Chapter 2404 - 318: I’m Here

Resignation.

He resigned.

The person she was familiar with to the point of being almost a stranger, the one who would only nod slightly each time they met and say, "Miss Hastings", the person she thought would always stand in the White Hall office, forever dressed in an elegant black suit, forever keeping a perfectly appropriate distance from her...

Resigned...

"Miss." The old butler’s voice sounded in Flora’s ear: "Would you like to go back inside? It’s cold outside, your hands are freezing."

Flora lowered her head and looked at her hands.

Those hands were clutching the fringes of her shawl so tightly that her knuckles were white.

She loosened her grip, allowing the blood to slowly flow back, feeling a pricking sensation at her fingertips.

She raised her head and looked at the old butler: "Where is he?"

"In the main hall, miss, the elderly lady is accompanying him."

Flora hadn’t even finished listening before she began to move.

But after just two steps, she stopped.

On the path cleaned every day but never used by anyone, a figure appeared.

That person was walking slowly and steadily, as if he was walking down the Whitehall streets he knew so well.

Even though the tapping of the cane was so light, the sound of it hitting the ground in Flora’s ear was as deafening and heart-wrenching as the chimes of Westminster Abbey.

Flora stood still, unable to move, merely watching him approach step by step.

A dark gray travel coat, hem stained with mud, hair tousled by the wind with strands of black hair hanging over his forehead.

Still too far away, Flora couldn’t see his expression clearly.

But she felt as if he was looking at her, always looking at her.

Her heart was beating too fast, so fast that she couldn’t hear anything.

Couldn’t hear the wind, couldn’t hear the rustling of falling leaves, couldn’t hear the gentle retreating footsteps of the old butler behind her.

She only heard the sound of her own heartbeat.

On every sleepless night, in every sweet dream, such scenes had played out countless times in Flora’s mind.

But when such a scene truly unfolded before Flora, she felt everything was too beautiful, too dreamlike.

She dared not move.

Dared not blink.

Dared not even breathe.

Afraid that with a blink, that figure would dissipate like morning mist.

Afraid that with a breath, this dream would end.

Yet she clearly felt her heartbeat was so loud, so heavy, heavy enough to make her entire chest vibrate.

If this was a dream, then why did her heart hurt so much?

A Centennial Edition Illustration for "Hastings’ Memoirs: Fifty Years of Life": "I’m Here"

— Commemorating the centenary of Sir Arthur Hastings with a series of works, first printed and published by Empire Publishing Company in London in 1909

Each sound of the cane striking the ground seemed to knock at her heart, making her eyes sting and her fingers holding the shawl tremble slightly.

He drew nearer.

Closer still.

Close enough for her to finally see his face.

The face she had seen countless times.

In the halls of Kensington Palace, in the reception rooms of Buckingham Palace, in all those places she had deliberately approached yet always kept at a distance.

But at this moment, that face was different.

Not because of exhaustion, not because of the journey, but because... he was looking at her.

No longer with that polite, detached, perfectly moderate gentle gaze, but with a kind of attention she had never seen or felt before, an intensity that seemed as if she was the only one left in the world, an attention so intense it made her want to flee, yet also made her want to approach.

His steps did not halt, continuing until he was standing three steps away from her before stopping.

Their distance was close.

Close enough for her to smell that uniquely Londonish scent of coal smoke and fog clinging to his coat, close enough for her to see herself in his eyes, a face full of tears, disheveled hair, and a thoroughly unkempt appearance.

But the way he looked at her—there was no disdain, no disappointment, only a feeling that made her want to cry and laugh... a feeling of peace and tranquility.

In his eyes, there was something she could not understand.

"Flora."

For thirty-two years, Flora felt for the first time that her name was truly beautiful.

She wanted to say something, wanted to ask why he came, why he resigned, wanted to ask those questions she had agonized over countless nights but never had the courage to ask.

But she couldn’t say anything, her lips moved, yet only a choking gasp emerged.

Tears welled up again.

She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want him to see her in such a state.

But she couldn’t stop them, those tears flowed uncontrollably, washing away layer after layer of powder from her face in unsightly streaks.

She bowed her head, not daring to look at him.

She heard a sigh.

So light, it was almost inaudible.

Then, she heard his footsteps again.

One step, two steps.

The tip of his boots appeared before Flora.

He stood before her, so close, close enough for her to feel the faint warmth emanating from his body.

A hand reached out, pausing for a moment in front of her.

As if waiting for something.

Waiting for her refusal?

Waiting for her to dodge aside?

Waiting for her to say something?

Flora did not move, only trembling, allowing those calloused hands to hold her hand.

She felt the warmth of his palm.

Very warm, warmer than she imagined, warm enough to make her nose sting.

"I’m here." he said.

A casually spoken short sentence, without explanation, without reasons, without the words she thought she would hear, but it was enough to snap the taut string in her mind.