Late at night, when Ramswick entered his master’s bedroom, Ian Dalton was lying on the bed, pressing the back of his hand against his eyes.

He had half-removed his tuxedo. Through the carelessly loosened linen tie and the shirt unbuttoned four or five times, his sculpted collarbone and defined chest were faintly visible. His neatly combed hair was now disheveled, and his jacket and vest lay haphazardly on the floor, as if tossed without care.

This was a stark contrast to his usual impeccable appearance, always maintaining a pristine suit even during his duties. Yet Ramswick was not surprised.

For the past three days, Miss Laura Pendleton had been avoiding his master. Until recently, the two had sought each other’s company like an affectionate husband and wife. They used to whisper and laugh like childhood friends who got along perfectly, but now they had become like strangers.

She made it impossible for his master to even speak to her, and whenever he approached, she would swiftly move away, like a deer hearing a hunter’s footsteps. Observing from a distance until the final day of the gathering, Ramswick had watched his master’s wounded expression with a heavy heart. Miss Laura Pendleton refused to engage with his master directly, and it was only through the butler that Ian could glean any insight into her feelings.

“Master, I have a report.”

Ian turned his head. His haggard face, worn from sleeplessness, fixed on the small, elderly butler. He slowly sat up, perching on the edge of the bed.

“Mr. Philip sent coffee cake and sherbet. You ate half and set it aside. She seems in decent spirits and eagerly wishes for the gathering to end so she can return to Dunville Park.”

“And what I asked you to find out?”

Ramswick swallowed hard.

When he hesitated, Ian’s face hardened.

“Answer me.”

“…At first, she said she didn’t know, but when I pressed further, she spoke. She said she might go to the boarding school she graduated from to work as a teacher. She’s already sent a letter inquiring about openings…”

Ian’s face crumpled painfully. He bowed his head and rubbed his face with dry hands.

Ramswick’s heart burned with worry. Was Miss Laura Pendleton truly planning to leave his master? And if so, could his master accept that reality?

Since Miss Laura Pendleton began ignoring him, Ian had not slept a wink. He smoked cigarettes incessantly, refused meals, and acted dazed no matter what was said, perplexing both servants and guests. He seemed utterly lost.

What if he goes mad?

The faithful old butler, whose only concern was his master’s peace and happiness, felt his wrinkles deepen with worry.

“She asked me to tell you, Master. After the final cotillion at tomorrow’s ball, there will be fireworks. Since it’s the last day, she thought an event to cap the evening was necessary and ordered it.”

As if dismissing such trivial matters, Ian pulled a cigar from the cigarette case and lit it. Ramswick bowed and left the room.

Click. The door closed.

In the dim room, Ian smoked his cigar. When one burned out, he lit another, and when that was finished, he took yet another, lighting it without pause.

But the calm he sought eluded him. His chest grew ever tighter.

She might leave Dunville Park?

The nightmare he dreaded had become reality.

He couldn’t pinpoint where things had gone wrong. He had hoped, during the preparations, that she would grow accustomed to Whitefield Hall. That she would come to know every corner of the estate, befriend the servants, and feel the burden of becoming its mistress lightened, even if he proposed.

He also wanted to boast to the nobles who had scorned her about the steadfast protector she had gained and how remarkable her father, the painter, had been.

But this plan had only driven her further away.

Her, my mistress? If I could find the wretch who spread such vile rumors and tear his mouth apart, I’d have no regrets.

But he couldn’t waste time on petty vengeance. Laura was planning to leave. She was about to fly away forever.

If she leaves, I won’t survive.

The past three days of her coldness had been hell. Nothing registered in his mind. The people passing before his eyes all looked like monkeys. Even when William Fairfax kept waving fingers in front of him, asking how many he saw, Ian couldn’t respond.

I can’t let her go. I must keep her by my side, no matter what.

He racked his brain. But even in a clear state, he was irrational when it came to Laura. A brain that hadn’t slept for three days produced an absurd solution.

Before Laura leaves, I’ll propose to her.

He bit down on the cigar.

At tomorrow’s ball, I’ll quietly call her to the terrace. I’ll tell her I’ve loved her all this time… But she won’t accept.

He stubbed out the cigar and gnawed at his nails. Soon, a scandalous idea struck him.

If she refuses, I’ll say I’ll throw myself off the terrace.

Adrenaline surged through him with excitement. He sprang up, pacing around the bed.

Yes, that’ll make her agree. She’s kind and compassionate. We’ll marry first. I’ll give her a separate room, and we’ll live like siblings until she loves me. I’ll wait years if I must, until her heart matches mine. Only then will our marriage truly begin.

Was his judgment clouded by sleep deprivation? Obsessed with the possibility of keeping Laura close, he forgot her deep faith. Laura, a Christian who viewed suicide as the gravest sin, would surely feel contempt if she knew his plan.

At dawn the next morning, he sent a servant to retrieve a diamond ring from the bank vault. It was a family heirloom of the Dalton house, the wedding ring his father had placed on his mother’s finger on their wedding day.

By luncheon, the swift servant presented the ring to his master.

Mr. Dalton tucked the thumbnail-sized diamond ring, nestled in its case, into the breast pocket of his tuxedo. Then, with polished shoes, he descended to the ballroom below.

The ballroom was deafening, filled with the orchestra’s music and the chatter of guests.

William Fairfax danced a lively quadrille with his sister before parting to find their respective friends.

He had resolved to dance the next cotillion with Miss Laura Pendleton.

He hadn’t had a proper conversation with her in days. There was much to catch up on. Miss Laura Pendleton was a friend he cherished as much as Jane Hyde, and he admired her deeply as a person.

William Fairfax spotted her by the refreshment table. She wore a deep purple velvet dress adorned with white lace, accented with pure gold accessories, and was instructing Ramswick to send more maids to the ladies’ lounge.

When she saw William Fairfax, she curtsied slightly.

“Good evening, Mr. Fairfax.”

“Good evening, Miss Pendleton. Or rather, Pendleton is an old name now, isn’t it?”

“I don’t mind what I’m called. Use whichever you prefer.”

“Then I’ll call you Miss Sheldon. Having lived so long without your name, with such a distinguished father, you should be proudly called by it henceforth.”

Laura smiled softly. William Fairfax sensed a faint shadow on her smiling face.

Is something troubling her?

He held back his question. Commenting on her poor complexion would be impolite to a lady.

“Miss Sheldon, is the next cotillion spoken for?”

“No.”

“Then with me?”

“I’d love to. It’s been a while since I danced with you, Mr. Fairfax. You’re a master of social dances, aren’t you?”

“I’m passable enough not to embarrass myself before you, Miss Sheldon. Isn’t your footwork lighter than a feather?”

Laura laughed brightly. But suddenly, her laughter stopped. Her gaze shifted over William Fairfax’s shoulder.

William Fairfax turned. Ian was striding through the ballroom, scanning the crowd.

He raised a hand.

“Hey, I—!”

“Mr. Fairfax!”

He turned back to Laura.

“I can’t do the next cotillion. Please forgive me, Mr. Fairfax.”

“Are you unwell?”

“No. I… remembered something I forgot to arrange.”

“You seem to be working too hard. I’m worried you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“Enjoy enough for me, please. And don’t tell Mr. Dalton which way I went.”

“Oh… Yes.”

Laura hurried away. The moment she vanished, Ian approached him.

“William, have you seen Miss Pendleton?”

“Huh?”

He rolled his eyes.

“I… haven’t.”

Ian ran a hand through his neatly combed hair.

“Blast it, where did she go?”

William Fairfax studied Ian’s face. Ian had grown more haggard by the day, but today, there was an unusual flush of excitement.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing. Let me know if you see Miss Pendleton.”

“Uh…”

“And if Miss Dora Lance asks for me, say you haven’t seen me. She’s been clinging to me these past few days, and it’s driving me mad.”

“Hey, how can you speak of a lady like—”

Ian didn’t wait for him to finish and vanished into the crowd.

What’s going on? A game of hide-and-seek?

William Fairfax shrugged and wandered the ballroom to find other friends. Then, in the distance, he spotted his sister’s back. She was mingling with Dora Lance and her friends.

He approached to greet the ladies.

“Good evening.”

The ladies curtsied.

“Having a pleasant time?”

“Of course.”

Dora Lance laughed brightly. She looked even more vibrant than when he’d seen her on the train. Her hairstyle and dress were impeccable, making her stand out among the women in the ballroom.

“Brother, brother, Miss Lance’s dress was handcrafted by a tailor from France!”

Dora Lance blushed with embarrassment. William Fairfax clapped lightly to play along.

“No wonder it caught my eye from afar. You’re the star of the evening.”

Dora Lance’s friends giggled delightedly. Dora Lance’s cheeks reddened further.

“Thank you.”

“Your dance card must already be full for the night.”

“Not at all. I must save one dance for you, Mr. Fairfax.”

“The honor is mine, Miss Lance.”

At that moment, Victoria Wilkes, standing nearby, fanned herself, covering her mouth, and whispered to Dora Lance.

“Not the waltz. Not the waltz!”

“Be quiet!”

Though whispered, William Fairfax overheard.

Saving the waltz for a sweetheart, I suppose.

He smiled to himself.

“The cotillion has already started. May I reserve the next country dance?”

“Perfect.”

“By the way, Mr. Fairfax, have you seen Mr. Dalton?”

Daisy Orson, standing beside Dora Lance, asked.

William Fairfax felt torn between his friend’s request and courtesy toward a lady.