‘Miss Pendleton.’

She must have known everything. Her own misconceptions and Mr. Dalton’s heart.

Miss Lance recalled the picnic from last spring. Miss Pendleton, who had fled, and Mr. Dalton, who had chased after her.

She had thought he had betrayed Miss Pendleton upon learning of her origins. But perhaps it was the opposite. Perhaps he loved Miss Pendleton passionately, yet she had pushed his feelings away.

Why hadn’t she considered this?

Why, indeed? Deep down, she had looked down on her. Because of her humble origins. Because she was an old maid. Because she had no fortune.

‘Among all the people in London, she was the most self-aware, the one who cared for me the most…’

The truth stripped her ego bare. That nakedness was a frail, twisted, wretched form, utterly unlike the vibrant twenty-year-old body she possessed.

‘I thought I was clever. Better than my class-obsessed father, my money-driven mother, my immature friends. But I’m no different from them. I’m just a foolish twenty-year-old child.’

Miss Lance covered her face with both hands. Soon, her palms were wet with tears—not the sentimental tears of a woman scorned, but the bitter tears of self-awareness that only one who has confronted their true self could shed.

Laura Fairfax emerged from the manor’s entrance, clad in a green checkered dress with a white shawl draped over her shoulders. Two maids followed, carrying her luggage.

In front of the manor stood a deep chestnut four-wheeled carriage. The Whitefield coachman, who had been waiting, loaded the luggage with the maids’ help. Meanwhile, Miss Pendleton climbed into the carriage.

She wanted to leave this house as soon as possible. She needed time alone to collect her thoughts.

It had been early last summer when she had believed Mr. Dalton’s heart belonged to another lady. That was when he had returned after vanishing, mingling with Miss Lance’s circle and asking her to join them in helping him find a match.

Seeing Mr. Dalton’s demeanor, armed with friendship, Laura had completely abandoned her belief that his heart was hers.

But it was an act. A mask. He had used Miss Lance to deceive her, to bypass her guarded heart.

Once the luggage was loaded, the maid bowed and returned to the manor. The coachman took his seat.

Miss Pendleton stuck her head out the window and ordered the carriage to depart.

The coachman immediately shouted, “Hiyah!” and cracked the reins. The horse let out a long neigh and began to step forward.

Then.

“Stop.”

Laura looked toward the manor’s entrance. A tall, lanky figure stood at the doorway. It was Mr. Dalton.

The coachman quickly halted the carriage. He approached the carriage.

Laura, her heart racing, shouted to the coachman.

“Just go!”

He ordered the coachman.

“Drop the reins.”

The coachman, of course, followed his master’s command.

Mr. Dalton opened the carriage door without permission. Laura clenched her fists tightly.

“Can’t I not even leave on my own terms, Mr. Dalton?” she asked.

“Are you planning to leave without any discussion about what just happened?” he replied.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“If this matter means so little that you have nothing to say, then there’s no reason for you to avoid me. No reason to be angry with me.”

Laura looked at Mr. Dalton with icy eyes.

“What discussion is needed? The story of how you toyed with Miss Lance to deceive me? The reasons you armed yourself with lies to win me over?”

“The term ‘toyed’ isn’t right. There was nothing between Miss Lance and me beyond the kind of friendship you shared with William. Don’t falsely paint me as a scoundrel. For thirty years, I’ve lived without caring what others think of me. But there’s one exception to that. You.”

“…”

“Let’s lay it all bare. I fell in love with your at our first meeting at the ball. The reason I lingered by your side in London wasn’t friendship—it was love. But you didn’t want me, and after much thought, I acted as though my heart belonged to another woman. In the forest cabin, I said I had a lady in mind. That lady was you, Miss Pendleton.”

Laura was speechless.

“I don’t regret that choice. If I hadn’t hidden my feelings, you wouldn’t have become a governess at Dunville Park, nor would you have come here to Whitefield. Giving up on you was impossible, so it was an unavoidable decision.”

“…What changes by bringing me here? Even if I were to love you, what could we be beyond lovers? Surely you don’t intend to marry me?”

“Why not?”

“That’s absurd. The difference in our origins…”

“That’s the core issue of our relationship. I know it can’t be resolved with a few words. So.”

He climbed into the carriage, slammed the door shut, and ordered the coachman to depart.

Miss Pendleton trembled in shock. He crossed his arms.

“Let’s talk slowly on the way.”

Clop, clop.

As the carriage passed through Whitefield’s woods and glided by the familiar vicarage, no words passed between the two.

Mr. Dalton stared intently at Laura’s face. Laura, avoiding his gaze, looked only out the window.

She could feel that she was waiting for the man before her to speak first. To vent his anger or demand answers. But Laura couldn’t find the words.

Despite her calm exterior, Laura’s heart was in turmoil.

He had said he loved her. Not Miss Lance, nor some nameless lady, but Laura Sheldon.

She had thought it was an unrequited love, a pain she’d carry like a chronic illness for life. Yet, he shared the same feelings as her.

It was surely something to rejoice over, and a part of her heart was indeed rejoicing. If she were alone in the carriage, she might have, for a fleeting moment, surrendered to her emotions and shed tears of happiness.

But the larger part of her—the overly developed discernment that was both her strength and her flaw—chained her joy tightly.

“You made a grave mistake with Miss Lance,” she said.

“Did I?” he replied.

“You’ve caused her an irreparable wound. London is a conservative place. A woman rumored to be promised to a man can never secure a good husband. It’s a harsh ordeal for a twenty-year-old lady to endure.”

“But she’s a popular baronet’s lady. Her friends boasted that marriage proposals never cease.”

“That was before her reputation was tarnished.”

“If you insist, Miss Pendleton, I’ll apologize to Miss Lance separately. So let’s drop the subject of Miss Lance. We have more pressing matters, don’t we?”

Mr. Dalton brushed aside the topic of Miss Lance as if it were a useless scrap of paper. The chained joy in Laura’s heart shrank slightly.

Looking out the window, Laura thought of herself at seventeen. The days after John Ashton left London, when everyone knew she had been his lover, and the trials she faced in that city.

Rumors spread that she had lost her virtue, even that she was pregnant. Ladies shunned her as if she were a street woman, while gentlemen insulted her with lecherous kindness unfit for a lady.

Those memories left countless scars on Laura’s heart, still aching at times even now at twenty-nine.

Miss Lance would face the same ordeal. Her title as a baronet’s daughter might soften the blow compared to Laura’s experience, but Laura knew Miss Lance. A naive yet proud lady. Such an ordeal would break her.

‘Because of the man I introduced her to…’

“Mr. Dalton.”

Laura looked at him directly.

“Marry Miss Lance.”

Mr. Dalton’s expression hardened. Knowing she was hurting him, Laura steeled herself and spoke firmly.

“Save the lady whose life you’ve put in jeopardy.”

“I’m not a knight charging at a fire-breathing dragon to rescue a princess locked in a tower.”

“But you mustn’t be a villain. She’s a fine match for a wife in many ways. You’d suit each other, and through marriage, you could both benefit—”

“Enough!”

He suddenly raised his voice.

“I don’t want to be dictated to about whom I marry. Especially not by you…!”

His handsome face contorted.

“You know my heart, yet all you care about is Miss Lance. Her reputation, her future, her marriage. What is she to you? Just another acquaintance you exchange polite greetings with at balls, isn’t she?”

“…”

“You now know my heart. That I love you, that I want to marry no one but you! Yet how can you tell me to marry another woman? Does my heart mean nothing to you? Don’t you realize your suggestion wounds me? Or… am I so insignificant to you?”

His voice carried undeniable pain.

“I’m not a gentleman. I’ve never been one. I live as I please, taking what I want without caring for others’ opinions. Marriage has no other condition for me but love. And that love I feel only for you. So don’t try to persuade me with talk of conditions or benefits. The more you do, the harder my heart will become, like stone. And a heart turned to stone might drive you into a cave and seal the entrance forever.”

Laura decided to abandon persuading him. He was a stubborn man, and his feelings for her were stronger than she’d realized.

“I overstepped. I apologize. Your marriage is yours to decide, Mr. Dalton.”

But his angry expression didn’t soften in the slightest.

“Whom I marry is already decided. Whether I can marry, however, depends on you.”

“…Please, don’t leave that decision to me. I can’t make you happy, Mr. Dalton.”

“With a single nod, you could make me the happiest man in the world.”

“That’s the one thing I can’t do for you.”

“Why not?”

“A sensible person doesn’t embrace an imprudent marriage with open arms. It’s certain to bring misery to their spouse and children.”

“Are you so afraid of the world? Is avoiding gossip and unkind glances the sole purpose of your life, Miss Pendleton?”

“The purpose of my life is to live rightly. Freedom, love, and marriage must exist only within the bounds of social order, without causing misery to those I cherish. That’s the value I hold as my conviction.”

He laughed, as if exasperated.

“You treat marrying me as if it were a crime.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you.”

“Don’t apologize. It offers no comfort.”

He sighed and rubbed his face. Laura, finding his distress painful to watch, turned her gaze back to the window.

“Miss Pendleton, let me ask one thing.”

After a brief silence, he spoke.

“Setting everything else aside, is there not even a trace of love for me in your heart? Even for a moment. Has your heart never fluttered at the sight of me, have you never tossed and turned at night thinking of me, have you never, even once, imagined a future with me?”