The Shadow of Great Britain Chapter 775 - 775 367 Wellington's Pale Red Array

775: Chapter 367: Wellington’s Pale Red Array 775: Chapter 367: Wellington’s Pale Red Array London’s rainy season arrived on schedule, like a profound dirge that the sky sang to the earth.

The lead-gray horizon hung low, enveloping the entire city in a hazy yet poetically charged atmosphere.

Fine strands of rain wove into a delicate net, sliding down the contours of Gothic spires, tapping on the cobblestone streets with a pitter-patter sound, like a conversation between rain and history.

Hidden beneath this seemingly harmonious lody were tumultuous splashes of water waves.

The gas lamps on street corners flickered through the misty rain, their faint yet steadfast beams piercing the rain, casting light on the damp carriages and hurried pedestrians, casting unique silhouettes.

The gentlen and ladies, dressed in formal attire and hats and holding umbrellas, hurried along, their figures intermittently visible through the misty rain, as if entering a dreamland.

The carriage door opened, and a pair of rigid boots stepped onto the cobblestone.

The servant who had been waiting at the door hurriedly stepped forward to open an umbrella, shielding the old gentleman in red military uniform from the chill of the rain.

Subsequently, a voluminous skirt resembling a blooming lotus, layered with feathers, lace, and various delicate frills, and topped with a pale yellow small hat, paired with smooth long gloves, all of which undoubtedly highlighted the noble status of this lady.

Harriet Abasnoth, a lady of the London social circle renowned for her social prowess, and at the sa ti, a famous political power woman.

In an era where won were not allowed to participate in politics, the title of political power woman might sound a bit harsh.

But for Britain’s socially-focused political scene, such power won were not uncommon.

They might not be able to vote directly in the Houses of Parliant, but if anyone underestimated their influence, they would soon find themselves tripped up by their crinoline skirts.

Moreover, in Britain, not only were there political power won, but these won also clearly aligned themselves with either the Tory Party or the Whig Party, just like the mbers of the House of Commons.

The most famous among the Whig power won was none other than Georgiana Cavendish, daughter of the first Earl Spencer and the fifth Duchess of Devonshire.

And on the Tory side, there was the aforentioned Mrs.

Abasnoth.

However, unlike the Duchess of Devonshire, who ca from a distinguished lineage, Mrs.

Abasnoth’s origins were much more modest.

Although her father was the son of the eighth Earl of Westmorland, he had no right to inherit a title due to not being the eldest son.

Thus, although Mrs.

Abasnoth could be considered to co from a noble family, she had no choice but to marry Charles Abasnoth, a forr mber of the Irish Parliant who was 25 years her senior.

Although this marriage was not quite suitable in terms of age, her husband’s status as a governnt official opened the doors to the upper social circles for her.

The adept Mrs.

Abasnoth seized this opportunity and swiftly infiltrated the core circle of the Tory Party.

Forr Foreign Secretary Sir Castlereagh, forr Army Minister Viscount Hardinge, and royal family mbers like the Duke of Kent and others all deeply respected this articulate and graceful lady.

Even so mbers of the Whig Party highly praised her political acun.

Yet, what maintained Mrs.

Abasnoth’s high status in London’s social circles was not rely her insight but also her close friend, the Duke of Wellington.

The young Duke, once nicknad ‘the playboy’, had many lovers and female confidantes, but only Mrs.

Abasnoth maintained a long-term relationship of trust and influence with the elderly Duke.

It was well known that before the Duke of Wellington married, he had not seen his once passionately adored wife for a full ten years.

A decade was enough to change a person, and the Duchess of Wellington, who neither understood the military nor politics, found little in common with her husband.

Mrs.

Abasnoth filled this void well, and her comparatively modest background endowed her with skills that many deeply sheltered noblewon lacked, allowing her to gather intelligence for the Duke of Wellington.

Everyone in London’s upper circles knew, albeit unofficially, that Mrs.

Abasnoth was essentially the old Duke’s intelligence officer, and one must be careful when speaking with her.

Sotis, the trust between Mrs.

Abasnoth and the Duke even caused other Tories to stamp their feet in frustration.

Sir Grenville mocked that the Duke was surrounded by “a bunch of won and sycophants.”

Sir Peel once thundered in fury, “No one but won can influence the Duke, and they are all fools!”

However, despite being able to influence the Duke’s opinions, Mrs.

Abasnoth began to fade from the public eye during the collapse of Wellington’s cabinet two years ago.

So said she had returned to her hotown to live a peaceful life, others speculated she was preparing to write a political diary about the Tory Party.

Regardless of what people said, the long-missing lady now reappeared at the door of the Apsley House on London’s Number 1.

And this usually signified sothing.

Mrs.

Abasnoth, linking arms with the old Duke, quietly asked, “Catherine, she…”