She and herself were similar. Neither had married, and both had received an exceptionally high level of education for women. Yet their lives had been entirely different. Even if she had inherited 200,000 pounds at the age of eighteen, she would never have considered boarding a ship to Africa.

Sailing. Adventure. Challenge.

Her nature was far removed from such things. She desired freedom, but it was merely another expression of her wish to find an environment where she could live with respect.

As a governess, Laura Pendleton had come to realize this with certainty.

What she wanted was to do meaningful work in a quiet place. To use her abilities in the right way and, in return, earn appropriate respect and affection.

Had she inherited 200,000 pounds, she might have built a school in a quiet rural village. There, she would have spent her days playing with children, reading books, and singing songs. And she would have had no complaints about that life.

If Mary Lotis was a flame, she was water—specifically, a gentle stream flowing through a quiet valley.

And Laura was content with being that way.

“Growing older is a good thing. It makes it easier to accept myself. And with that, my heart finds peace.”

Like a gentle stream, Laura flowed through the crowds of Bath. Soon, in this bustling city, she found a place that brought peace and calm to her soul: a bookshop.

Laura entered without hesitation. The moment she stepped inside, the smell of paper filled her senses.

She strolled slowly between the bookshelves. Her heart quickly lifted, filled with a pleasant excitement. At the same time, a scholarly fervor, no less intense than Mary Lotis’s passion, welled up within her.

She went to the foreign language section and selected a volume of Plato’s complete works in Greek. Then, from the German section, she picked up a book by the philosopher Nietzsche.

With the books in her arms, Laura’s heart raced. She couldn’t wait to return to her hotel room, sit at the elegant rosewood desk, and devour each sentence thoroughly.

Humming softly, she approached the counter. The clerk noticed dust on the Plato volume and offered to replace it with a clean copy, then headed to the storeroom. Laura wondered if the owner of this bookshop was a reckless merchant, stocking Plato’s original texts in the indulgent city of Bath, as she waited for the clerk.

The clerk returned with a troubled expression. There was no stock left. Of course. Who would come to Bath to read Plato? Laura, thinking she was helping clear out the shop’s troublesome inventory, asked the clerk, “Please wipe it down and wrap it.”

The clerk began cleaning the book with practiced efficiency.

To pass the time, Laura walked to the large window facing the street. There, newspapers, magazines, and guides to Bath’s restaurants were stacked. She flipped through a few magazines but quickly lost interest and set them down.

Her gaze shifted to the street outside.

A noblewoman in lavish attire pushed a pram. An elderly gentleman, leaning on a cane, shuffled along with a young woman, dressed extravagantly, who seemed to be his mistress. A gentleman with a meticulously styled haircut strutted proudly. Young women from the emerging gentry, clumsily mimicking aristocratic fashion, giggled as they walked.

Laura observed the vibrant passersby with a bored gaze.

But then, her indifferent expression changed.

A man passed by the bookshop. His leisurely pace made his profile clearly visible. Red hair hung beneath a gentleman’s hat, a tanned complexion, and a tall, elegant figure.

“Oh…!”

Laura spun toward the counter, hoping he hadn’t noticed her.

“Miss, is something wrong…?” the clerk asked, concern in his voice as he looked at her. Laura shook her head.

She turned and slowly walked toward the entrance. The desire to avoid him suddenly shifted to a need to confirm his identity. Perhaps both feelings stemmed from fear.

She opened the shop door and looked in the direction he had gone. But he had vanished into the crowd.

Laura stumbled, her knees buckling as she sank to the ground. The clerk rushed out to support her.

“Are you alright? My goodness, your face is pale as a sheet!”

But Laura heard nothing. Staring in the direction the man had gone, she whispered to herself, “John, why are you here?”

The moment she saw John Ashton through the bookshop’s window, Laura was thrown into turmoil. It had been twelve years. A man she had once loved, pitied, and pinned her future on. A man with whom she had spent hours on a moonlit terrace, holding hands and sharing kisses.

That man was staying in the same city as her.

A chill ran through Laura. Bath was not a large city. Encountering him was entirely possible. If that happened…

“The thought alone is dreadful.”

That evening, Laura packed her bags and waited for the two ladies she was staying with. She couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. But the ladies didn’t return until midnight, and Laura, dozing on the sofa, fell fast asleep.

When she opened her eyes, it was morning. A thick blanket was draped over her.

On the table in front of the sofa was a note, written in Jane Hyde’s handwriting.

“Our revelry kept us out until dawn. Were you very worried? We’re sorry. We’ll let you know in advance if we’ll be late again. We’ve ordered room service for your breakfast, Miss Pendleton. We’ll likely sleep until noon. Enjoy your meal.”

Soon, room service arrived with scrambled eggs, crispy roasted chicken, hot scones, tea, and a fruit salad.

Laura stared blankly at the food, then poured and drank only the tea. The warm tea helped clear her mind.

After a night’s rest and with the tea’s help, Laura regained her usual composure. A thought occurred to her naturally.

“Was that really John Ashton?”

She had no portrait or photograph of him. Only a vague impression remained in her memory.

“If I had gazed at his portrait every day for twelve years, I might have recognized him instantly. But I only thought of him occasionally. Wondered about him sometimes, resented him sometimes… Could I really have recognized him at a glance?”

Laura shook her head. It couldn’t be him. It was far more likely she had mistaken a gentleman who resembled him.

Her mood improved significantly, and she noticed the other dishes the servant had brought. She began eating calmly.

After finishing her meal, she felt energized. The confusion from the previous day seemed foolish now.

“Even if it was John Ashton, there’s no reason for me to leave Bath. He’s the one who betrayed me. If I run into him, it’s an opportunity. I could ask him why he betrayed me.”

Laura concluded it would be foolish to abandon this pleasant lodging and the chance to spend time with cherished friends and a kind school senior over a fleeting encounter with an old love—especially when she wasn’t even sure it was him. She unpacked her bags before the two ladies awoke.

Mary Lotis woke around two in the afternoon.

Laura was on the drawing-room sofa, sipping tea and reading the German edition of Thus Spoke Zarathustra she had bought the previous day. Mary Lotis gave her a brief nod and rang the bell. When the servant arrived, she ordered toast and coffee.

“You always have coffee for breakfast,” Laura remarked.

Mary Lotis smiled lightly. “I’m a former coffee farmer, after all.”

Room service arrived promptly. Mary Lotis read the newspaper while eating half a plain toast with her coffee. Then, asking Laura’s permission, she began smoking a cigarette. Laura continued reading her book.

“Your German is impressive,” Mary Lotis said, glancing at the book’s cover, her black eyes glinting like obsidian in her cat-like gaze.

“I enjoy studying languages,” Laura replied. “It feels wasteful to forget what I worked so hard to learn at school.”

“I’ve forgotten nearly everything,” Mary Lotis said. “German, French, piano, waltz steps. The expensive tuition at Grant’s School for Girls went to waste.”

She inhaled her cigarette, smoke curling from her lips. Laura watched, entranced. With her dark hair loose and cigarette in hand, Mary Lotis was captivating.

“But I think the headmistress at Grant’s would be prouder of you than of me,” Laura said. “You’ve become a bestselling author, renowned across England.”

Mary Lotis’s lips curved slightly. “Yes. Headmistress Grant wanted women to go out into the world.”

“She always encouraged us to hold ambition and vision. She was a remarkable woman.”

Mary Lotis brushed her long hair back and changed the subject. “Are you satisfied with your work as a governess?”

“Yes. I was fortunate to find an excellent position.”

“An ‘excellent position’? Are you accustomed to being disregarded and mistreated?”

“No, it’s truly a good position. The salary and treatment are on par with a tutor.”

Mary Lotis showed surprise for the first time. “You’re truly fortunate. No household in England treats a female governess that well.”

Laura smiled wryly. The “excellent position” she had was an unrealistic arrangement created by a man who admired her.

“You’re right. Such conditions are rare anywhere. If my current employers no longer need me, I’ll have to settle for the fifty pounds a year like other governesses.”

“It’s good you understand reality,” Mary Lotis said. “I worried you might be overly optimistic about governess work after landing such a lucky first job.”

She tapped the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray.

“Women entering the job market as governesses must sell their education cheaply. If it were me, I’d rather be a highwayman than a governess.”

Laura felt a bit uneasy. Mary Lotis’s words were realistic but tactless in front of someone who worked as a governess. Yet it didn’t seem like she intended to offend. Laura was curious about her true intentions.

“Miss Pendleton, if you could no longer work at your current position, would you continue as a governess?”

“Yes. My employer promised to recommend me for a position with similar treatment.”

“Do you truly trust that promise?”