While Ian was engrossed in kissing the feet of his guardian angel, a knock came at the bedroom door. A servant’s voice called from outside.

“Master, your bath is ready.”

Though irritated at the interruption of his time with his wife, Ian could not rebuke the servant. Preparing a bath immediately upon the master’s return was an unbreakable rule in this household.

He carefully tucked the blanket over Laura’s body and went to bathe.

As always, the bathroom held a large tub filled with warm water. He slowly undressed, revealing chiseled muscles as his clothes fell away. In his teens, he had rowed daily with the crew team, and even after graduation, he never neglected exercise, keeping his body taut with muscle.

He settled into the tub, washing his face and wetting his hair. His jet-black hair, usually neatly combed back, fell over his forehead, making him look three years younger.

As Ian scrubbed his body with a soapy brush, male servants moved in and out of the bathroom, draining and refilling the tub with fresh water.

After washing for a while, he felt satisfyingly clean. He instructed a servant to bring a cigar and an ashtray.

Smoking while soaking in warm water was one of his favorite pastimes. Leaning back in the tub, he dried his hands, lit a cigar, and inhaled lightly.

The cigar smoke lingering in his mouth lifted his spirits. With half-closed eyes, he recalled the past four days of his London trip.

The purpose of the trip was to attend his friend William’s wedding. The grandest moment was the ceremony itself, and the warmest was bidding farewell to the newlyweds as they departed for their honeymoon.

Yet, in Ian’s mental album, only moments with Laura filled the pages. Sitting across from her on the train, sipping coffee. Napping in each other’s arms at the hotel. Choosing gifts together at Harrods.

And then.

“I love you. I love you with all my heart.”

At that moment, sitting in the tub, Ian dropped his cigar. Fortunately, he had extended his hand outward, avoiding dropping it into the water, but the lit end fell onto the wet floor, ruining it.

As a servant cleared away the stub, Ian stared blankly, repeating to himself.

“Laura said she loves me. Me… Ian Dalton…”

His eyes grew dreamy again. His mood soared skyward.

A wife loving her husband was no surprise. Yet, Ian couldn’t take this simple truth for granted.

To Ian, Laura was an angel sent to spread happiness. She was the source of all that was lovely, sweet, and comforting in his life. Before meeting her, he had lived a satisfying bachelor life, but now he would never wish to return to those days, not even if it killed him.

That such an angel, Laura, had said she loved him. Loved him with all her heart.

“Good heavens. Laura loves me… me…”

His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, loud enough to deafen his ears. He splashed water on his face to cool his burning cheeks, but soon even his ears turned red.

“Calm down. If I return to the bedroom like this, I’ll disturb Laura’s sleep.”

He submerged himself in the tub, holding his breath for about two minutes. Gasping for air afterward, he felt slightly calmer.

He dried his face and hands with a towel and lit another cigar. As nicotine filled his mouth, his excitement began to settle.

Leaning back in the tub, smoking, he thought.

“When will I ever get used to Laura? To the fact that she loves me, that we’ll be together forever. Will that day ever come?”

For now, it felt impossibly distant. A year into their marriage, he was still the same as when they first wed.

Every time Laura called him “Ian,” a shiver ran down his spine, and his heart raced. When they faced each other, he could focus on nothing else. More than once, she had scolded him for wasting time staring at her face.

Even he thought himself foolish—how much more so must she? At times, he worried she might find him pathetic.

“No. Laura is humble and kind. Generous and compassionate. Even if she were disappointed, she wouldn’t leave me easily. Angels don’t do that.”

Calming himself, Ian glanced at the clock on the bathroom wall. It was nearly midnight.

He stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and stepped out of the tub. He dried himself with a prepared towel and shook out his hair. As a servant helped him into a bathrobe, his mood was already lifting.

He would go to the bed where Laura waited, hold her tightly, and bury his nose in her neck. Breathing in her scent, matching their breaths as they fell asleep. The thought alone made him smile.

But as he tied the bathrobe’s belt, a sudden thought struck him.

“Is Laura really in the bed?”

What a ridiculous notion. Where else would she be? Her place was in the bedroom of Whitefield Hall, on the king-sized bed they shared, draped with pale blue curtains. There was nowhere else for Laura to be.

He laughed at his absurd thought and finished drying his hair with the towel. Yet, his mind, which should have quieted, kept conjuring strange ideas.

In his mental image, Laura always had wings—white and fluffy, like cotton fresh from the field.

For an angel, wings were a connection to the heavens.

“Even if she loves me, an angel belongs to the sky. If God commands her to return, she couldn’t disobey.”

His heart began to waver with sudden anxiety. A vivid image appeared before his eyes. Their bedroom. An open window. And Laura, standing on the sill, her white wings spread wide, poised to soar into the sky.

He threw the towel aside and rushed out of the bathroom. Racing down the long hallway, he pushed open the bedroom door and charged toward the bed.

“Haa… haa…”

He panted, relief flooding him until he felt he might collapse.

Laura was still there, in bed. Her braided hair, which he had plaited, draped neatly over her right shoulder, wrapped in clean bedding, fast asleep.

“What an idiot I am.”

He brushed back his fallen black bangs.

What a mad delusion. Laura was human. Though as kind and beautiful as an angel, she was an Englishwoman who had married him, a human.

“Too much fantasizing. They called me Romeo, but at this rate, I’ll become King Lear. Romeo was at least romantic. Lear was utterly tragic. Don’t drive yourself mad, Ian Dalton.”

Even as he scolded himself, he couldn’t take his eyes off Laura. In her white nightgown, asleep, she was the very image of an angel. It wouldn’t have been surprising if she suddenly sprang up and flew away.

And he, wingless, could never hold her back.

“I can’t look away. If anyone tries to take Laura from me, I’ll tear them apart. Even if it’s God.”

Ian gritted his teeth.

At times, he was seized by such irrational obsession. Perhaps his overwhelming happiness was to blame.

From childhood, he had experienced countless farewells. His mother, his nursemaid, his sister, Master Sheldon, his friends. And his father. Loss had shaped him, but it had also wounded him. Happiness given by others always made him slightly uneasy.

And the greater the happiness, the greater the fear. The idea of Laura flying away might be foolish, but his fear of losing her was earnest and sincere.

“If only Laura were less beautiful. Less kind, less lovely, less devoted… If my happiness were half what it is, I wouldn’t be this anxious.”

He bit his lip. His head felt like it might burst with unease.

“I need to confirm she’s human.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he shed his bathrobe.

Soon after, Laura stirred.

“…Mm…”

She felt a large hand brushing her waist. Her husband, leaning over her, was showering her face with kisses.

Laura quickly understood his intent.

“…Ian, I’m sleepy…”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be quick.”

Ian lifted the hem of her nightgown.

The day after returning from London, the Daltons visited Dunville Park. They made a habit of visiting Dunville Park once a week, so their arrival was nothing unusual, but the gifts they brought from London made them especially welcome.

Laura handed out gifts to each member of the household. A sapphire brooch for Mrs. Fairfax, fine hunting gloves for Mr. Robert Fairfax, a fashionable London hat for Olivia, and a new Sherlock Holmes book for George.

The items, carefully chosen with the Fairfax family in mind, brought great joy to their recipients.

Among the household, Little Ian and Daniel did not receive their gifts directly. Little Ian was napping, and Daniel had left for Eton School two months prior.

Before departing, Daniel had wept buckets. Eton was known for its strict discipline and academic rigor. Realizing his carefree childhood was over, Daniel felt as though the sky had fallen.

Mrs. Fairfax and Uncle Ian viewed Daniel’s departure positively, believing the school’s strict teachers, dorm supervisors, and hierarchical seniors would reform his wild nature from the ground up.

Though an accurate prediction, it was little comfort to a boy facing the end of his childhood. He poured out his sorrows to his beloved Aunt Laura, now his teacher.

Laura empathized with the boy and worked to encourage him.

She connected Daniel’s dream of becoming a valiant naval officer to his time at Eton. Life at the school, she said, would be a training ground to build the knowledge, patience, and courage needed to become a sailor.