The Shadow of Great Britain

She, like Arthur, climbed from the very bottom of society, naturally understanding the malice of human hearts in this world.

However, difficult to deceive doesn’t mean impossible to deceive.

Especially after she witnessed how Arthur resurrected right in front of her, it became exceedingly difficult for her to maintain any rationality in his presence.

In a way, Arthur has been extraordinarily successful in the field of women’s love psychology, so successful that he could practically publish a book on it.

The only issue is that such success cannot be unilaterally ended.

If Flora is rudely shut out now, it would only invite the wrath of Flora herself, the Marquis of Hastings’ family, and even the Duchess of Kent.

But if they continue to maintain this vague relationship, it would deepen her feelings instead, and if he were to agree wholeheartedly, then...

Then Sir Arthur would be doomed!

Flora desires Sir Arthur Hastings, the part of the York Pigman that can be ”viewed in broad daylight”.

Yet the real Arthur, although he and his social personality share the same face, indeed have a certain gap in personality.

Acting in Buckingham Palace, Kensington Palace, and White Hall is tiring enough, if he had to wear that mask at home too, it would be utterly exhausting.

But if he doesn’t wear a mask at home, unpredictable troubles might arise.

At work, he faces Victoria, and off duty, there’s a ”Victoria” at home too; serving two queens in one day is worse than just lying in the coffin at St Martin’s Church.

From this perspective, if Arthur had to choose a female partner, he’d rather choose Fiona, because Fiona always knew Arthur wasn’t a good man, and never expected to force him on marriage issues.

If back then Arthur hadn’t played his acting art in Kensington Palace, and if Flora had been like Fiona and had known him thoroughly from start to finish, and could genuinely accept the true face of a future husband, then this marriage might not have been so stuck...

After all, no matter what, Flora is a lady from the Marquis of Hastings family, carrying the demeanor of British old nobility in every gesture. Although her dowry isn’t plentiful, Arthur isn’t in need of money. Taking advantage of this marriage could just turn him from a dubious Hastings family member into a legitimate Hastings family in-law, boldly mingling into Britain’s ”old money” circle.

If he comes across the London Municipal Committee in the future, Arthur could learn from those old nobility, righteously knocking on the table, saying: ”When our ancestors marched into London with William’s regime, your family probably hadn’t even figured out whether to build the pigsty on the leeward slope or where the manure could flow along the rain gutters in the lowlands!”

However, reality never allows one to return to the crossroads of ”if.”

Arthur stopped in front of the study door, raised his hand to knock, but his motion was stopped mid-air by a voice deliberately lowered.

”Sir.”

The attendant, guarding by the door, slightly bowed: ”Her Majesty just went to the garden for a stroll. She instructed if you arrived first, you could sit for a while in the study. She’ll return soon.”

Arthur nodded without asking how soon ”soon” would be.

At Buckingham Palace, such words have always been flexible.

After all, being late is always a lady’s privilege, especially considering this lady is the Queen, gentlemen naturally have to be more forgiving.

The attendant opened the study door for him, then silently withdrew, making way. The heavy door slowly closed behind him, blocking out the corridor’s light and echoes.

The study was very quiet.

This was a space redecorated shortly after Victoria’s accession, the layout still retained some habits from the Kensington period, with files neatly and restrainedly stacked on the desk by the window, each pile pressed in the same position. The clock above the fireplace kept perfect time, every tick of the hand was clearly audible. The curtains were not fully drawn, late winter light softly and rationally sifted through, just falling on the center of the carpet.

Arthur stood in the room for a moment, then slowly walked to the chair by the desk and sat down.

He didn’t look at the files on the desk, nor did he move anything, just removed his gloves and placed them on his lap.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, intending to take a brief rest, but his gaze unconsciously fell on a letter in the corner of the desk that was not yet sealed.

Although he didn’t see the content of the letter clearly, he immediately noticed a name at the signature that he very much disliked—Henry John Temple, the third generation of Viscount Palmeston.

In an instant, the innate curiosity immediately controlled the old detective’s motor nerves, and he couldn’t help but stand up, finding a spot out of window view, and cautiously scrutinizing the letter on the desk from afar.

”Letter from Viscount Palmeston to Queen Victoria”

Stanhope Street, January 12, 1838

Viscount Palmeston respectfully presents to Her Majesty:

Regarding issues contained in the urgent matter recently inquired by Her Majesty about Lord William Russell, I hereby report: Governments of various European countries, especially those without representative bodies, the range of powers actually held by subordinate officials in their governmental institutions far exceeds those of comparable levels in our country. This is because the heads of Britain’s various administrative departments must be ready to present their achievements to Parliament at any time, for this reason, each department’s minister must be thoroughly acquainted with the details of departmental affairs, and the only way to always have such information at hand is through personally attending to myriad trivial official duties.