“Mr. Fairfax, would you visit me from time to time when you’re free? I won’t take up much of your time. I’d like to hear through you how Miss Pendleton is faring. And about Miss Hyde as well.”

“Were you close with Miss Hyde?”

“During the social season, we were rather distant. I regret that a bit. If I had gotten to know her earlier, I could have heard about her experiences as a typist or secretary. Who knows, I might take up such work myself someday.”

Mr. Fairfax gave a wry smile.

“I’ll tell you on her behalf. I’ve heard plenty from Miss Hyde. And next time I visit, I’ll be sure to bring Janet. I’ll show you how awkwardly her fingers fidget over the harp strings.”

“Mr. Fairfax, as I’ve said before, if Miss Janet visits me…”

Mr. Fairfax, with a rare firmness, interrupted Miss Lance.

“As Janet’s guardian, I have a duty to teach her about living rightly. To forsake friendship because circumstances are unfavorable or to scorn an innocent person because of society’s misunderstandings is not the way of humanity. Miss Lance, you have been and remain our dear friend, and we will not leave you alone in solitude.”

His voice carried steadfast friendship and integrity. Miss Lance felt a touch of tears welling up from emotion.

And for some reason, her cheeks flushed faintly, and her heart tightened.

“Thank you, Mr. Fairfax. Then, please visit with Miss Janet soon. I’ll prepare croissants and cheese crackers, which Miss Janet loves.”

Mr. Fairfax smiled and kissed the back of Miss Lance’s hand. It was a gesture they had shared dozens of times, but for some reason, their touch carried a different sensation this time.

It was still faint, its nature unclear, but with a few more meetings, shared glances, and a touch of honesty, it was an emotion that could bloom as vividly as a rose in full splendor.

As Mr. Fairfax left the Lance residence, he felt as though something was pulling at his shoulders. Forcing his reluctant steps forward, he became aware of his strangely racing heart.

Today, he had discovered in a lady he had only ever considered a friend the ideal woman he had always sought—a strong, mature woman worthy of respect.

Bath slipped into late autumn more swiftly than London.

The scent of fallen leaves filled the air, and occasional icy rain fell. People began appearing in padded coats lined with fur collars, and dress shop windows displayed mannequins draped in velvet shawls, smiling elegantly amid fake snowflakes made of cotton, enticing Bath’s fashion-conscious tourists.

Walking the streets, Laura smiled at the dry leaves clinging to bare branches, steadfast against the occasional biting wind.

She loved autumn. It was perfect weather for strolls or reading. Though she was defenseless against colds and had to wear flannel undergarments, the hassle was worth enduring for the unique charm of autumn.

Bath’s autumn felt much like London’s, likely due to their shared urban nature.

“What does autumn in Yorkshire look like as it deepens?”

Laura paused her steps. Then, without realizing it, she glanced back.

No one was behind her. The corners of her eyes drooped slightly.

Two months had passed since her reunion with John Ashton. Since that day, she had been on edge whenever she went out, but she hadn’t sensed the slightest trace of Mr. Dalton.

She should consider it a relief. Being pursued by someone was frightening, after all. Yet Laura had developed a habit of glancing back for no reason. And when she found the person she sought wasn’t there, she lowered her head in quiet disappointment.

“He must have left Bath. He’s too busy a man to linger in a resort town he has no interest in just for me.”

Laura pushed aside her longing for Ian and quickened her pace.

She passed bakeries wafting sweet aromas and gift shops already preparing for Christmas. Turning a corner, a familiar building came into view.

The Parnassus Hotel.

For the past two months, she had visited this hotel once a week without fail. It was to check on John Ashton. At first, it was out of duty. Truthfully, it still was.

But to say it was entirely forced would be inaccurate.

His ribs were healing slowly. The doctor had urged him to stay still in bed, but he kept getting up.

He would sit his daughter Cecilia on his lap and rock her or hold her hand and walk about the room to reassure her that he wasn’t very ill. Even as he sweated profusely from pain, he never let it show to the child.

Watching him, Laura thought of her own father.

As a carefree child, whenever Laura felt bored, she would climb onto the lap of her father, who was engrossed in painting. Without a hint of irritation, he would set down his brush. He’d give her a piggyback ride or take her to pick flowers.

For a man to pause his livelihood was enough to fray nerves, especially for an artist. But her father always put her first. To ensure his only daughter never felt lonely, he sacrificed much.

As Louis Sheldon’s daughter, Laura couldn’t wholly resent a father devoted to his child. Not even if that father was John Ashton, who had betrayed her.

Laura entered the hotel slowly.

She crossed the lobby and climbed the stairs. Reaching the sixth floor, she walked familiarly down the red-carpeted hallway and stopped before a room.

Knock, knock.

A servant soon opened the door. She stepped inside.

Entering the parlor, she noticed a child sitting on the sofa. Red hair tied in tight braids, a small frame dressed in fine tailored clothes, and a pale face with delicate, fairy-like features.

“Miss Laura!”

The child set down the book she was reading and rushed to Laura.

“Hello, Cecilia.”

Cecilia hugged Laura’s waist tightly.

“I missed you.”

Laura stroked the child’s hair. Smiling like a purring cat, Cecilia nuzzled her face against Laura’s waist.

Laura gave a gentle smile at the child’s unabashed affection.

Visiting weekly, Laura had grown very close to Cecilia.

She hadn’t intended to bond with Cecilia at first. Though Laura adored children, given her strained relationship with John, she knew any closeness with Cecilia wouldn’t last.

Whenever Laura visited, Cecilia would sit quietly on a stool by her father’s bedside, listening to their conversations without a word.

One day, as Laura was leaving, Cecilia grabbed her. Out of the blue, she asked,

“Miss, are you going to remarry my papa?”

Laura, startled, vehemently denied it. But Cecilia remained skeptical.

“My papa always said I need a new mama for my sake.”

“But I’m certainly not that person. Because, well… I’m far too inadequate to be your father’s match.”

“You don’t seem inadequate at all.”

“No, I’m very inadequate. In fact, I’m… quite a glutton.”

“A glutton?”

“Yes. Do you know Erysichthon from Greek mythology? Cursed to eat endlessly until he consumed himself. That’s me. If I married your papa, we’d all end up beggars trying to feed me.”

“Then why are you so thin?”

“That’s another part of the curse.”

The child nodded, seemingly convinced, and let Laura go. Laura sensed, somehow, that Cecilia was disappointed by her answer.

When she shared the story with Mrs. Chelsea, the lady nodded understandingly.

“She’s almost always alone. Frequent illnesses drive away governesses, and she can’t go out to make friends. Deep down, she’s been hoping for a stepmother. Having never been much loved by her real mother, she longs for a kind one.”

Only then did Laura understand. Cecilia’s question about a stepmother wasn’t born of wariness but of hope.

Laura felt sympathy for the child. Even if her mother hadn’t loved her much, she’d lost her, and her only friend—her father—was bedridden. At such a young age, she was in a lonely plight, much like Laura’s own childhood.

Thereafter, Cecilia took a great interest in Laura. A lady who ate like Erysichthon? It was enough to spark a child’s curiosity.

Each visit, Cecilia asked questions. How much did she eat? How often? Did she eat non-food things too? Laura, sweating, spun tales to satisfy the child’s curiosity. Before long, she’d become a woman who’d chew desk legs when bored.

Fearing Cecilia might ask her to eat the table in front of them, Laura quickly changed the topic, guiding the conversation to Cecilia’s interests.

The girl loved books and playing the piano, just like Laura. They talked about favorite books and sheet music, and soon Laura was invited to Cecilia’s room as the sole audience for Miss Cecilia Ashton’s solo piano recital.

Cecilia grew deeply fond of Miss Laura—kind, pretty, and mysteriously cursed. Laura, too, grew fond of the innocent, affectionate child.

Though she worried about the sadness of parting, Laura decided to be Cecilia’s friend. With her mother recently deceased and her beloved father ill, Laura wanted to fill the child’s heart until John Ashton recovered.