Chapter 2392 The Most Gentlemanly Knight

Kensington Palace, Drawing room.

Arthur removed his hat and handed it to the attendant waiting at the entrance.

"Sir Arthur." Conroy’s voice came from the stair corner, carrying a perfectly timed surprise: "What brings you to Kensington?"

Arthur turned around, watching Conroy descend the steps, followed slowly by the Duchess of Kent.

"Sir John." Arthur nodded slightly: "Your Highness."

The Duchess moved her lips as if wanting to say something, but Conroy spoke first.

"Please sit." Conroy gestured to the sofa in the center of the drawing room but remained standing, speaking from above: "Would you like something to drink? At this hour, I think brandy is more suitable."

"No need." Arthur did not sit down but remained standing, his cane’s silver head gently tapping the floor: "I have no interest in drinking right now."

Conroy was not surprised by Arthur’s response, but he disliked the ongoing arrogance from this Home Office permanent under-secretary: "I know why you’re here. Miss Hastings’ matter also pains me."

At this point, Conroy sighed in a mock sorrowful manner: "You’re an old hand from White Hall, so you should understand even better than I that some matters cannot be controlled simply by our intentions. White Hall has its rules, Buckingham Palace has its conventions. Her Majesty the Queen is already an independent adult. I believe that with Her Majesty’s broad wisdom and keen insight, she will certainly render justice to you and Ms. Hastings."

Conroy intentionally spoke with a marked sarcasm, merely in revenge for Arthur thwarting Victoria’s signing of the Regency Bill back in Ramsgate.

In Conroy’s view, if it hadn’t been for Arthur’s intervention back then, the Duchess of Kent would certainly have become regent in Victoria’s name upon her accession, and he, as the Duchess’s most trusted confidant, would have indirectly gained the nation’s highest power.

If events had indeed unfolded this way, quashing the rumors surrounding Flora would have been a mere matter of words.

Now, as the scandal fermented and swept through the city, it was, in essence, entirely Arthur and Flora’s own doing.

Listening to Conroy, Arthur’s expression remained unchanged: "Sir John is right. Her Majesty the Queen is wise and judicious; naturally, she will render justice for Flora."

Upon hearing this, Conroy forced his upturned lips into a neutral demeanor: "Since you trust Her Majesty so much, may I invite you to proceed to Buckingham Palace to seek an audience with Her Majesty the Queen? The roof of Kensington Palace is too low to accommodate someone of your lofty stature."

These words were remarkably rude, no doubt about Conroy’s meaning.

After all, anyone versed in classic literature knows the giant Pantagruel from Rabelais’ tale could consume thousands of cattle in one meal.

Were it another person, they would’ve likely turned their backs by now at Conroy’s words.

But Arthur remained unmoved, merely raising his eyes to quietly gaze at Conroy.

Conroy felt somewhat uneasy from this stare, his mind involuntarily recalling the day Victoria ascended to the throne.

"Sir Arthur." Conroy tamed his smile: "Do you have anything else?"

Surprisingly, Arthur did not respond but shifted his gaze from Conroy to the Duchess of Kent.

"Your Highness, may I speak with you for a moment?"

The Duchess had been standing by Conroy’s side, hands clasped on her lap, her trembling eyelashes betraying her inner anxiety and tension.

"Please, speak."

"Your Highness!" Conroy quickly interrupted: "Didn’t we agree earlier?"

The Duchess moved her lips.

She looked at Conroy, then at Arthur.

Conroy’s gaze carried reminders and warnings, while Arthur’s usual emotionless gaze simply waited calmly.

"Sir Arthur." The Duchess’s voice was soft, with a slight tremor: "I’m sorry. Today... it’s really too late, you... please go."

With that, she lowered her eyes, not daring another glance at Arthur.

Conroy’s lips curved slightly; he stepped aside, offering the path to the door: "Sir Arthur, please. Shall I send someone to escort you back?"

Arthur remained still, offering no answer, merely looking at the Duchess—at her lowered eyelids, her clenched hands, and the white mark on her lips bitten by herself.

He kneeled down on one knee, the silver head of his cane tapping against the marble floor, emitting a crisp sound.

The Duchess lifted her head abruptly.

Conroy’s smile froze, as if doused with ice water.

"Sir Arthur!" The Duchess’s voice rose sharply: "What are you doing? Get up! Get up!"

She instinctively stepped forward, bending down to help him.

But Arthur did not rise.

He merely lifted his head, gazing at the Duchess’s face so near him.

"Your Highness, I know I have no right to ask anything of you."

The Duchess’s hand stopped mid-air.

"I know my unannounced visit today was rude. I know my refusal to leave was even ruder. I know kneeling before you at this moment is the rudest of all, considering my status, my past with Kensington Palace, and my actions in Ramsgate. I have no right to request anything from you, not even the tiniest utterance."