Princess Victoria was closely guarded, so much so that the maids were too busy to quietly tell her, "You are the heir to the English throne." I suspect that if we could dissect that little heart, perhaps we might find that a dove or a little bird has already informed her.
——Walter Scott, 1828
Morning mist enveloped the Thames River, the surface resembling a pale gray silk gently laid across England's heartland. A small steamship, flying the flag of Great Britain, moved along the winding waterway toward the London Pier amidst the roar of turbines and the splashing of waves.
On deck, a British gentleman stood silently. Wrapped in a black coat, with an ebony cane inlaid with silver in hand, he gazed at the gradually revealing silhouette of the city. His face appeared slightly weary, yet the journey had not left much trace on his expression, except for those eyes, reflecting the misty outlines of St. Paul's Cathedral and Tower Bridge in the morning twilight.
