Wearing British clothes as a second-generation aristocrat

6. Still protecting their own.

Human nature is such that parents can never escape their instinct to protect their children.

Even in 1800 AD, the British upper class, which emphasized aristocratic rules and strict hierarchy, was no exception.

Earl Oris flew into a rage at Dugan, berating him for his insolence and disgrace to the family. He was so angry that his temples throbbed, and he was filled with disappointment and regret that he had never had this troublesome youngest son.

But once the anger subsided and they calmed down, the bond of blood ties ultimately prevailed over their disappointment and resentment.

Dugan was, after all, his biological son, a member of the Conba family.

Anger aside, punishment is punishment. Sending Dugan to the front lines in India for training is a disciplinary measure, but it does not mean that the old count will stand by and watch himself die in a foreign land.

That evening, Oris went alone into his study, closed the door, lit the whale oil lamp, spread out paper, and began to write a letter.

A letter was sent to his eldest son, Megan Connby, who was in Calcutta and held a senior position in the East India Company.

In the letter, he truthfully recounted the duel incident and explained that Dugan was about to be sent to India to serve as a major staff officer in the 94th Infantry Regiment. In his stern words, he repeatedly urged Megan to take good care of her good-for-nothing brother.

Another letter was written to Colonel Carl Stevenson, commander of the 94th Infantry Regiment, and the third was written to General Wellington, whose prestige in the British military was rising and who was about to take charge of the war in the overseas colonies.

The old Earl had cultivated deep connections within London's aristocratic circles for decades, possessing an extensive and prestigious network. Using his status as a fellow nobleman and a member of an established family, he earnestly cultivated relationships, subtly entrusting the two men to look after his youngest son.

Dugan's older brother, Megan, was a few years older than him. She was calm and mature beyond her years, having shed the impetuousness of aristocratic children even in her youth. Others only saw Dugan as a dissolute playboy who constantly caused trouble, but Megan doted on and indulged her younger brother from the bottom of her heart.

When Dugan got into trouble in his youth, Megan would often quietly step in to smooth things over and take the blame for him; when others criticized Dugan's character, only Megan would silently defend him.

The two brothers appear to be a prodigy and the pride of their family, while the other is infamous and a stain on their family's reputation. In reality, they have always had a very good relationship in private.

Megan happened to be stationed in India for many years, and with the help of the East India Company, she had extensive connections in both the military and political circles. She had a long-standing relationship with Colonel Carl Stevenson and had met General Wellington several times, and they often exchanged letters.

Upon learning that her younger brother was about to come to India, Megan did not delay for a moment and immediately wrote two private letters.

His words were humble and polite, entrusting the two men with the responsibility of looking after Dugan of the 94th Infantry Regiment as a friend and business partner.

In fact, Dugan himself has always known this.

He was annoyed by the constant comparisons between himself and his perfect brother in high society, and annoyed by always living in Megan's shadow, but he never disliked his gentle and protective brother.

No one in the world would refuse an older brother who silently shelters them from the wind and rain, and who can take the blame for their mistakes.

So Dugan was still in London, but his name quickly reached Colonel Carl Stevenson and even General Wellington.

This special privilege, which others can only dream of, is something that others can only envy but cannot obtain.

Born into an old aristocratic family, Dugen was born with wealth, power, and connections—these were his inherent advantages.

Of course, while Dugan himself was a playboy, he wasn't an idiot.

As the saying goes, chicks don't pee; everyone has their own way of doing things.

For years, Duggan had been living in London’s elite circles, spending his nights in villas, balls, opera houses, and pubs. He seemed to be wasting his life, but many of the sons of powerful figures and government officials were his playmates and close friends.

Dugan himself is also leveraging his network to pave the way for himself.

For example, tonight, in the gardens of a private villa in the eastern suburbs of London.

Dugan then paid a private visit to Melia, the First Lord of the Navy's beloved daughter.

The moonlit pavilion, with its gentle evening breeze and fragrant flowers, exudes a romantic and tender atmosphere.

Dugan knelt on one knee, gently raised his hand, and tenderly held Melia's slender, fair hand, his eyes filled with just the right amount of loneliness and melancholy.

"Oh, my beautiful and charming Melia, I have come tonight to bid you farewell."

"I will soon be serving in India, a place thousands of miles away."

Melia's eyes widened suddenly, and she instinctively covered her lips, her face filled with disbelief and astonishment: "My God, Mr. Dugan, you're going to such a wild and dangerous place?"

She mingled among many noblemen, and Dugan was just one of her many close friends. But no lady would refuse a handsome gentleman's heartfelt farewell, nor would she complain about having too many admirers.

"It takes months to sail from London across the ocean to India," Dugan said in a low voice, deliberately emphasizing the sorrow. He gently kissed the back of her hand with his fingertips. "The warships are crowded and dirty. I might not even set foot on Indian soil before I'm lost at sea."

As he finished speaking, he looked up, his gaze deep and melancholic, as he quietly stared at Melia.

"Please allow me to recite one last poem for you as a farewell gift."

Without waiting for a response, Dugan slowly began to recite a sonnet from Shakespeare.

This poem was his secret weapon, which he had memorized before he traveled through time to pursue a British female student.

While not particularly novel or fancy by modern standards, the elegant and poignant sonnets were deeply moving among the noble ladies of England in 1803.

I listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall.

The menacing night swallowed the bright daylight.

As I gaze upon the violets, their spring beauty faded.

Her dark, curly hair was covered with a layer of white frost.

When I saw the towering tree's branches stripped of all their leaves...

It had recently sheltered the panting cattle and sheep.

The lush greenery of summer is bound together in bunches.

He was carried onto the mortuary bed with his stiff white beard.

Therefore, I can't help but feel anxious about your youthful appearance.

One day you will join the desolation of time.

Since both Mei and Fangfei have abandoned themselves,

Watching others grow, I find no solace in their fragrance.

No one can resist the scythe of time.

When he comes to take you away...

The poignant verses drifted down on the evening breeze, a blend of sorrow and beauty.

Melia's nose tingled, her eyes instantly reddened, and tears streamed down her face. She was completely moved by the deep affection of this farewell, at least for now.

Melia clutched her skirt, her eyes soft and reluctant, and whispered, "Dugan, tonight is short, and tomorrow may never come. We must cherish every minute and every second of tonight."

After saying that, she got up, took Dugen's hand, and stepped into the bedroom where the warm lights swayed.

The following morning, a handwritten order, personally signed by the First Minister of the Navy, was sent directly to the Logistics Management Office of the Navy Department.

The document is concise and clear, and grants special approval: Major Dugan Connby, staff officer of the 94th Infantry Regiment, shall have a private cabin during the transoceanic voyage and shall be given priority in terms of living and eating.

After that, Dugan quickly found another ironclad playmate, Gleeson, the youngest son of the Army's Secretary of Logistics.

At that moment, Gleason was languid, reeking of alcohol, and his eyes showed the weariness of a hangover, clearly still recovering from the previous night's revelry.

Seeing Dugan arrive, he raised an eyebrow and teased, "Oh, Dugan? You weren't banned by your father? The whole town is talking about how you dueled Ken from the Rivers family for a singer and almost killed him on the spot."

"I'm the one who injured him, and I'm the one who saved him." Dugan shrugged, his expression deliberately desolate and forlorn, tinged with the bleakness of a warrior facing death. "The price was being sent to fight in India by my father. I'm here today specifically to say goodbye to you, brother."

That chilling, desolate look instantly struck a nerve with Gleason.

He was the most loyal among the group of playboys. When he saw that his good friend, with whom he used to drink, have fun, and make merry, was about to go to his death, he immediately felt a lump in his throat and went up to give Dugen a big bear hug.

The two slapped each other's backs hard, until they both grimaced in pain, before laughing and separating.

"Tell me, brother, what can I do for you?" Gleeson asked seriously.

"I was assigned to the 94th Infantry Regiment and sent to fight in the colonies." Dugan didn't mince words and stated his needs directly: "You and I both know that the army's logistics have always been chaotic and sluggish, with frequent shortages of ammunition, supplies, and rations. I don't want to go to India and end up fighting with bayonets."

Gleeson immediately patted his chest, full of confidence: "Don't worry, leave it to me! As long as my father is in the logistics department, your unit will have sufficient food, ammunition, and timely supplies. You will never be short of a single bullet or a single piece of equipment."

Dugan's lips curled into a triumphant smile. He patted Dugan's shoulder, his eyes lewd and suggestive: "Good brother, once I come back alive from India, we can continue our cooperation."

Gleeson was taken aback for a moment, then immediately understood and revealed a knowing, mischievous smile: "It's a deal. When the time comes, Nina and Scarlett will definitely call you 'Dad'."

After saying goodbye to Gleeson, Dugan went on to visit several of his old cronies.

The son of a Ministry of Finance official, the son of a quartermaster, and a descendant of a military attaché stationed abroad.

After a round of farewells, he subtly laid out all the backup plans, conveniences, and implicit favors for his future trip to India.

Several days passed in the blink of an eye, and the time for the troops to set off was drawing ever closer.

As night deepened, Banks, a seasoned black market craftsman, slipped past his eyes and ears and quietly made his way to the side gate of Earl Conneville's mansion to deliver the completed goods.

Inside a long wooden box wrapped in layers of tarpaulin, lies a modified Brownbes standard smoothbore rifle.

The originally smooth inner wall of the barrel has been precisely milled by hand to create regular and deep rifling. The gun body has been polished and oiled, and the hardware is shiny and sharp. A complete set of lead bullet casting molds, manual bullet loading tools, and repair accessories are neatly arranged on the side.

Banks rubbed his rough hands together, examining the modified firearm, and casually asked, "Mr. Connaught, such a precise rifled rifle is perfect for hunting. Could it be that you're traveling all the way to India to hunt for leisure?"

In the eyes of this old craftsman, painstakingly modifying the rifling was nothing more than a toy for aristocratic young masters to use when hunting and showing off their marksmanship.

Dugan took the wooden box, weighed it in his hand, smiled faintly, and tossed the heavy money bag over.

"It might not be hunting. Perhaps next time, I'll have a gentleman's duel with an arrogant Indian prince."

Banks opened his purse, counted the gleaming coins, and grinned from ear to ear before carefully tucking the money away: "Have a safe journey and a speedy return. To be honest, you are the most generous customer I have ever met."

"Don't give me that." Dugan scoffed, mercilessly exposing him. "You're the most greedy craftsman I've ever met, demanding exorbitant prices."

Banks wasn't annoyed by the teasing at all. He grinned, revealing a mouthful of decayed teeth, and said matter-of-factly, "You get what you pay for. Forty pounds, I'm giving you top-notch craftsmanship. It's absolutely worth the price."