Chapter 2391 Forever Cherishing You, Flora Hastings_3

Arthur did not look at him. He lowered his head, unhurriedly smoothing the creases of his gloves.

"The deeds of the dead are left in picture frames, the names of the dead are printed on the flyleaf of poetry collections, the legends of the dead are told by mothers to their children, passed down by the fireside, generation after generation. But the living need the trust of Kensington Palace, need the recognition of the Hastings family, need to steady their footing in the first years of Victoria’s reign. The hero in Flora’s letter cannot help me. He is too clean—so clean he cannot bear any kind of power."

He paused. "So I put him away—stowed at the bottom of a trunk, sealed into every last resort and makeshift expedient."

Agares’s throat worked. "But you now..."

"Now?" Arthur met those scarlet eyes without flinching, one hand tucked before him as he bowed slightly. "My apologies—now is the hour for tending graves."

...

At Kensington Palace, the curtains of the receiving room were tightly drawn.

John Conroy did not take a seat. The Grand Steward of Kensington Palace stood on the carpet before the fireplace, pacing back and forth almost without pause.

"I will say it again, Your Highness—this is not a matter of morality, it is a matter of politics!" Conroy halted. "I know what you feel for Flora. She is your Chief Lady-in-waiting, she stayed by your side through a very difficult stretch of years. But tell me, among those who still remain in Kensington Palace now, who is not such a person? Speaking of loyalty, I believe even you will admit—no one is more loyal to you than I am. And I do not advise you to forcefully stand up for her before the facts are clear!"

"I know you are thinking of me, John." The Duchess of Kent’s voice was very soft; her German accent seemed lodged in her throat. "But... but I believe Flora absolutely did not do those things. She is utterly innocent."

"Your Highness!" Conroy’s tone grew gentler, as though he were teaching a slow-witted pupil. "Whether she did it or not has never been the crux of the matter. The crux is that the story has already spread. Do you know what they are saying now? That Miss Hastings has engaged in improper, over-familiar intimacies with a certain close Attendant at court! They leave the name unsaid precisely so they can go on chasing shadows!"

The Duchess’s hands clenched on the armrest. She recalled how Flora had looked when she came to pay her respects half a month ago.

The girl had grown terribly thin, her waist cinched tighter than before, a pale bluish shadow under her eyes that powder could not conceal.

When she curtseyed her body swayed, and she had to steady herself on the doorframe before she could stand upright. Yet she still smiled at her, saying she had not slept well the night before, that it was nothing.

"Then if..." The Duchess began, then broke off, changing tack. "If we do nothing, what is to become of Flora?"

Conroy gave a soft laugh. "Your Highness, you have lived in England for forty years, and yet you are too kind—so much so that you still have not learned how to contend with people here. If you stand up for her by force at this moment, they will not let the matter rest. They will pull and stretch it ever larger. Today they will ask with whom Flora has had illicit relations; tomorrow they will ask why Kensington Palace has been lax in discipline; the day after that someone will dig up your relationship with His Majesty... A mother and daughter at odds? A court meddling in governance? The atmosphere at Kensington Palace rotten, morals depraved? They will keep driving the flames until they reach you!"

The Duchess blanched. "Then... John, are we simply to stand by and watch? Flora—what of Flora?"

Conroy turned his back to her, looking out the window as he spoke. "I imagine the Hastings family will deal with Flora’s affair themselves. They will not tolerate a daughter who disgraces the family name. The best outcome for Flora would be to retire to the countryside in Scotland to recuperate. In London, from this day forward, no one will ever speak her name again."

He paused. "That is the best arrangement—for her, and for us."

The Duchess was silent for a long time.

She thought of Flora’s deft hands as she dressed her hair, thought of Flora’s figure at her side in the garden, cheering her and walking with her whenever she had been humiliated by George IV or King William IV.

She owed that girl.

But—could she repay her?

"Your Highness." Conroy turned back, half-kneeling before the Duchess of Kent; even his voice once more became gentle. "You must not blame yourself. You have never failed anyone. You have merely chosen what is most advantageous politically."

The Duchess drew a painful, deep breath at his words, her lips trembling as she lowered her eyes.

"Yes... the most advantageous, politically..."

That voice was hollow, so hollow that even she herself no longer recognized it.

The flames in the fireplace gave an ill-timed crack, and a knock sounded at the door.

Conroy’s brows jerked together. He straightened, his once-gentle expression replaced again by the habitual severity of the Grand Steward.

"Who is it?"

From beyond the door came the lowered voice of an Attendant.

"Sir John, Hastings seeks audience."

Conroy’s movement stilled for an instant.

"Which Hastings?"

"From the Home Office—Sir Arthur Hastings."