The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 631 - 312 Breakthrough

Arthur looked Fiona up and down and responded indifferently,

"It seems you don’t take your employer’s arrangements seriously, even missing the time for grieving. As you can see, I’ve just been resurrected."

"Oh... dear."

Fiona slightly lifted her skirt and sat on the sofa, "Can’t you be a bit more considerate towards ladies? You know, it takes us a lot of time to dress up before going out. Humility, honor, sacrifice, bravery, compassion, honesty, justice, faith—where is your knightly spirit?"

Arthur poured a cup of tea and placed it on the coffee table next to her, "I’m sorry, Fiona, I’ve never been a knight, just a despicable commoner. However, if you like knights, I can tell you where to find them."

"Really?" Fiona warmed her hands with the tea cup, her eyes slightly squinted as if trying to discern some emotional change in Arthur, "Where are these knights?"

Arthur, with his arms crossed, leaned against the wall, "In the tombs of Westminster Abbey, where knights are buried, and most importantly, you don’t have to worry about them resurrecting."

"You really are spiteful," Fiona sipped her tea, "why didn’t you tell me to go to the House of Lords instead? There sits nobility of a higher rank than knights, and much younger than those in the tombs."

Arthur sincerely apologized, "I’m sorry, Fiona, I always thought you liked them mature."

"Right, you know me well." Fiona nodded, "But I don’t think a bunch of old men who quarrel every day in the House of Lords can be called mature. Do you know who our industry benchmark is?"

Arthur thought for a moment, "Kitty Fisher? I’ve read a book about her. Many say she was the most successful courtesan in 18th-century London. Whether they were MPs, artists, or tycoons, all fell at her feet. She even once ate a cheque worth a thousand guineas stuffed in a buttered bread."

Fiona smirked, "Kitty Fisher? Merely a vulgar woman. Willingly becoming a plaything for the upper class for money and material desires, and when she finally got them, she found that she couldn’t use so much. Swallowing a cheque, in the eyes of those who don’t know her, might seem an enviable life. But I know, such a foolish act is just her way to mask inferiority and numb herself. Thomas Hobbes once said: ’Each time a man goes against reason, he is punished by reason.’ Kitty Fisher was just like that."

Arthur opened the window and lit his pipe, "That’s an interesting view, Fiona, it seems you’ve been reading a lot lately, almost sounding like a philosopher."

Fiona’s cheeks reddened, she lifted her silk fan to her mouth, "Oh, Mr. Hastings, I can’t stand such words. You know, a girl can’t resist compliments."

Red Devil, slapping Arthur’s shoulder, laughed, "Ha, Arthur, this girl is fibbing again. Women are not susceptible to compliments; they have hearts of stone. But there’s an exception when they like a guy."

Arthur spoke, "If a compliment can make ladies willingly serve without concerning themselves with cheques, I wouldn’t mind giving another. Fiona, you look absolutely beautiful today."

Fiona rolled her eyes on hearing this, "Mr. Hastings! I think our relationship hasn’t gotten to that level yet. And besides, I still have a group of girls to support. Do you know how much Scotland Yard has cost me recently? If it weren’t for the few hundred pounds I helped you get from Bernie Harrison previously, we’d almost be running at a loss."

Arthur nodded slightly, "It seems you really took my advice to heart. But Fiona, don’t be angry in a hurry, being a bit short of cash isn’t the end of the world compared to dying during the cholera epidemic. Look at me, I was almost blown up."

"I don’t care about that. At least until we take over a legal brothel and acquire an operating license, you still have to pay the usual rates to the girls running around for you."

Fiona said, "And once they have a place they don’t need to worry about the police chasing them, I can focus on working towards the industry benchmark without worrying about those who only stare at high-end perfumes and jewelry."

Arthur nodded slightly, "Your goals sound ambitious."

"Of course," Fiona said seriously, "I intend to become a lady of respect, just like Emma Hamilton or Harriet Wilson have done."

Arthur was familiar with these two names.

In various social gatherings he had attended over the past year, gentlemen occasionally mentioned these two women who had stirred the social circles of London.

Accomplishing this was partly due to the innate beauty of these ladies, their education and cultivation, and partly because of their scandalous love stories with legendary lovers.

In recent decades in Britain, two of the most admired individuals were neither three-generation kings nor prime ministers, but came from the Army—Duke Wellington—and from the Royal Navy—Horatio Nelson.

Lauded as Britain’s foremost beauty, Emma Hamilton ascended to stardom after becoming the lover of Horatio Nelson, whether in the courts of Naples or in London’s Almack’s Club, she was always the center of attention.