Wearing British clothes as a second-generation aristocrat

The carriage clattered over the gravel road, carrying Dugan slowly through the gates of Earl Connebe's mansion.

This Baroque mansion, standing in London's West End, is magnificent, yet it always exudes a cold and oppressive atmosphere. At least in Dugan's eyes, it is more like a cage that confines him than a warm home.

As soon as the carriage came to a stop, a figure quickly approached; it was none other than Dugan's mother, Maria.

She wore an elegant satin dress, her hair neatly styled, her face filled with anxiety, her gaze fixed on Dugen. Before he could get out of the car, she reached out and grabbed his arm, her voice trembling, "Dugen, my child, you're finally back! I heard you went to a duel, were you hurt? Are you feeling alright anywhere?"

Her fingertips touched the blood-stained bandage on Dugan's left arm, and tears instantly welled up, sliding down her cheeks and dripping onto the back of Dugan's hand.

"Oh my god, you're hurt! My poor child, does it hurt? Who hurt you like this?" Maria cried as she carefully lifted a corner of the bandage, looking at the shallow abrasion. Her heart ached, and she trembled with guilt. "It's all my fault. I didn't watch you properly and let you do something so dangerous..."

Dugan was somewhat taken aback by her sudden display of affection.

In the three days since he transmigrated, he had never felt such genuine care. In the original owner's memories, although his mother loved him, she was often disappointed by his dissolute behavior. Such heart-wrenching heartache was rare.

He gently patted Maria's hand, his tone softening: "Mother, I'm fine, just a small scratch, it doesn't hurt, it'll be fine soon."

"Not even a small scratch!" Maria choked up, insisting on helping him into the house. "Come inside quickly, I'll have a servant fetch a doctor to treat you properly, you can't have any scars."

Just as the two were helping each other to enter, a cold and authoritative voice came from the second-floor corridor, instantly silencing Maria's sobs: "Enough, Maria! Look at the good son you've spoiled!"

Dugan looked up and saw a middle-aged man in a dark suit with a serious face standing at the edge of the corridor, his brows furrowed and his eyes sharp, staring intently at him.

That was his father, Earl Oris of Connaught. Oris was tall and stern-faced, though the wrinkles around his eyes betrayed a hint of weariness. He exuded the aura of a superior, sending chills down one's spine.

Maria froze, quickly wiping away her tears. Her expression became restrained, and she whispered in protest, "Oris, Dugan is injured, can't you say less to him..."

"Injured?" Oris sneered, his steps heavy as he descended the stairs, the wooden staircase creaking and thumping, each step feeling like it was treading on someone's heart.

The old count walked up to his wife and snapped, "What does his injury matter? He almost killed Ken of the Rivers!"

He walked up to Dugan, his voice filled with anger and disappointment: "Dugan, tell me, how long are you going to keep this up? From childhood to adulthood, what have you done besides causing trouble, gambling, and stirring up trouble? Look at you, you've completely disgraced the Connaught family!"

Dugan frowned, and spoke up unwillingly, "Father, I didn't mean to kill him. Ken provoked me first in the duel, and I saved his life in the end. The Rivers family shouldn't blame us; they should be grateful to me."

"Resurrect him?" Oris's voice rose sharply, as if he'd heard the biggest joke in the world, his anger almost consuming him. "You have the nerve to say that? If you hadn't impulsively accepted the duel, none of this would have happened! Even if you did revive him, do you think the Rivers family would be truly grateful?"

His furious outbursts rained down on Dugan like a storm, each word carrying a chilling edge. "How could I have a son like you? Why can't you learn from your brother Megan?"

Mentioning her brother Megan, Oris's tone softened slightly, but it still carried a deep sense of disappointment. Her gaze towards Dugan was filled with disdain born of comparison: "Megan has been sensible and capable since childhood. She entered the East India Company at a young age and is now a high-ranking executive, wielding considerable power and highly regarded by her superiors. Not only is he successful in his career, but he also married a lady from a prestigious family and has two sons and a daughter, bringing honor and prosperity to our Connaught family."

Dugan's mind was instantly filled with the original owner's memories of Megan.

Megan, the older brother, is five years older than Duggan. She is calm and reserved and has been groomed by her father, Oris, as the family heir since childhood. She is impeccable in terms of knowledge, ability, and character. She is a recognized young talent in the entire London high society and the pride of her father, Oris.

The original owner of this body was a "negative example" who always lived in her brother's shadow and only caused trouble.

"Look at yourself!" Oris's anger flared again as she pointed at Dugan's nose and snapped, "I'm absolutely fed up with cleaning up your messes!"

After finishing his rant, Oris took a deep breath, suppressed his anger, turned around and walked to the desk in the living room. He picked up a document with a gold-embossed cover and threw it onto the coffee table in front of Dugan.

"This is a job I got for you at a high price, by pulling a lot of strings: a major staff officer in the 94th Infantry Regiment. This regiment will be setting off for India to fight in a week. Pack your bags and go with the troops."

Dugan picked up the letter of appointment, his feelings mixed. Major staff officer—it sounded like a good position, but he knew in his heart that this was no good job at all. It was clearly his father's way of sending him far away, out of sight, out of mind.

He looked up at Oris, his eyes filled with resentment and questioning: "Father, do you really want to drive me away like this?"

Oris avoided his gaze, his tone cold: "Kick you out? I'm doing this for your own good, and for the good of the Connaught family. Once you're in the army, you'll have a chance to toughen up and see if you can improve. Don't be a spoiled brat who only causes trouble."

Maria, growing anxious, rushed forward and grabbed Oris's arm, pleading, "Dear Oris, no! India is so far away, and there's still war going on. It's too dangerous for Dugan to go! Please think of another way, okay?"

"There's no other way!" Oris forcefully shook off Maria's hand, his tone resolute. "This is my final decision, and no one can change it! Dugan, you must go! If you dare refuse, from this day forward, you will no longer be a member of the Connaught family, and I will cut off all your financial support, leaving you to fend for yourself on the streets of London!"

Dugen looked at his father's resolute eyes, then at his mother who was standing to the side, tears streaming down her face, yet powerless to do anything. A sense of helplessness and sorrow welled up in his heart.

He knew that his father had made up his mind, and no matter how he tried to explain, it would be useless.

The only one to blame is the original Dugan, who was too disappointing.

Dugan took a deep breath, raised his head, looked at his father Oris, and said calmly but with a hint of determination, "Alright, Father, I'll go. But I'd like to take Aldo with me."

Maria chimed in, "Yes, with Aldo around, I feel much more at ease going to such a far place."

A barely perceptible flicker of unease crossed Oris's eyes, but his tone remained icy: "Fine, the troops will assemble at the dock. I don't want to see you late, and I certainly don't want to see you desert your post." With that, he turned and walked upstairs to the second floor, his figure in the corridor appearing exceptionally lonely and imposing.

In the living room, only Dugan and a tearful Maria remained. Maria hugged Dugan tightly, choking back tears, and said, "My child, I'm so sorry to have to go through all this... When you get to India, please take good care of yourself, be careful, and come back soon..."

"Don't worry," Dugan said, gently patting his mother's back.