Laura prayed for him every night. She prayed for his business to prosper, for peace to grace his family and health. Though her already difficult life had become even harder because of him, she wished for his happiness alone.

It was a form of discipline. A practice to rise above resentment and betrayal, to become someone capable of forgiveness. Like the adage that says to make lemonade when life gives you lemons, Laura had been practicing the most rational way to overcome her wounds.

Yet, when she faced him after twelve years, Laura could not stop the seeds of resentment from sprouting.

This change was not exclusive to today. Recently, she had stopped praying for him. When she received a letter through Ann stating that he was looking for her, Laura realized she had not fully forgiven him. The sense of betrayal she felt twelve years ago had not vanished or changed; it had merely hidden deep within her heart.

Laura knew the moment she recognized her emotions coincided with the moment cracks began to form in the tightly shut walls of her heart toward Mr. Dalton.

It was not only affection for Mr. Dalton that began to flow uncontrollably from her heart. It was the entirety of her suppressed human emotions.

Yet her habit of not easily revealing her inner thoughts still strongly protected her. Instead of confronting John Ashton about the past, she calmly took his arm and walked. To an onlooker, they might have appeared as a friendly young couple visiting Bath.

Given the circumstances, Laura needed his help.

Despite her resentment toward him, walking with him brought her a sense of reassurance. He was a robust man. In his youth, he grew up hammering heated iron alongside his blacksmith father, and as an adult, under Mrs. Granchard’s patronage, he learned riding and fencing, becoming exceptionally sturdy.

Twelve years ago, being by his side always made her feel secure. It felt as though even if rocks rained from the sky, she would remain unharmed with him. It had all been an illusion, though.

“I can feel their gaze. They’re still following us,” he muttered.

“What a bold fellow. Not giving up even when you’re escorted by a man. Seems they have quite the attachment to you.”

“We don’t know if I’m the target. They might be following to find another lady I’m with.”

She responded in a calm voice.

“No. It’s definitely you, Laura. No matter how charming the ladies you’re with may be, none could be more beautiful than you.”

Laura said nothing. A brief silence passed before he spoke again.

“There’s a nurse I once employed living on the outskirts of Bath. She’ll help you escape safely. Can you keep walking?”

Laura nodded.

How much time had passed? The streetscape, once lined with silk displays in shop windows and doormen guarding elegant hotels, gradually transformed into a shabby scene of peeling gates and rundown pubs clustered together.

The two stopped in front of a red gate. He grasped the knocker and tapped on the door. Soon, a gaunt middle-aged woman wearing a lady’s hat appeared.

“Oh, Mr. Ashton.”

He removed his hat and greeted her.

“Good day, Mrs. Chelsey. May we come in for a moment?”

“Of course.”

The two entered the house.

John explained Laura’s situation to her briefly. The woman looked at Laura with deep sympathy.

“Mrs. Chelsey, as an old friend, I must ensure this lady returns home safely. It won’t be possible without your help.”

“Tell me anything. For a gentleman like you, Mr. Ashton, I’m ready to do whatever you ask.”

Mr. Ashton shared his plan with Laura and Mrs. Chelsey.

Laura would borrow Mrs. Chelsey’s clothes and leave the house. Carrying a basket and walking slowly like an elderly woman, she would likely be mistaken for the household’s housekeeper.

Laura followed Mrs. Chelsey to her wardrobe. It was, indeed, a brilliant plan. Mrs. Chelsey’s clothes were all outdated garments, at least fifty years out of fashion. Loose-fitting lines that didn’t accentuate the waist and fabrics with tacky patterns. Even the hats were old-fashioned bonnets that even elderly women no longer wore.

Laura donned a navy dress, draped a tattered gray shawl over her shoulders, and placed a large brown bonnet on her head. She carried a market basket, as if heading to shop.

Laura stepped out of the house. Pretending to be hunched, she lowered her head to hide her face and slowly moved away from Mrs. Chelsey’s home.

For the ten minutes she walked down the street, Laura felt no presence behind her. She had finally shaken the man off.

Laura hailed a hired carriage on the main road. Only then did the tension in her body release. She removed the heavy, outdated bonnet and leaned back against the seat.

“John. I met him. After twelve years.”

The man she glimpsed through the bookstore window was indeed John Ashton. Laura took a deep breath, calming her unpleasantly racing heart.

“Having received his help, I’ll have to meet him once more. I should thank him. That will be the last time. I won’t have to see his face again.”

The carriage stopped in front of the hotel. Laura paid the fare and stepped down.

In her mind, Laura recalled Miss Rothes’s schedule. Today, she was to read at a countess’s salon, an event that would last until evening, so Laura wouldn’t need to explain her attire.

Laura ascended to the suite without much thought. But when she opened the door, she found Miss Hyde and Miss Rothes in the parlor.

Laura was startled.

“Why are they back so early?”

Only now did she consider how to explain her outfit. Hiding John Ashton seemed difficult. Saying she borrowed clothes from a stranger’s acquaintance after receiving help from an unfamiliar gentleman would sound odd.

But her concerns were brief. Laura noticed that neither of them paid any attention to her attire. Miss Hyde had a serious expression, and Miss Rothes was lost in thought, her eyes cast downward.

Laura approached them.

“Is something wrong…?”

Miss Hyde stared at Laura, her eyes a mix of discomfort and concern.

“Miss Pendleton,” Miss Rothes began.

“I heard some gossip at the salon today. It concerns you deeply, so we returned earlier than planned.”

“What…?”

Miss Rothes turned to Miss Hyde, as if passing the conversation to her. Miss Hyde bit her lip, hesitated, then sighed and spoke.

“The Pendleton estate and manor in Cornwall are going up for auction. Their London townhouse is already on the market.”

Laura sat on the sofa. She calmly clasped her hands and rested them on her knees.

“Did you hear how it came to this?”

“It seems the eldest son’s construction venture ran into trouble. There’s a rumor that the second son, Charles Pendleton, dipped into investors’ funds to pay off gambling debts.”

“If it’s the talk of the town, then Charles Pendleton likely didn’t clear those debts.”

Miss Hyde nodded.

“With investors suing, the legal fees make it impossible to settle the gambling debts. They say creditors had Charles Pendleton sent to debtor’s prison to prevent him from fleeing abroad.”

Miss Hyde finished and studied Miss Pendleton’s face closely.

The wide-brimmed bonnet cast a shadow over Laura’s face, making her expression hard to read. But she didn’t appear sad or shocked.

Just a face lost in calm thought.

Then Laura spoke.

“Miss Joan Jensen has lost her fiancé, then. She loved the Pendleton townhouse. That’s a shame.”

Miss Hyde blinked in surprise. Laura continued.

“I hope the townhouse and the Cornwall manor find owners who can care for them well.”

With that, Laura fell silent, as if she had said all she needed to.

“Miss Pendleton, are you alright?”

Laura looked at Miss Hyde as if unsure of the question’s meaning.

“I thought you’d be terribly shocked, Miss Pendleton. The Pendletons of Cornwall are among the most prominent noble families, and I thought it would be a great source of pride for you… Of course, I know the family was cruel to you, but…”

Laura gave a faint smile.

“Miss Hyde, I was only a Pendleton in name. I never truly belonged to them. I am the daughter of Dolores Pendleton, who abandoned the family, and Lewis Sheldon, an American painter. That’s my true pride. I respect my mother, who chose to pursue love, and I love my father, who was worthy of being her husband.”

Miss Hyde was stunned, speechless. Having once been part of high society, she knew exactly how nobles thought.

For a noble, their family was their very identity. The attachment to centuries-old noble blood created an immense sense of self, and it wasn’t uncommon for the loss of family prestige to drive some to suicide.

That’s why she had convinced Miss Rothes to leave the salon early, worried about Miss Pendleton’s distress.

Suddenly, Miss Rothes struck the floor with the tip of her cane.

“Well, then.”

Miss Rothes stood up.

“Dinner tonight will be at Beatrice. I made a reservation on the way back from the salon, so we won’t have to kill time at the spa like last time.”

Thanks to Miss Rothes, the mood lightened. Laura smiled brightly at her.

“Was that to cheer me up, kind Miss Rothes?”

“Not at all. I was planning to pop some champagne. Jane told me a bit about how the Pendleton family treated you.”

The three walked slowly through the sunset-lit streets to Beatrice. They gorged on a large pizza layered with fresh cheese, various pastas, and sipped champagne. It was an evening filled with jokes and laughter.

After dinner, as they stepped onto the street, Laura bought a box of chocolates from a nearby dessert shop. The three shared the chocolates, walking through Bath’s gaslit streets back to the hotel.

That night, Laura showered in warm water, slipped into soft pajamas, and fell into a comfortable sleep.

She knew what kind of time the Pendleton family members were enduring now. Charles Pendleton was likely cowering in fear in a filthy, damp prison cell, his first time in such a place. John Pendleton, the frail eldest son, was probably drunk and crying alone.

And Gerald Pendleton, who had lived his life arrogantly as the head of a prestigious family, was likely contemplating death, toying with a pistol.

Even Laura, who easily felt sympathy for others’ misfortunes, did not offer a single prayer for them.

Gerald Pendleton’s wickedness was so deep and vile that even the most generous person would not shed a tear for his family’s tragedy.