The Shadow of Great Britain

”Emily is here, but she probably wishes she hadn’t come now.” Lady Dalmo raised her hand towards a nearby corner: ”Look, she’s right there.”

Arthur looked in that direction.

Emily sat upright in her chair, her back straight, hands folded on her lap, her lady-like demeanor impeccable.

But she wasn’t looking at the dance floor.

Or, more accurately, she was deliberately not looking.

”She’s been trying to act mature all evening.” Lady Dalmo teased her daughter: ”But instead, she has ’I’m very unhappy’ all over her face. She thinks it’s unfair, feels that she’s only a few years younger than Mary, yet she has to wait a whole four more years before she’s allowed to step into the dance floor.”

Arthur chuckled: ”Four years indeed seems long to her, especially since she’s only fifteen this year.”

”To her, it’s practically a dynasty.” Lady Dalmo smiled helplessly: ”She even asked me seriously this afternoon if I could break the rules for once. She said, it’s just dancing, not an engagement, why can’t even dancing be allowed?”

Just then, Emily seemed to sense her mother’s gaze and couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at the dance floor.

She caught the moment when her sister Mary completed a beautiful turn, the hem of her skirt flaring up and then settling down smoothly.

Emily’s mouth twitched noticeably before she quickly looked away, back at the ribbon bow on the toe of her shoe, as if that was the most worthy thing of study in the whole room.

Seeing this, Arthur couldn’t help but laugh: ”It seems she is indeed sulking.”

Before Arthur had finished laughing, someone called him.

”Sir Arthur.”

Arthur turned his head and saw it was the Earl of Dalmo’s son, and at the same time his heir, the nine-year-old George Lampton.

Of course, Arthur would usually call him by his third name, ”Darcy,” like his family did.

He stopped a step away from Arthur’s side, standing straight as if he suddenly remembered an important etiquette and, slightly awkward yet seriously, performed a bow: ”Good evening.”

Arthur was slightly stunned, then quickly reacted: ”Good evening, George, you look very spirited tonight.”

”Darcy.” Lady Dalmo looked somewhat displeased, her voice full of a mother’s authority: ”I remember I clearly said that once the dinner is over, before the ball starts, you should follow Miss Grisson home. At this hour, you shouldn’t still be in the banquet hall.”

Darcy clearly anticipated this scene long ago; he did not defend himself because he knew reasoning would be useless. He simply nodded obediently: ”Yes, Mom, I was just about to go back.”

”Then what are you doing here? I don’t recall the way home being next to the dance floor.”

”I just happened to see Sir Arthur here.” Darcy paused for a moment, then looked up at Arthur: ”I thought... since I saw him, I should come over to greet him.”

Lady Dalmo stared at her son for a long moment before softly humming, as if letting him off: ”You rarely remember these manners.”

Seeing this, Arthur intervened appropriately, smiling as he asked: ”Darcy, have you decided whether you’ll go to Eton or Harrow?”

”I...” Darcy thought seriously for a moment before speaking: ”I haven’t completely decided yet, Sir Arthur. Maybe I’ll go to neither, because I heard them say that if you go to Eton and Harrow then you’re sure to go to Oxford, and I don’t like Oxford. It’s not a good university. If I have to choose, I’d rather go to Cambridge.”

As soon as Darcy said this, the air around them seemed to pause.

Many Oxford alumni couldn’t help but look over, while the Cambridge alumni suppressed their giggles.

Lady Dalmo was stunned for half a second, as if confirming whether she heard wrongly. Then, she slowly returned her gaze to her son, her tone carrying a hint of dangerous calm.

”George Frederick Darcy Lampton!” she pronounced his full name word by word: ”You are nine years old.”

”Yes, Mom,” Darcy admitted honestly: ”But I’ve thought it through.”

”What you’ve thought clearly doesn’t include manners, nor does it include discretion.” Lady Dalmo reprimanded him: ”Eton and Harrow aren’t for you to use to negate Oxford University. Besides, your Latin isn’t good, you’re far from qualified to criticize others.”

”But Mom...” Darcy protested: ”My Latin isn’t good because you just let me start learning it this year. If I’d started two years earlier...”

”No but.” Lady Dalmo interrupted him: ”You’re not defending Latin right now, you’re making excuses for your impatience.”

She slightly turned her head, her gaze passing over her son to a lady silently waiting nearby: ”Miss Grisson.”

The governess immediately took a step forward, performing a proper bow: ”Madam.”

”It’s getting late,” Lady Dalmo’s tone returned to everyday composure but carried a tone that couldn’t be rebutted: ”Take Darcy back. He has already said enough tonight and listened too little.”

Darcy’s shoulders visibly sagged.

He opened his mouth once more, as if trying to make another point, but upon meeting his mother’s gaze, he swallowed his words.

”Yes, Mom.”

Miss Grisson reached out her hand, Darcy hesitated for a moment but still handed his over.

Before turning to leave, he subconsciously gave Arthur another glance.

Arthur offered him a slight smile and playfully raised his eyebrows as a farewell.

Lady Dalmo watched them leave until they were out of sight before finally speaking anxiously: ”Oh, I’ve always wanted Darcy to start learning Latin earlier. However, John has always firmly disagreed with my opinion. A few days ago, I even discussed this with Her Majesty the Queen at the palace. If it weren’t for Viscount Melbourne saying that in today’s society, a person who doesn’t know Latin can’t find a foothold, I probably wouldn’t have made up my mind to let Darcy start learning Latin.”

”On this matter...” Arthur pondered over his tone before speaking: ”I may not completely agree with Viscount Melbourne’s judgment.”

Lady Dalmo was slightly taken aback and instinctively looked at him.

”I’m not saying Latin isn’t important,” Arthur quickly added: ”But compared to Latin, I actually think it’s better for Darcy to learn French first.”

Lady Dalmo was clearly a bit surprised: ”But Eton and Harrow place emphasis on Latin...”

”Precisely because of Eton and Harrow,” Arthur picked up her words: ”In those two schools, Latin and Greek are compulsory, but French courses are never offered at public schools, and won’t be in the foreseeable future. As soon as Darcy steps into those schools, regardless of whether he likes it or how gifted he is, he has to learn Latin, but French is different. In London, in Paris, in Brussels, even in Vienna and Berlin, for a young person with a good background, if he cannot converse fluently in French, others may not criticize him to his face, but will certainly silently lower him a tier.”

”I think I heard someone discussing Eton and Harrow?”

Eld’s voice joined in from the side rear, holding a glass of champagne he had barely touched, which was evidently intended to quench his thirst after a dance.

Lady Dalmo had not seen Eld before, and she cautiously inquired from Arthur: ”Who is this gentleman?”

Seeing this, Arthur had to introduce him: ”This is Mr. Eld Carter from the Navy Department, and at the same time, an alumni of the University of London. I believe you might know his uncle, General John Carter?”

”General John Carter’s nephew...” Lady Dalmo realized suddenly: ”Ah! Your mother is Miss Charlotte Pellam-Clinton, right?”