He kissed the shawl once before folding it neatly and placing it in the drawer of the bedside table. It seemed he intended to keep it forever.

Laura felt a strange mix of emotions. Ever since that day they took shelter from the rain in the cabin, he must have taken out that shawl and thought of her. A tattered piece of fabric, bought for five pence at a secondhand market, kissed daily and pressed against his face.

It was touching. His pure devotion.

Laura stroked his cheek. It pained her to feel that her husband’s usually smooth skin had grown rough in just a day.

“Now that you can hold me anytime, why not discard it?”

“Who knows when we’ll end up sleeping in separate rooms again? Without that, what would I do?”

“We just need to make sure that doesn’t happen. We just need to avoid making each other angry.”

“That’s up to you. I could never be angry with you.”

“Life is long. Someday, you’ll be so furious with me you won’t be able to stand it.”

He chuckled.

“I can’t imagine that. With an angelic wife like you?”

He paused, thinking for a moment, then asked, “Planning to have an affair?”

Laura flinched in shock.

“Are you mad?”

He gazed down at her steadily.

“I won’t, darling. I won’t.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Yes. I swear on my late mother, my father, and on God.”

Ian reached out and tucked Laura’s disheveled hair behind her ear.

“If you want to turn me into a murderer, go ahead and try.”

“…You’d kill me?”

“Killing you is impossible. But.”

He toyed with her ear.

“I’d definitely kill the other man. I’d riddle his body with bullets.”

Laura’s eyes widened in surprise. Ian grinned mischievously.

“And then I’d shoot myself in front of you.”

Laura shuddered.

“Don’t say such scary things.”

Ian laughed playfully, chuckling. Laura grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

“It’s a joke, right? Say it’s a joke!”

“If you had an affair, what reason would I have to keep living?”

“If I died early because of an affair, what then? Would you shoot yourself in the head after my funeral?”

“Probably?”

“Really, you…!”

Laura leapt up and hit Ian with a pillow.

“Suicide is a grave sin! You’d go straight to hell!”

Ian laughed until he was breathless.

“Say you won’t die! Say you’ll live healthily even if I die, and die naturally!”

“All right. I won’t die. I won’t die!”

Only then did Laura stop hitting him.

The moment she set the pillow down, Ian grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his arms. Laura fell onto him, their bare skin pressed together.

He faced Laura, who lay atop him.

“Let’s live happily together for fifty years and die on the same day.”

A lifelong promise. Laura smiled softly and nodded.

He brushed her hair gently.

“Teasing each other, all the while.”

Laura’s smile turned into a light laugh.

“Today’s experience must have been pretty incredible, huh?”

“I thought I’d arrived in heaven.”

Laura thought for a moment before saying seriously, “If you promise not to flirt outside, I’ll do it occasionally.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Ian extended his pinky with a serious expression. Laura happily hooked her pinky with his. Their smallest fingers intertwined tightly.

Ian pressed his lips firmly to Laura’s cheek, as if stamping a seal, a satisfied look on his face.

Laura nestled her face against his chest, sinking into his embrace. Feeling his warmth with her entire body, she melted into pure happiness. Once again, her life felt complete.

Laura’s heart bloomed like a warm spring, matching the season outside. As her mind eased, she yawned involuntarily.

Ian pulled the blanket over her back. Feeling her husband’s gentle pats, Laura closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

He gazed down at Laura, sleeping atop him like a baby otter. Just moments ago, the world had been gray, but now every color was vivid—especially the hues that made up his wife.

Sunset-red hair. Ivory skin. Soft pink lips, tender as the flesh of a peach.

He held his wife’s delicate frame tightly, as if she might float away. His beloved woman. The most beautiful, kind, and precious woman in the world.

My woman. Laura Dalton.

His heart ached. The love filling his chest seemed ready to burst through his body, envelop the manor, and swallow the vast expanse of Whitefield. It was that overwhelming, that fervent.

Ian whispered to his sleeping wife.

“I’ll make your life a garden of flowers. I’ll pull any weeds that grow and chase away any moles that creep in. All you have to do is be happy. With me.”

He closed his eyes, syncing his breath with hers.

Inside a consulting room lit only by natural light filtering through mottled windows, Laura sat on a small stool, clutching her hands tightly.

Across from her was a man. A large figure draped in a white coat, pipe in mouth. His hair and beard were as white as snow, each wrinkle etched with gravitas.

He resembled the great French writer Victor Hugo. But it wasn’t just his appearance that exuded the aura of a seasoned expert with undeniable experience and expertise.

When Laura visited his cottage to request a consultation, he studied her carefully with sharp, discerning eyes. Then, with polite but not particularly warm demeanor, he led her into the consulting room.

He didn’t ask why she had come. Instead, he opened a yellow notepad and began questioning her.

Name. Height. Weight. Duration of marriage. Frequency of marital relations. Menstrual cycle. Symptoms during and around menstruation. Family medical history. Any illnesses in the past three years, their presence, and types. And so on.

As she calmly answered the dozen or so questions, Laura sensed that this doctor knew why she was there. The questions were precisely those one would ask a woman struggling with infertility.

“He can tell just by looking at the patient. No wonder he’s Yorkshire’s finest gynecologist.”

While she found his expertise reassuring, her nerves were frayed to the point of nausea.

The tension had been excruciating even before entering the consulting room. After telling Ian she was going shopping in town and boarding the carriage, she feared this might be the day she received the harshest verdict of her life.

A diagnosis that she was unable to bear children.

If that fear became reality, Laura would never be able to face Ian again.

In England, the head of a family held the privilege of inheriting vast wealth undivided by other siblings, but with it came heavy duties. To protect the family name and fortune, even at the cost of one’s life. To bear a healthy eldest son and provide him an education befitting the family’s wealth and name. And to pass the fortune safely to that son, ensuring the lineage continued.

This was how England’s noble families perpetuated their legacy. If there was no eldest son, a suitable male relative had to be found, but such a person was unlikely to have been trained as a formal heir. The family’s future would become uncertain.

Ian was the eldest son of the Dalton family, which had endured for nearly four hundred years. He alone held Yorkshire’s fertile lands, buildings, and securities. He had much to protect, and given all he had inherited, he could not shirk his duties.

If Laura failed to bear a son, forcing them to name a relative as heir, even if that person was diligent, the family would face a crisis. The fundamental principle of noble family heads—“never divide the fortune among children other than the eldest son”—would likely be violated.

As Dr. McKenzie’s questions drew to a close, Laura’s gloved hands were damp with sweat, and her heart clenched so painfully it felt as though she were there for a heart condition, not infertility.

Dr. McKenzie glanced over the yellow notepad before turning to gaze at Laura steadily. For about fifteen seconds. Her heart raced wildly. The color drained from her lips. Her fate hung on his words.

Finally, Dr. McKenzie removed the glasses perched on his nose and set them on the desk.

“Mrs. Dalton.”

Laura nodded. The doctor let out a sigh.

“You love your husband deeply, don’t you?”

“…Pardon?”

“You love your husband excessively, don’t you?”

The remark was so unexpected that Laura didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t seem to expect an answer, continuing calmly.

“To travel by carriage up these winding hills after just one year of marriage, all because you haven’t had a child yet—it’s clear enough. You must be eager to bear a child and bring joy to your husband.”

It wasn’t exact, but it was a diagnosis that pierced Laura’s heart. She remained silent, discomfort stirring within her.

“You must be tormenting yourself quite a bit over this, aren’t you?”

Laura gave a slight nod.

“As a doctor, let me say this: be grateful you haven’t conceived yet.”

“Pardon?”

He glanced back at the notepad.

“Five foot three, ninety-seven pounds. In this state, you wouldn’t safely make it through your first childbirth. Even women with hips the size of Buckingham Palace can perish during their first delivery.”

Slightly embarrassed, Laura replied, “Well, I’ve gained some weight compared to before…”

“How much?”

“About three pounds.”

“Even in hard times, couldn’t you find a single slice of bread to eat?”

“It was because of indigestion.”

“Still?”

“Not anymore. I digest everything well now. I’ve gained weight since getting married.”

“You need to gain at least nine more pounds. Your body, as it is, would face issues even if you conceived.”

She hadn’t known her weight was a problem. She’d always been this slender, and aside from occasional minor ailments and a fever before marriage, she’d never been seriously ill.

“…So, sir, you’re saying my body isn’t ready yet… that my low weight is the issue, not that my body is so flawed it can’t conceive?”

“There are no signs of diseases that would prevent you from bearing a child.”

Laura let out a deep breath without realizing it. The muscles tensed with anxiety relaxed, and blood began to flow freely through her body. Her mind eased, and a sense of liberation washed over her, as if she’d been freed from shackles.