The Palace of Westminster—Parliament itself—stood directly before me.
My only choice was to enter the House of Lords.
Suddenly, I heard my advisor's voice as he stepped down from the carriage.
"My lord, if your headache persists, I can attend the session in your place."
I waved a hand dismissively and replied,
"No, it's nothing…"
My advisor smiled, then turned to speak with the elderly servant.
"I do hope they lower the land taxes in this session."
I glanced at him and asked,
"Are we having trouble paying the land taxes?"
Why had I spoken so seriously?
Was it instinct? Pure luck?
I had no idea.
But he shook his head.
"No… but the land taxes are truly exorbitant."
I drew a deep breath, straightened my long coat, and began walking toward the entrance with slow, measured steps.
Perhaps the only true beauty here was the array of statues lining the grounds.
Of course, I only admired them in silence—if I had spoken aloud, who knew what might happen.
I paused at the entrance and looked back.
My advisor and the old servant stood beside the carriage with the soldier.
A meaningless smile crossed my lips—perhaps because, in this loneliness, I at least had two people I could speak to.
I entered the Palace of Westminster through the west entrance.
I chose the corridor leading to the Peers' Lobby and stepped inside.
It took several minutes to reach it, thanks to the endless stairs—they truly exhausted a man, especially me.
Once in the Peers' Lobby, I passed into yet another corridor. This one had no stairs, but curse these interminably long hallways.
At last, I arrived at the grand chamber of the House of Lords.
I was about to sink into one of the nearby seats when a fierce headache struck again.
Once more, strange memories flickered through my mind.
The seats farther forward, closer to the Woolsack.
Vague recollections of sitting in the very front semicircle of benches.
The memories were hazy—I couldn't even tell if they were truly mine.
Yet guided by them, I walked calmly toward the front row.
Heads turned. Whispers began.
But I paid them no mind. For now, all I wanted was a place to rest after the long walk.
I reached the front row, gathered the hem of my long coat, and sat down on one of the red leather benches.
Only two other dukes occupied the front row so far.
I found myself staring at the empty seat of the Lord Chancellor when one of the dukes leaned closer and said,
"Hello…"
I turned to him with a calm gaze, maintaining my composed seriousness.
"Hello. Is something the matter?"
The duke offered a half-smile.
"No… but I've only recently inherited the title after my father's death. I thought I'd sit near someone more experienced."
I took a deep breath and replied,
"I see… that's quite all right."
Had that been the right thing to say?
I hoped I'd conveyed permission clearly—otherwise, I'd look like a complete fool.
Lost in these worries, I barely registered his next words.
"By the way, I'm the Duke of Newcastle. You're the Duke of Manchester, aren't you?"
I gave him a cool glance and answered quietly,
"Yes…"
A question formed in my mind: Why doesn't he leave me alone?
Was he planning to cause trouble?
I hoped things wouldn't become too complicated.
More lords filtered in, filling the front row until it was complete.
I closed my eyes for a moment, seeking a brief rest—the crowd's growing murmur had triggered a mild ache in my temples.
But the moment I shut them, the Duke of Newcastle lightly tapped my shoulder.
"Forgive me for speaking again, but may I ask when the Lord Chancellor will arrive?"
It was as if fate had handed him a question that could easily humiliate me if I answered wrongly.
Yet to preserve the aura of dukedom—and my own pride—I replied coldly, almost reluctantly,
"Any moment now…"
And as the words left my lips, the great doors of the chamber swung open.
In a way that felt almost mocking, reality aligned perfectly with my simple guess.
The man who entered was indeed the Lord Chancellor—the presiding officer of the House of Lords.