Laura Pendleton visited Whitefield every day. She inspected each room of the manor, surveyed the halls, and assessed the scale and efficiency of the servants.

The innocent country servants, who until now had known nothing beyond cleaning, laundry, and cooking, were utterly overwhelmed. The butler, Ramswick, was equally flustered.

Laura gave Ramswick detailed instructions, step by step. She shared a precise schedule and directed him on where to assign which servants.

Ramswick absorbed Laura’s instructions and distributed roles to the servants. It was like a military operation: the servants were soldiers, Ramswick the strategist, and Laura the general.

Laura arrived at Whitefield around ten in the morning. Together with Ramswick, she toured the manor, designating guest bedrooms and inspecting newly arrived decorative tapestries and wines.

Amidst the busy hours, lunchtime would arrive before she knew it. Wherever she was, Mr. Ian Dalton would personally come to escort her. The two walked side by side to the dining room and ate together.

In the dining room, where Whitefield’s scenery unfolded like a painting, the two sat across from each other, sharing a meal. It was a pleasant and relaxed time.

After the meal, they took a brief walk around the Whitefield grounds. Then, they returned to their respective tasks—him to his study, and Laura to the office he had provided for her work.

According to Mr. Ramswick, the butler, this office had once belonged to the late Mrs. Dalton. Laura could sense the refined taste of Mrs. Dalton in the luxurious furniture.

In that office, Laura planned menus and interviewed musicians.

Around four o’clock, Mr. Ian Dalton would visit her office, pushing a cart laden with tea and pastries. It was astonishing that the master of the house would perform a servant’s task, but he didn’t seem to mind.

He poured tea for Laura himself, cut her a slice of cake, and handed it to her. Then, he pulled up a chair, sat beside her, and began to chatter.

Laura hadn’t realized Ian was such a talker. She guessed he must have been lonely, lacking close friends to confide in.

Laura listened attentively to his words and shared how she had spent her afternoon. He listened to every detail with care. Even though the conversation was mundane, a smile bloomed on his face.

As they chatted, the time for dinner arrived quickly. They went to the dining room together again to eat, and afterward, he escorted her back to Dunville Park.

Spending every day like this, Whitefield became as familiar to Laura as Dunville Park. She knew the servants’ names and the layout of the house by heart. She grew close to Mr. Ramswick and became comfortable speaking with the cook, Mr. Philip. Thanks to Mr. Ian Dalton’s chatter, she also became well-acquainted with his daily routine.

Each day felt like walking through a dream, filled with happiness.

Whitefield was a beautiful place. Even Laura, whose rationality outweighed her sentimentality, was deeply moved. She enjoyed wandering through the manor and sharing her daily tasks with Mr. Ian Dalton. She wished those moments could last forever.

But time did not stand still, and soon the hunting party was approaching.

Laura packed for a week-long stay. She had acquired many dresses for such occasions.

The day before the hunting party, Mrs. Olivia Fairfax called Laura to her dressing room. She opened her wardrobe and handed Laura a pile of silk dresses. Each one was elegant without being ostentatious, impressive even to Laura, who had seen countless dresses in society.

These were the dresses the late Mrs. Dalton had left to her daughter upon her passing. Mrs. Olivia Fairfax insisted Laura wear them for the upcoming party.

Laura politely declined, but Mrs. Olivia Fairfax was persistent in her persuasion. She even lent Laura her mother’s jewelry.

“Dress beautifully and stay by Ian’s side to look after him. That boy can’t manage anything without you. But that doesn’t mean you should only work—don’t hold back, and have fun!”

Knowing that excessive refusal would be rude, Laura accepted the dresses, promising to care for them and return them in pristine condition.

The next day, Laura boarded a carriage. She left behind the smiling Mrs. Olivia Fairfax and her daughter, as well as the brothers who were whining about being separated from their teacher for a week—especially since she was heading to their uncle’s terrifying household—and set off for Whitefield Hall alone.

Clatter, clatter.

Outside the window, the plains passed by, dotted with sheep grazing on the grass.

Miss Dora Lance, gazing out the window, smiled. Based in London, Miss Lance found this rare trip from the city to the countryside quite enjoyable. She took in the lush greenery with her eyes, even savoring the slight nausea induced by the train’s swaying with a joyful heart.

A soft coo sound reached her ears. She turned toward the source and saw the crown of Miss Janet’s head.

Miss Janet, exhausted, was dozing off with her head slumped forward, snoring softly.

Miss Lance smiled and looked at Mr. William Fairfax. He met her gaze and smiled back.

“She must be very tired.”

“Yes, she probably couldn’t sleep from excitement about visiting Whitefield.”

He gently placed his sister’s swaying head, like wheat in the wind, on his shoulder. Then, he asked for Miss Lance’s understanding and lowered the window curtain.

“What a kind brother,” Miss Lance thought, watching Mr. William Fairfax drape a blanket over his sister’s shoulders with a warm feeling.

Miss Lance had originally planned to travel with her three usual companions. However, when Miss Victoria Wilkes became engaged to Mr. George Orson, Miss Daisy Orson’s brother, the Orson family ended up sitting together as one group.

That left Miss Susan Donovan, her only other friend, to stay by her side, but Miss Donovan was visiting her aunt with her mother and would join later.

Left alone, Miss Lance found Miss Janet’s shy offer to share a train compartment quite welcome.

The three had a delightful time. They played cards, took turns telling amusing stories, and recited poetry from their collections. But after half a day, even that grew tiresome, and a silence settled in.

That silence was broken by Miss Janet’s snoring.

“How long has it been since you visited Yorkshire, Mr. Fairfax?”

“With business and all, it’s been about two years, I think. I wonder how much my nephews have grown. I’m not even sure if they’ll remember me.”

“You seem like a very affectionate uncle. You’re so kind to your sister as well.”

Mr. William Fairfax smiled shyly, his eyes crinkling. His handsome face looked even more striking with a smile.

“I am close with my nephews. I’m quite fond of children.”

“Goodness, and yet you’re still unmarried? That’s surprising.”

Miss Lance caught herself. She remembered that half a year ago, he had pursued Miss Jane Hyde and was rejected. It was trivial gossip, forgotten by most, but the wound might still be fresh for him.

Yet he continued to smile brightly.

“I haven’t met the right match yet. Every night, I pray fervently for a good bride.”

“So you do have marriage in mind?”

“Of course. I’m not a confirmed bachelor. People might assume a young, single businessman in London would want to enjoy a free lifestyle and delay marriage as long as possible. But I’ve always thought of my current life as temporary.”

He continued in a gentle tone.

“I need a family. A like-minded wife to spend my life with and sweet children who call me father. My real life will begin after marriage. I believe a man’s true purpose is fulfilled as a husband and father.”

It was a remarkably sensible thought. Miss Lance was impressed.

“If you marry, will you give up life in London?”

“If my wife wishes to stay, I’d continue living in the townhouse, but I’d prefer to settle in the countryside. I’ve leased it out for now, but I own a small country house in Somerset.”

Though she tried to hide it, real estate was one of Miss Lance’s interests. She asked indirectly about the size of the country house.

Mr. William Fairfax saw through her intentions but answered plainly without showing it.

“Compared to Whitefield Hall, where we’re headed, it’s modest. It’s not even as grand as Dunville Park, where I grew up and which my brother Robert now manages well.”

Miss Lance cautiously asked a few more questions, and from his answers, she could gauge the size of the country house. A two-story stone house, somewhere between a grand estate and a cottage. A spacious garden with a gazebo. A fine view of hills and orchards. A large market nearby for easy access to supplies.

Miss Lance was astonished. Even for a successful businessman, it was remarkable for a second son, who inherits little under English law, to have amassed such property at the age of twenty-nine.

Miss Lance thought of Miss Jane Hyde. Though slender and uniquely charming, she wasn’t exactly a beauty. Yet she had rejected Mr. William Fairfax and chosen to become a typist.

Miss Lance couldn’t understand it. How could someone reject such a fine suitor and choose to become a mere typist?

A woman earning her own living signified failure in the marriage market—either from a poor family, a bad husband, or unattractiveness. That was how society saw it, and Miss Lance secretly agreed.

“What an incomprehensible young lady,” Miss Lance thought, clicking her tongue inwardly. She felt a quiet joy knowing that Mr. William Fairfax, who might (no, certainly would) become her relative, was such a dependable and capable gentleman.

The train continued its journey.

The two talked more than usual, as Miss Janet, who typically never stopped talking, was asleep. Mr. William Fairfax, who usually stayed quiet unless prompted, spoke more to keep the lady before him from growing bored.

Both being amiable, their conversation was far from dull.

Mr. William Fairfax felt a pleasant warmth watching Miss Lance chatter cheerfully. What a charming young lady. Before they grew close, he had only admired her beauty from afar. But unexpectedly becoming better acquainted, he found her likable and her company enjoyable.

Her innocent and candid nature, lively and imaginative, made her seem almost girlish despite being twenty, an age not considered young in society. At times, her excessive honesty seemed immature, but knowing she meant no harm, it felt like innocence.

She was far from his ideal type. He wanted an intelligent, principled woman, someone he could respect and discuss ideas with as an equal.

But that was because he was an unusual man. A charming woman like Miss Lance was likely the ideal wife for many London gentlemen.

“Who will be the lucky man to become this lady’s husband?” he wondered.