The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 743 - 356: The Greatest General’s Most Severe Test

"Mr. Hastings, the Duke is resting inside."

Under the guidance of the butler, Arthur crossed the foyer and gallery to reach the study on the second floor.

As soon as he opened the door, Arthur saw the old Duke lying on a campaign hammock suspended between two columns, his face covered by a hat to shield it from the sunlight.

Seeing this, Arthur pursed his lips toward the Duke and asked the butler in a low voice, "Has His Grace fallen asleep?"

"Er..." the butler replied softly, "Please forgive the intrusion. If you are not too busy, perhaps you could wait in the foyer and have a cup of tea? His Grace has been experiencing poor sleep quality lately, sleeping on and off. He should wake up soon." ƒreewebɳovel.com

No sooner had the butler finished speaking than a weary voice came from the campaign bed, "Sean, pour me some wine, my throat is a bit dry."

Hearing this, the butler placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly, "As you command, Your Grace. Mr. Hastings is here to visit you, would you like to see him?"

"Oh? Has the young man arrived?"

Wellington removed the hat from his face and turned to see Arthur’s polite smiling face as he lay on the hammock.

Arthur spoke up, "Your Grace, you look very weary, perhaps you should rest first, and I can visit another day."

Wellington ignored Arthur’s request and raised two fingers to the butler, "Two drinks. A glass of Martell brandy, a glass of Guinness stout...Hmm, lad, I remember you like beer, right?"

Arthur was taken aback, unsure of how Wellington had come to that conclusion.

He had never shown his preference for alcohol in front of Wellington, and the only time he had been invited to a banquet at Wellington’s residence, he drank whatever was available.

Moreover, he did not even like beer.

He only drank several large glasses of it at the little theater’s pub when he went to see a play with Eld during their university days.

After all, the plays Eld chose always left one feeling thirsty.

Seeing the puzzled expression on Arthur’s face, the Duke chuckled, "It seems that after ’The Times,’ the Liverpool papers cannot be trusted either. They previously reported that you were a Royal beer barrel rolled over from London, and I actually believed it."

Arthur, too, responded with a laugh, "Seeing you in such good spirits, even making light-hearted jokes, is truly a joyous occasion. But are you sure you don’t need to rest in the bedroom? The campaign bed isn’t as comfortable as the bedroom’s large bed."

The Duke of Wellington turned over and said, "For an old soldier like me, a campaign bed is much more comfortable than a bedroom’s large bed. Whenever I can’t sleep, I come here and lie down to read the Army’s military reports for a while. It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep, just as I did back in Iberia."

"In that case, perhaps I should buy such a bed to try it out."

Arthur walked into the study, saying, "I’ve been having poor sleep quality lately too."

At that moment, Arthur suddenly noticed a black armband wrapped around Wellington’s arm, paused mid-step, and pointed to his arm, asking, "This is...?"

"Ah..." the old Duke slightly lifted his eyelids, "My wife, my dear Catherine, she passed away recently."

Upon hearing this, Arthur immediately pictured the affable face of the elderly lady.

He remembered that whenever the couple attended social events together, the old lady, who often smiled, was hardly ever apart from the Duke.

Every time he spoke with her, she always steered the conversation toward her husband, eagerly boasting about how outstanding the Duke of Wellington was.

She cherished her husband’s honors, perhaps even more clearly than the Duke himself.

It was a strange affection, so much so that in Arthur’s view, she was not just the Duke’s wife but also a fervent admirer of His Grace.

But unlike other admirers, she was filled with doubts about her husband, not having countless lovers like other ladies of the nobility, but focusing all her extra energy on fiercely guarding her husband.

She hated others touching her trophies and even meticulously planned several large-scale defenses to prevent it. From this perspective, her combat style was quite consistent with her husband’s.

Unfortunately, while the Duke of Wellington could command the entire military force of Britain during battles,

for Catherine, every lady in London was a potential rival.

But nonetheless, Arthur had a favorable impression of the old lady because all it took to win her affection was to dutifully sit and listen to her recount the glorious history of the old Duke. Compared to other demanding ladies, her affection was indeed very easy to gain.

Arthur slightly bowed his head and offered a gentle consolation, "My condolences. May I ask, when did she pass away?"

"It was when you were in Liverpool."

The Duke of Wellington gently shook his head, "She had been unwell since early last year. I thought that perhaps by spending more time with her, she might slowly improve, but in the end, she passed away. She lay in bed, hardly able to speak, yet with her last bit of strength, she stuck a finger into my sleeve."

"Into your sleeve?"