Thus, Henry parted ways with Celine. Or rather, he escaped from her.

Having heard the entire story, Ian was appalled.

“That woman named Celine, is she in her right mind?”

“She’s not insane. That’s what makes it scarier. She was perfectly normal most of the time. In that sense, she was a natural-born actress.”

“…Are you okay?”

Henry smiled with a pale face.

“I don’t know. For a while after breaking up with her, I felt at ease. Knowing she was a fraud and a married woman meant I didn’t have to feel guilty, at least. But even now, I sometimes relive those three months with her in my dreams. When I wake up, it feels like I’ve been dragged through a cesspool. It’s humiliating and disgusting.”

Ian felt nothing but pity for Henry.

“That woman will surely face her punishment.”

“I hope so. Otherwise, there’s no God.”

“God exists. He shapes destinies and judges good from evil. Surely, a good match will appear to heal your wounds—a truthful woman, the opposite of Celine.”

“I hope so.”

Henry confessed.

“Uncle, I want to find true love now. Not a woman who hurts me, but one who can heal me. A pure and warm-hearted woman. A sincere and devoted woman. A kind yet discerning woman. A woman who clearly distinguishes between virtue and vice. If such a woman appears, I think I could escape these horrible memories. Uncle, where do I find my ideal woman?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re living with just such a woman. Aunt Laura—there’s no one who embodies all the virtues I listed as perfectly as she does.”

“That’s true.”

A proud smile spread across Ian’s face.

Envy sprouted in Henry’s heart. He had only met his aunt twice, but he could tell she was a near-perfect wife. Not only beautiful but also a highly intelligent woman, warm-hearted, courteous, and composed. Moreover, she deeply loved her husband and was equally devoted.

What must it feel like to be loved by a woman like Aunt Laura? It must be like being in heaven.

Henry was a sensitive romantic like Ian. Emotional, attuned to beauty, and harboring idealistic dreams of love. His heart was scarred from a misguided encounter in Paris, and because of that, he yearned even more desperately for a love that could heal him.

“I met Laura in London. But every other woman there was a dull fool. Even if you scoured all of London, you wouldn’t find anyone like Laura. In the end, love is fate. Henry, leave it to fate and wait. Just as God sent Laura to me, He will send you a precious wife.”

Feeling bittersweet, Henry turned his gaze back to the stream. The sunlight reflecting on the water’s surface resembled the golden sheen in Mrs. Dalton’s hair.

Henry shook his head slightly.

“By the way, we’re really not getting any bites. Shall we move spots, Uncle?”

“Let’s stay. The scenery’s nice, isn’t it?”

Henry smiled, looking at the flowing river.

“That’s true.”

“Let’s come out tomorrow to sketch.”

“But aren’t you busy, Uncle? You mentioned interviewing new lawyers…”

“I have time to draw a few pictures. I need a break, or my head will explode.”

Henry looked at his uncle with pity. An investigation into the construction of the Banzley refinery revealed that the person who ordered the siphoning of materials was the head of the construction company, and Ian was furious about it.

“I’ll bring the sketchbook tomorrow.”

“While we’re at it, let’s take a look at the Paris landscapes you drew. How many did you do?”

“Not that many. I was busy making friends.”

“Sounds like a fun time. I wanted to go to Paris when I was your age.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“My father fell ill. He passed away within two months.”

“Come to think of it, you became the head of Whitefield at my age.”

“Oh, now that you mention it, you’re right.”

“That must have been tough, becoming the head at such a young age.”

“I didn’t even realize how tough it was. I hate to speak ill of my parents, but my father’s financial management was a disaster. The phrase ‘leaking like a sieve’ must have been coined for the Dalton family ledgers. By the time I chased out the rats, plugged the holes, and built the estate to a safe point, I was thirty.”

“Don’t you regret not going to Paris in your twenties?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’m glad I inherited Whitefield back then. If it had been any later, I wouldn’t have been able to save the family.”

Henry paused for a moment before asking.

“What about giving up your dreams? You wanted to be a painter when you were young, didn’t you?”

“Regret? None whatsoever.”

He scoffed and declared firmly.

“Protecting Whitefield was the most worthwhile task I could accomplish as Ian Dalton. I thought so when I first became the head, and I still do. I have no regrets about sacrificing my childhood dreams.”

Ian turned to Henry. His nephew’s expression looked complicated. Ian asked gently.

“Why do you look so sad, Henry?”

Henry raised one corner of his lips with a melancholic gaze.

“I wish I could be like you.”

“You have Dunville Park.”

“But my heart’s not in it. I can’t love Dunville Park as much as you love Whitefield. I know it’s my responsibility. I’m the eldest son, and I’m the right age to inherit the family. But I still can’t let go of my childhood dreams. The path of a painter, dedicating my life to the goddess of art.”

“Being the eldest doesn’t mean you have to give up the life you want. If you want to be a painter, go back to Paris. You can wait and let Daniel inherit the family.”

“I know. It’s a dream I could realize if I just made the decision. But I can’t choose the path of a painter.”

Henry’s forced smile turned into bitter self-mockery.

“During my year and a half in Paris, I made many artist friends. Painters so talented that the word ‘genius’ wasn’t an exaggeration. But they couldn’t afford bread to eat because they spent everything on paint, and they lived with frostbite on their hands and feet for lack of firewood. Even those sleeping under a roof were the lucky ones. Last winter, I attended a funeral. It was a friend of a friend who was painting murals. He couldn’t pay rent and froze to death while homeless in Luxembourg Park. His sketchbook was filled with flawless drawings I could never match. The glory of a romantic profession comes to only a handful. Most live in poverty and die miserably. Knowing that, I can’t choose the painter’s path. I have too much to lose to endure such hardship.”

Henry furrowed his brow.

“Are you disappointed in me?”

“I only pity you. The duty of being the head, which was my pride, has become your refuge.”

Henry grabbed his uncle’s arm.

“Uncle, please help me anyway. I made up my mind when I left Paris. I decided to love the fate laid before me. I will become the head. I’ll protect the family strongly and earn the respect of the locals, like you. I’ll dedicate everything to elevating the Fairfax family. Living like that, I’ll slowly forget my dream of being a painter.”

Henry looked at his uncle intently.

“You’ll help me, right?”

Ian grabbed the back of Henry’s neck and pulled him close. He pressed his lips firmly to his nephew’s forehead.

“Of course, Henry. Helping you is one of the duties I love most.”

After that, Henry frequently visited Whitefield Hall. Despite being embroiled in a lawsuit, Ian taught his nephew the basics of financial management. Henry was a diligent student with a sharp mind. He applied what he learned back at Dunville Park.

In the study, where his father Robert only occasionally visited to smoke a cigar in solitude, Henry spent hours reviewing ledgers and discussing with the estate manager. He was assessing the scale of the estate. He checked the bonds left by his grandfather and rode out to inspect the lands owned by the Fairfax family.

As Henry’s visits to Whitefield Hall became more frequent, subtle changes came to the mansion, where outsiders rarely entered. Teatime, lunch, and dinner were often prepared for three.

Maids frequently entered the guest rooms to clean. Though Whitefield Hall was always spotless, the cleanliness of the staircases and drawing rooms improved noticeably. The decorative flowers became more abundant, and the menus grew more varied.

All these changes were orchestrated by Laura. She took care to ensure Henry’s comfort at Whitefield Hall. Having decided to be a motherly aunt to him, she considered it her duty to make his stay pleasant.

Yet, even while meticulously attending to Henry’s comfort, Laura felt uneasy about his visits. The incident in the chrysanthemum garden still lingered in her mind. Though they had agreed to pretend it never happened, erasing a memory from her mind without physical intervention was impossible.

Laura treated Henry with consistent kindness but avoided being alone with him and refrained from overly personal questions, such as those about romance.

Fortunately, Henry was cautious as well. He treated Laura with the utmost respect, as if she were a great-aunt in her seventies, and offered little beyond polite compliments about the meal or decor. Thanks to their mutual care, Laura was able to ease her discomfort around Henry slightly.

However, an awkward situation arose sooner than expected. It was exactly the tenth day of Henry’s visits to Whitefield Hall.

The three were having tea at a table on the terrace overlooking the rose garden. That day’s teatime was special. Henry had brought the paintings he had worked on in Paris. The Daltons were eager to see their nephew’s work, and Laura, who had never seen Henry’s paintings, was particularly curious.

After sipping his tea, Ian asked Henry to show them the paintings. Henry, looking shy, pulled out his sketchbook. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he had always been reluctant to share his work. If Ian hadn’t repeatedly asked to see them, he would never have brought them.

Just as Ian was about to open the sketchbook, a uniformed servant approached from inside.