He was noble from birth. The legitimate heir of a family spanning eight generations. A cultured gentleman who followed the classic elite path of public school and Cambridge, a respected landowner in his hometown. Compared to him, I am a insignificant man. Of humble origin, with no inherited wealth. Half of my success was built by Mrs. Granchard and my father-in-law. No matter how capable I am, without their introductions to major cases, I would have been just another mediocre lawyer.

“I don’t understand why you lack such confidence. Your reputation as a skilled lawyer is renowned throughout England.”

“Having only skill is my lifelong inferiority. In today’s English society, is it even conceivable for a lawyer to rise from nothing? I am destined to be dragged around by the leash of the powerful my entire life.”

He clasped his hands as if in prayer.

“The thought of competing with that man makes the inferiority within me rage wildly. I’m ashamed. I should have been honest with you, at least. I shouldn’t have caused you another wound. I’m sorry, Laura. Forget everything I said. Even my courtship.”

Laura turned to him. Their eyes met in the air. His gaze was lonely.

“From the moment I first saw you, I loved you. I love you now. And I will love you forever. But I will abandon the hope of winning you back. Ian Dalton is an excellent husband. Marry him.”

“Didn’t you say it was a marriage beneath your class?”

He gave a wry smile.

“That was ridiculous nonsense. The man who earns your choice is blessed by God’s grace. Ian Dalton is one of the few men worthy of that blessing. He loves you deeply. He would give his life for you.”

Laura lowered her eyes.

“Now is not the time for such talk.”

He stared at the fireplace, then stood and approached Laura. Standing right in front of her, he looked down at her.

“Laura, do you remember the day we first met?”

He knelt on one knee and gently took her hands.

“It was the height of the social season, at a ball. You felt dizzy from the stuffy air, and I supported you as I led you to the terrace. You sat on a terrace chair like this, and I crouched before you, rubbing your hands. Like this.”

He gently rubbed Laura’s hands. She smiled.

“I thought, ‘I’m not nauseous, so why is he rubbing my hands?’”

“Good thing I didn’t say that aloud. If I had, I would have been too intimidated and left you right then. We talked for over an hour on that terrace. Then you left, saying you had promised a waltz to another gentleman. I stayed in the spot where you had sat for a long time. Until the ball ended.”

Laura remembered too. Even as she went to dance the waltz, she felt reluctant. She wanted to keep talking with him.

“The next day, I walked through Hyde Park, thinking of the auburn-haired lady I met the night before, hoping I might see her again. And my wish came true. You were strolling in a white dress with a lime-green parasol. In that moment, I knew I loved you.”

“So that’s why your expression was so radiant.”

“You remember that moment too.”

“Of course. Women cherish the memory of their first love just as much as men do, even if not quite as intensely.”

“…How wonderful it would be if this conversation were a chat between an old married couple on a sleepless night. While courting you, I always wanted seven children who looked like you.”

“Goodness. I’m glad I didn’t marry you, then.”

They both laughed.

“Thank you, Laura, for giving me the most beautiful memories of my youth. And I’m sorry for leaving you with wounds that won’t fade. I pray for your happiness going forward, even if it’s with another man.”

He bowed his head and kissed the backs of Laura’s hands.

As John Ashton kissed her hands, Laura felt the past wounds slowly fading.

Until now, Laura had remembered the past only as pain. But as the wounds vanished, the first love of her seventeen-year-old self shone brilliantly. That clumsy, thrilling, and lovely first love. That time was, for Laura, the purest memory of her youth.

The sense of loss, reproach, and frustration—all were chased away by the radiance of those memories.

Laura stroked John Ashton’s red hair and said sincerely, “I forgive you.”

He slowly raised his head to look at her. Laura smiled gently, like the Virgin Mary.

“I forgive all the sins you spoke of. You are clean now.”

He smiled with a sad face, his violet eyes brimming with tears.

“Thank you, Laura. Thank you.”

Laura nodded. Tears welled in her eyes too.

At that moment, the bedroom door burst open. Mrs. Chelsey, with an agitated face, shouted, “The fever has broken! Oh, thank God!”

Cecilia woke in the morning.

Laura stayed by the child’s side all day. She wiped Cecilia’s sweat, fed her meals, massaged her limbs, and listened to the rest of A Study in Scarlet.

After spending a joyful day, the child fell asleep with an angelic face as evening came.

Laura left the room. It was time to return home.

“Laura.”

John Ashton, who had followed her out of the room, called her name.

“Thank you.”

“For what? I’ll come back in a week. By then, Cecilia might be able to play Chopin for me.”

He extended a hand.

“Farewell, my dear friend.”

Laura clasped his hand.

“Stay well until we meet again, my friend, John Ashton.”

Laura left the room.

As she walked down the corridor, she prayed there would be a carriage available in front of the hotel. Though she hadn’t shown it in front of Ashton and his daughter, she was exhausted. In truth, she was also a patient.

Since noon, she had felt her strength waning. Her energy was low, and her appetite had plummeted. By evening, her head felt foggy, and she could only smile mechanically when spoken to. Her fever was rising again.

She descended the stairs. Her knees trembled with each step as she bent to tread the lower steps. Clutching the handrail, she barely reached the ground floor.

She headed to the entrance and asked the doorman to call a carriage.

“Oh, I’m sorry, madam,” he said, looking troubled toward the entrance.

“A performance at the nearby opera house just ended, and with this weather, it’ll be hard to find a hired carriage.”

Laura looked through the glass door. Snow was falling heavily onto the darkening streets of Bath.

“The first snow of the year, and it had to come today,” she murmured.

The doorman smiled apologetically.

She stepped outside, standing under the hotel’s wide awning, and began waiting for a hired carriage.

Ten, twenty minutes passed, and not a single carriage appeared.

The cold rising from the ground chilled her feet, and the biting wind froze her face. Though she wore thick clothing, the feverish ache returned, and chills swept through her body.

Her head grew increasingly foggy. Her ability to think clearly was slipping away.

What should I do?

Laura struggled to focus, thinking hard. She felt she might collapse if she kept standing there. But walking to the Lorelia Hotel through the snow was impossible.

Oh, right, there’s an umbrella shop nearby. Just a block away. I’ll buy an umbrella there and walk to the carriage stand.

In her feverish state, Laura didn’t think to borrow an umbrella from the hotel desk or John Ashton’s room. She stepped into the street.

Snowflakes settled on Laura’s uncovered hair, melting coldly. Ice pellets stung her face. She walked slowly, covering her face with a sable scarf. Gentlemen with upturned coat collars and couples huddled under a single umbrella passed by hurriedly.

They were too busy to notice a lady in a velvet coat and sable scarf stumbling along.

Finally, the umbrella shop came into view. Many customers were rushing in, likely because no one had expected snow before November.

Laura stepped under the awning, brushing snow off her body, and looked at the shop window. Her face, reflected in the glass, was bright red.

It wasn’t this bad when I first caught the cold.

She reached for the shop door.

At that moment, with a jingle of bells, the door opened from the inside. A gentleman in a thin frock coat stepped out.

Laura’s gaze fell on the man’s clean Adam’s apple. Then she saw his beautiful jaw, lips, the neat line of his nose, and his dark eyes.

“Laura?”

Before her stood Mr. Dalton.

The two stared at each other as if time had stopped.

A few customers moved around them, entering and exiting the shop, glaring at the young man and woman blocking the entrance.

But they noticed no one else. They only looked at each other.

After a moment, Mr. Dalton came to his senses first. He gently took Laura’s arm and led her to the side.

“Laura.”

His face was haggard. Pale as a consumptive, his cheeks were sunken, making his facial contours more pronounced. Yet his face was still refined, still kind.

He frowned.

“Are you so shocked to see me that you’re speechless?”

“…”

“You must be angry with me. I begged you not to follow me, yet here I am in Bath, caught tailing you, startling you, and even fighting with your first love.”

Laura couldn’t follow what he was saying. She only focused on his lips and the sound of his voice.

“But I swear to God, I didn’t fight dishonorably. And after the day I ran into John Ashton, I stopped following you. This time, I was just worried when I saw you, still unwell, riding in a carriage with John Ashton to the Farnese Hotel…”

He suddenly stopped, lowering his head and touching his forehead.

“Damn it, I just gave away that I was watching the hotel entrance. What an idiot…”

The snow fell harder. Their clothes grew damp from the blowing snow. Laura’s body grew colder, her fever rising.

But to Laura, none of that mattered.

Mr. Dalton looked up again. His face looked as if he might cry.