, Madame? I knew we had something in common.”
Edward seemed moved by my empathy.
I lightly turned the tip of my fan and this time pointed to another man in the corner.
A man wearing a flamboyant waistcoat and rings, with a playful lock of curly hair falling over his forehead.
Among the drab British gentlemen around him, he had a distinctly different, somewhat foreign and splendid air.
“Then what about that gentleman? Our eyes have been meeting since earlier, and there is something unusual about his gaze.”
“Oh! You have noticed Mr. Disraeli.”
Edward’s expression brightened in an instant.
“He is a very entertaining man. He is so eloquent that one loses track of time. Above all, he is one of the few politicians who treats me not as a child, but as a future king.”
Game over.
The favor of the next king, and the needs of our empire.
Every arrow was pointing toward Benjamin Disraeli.
“In that case, would you introduce him to me? I would like to hear some amusing stories of London.”
“Of course! It would be an honor.”
Edward excitedly led the way.
I gestured for Count Buol to follow and went after Edward.
As we approached, Disraeli turned gracefully as if he had been waiting.
Edward introduced us to each other, then took one step back.
“Oh, Your Highness the Prince of Wales. So this is why the banquet hall is especially bright today. To think you have brought the moon of Austria here yourself.”
He extended his hand to me and bowed at the waist.
“Benjamin Disraeli, Your Majesty the Empress. I fear I shall be blinded by the sight of the moon of Austria.”
He took my fingertips and kissed them as lightly as a feather.
I looked down at him with a relaxed smile.
“You flatter me, Mr. Disraeli. The Prince of Wales praised you highly as the gentleman in London with whom conversation flows most easily, so I came out of curiosity.”
“I am overwhelmed by Your Majesty’s praise. Beneath the moonlight of Her Majesty the Empress, even a werewolf becomes a poet.”
His skill at brazen banter was no ordinary thing.
“I can see why Queen Victoria favors you.”
Had he not once said that everyone likes flattery, but for royalty, one must shovel it on?
“I merely speak the truth.”
“Then I find myself wishing to hear a little more of that truth.”
Disraeli’s eyes narrowed.
“If Your Majesty the Empress desires it, I would gladly offer you the passion of the empire on which the sun never sets… but the fog in London has been rather thick of late.”
“In fog, one easily loses the way, so it is best to join hands as we go.”
I indicated Count Buol with my fan.
“This gentleman here has been wishing to count the stars and converse with you all night.”
Count Buol nodded with the expression I was used to seeing in Vienna.
Disraeli looked at Count Buol and smiled.
“Oh, Count. Welcome. It will certainly be a far more fruitful time than Lord Palmerston’s tedious sermons.”
From the standpoint of the Tory Party, which—unlike the Whigs—needed accomplishments badly enough to be led by Disraeli, a man of Jewish descent, Austria extending a hand first would be a fine opportunity.
I covered my mouth with my fan and said to Bertie,
“Is the banquet… not beginning to grow tedious?”
Hurry up and escort me back to my lodgings.
You want to go out and amuse yourself with actresses too, don’t you?