Chapter 2403 - 317: York’s First Tender Love (Part 3)

"Adelaide." Mother’s voice came from the doorway, like a basin of cold water poured over.

Adelaide’s voice came to an abrupt halt.

She stuck out her tongue, said "I’m sleepy," and ran out.

Flora said nothing.

She just sat there, looking at her mother’s hesitant face, and gently smiled: "Mother, you don’t need to be like this."

The Old Marchioness sat down beside her bed and held her hand.

Mother’s hand was warm, unlike hers which was so cold.

"Flora, you don’t need to worry about anything. George is in London, he will take care of everything."

Flora nodded.

She said nothing.

What could she say?

Say that she had already read the seriousness of the situation from her mother and sisters’ every hesitant expression?

Say that she had guessed what was being written in the London newspapers from the servants who "forgot" to bring them?

She didn’t want to make her mother sad.

Flora pulled her shawl closer and looked at the small path in the distance, which was swept clean every day yet never had anyone coming from afar.

Scotland’s fog was cleaner than London’s. Here, the fog was just fog, not mixed with coal smoke and dust, not reminding her of the city that drove her away.

But she still wanted to go back.

Not for that palace, not for that position, but for...

She lowered her head, looking at the book on her lap that she had never opened.

For the person she didn’t know how to address.

Footsteps sounded from behind.

Flora didn’t turn around.

She guessed it might be her second sister Sofia or third sister Selina, probably coming to persuade her to go back indoors.

The sisters always thought she would freeze outside, but they didn’t know that compared to London’s cold, this cold was nothing.

"Miss."

It was the butler’s voice.

Flora turned her head; the old butler stood a few steps away, his expression looking somewhat peculiar, not the usual gentle, sympathetic respect, but mixed with surprise and some inexplicable excitement.

Flora was stunned: "Mr. Nolan?"

The old butler slightly bowed and said, "Miss, the Marquis’s carriage has returned from London."

Flora asked, "George is back?"

"It is not the Marquis who returned, it’s his carriage that returned." The old butler took a deep breath: "Inside, it carries a guest, your relative."

"Relative?" Flora leaned on the bench’s armrest, wanting to stand up: "Is it the Earl of Huntingdon? Or his wife? Or has Uncle Theophillus come?"

Old butler Nolan stood there, his lips moved.

Flora looked at the old butler before her, only feeling he looked very strange; it was an expression she couldn’t understand, seeming like he wanted to laugh, yet his eyes were somewhat red.

"Miss," her voice tightened: "It’s not the Earl of Huntingdon, nor the Countess, nor Theophillus."

Flora froze: "Then who?"

The old butler’s lips trembled: "It’s Sir Arthur, Sir Arthur Hastings has come from London to see you."

The wind blew over from the path, tousling Flora’s hair.

She stood still, seemingly not yet processing the weight behind the words.

"Ar... Arthur? Isn’t he very... busy with his work at the Home Office?" Flora instinctively wanted to deny it, laughing awkwardly: "Mr. Nolan, this is not amusing."

The old butler stood there, tears finally slipping from his eyes. He didn’t wipe them, just looked at her, looked at the girl he had watched grow from swaddling clothes, looked at this always quiet, never troublesome girl, looked at her pale, disbelieving face, yet faintly revealing a certain brightness.

"Miss, at my age, I wouldn’t joke with you." The old butler took off his hat, bowed deeply, his voice trembling: "Sir Arthur Hastings, a few days ago, already announced... resigning from all his positions at court and White Hall."