The Duchess's knuckles slowly turned white, the snuff bottle quietly slipped from her palm, crashing onto the carpet with a thud.
"I know this is difficult for you, but it's not a matter of emotion," Conroy stepped forward, standing in front of her, and gently caressed her cheek with compassion, "This is about order. You are not just her mother; you are the Duchess of Kent and the guardian of the British Crown Prince. You are an indispensable symbol in the succession plan. If you show weakness today, tomorrow she will cast you out of her life herself, just like she did to me today."
"She... she's still just a child..."
"She's no longer a child; she's eighteen," Conroy sighed, "She's an adult now, she knows how to control others, how to set up scenarios to have the Earl of Liverpool speak on her behalf, how to package refusal as a stance, how to beautify humiliation as integrity. She is far more mature and dangerous than we imagined."
