Laura gave an awkward smile. Her heart was restless with the anxious thought that Ian Dalton was waiting for her.

“Well, then, goodbye.”

She bowed again and turned away.

“Wait a moment, madam. Just a moment.”

Laura sighed and turned back.

“Beautiful and refined lady of mystery, I shall break off the maple branch you coveted but could not reach.”

“I don’t wish to trouble you.”

He ignored her words, walked over, and grasped the branch. Snap. It broke easily.

The man extended the branch to Laura. She took it, careful to keep her expression neutral.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Well, then.”

For the third time, Laura dipped her knees and turned to leave. But after taking two steps, her arm was seized, and she was spun around.

The man was suddenly standing close, looking down at her.

“If it’s not too rude, may I have your name?”

Laura felt a sense of foreboding. Moments ago, his demeanor had been half-playful, half-kind, but now it had turned serious. She sensed something unsettling in his intentions.

She shook off his grip.

“I cannot share even a single letter of my name with a gentleman who so brazenly touches a married woman.”

“Is there truly a husband? You exude a fresh, pure charm—something a woman long accustomed to a man wouldn’t have.”

He whispered with a smile in his voice.”

“Don’t shy away. Or, flee if you must, but tell me your name. Better yet, your address, so I can find you easily. I assure you, I’m not a dangerous man.”

Laura wanted to scream, but provoking such a man in this situation could be risky.

Finally, she resorted to her last measure.

“If you find my marital status so hard to believe, visit Whitefield Hall sometime. Ask for Mrs. Dalton, and in return for the branch, I’ll treat you to tea.”

“…Mrs. Dalton…?”

The man stared at her intently, his face bewildered.

“The wife of Whitefield’s landowner, Ian Dalton—Mrs. Laura S. Dalton?”

His grip loosened, and Laura stepped back. She glared at him before turning toward the golden chrysanthemum field. But far down the path she was heading, a slender figure carrying a leather bag approached.

“Laura!”

It was Ian. Relief washed over her, nearly bringing tears to her eyes.

He strode over with long steps and stood before her.

“You weren’t swallowed by a bear’s belly! Nor were you, captured by squirrels and locked in an acorn, stash. So why, then, did it take you more than ten minutes to return?”

He seemed both worried and thoroughly vexed.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to get a maple branch…”

“Looks like my wretched romanticism has infected you.”

“Seems so.”

Ian chuckled, as if his anger had never been, and opened his arms to embrace her. She stepped back.

“Wait.”

“Why?”

“Over there, by the tree…”

Reluctantly, Laura pointed toward the maple tree.

A brief silence followed. Then, unexpectedly, a name burst from Ian’s lips.

“Henry. Henry Fairfax!”

Ian brushed past Laura and approached the man. With the arms meant to embrace her, he tightly hugged the stranger.

“You’re finally here, you rascal! I nearly forgot your face!”

The man—Henry Fairfax—returned Ian’s embrace, his earlier bewilderment replaced by a joy bordering on rapture.

“Uncle, I missed you! Truly missed you!”

They held each other for a while.

Ian scolded him—how could he miss the wedding, was Paris that grand, did his uncle mean nothing to him?—while playfully thumping Henry’s back. Henry patted Ian’s back, endlessly apologizing: friends fell ill one after another, but his heart was with his uncle, and he congratulated him again on the marriage.

Their reunion radiated a warmth that seemed to heat the crisp autumn air. It was the kind of affection only those who had long yearned for each other could share—a deep joy of reconnection.

Soon, they released their embrace. Their eyes were moist.

Ian pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his eyes, and extended a hand to Laura.

“Laura, come greet him. This is my first nephew, Henry Fairfax.”

Having processed the situation—surprise, assessment, awkwardness, and resolution—Laura approached Henry calmly.

“I’ve heard much about you. I’m Laura Dalton, your uncle’s wife. My maiden name was Sheldon.”

Henry, also dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, bowed politely.

“Greetings, Aunt. I’ve heard much about you through letters. I’m sorry for visiting so late.”

“It’s nothing.”

Ian interjected.

“By the way, how did you two end up here together?”

Laura explained briefly. She was struggling to reach a maple branch when Henry appeared and helped. She omitted Henry’s earlier flirtation entirely.

Thanks to Laura’s impeccable acting and Ian’s unwavering trust in his wife, he suspected nothing.

Laura and Henry exchanged a few pleasantries and well-wishes. The conversation was warm, but as it continued, beads of sweat formed on Henry’s forehead. Ian eyed him curiously.

“Why are you sweating so much?”

“It’s the fine weather.”

“This weather? Was France that cold?”

“Yes. The weather there was worse than England’s.”

“Must be tough living there.”

Laura laughed lightly, her usual gracious self.

“Yet Paris, bleak as it is, births the world’s finest art. You’re a painter, aren’t you, Henry? Did you find inspiration there?”

Ian shook his head.

“No need for ‘Mr. Fairfax.’ Just call him Henry. Speak comfortably.”

“Yes, Aunt. I prefer that too.”

Laura nodded.

“Alright, Henry.”

The three headed toward Whitefield Hall. Their conversation continued along the forest path.

Henry Fairfax had landed at an English port two days ago. He took a train to Yorkshire, arranged a carriage to send his luggage to Dunville Park, and came straight to Whitefield.

Ian frowned.

“You didn’t visit Mother first?”

“I missed you more, Uncle. And I wanted to meet Aunt soon.”

Laura asked with concern.

“Won’t your parents be disappointed?”

Henry shook his head, still seeming uneasy.

“They’re not the type to mind this much. Father’s fonder of his hounds than me, and Mother will be briefly delighted before turning to her cards.”

Knowing Mrs. Fairfax’s obsession with card divination, Laura nodded understandingly.

Henry continued.

“No one welcomes me like you, Uncle. I missed Whitefield just as much.”

“So you walked from the village?”

“Yes. And I got this divine gift along the way.”

Henry held up a bouquet of chrysanthemums. Ian’s lips curled.

“And you met another divine gift, didn’t you?”

He gently pulled Laura’s shoulder closer as they walked.

“Your aunt is more beautiful than any flower in Whitefield. The only reason flowers exist is to serve as a backdrop to Laura’s beauty.”

“Oh, Ian.”

Laura blushed.

“…You’re right, Uncle.”

Henry agreed, eyes lowered.

They reached the manor. It was early for tea, but with a special guest, flexibility was warranted.

The three sat in the drawing room, enjoying tea, walnut cake, and madeleines.

“So, you’ve met us. What’s your plan?”

Ian asked, pouring milk into Laura’s teacup.

“I planned to stay a day.”

“Newlyweds don’t host guests long.”

“It’s been over a year since your wedding, and you’re still this smitten?”

“You’ll understand when you marry.”

Henry gave an awkward smile, glancing at Laura.

“You look happier than ever, Uncle. All thanks to Aunt. How can I repay this?”

“Your uncle already gives me happiness tenfold every day. If happiness is a debt, I’m a debtor crushed by compound interest.”

“Really, Laura? Do I make you that happy?”

Ian sought his usual affirmation. Laura smiled and nodded.

He interlaced his fingers with hers.

“Look, Henry. The most lovable woman in the world, isn’t she?”

Normally, Laura would have chided him for embarrassment, but today she let it be.

Henry sipped his tea silently.

After two sips and half a madeleine, Henry wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“You’re right. Staying with newlyweds feels rude. I’ll visit my parents and see how much my siblings have grown.”

“Stay for dinner.”

“No, Uncle. My first meal back should be at home.”

Laura chimed in.

“Dinner would make it too late. Henry, I’ll lend you a carriage, so leave before five.”

An hour later, the three stood at Whitefield Hall’s entrance. Henry shook Ian’s hand.

“See you often?”

“Of course.”

Henry tipped his hat and bowed to Laura.

“Until we meet again, Aunt.”

“Travel safely, Henry.”

He lingered on Laura briefly before boarding the carriage. It rolled away, kicking up light dust.

Ian stood until the carriage vanished.

“Feels like he was in the cradle yesterday.”

He murmured, voice thick with emotion.