Chapter 2183 - 241: If I Must Name My Mentor, It Can Only Be the Earl of Dalmo! (3)

Speaking of which, Earl of Dalmo’s foul mood gradually improved: "Coming back from Canada is actually not so bad. If my daughter makes her debut in the social season and her father can’t be there with her, that would be terrible."

"That’s true." Ellis replied with a laugh while smoothing down his cuffs: "But even if you really can’t make it, there’s no need to worry too much."

Earl of Dalmo frowned: "What do you mean?"

"I remember," Ellis said with a smile: "When you set out for Canada, didn’t Sir Arthur Hastings send you a letter? The one sent to Durham that included a recent development report from the University of London."

Earl of Dalmo didn’t immediately react: "Development report? I never read those things."

"I know you don’t read them," Ellis couldn’t help but chuckle: "But Louisa read it very carefully, and she even had the butler preserve that letter carefully. She mentioned to me that there was a sentence in it that made her both moved and amused."

Earl of Dalmo couldn’t help but feel a headache at the thought of that troublesome little rascal: "What kind of strange and peculiar things has he said this time?"

"Sir Arthur said if you were still tied up with North American affairs by next spring, he’d be willing to escort Louisa and Mary to Buckingham Palace to meet Her Majesty the Queen when the social season arrives. Of course, following the rules, they’d wait in the outer hall and not participate in the court introduction. With him accompanying, at least Mary wouldn’t have to face those nosy looks alone, nor worry about rude youngsters popping out of nowhere."

Upon hearing this, Earl of Dalmo smiled and hummed lightly: "This Arthur, since when has he become so involved in everything?"

"Look at what you’re saying. When has he ever been involved in less?" Ellis, still vividly remembering the Caucasus incident, laughed: "In Britain, there aren’t many who can stir up more trouble than you, and he’s definitely one of them."

Just as Earl of Dalmo was about to retort, the sound of hurried footsteps suddenly came from the doorway.

A young footman, soaked to the collar by the rain, stopped in front of them, hesitating whether to speak at such a sensitive moment.

Earl of Dalmo frowned: "What’s the matter?"

The footman immediately straightened up: "Your Excellency, there is a guest here."

"A guest?" Earl of Dalmo casually tossed the towel he used to dry his hair onto the table: "Is it Brougham? I told him in a letter when I’d be back in London. He’s probably been restless for days, ready to regale me with hours of stories about how the Department of Colonial Affairs is filled with fools."

Ellis couldn’t help but cough, quickly instructing: "You all, hurry and move anything fragile out of the parlor."

Unexpectedly, the footman shook his head: "It’s not Lord Brougham, Your Excellency."

Earl of Dalmo’s brows furrowed tighter: "Not him? Then who can it be? It surely can’t be my father-in-law, he hates moving about in the rain... Wait, don’t tell me it’s a crowd of reporters. I swear, I’ll kick each one of them down from the second floor!"

"No, no, not reporters." The footman waved his hands repeatedly: "It’s... Sir Arthur Hastings."

Earl of Dalmo stood in stunned silence for a moment, then exclaimed in surprise: "Arthur? What’s he here for?"

Ellis shrugged: "I guess he probably isn’t here for tea."

Earl of Dalmo dismissively waved his sleeve: "How does he know I’m back in London today?"

"Probably from the telegraph company," Ellis reminded: "In some sense, he’s perhaps the most well-informed person in the country right now."

The footman, seeing this, cautiously asked: "If you don’t wish to see him, should I tell Sir Arthur you’re too tired today to receive guests?"

Earl of Dalmo was silent for a moment.

To be honest, he didn’t quite want to be seen in his current disheveled state by Arthur, this junior.

If he’d returned from Canada triumphant, he’d naturally regale his achievements under the admiring gazes of his students. But the problem was, he hadn’t accomplished anything in Canada, returning home in failure.

However, after pondering for a moment, Earl of Dalmo ultimately sighed: "Fine, let him in. Braving such heavy rain, I can’t let him make this trip in vain."

The footman promptly responded: "Yes, Your Excellency."

...

The rain in Berkeley Square today was unlike the usual fine drizzle common in London, but carried a ferocity from the North Sea winds.

The rain beat down obliquely from the eaves, even a Fox’s brand umbrella could do little against it.

By the time Arthur stood at the door of number 14, he was already drenched.

Of course, not all of it was caused by the rain, some of it was the result of his careful calculations.

When he’d left Lancaster Gate, not a drop of rain had touched him.

He wore his cloak properly in the carriage, and his boots were polished spotless.

But two blocks before reaching Berkeley Square, he’d had the driver stop at the corner and walked the final stretch himself.

Rain dripped down his sideburns, forming a line at his chin and soaking the scarf, his spotless boots splattered with mud, and his coat clung heavily to his shoulders.

Of course, all of this was what he wanted Earl of Dalmo to see.

Because Arthur knew better than anyone that the notoriously hot-tempered Earl of Dalmo was most swayed by this kind of show.

When Arthur raised his hand to knock on the door, his knuckles were already turning slightly white from the cold.

As soon as the door opened, the footman’s eyes widened, stunned for several seconds.

Evidently, he hadn’t expected this legendary figure from Scotland Yard to appear in such a state.

"Arthur Bla... Sir Arthur Hastings?"

Arthur suppressed his usual sharpness, his voice low and hoarse as if worn out by wind and rain: "Your Excellency the Earl... is he home?"

The footman hurriedly stepped aside to let him in: "Please come in to escape the rain, I’ll immediately announce your arrival."