Before the family council began, I learned something rather interesting.
The House of Arran had an unusually large number of family members, spread across a remarkably wide range of ages.
The reason was simple.
The previous Earl of Arran had lived to the impressive age of seventy-five—and had remained extraordinarily energetic when it came to producing children.
As a result, the age difference between my father—the current Earl of Arran—and the central figure of the current scandal, my aunt Cecilia, was nearly thirty years.
That was a gap greater than that of many parents and children.
If the old earl had only had one wife, such a wide age spread would have been impossible.
But after his first wife died, he remarried.
And then remarried again.
Each marriage produced more children.
Considering that my father had managed to conceive me when he was nearly sixty, perhaps he had simply inherited his father's vitality.
Still, this was an old Irish noble house.
Most of the people gathered here had successfully carved out their own domains of influence.
After all, it wasn't every family that could boast a member who had managed to romance a royal prince into marriage—even if it was a scandalous one.
My father cleared his throat.
"I would first like to thank everyone for gathering here despite your busy schedules. Recent events have surprised many of you, no doubt. I felt it best that we discuss matters within the family and come to a common understanding."
Seated at the head of the table, he placed a hand on my shoulder and gently pulled me to my feet.
"This is my son, Killian Gore. As you may have heard, he will enter Eton College next year with a recommendation from the Duke of Wellington. Once he completes his education, I intend for him to inherit my title."
Most of those present simply nodded without much reaction.
But one man frowned deeply.
My father's younger brother.
John Gore, the second son of the previous earl.
"Brother… surely this is too sudden," he said bluntly. "You cannot simply bring a child here and declare him your son. How are we expected to accept that?"
"I understand your feelings," my father replied calmly. "But what could I do? Until recently, I did not even know that my son was alive in the Far East."
"So you discovered his existence last year," John said sharply. "You brought him here barely a year ago, and now you intend to give him most of the estate and the title?"
"I said I would establish him as my rightful heir. Not that I would hand it over immediately."
Had I not appeared, the heir to the Earldom of Arran would naturally have been Philip Gore, John's son.
The heir had simply changed overnight.
From John's perspective, the situation must have seemed absurd.
"Brother, I understand your feelings," John continued. "Of course a father wishes to leave everything to his son."
"I'm glad you understand."
"But there will be talk," John said. "Yes, the boy has entered Eton. Yes, he has a recommendation from the Duke of Wellington. Those are impressive achievements. But people will whisper endlessly about who his legal mother is."
He looked at me briefly.
"Have you considered that this could burden the child for the rest of his life?"
My father waved dismissively.
"My son grew up in the distant East enduring every imaginable insult. Idle gossip will hardly trouble him."
He turned to me.
"Isn't that right, Killian?"
Of course it was.
If I had lived my life reacting emotionally to every insult, I could never have survived my previous career as a con artist.
To exaggerate only slightly—
Even if someone insulted my mother to my face, I could maintain a perfectly calm expression.
Though naturally, I would later ensure they paid the proper price for such behavior.
In truth, the legal arrangements were already airtight.
Even if my relatives protested, little would change.
Still, if Philip and his father chose to pursue the matter in court, things could become complicated.
We would ultimately win.
But lawsuits could delay the succession.
That was likely why my father was trying to persuade his brother rather than simply ignoring him.
"John," my father said patiently, "I will ensure that Philip receives a generous share of property and business interests. He is still my beloved nephew. I would never leave him with nothing."
"Brother!" John snapped. "Do you think this is about money? This concerns the dignity of our house!"
Judging from the expressions around the table, few others seemed particularly concerned about that dignity.
Most of them had little stake in the matter.
As long as the new heir was not an incompetent nobody, they had little reason to quarrel with the earl.
And besides—
"There's no need to keep discussing that," a woman said suddenly. "We should move on."
"Cecilia," John said irritably, "this concerns the honor of our house."
"All the more reason to discuss my situation first," she replied. "Is there any matter more closely tied to our family's reputation?"
"I agree with Cecilia," another relative added. "If our eldest brother has already decided that Killian will be the heir, then that matter is practically settled."
"What nonsense are you all saying? Have you no sense of reality at all?"
The table erupted into raised voices.
The family quickly split into factions.
On one side stood the older uncles.
On the other, the younger generation.
The reason was simple.
Cecilia and her supporters were children of the previous earl's third wife.
John and his allies were children of the first wife.
Meanwhile, the children of the second wife simply watched with folded arms, as though enjoying the spectacle.
Although this was a family gathering, barely a third of those present shared the same mother.
Even by the standards of European noble families, the scene was chaotic.
Finally my father sighed.
"Since the matter has been raised… Cecilia, what exactly are you thinking?"
Even my father—who had until now been arguing with John—entered the fray.
For the first time, a flicker of unease crossed my aunt's otherwise elegant expression.
"What do you mean?" she replied calmly. "I simply intend to marry the man I love."
"I have no objection to you remarrying," my father said firmly.
"But the man you intend to marry is a prince of this kingdom. And the marriage itself violates royal law. Are you aware of that?"
"We love each other," she said quietly. "That alone should be reason enough for our family to give us their blessing."
"The identity of the man is precisely the problem!" my father snapped.
"The Duke of Sussex has already once ignored the law governing royal marriages. Do you not know how that ended?"
He was referring to Prince Augustus Frederick, the Duke of Sussex.
Years earlier, he had married the daughter of the Earl of Dunmore without royal permission.
The marriage had been declared invalid.
His wife had never been recognized as Duchess of Sussex.
Eventually, the two had separated.
Given that precedent, most people assumed Cecilia's situation would end the same way.
My aunt glanced briefly at me before turning back to my father.
Her voice softened, but there was unmistakable hurt in it.
"If we are family, shouldn't you support me first?"
She paused.
"The only reason you're hesitating now is because of that child, isn't it? You're worried that this scandal might affect his succession."
"That's not—"
"Even if you deny it, that's how it looks," she said quietly.
"I know the English court and the aristocracy will criticize me. They cannot openly condemn a prince, so the blame will fall on me instead. And of course our family will be dragged into it as well."
She wasn't entirely wrong.
Even without this scandal, some people would already disapprove of granting an Irish earldom to a mixed-blood illegitimate son.
Legal legitimacy did not always matter.
Public opinion could be powerful enough to overturn law itself.
If enough nobles protested, even something technically legal could become politically impossible.
My father likely understood that perfectly well.
Provoking the royal court at this moment would accomplish nothing.
From Cecilia's perspective, it must seem as though my existence had made matters worse.
Though realistically, the outcome would likely have been the same regardless.
Still…
While my father saw her as a potential obstacle to my succession—
I saw something else.
An opportunity.
Letting this relationship sour would be a terrible waste.
Perhaps we could help each other instead.
As the argument continued, I carefully observed my aunt.
Her expression gradually shifted from defiance to quiet regret.
That was the face of someone who already regretted speaking too harshly.
At first I had thought her proud.
But perhaps that sharpness was simply the result of constant pressure.
Her true nature seemed gentle.
After all, a woman capable of captivating a royal prince enough to defy society's opposition must possess considerable charm.
Which meant one thing.
Building a friendly relationship with her would be far more advantageous than ignoring her.
And that led to a simple conclusion.
I would make the most of this opportunity.
In the end, the long-awaited family council collapsed into little more than a bitter argument.
John Gore stormed out in anger.
Cecilia sat slumped in her chair, sighing repeatedly.
Before she left, I asked my father for a brief private conversation with her.
"Aunt Cecilia," I said softly, "may I speak with you for a moment?"
She looked surprised.
"With me? Why would you—"
Her hesitation wasn't hostility.
It was embarrassment.
And beneath that, unmistakably, guilt.
Just as I had suspected.
Winning the goodwill of someone like her was easy—especially with the experience I had accumulated in my previous life.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "It seems my presence caused trouble within the family. I wanted to apologize."
"No… this isn't your fault," she said quickly. "If anything, I should apologize. I spoke harshly in front of a child."
As I bowed my head first, the guilt in her expression deepened.
She already knew the truth.
No matter what my father did, her marriage to the Duke of Sussex would almost certainly never be recognized.
Even if my existence had influenced my father's hesitation, the outcome itself was unlikely to change.
Now that her emotions had cooled, she must feel ashamed for venting her frustration at an innocent nephew.
"So please don't worry too much," I continued gently.
"I'll ask Father to support you as much as possible. And I'm acquainted with the son of the Duke of Wellington. I've even spoken with the duke himself. I'll ask them to help you as well."
She smiled sadly and stroked my hair.
"That's very kind of you, but it won't change anything. This concerns the royal marriage laws of the kingdom. And besides, why would you do so much for someone you've only just met?"
I hesitated deliberately.
"To be honest… I grew up in the Far East without ever knowing the warmth of family. When I came here, my only wish was to live happily with my relatives. If someone in the family is suffering, shouldn't I try to help? Otherwise how could anyone truly accept me as one of their own?"
Her expression softened.
"Family love… I see."
She smiled gently.
"But your father is right. No matter how loudly we protest, the outcome will not change. If we push too far, the great nobles of England will simply turn against us."
She seemed satisfied.
But I wasn't.
I needed her to genuinely care for me.
And for that, I needed to offer something useful.
Fortunately, I had the knowledge to do exactly that.
"Aunt… what exactly does the Royal Marriages Act say?"
"It's simple," she replied. "Members of the royal family must obtain the monarch's permission before marrying."
"In that case," I said carefully, "if His Majesty grants permission now, wouldn't the marriage become legal?"
She shook her head.
"No. It cannot be applied retroactively. But it could still grant recognition afterward."
She sighed.
"Unfortunately, the current king has no intention of granting such approval."
Naturally.
If King William IV had approved the marriage, there would be no scandal at all.
I leaned forward slightly.
"Aunt… forgive me if this sounds disrespectful. But if the current king refuses permission… couldn't the next monarch grant it instead?"
She blinked.
"…What?"
"If His Majesty's approval is impossible, perhaps you could improve your relationship with the person who will inherit the throne."
No one alive in this era knew how long William IV would reign.
But I did.
And I also knew exactly who would succeed him.
Even people unfamiliar with British history had heard the name at least once.
Cecilia murmured slowly,
"The heir presumptive… would be…"
She tilted her head slightly.
"…Princess Victoria?"