Laura Dalton was exactly as Henry had first perceived her: a kind, wise, and warm woman. Thoughtful, prudent, and morally upright, she made Henry feel as though his soul were cleansed with pure water whenever he was with her. His frozen heart melted, and deeply etched wounds seemed to heal and vanish in an instant.

The memories of exploitative relationships that had cast a dark shadow over his heart faded in the sunlight of Laura’s kindness. With her, his heart became as bright and cheerful as a sunflower blooming on a summer day.

And often, a strange thrill would stir within him. At first, he felt it only in her presence, but now, even from afar, just picturing her face made his heart race. It was a feeling he had never experienced before, yet Henry had long since realized its true nature.

A servant entered the study carrying a tea tray.

Once the table was set, Henry poured milk into his aunt’s teacup in place of his uncle. Laura accepted his kindness without hesitation. She felt such familiarity with him now that it was hard to believe there had ever been awkward times between them. To Laura, Henry was as much a part of the family as the four nephews at Dunville Park.

“Aunt, I have a matter to discuss,” Henry said.

“What is it, Henry?”

“I’d like to take back the hair comb I gave you as a gift.”

Laura blinked in surprise.

“That? Why?”

“I was shortsighted. To think I dared to give a cheap trinket, worth only a few shillings, to a refined lady like you—it’s practically an insult. Please return it now.”

“Do you have another use for it?”

“No, I just want to deal with it myself. I’ll throw it away or give it to some girl fetching water in the village.”

“If there’s no pressing need for it, I’d rather keep it.”

“You don’t need to hold onto it out of consideration for me. It’s obviously not to your taste, and keeping a mere colored-glass ornament would only diminish your dignity.”

“My dignity may not amount to much, but it’s not so fragile that a colored-glass hair comb would ruin it. And above all, I like the comb.”

“You… like it?”

“Of course. Look.”

Laura tilted her head slightly, revealing the ornament glinting among her pinned-up hair. The hair comb Henry had given her, with its wave-shaped frame studded with blue glass, sparkled from every angle.

Henry was speechless with astonishment.

“It was pretty enough on its own, but it suits me quite well when worn. Thank you, Henry. I’ll treasure it.”

“…Mother wasn’t pleased with it. Olivia grumbled that she didn’t like it either. Do you really like it? That cheap brass trinket even the maids would scoff at?”

“I do. The color is refreshing, the design is unique, and it’s easy to use. Most importantly, it’s special to me because you chose it with me in mind.”

Henry lowered his head, his ears turning red in an instant.

“You must have been hurt that the rest of the family didn’t like it. You were probably afraid I’d be disappointed too, weren’t you? But your gift wasn’t a failure—at least not to me. So please, let me keep the hair comb.”

“…Of course. If you wish, please… keep it. And…”

Henry fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a rectangular box tied with a blue satin ribbon. It was larger than his palm, flat, and black.

He offered the box to his aunt.

“Please accept this as well.”

“What is it?”

“….”

“It’s not even snowing yet, but it feels like Christmas already. I’m far too old and not nearly good enough to receive gifts from Father Christmas, so what’s this about?”

Teasing, she untied the ribbon and opened the box.

Laura’s smile vanished as she saw the contents. Her eyes widened, staring into the box.

It was a bracelet. A dozen sapphires, each surrounded by tiny diamonds like flower petals, were strung on a silver chain.

Laura knew at once it was no imitation. It was a costly, genuine gemstone bracelet.

She closed the box, her face stiff with dismay.

“I don’t know what you were thinking, but I can’t accept this, Henry.”

Henry, who had been looking down, slowly raised his face. His expression was earnest.

“Please accept it.”

“No.”

Henry clenched his fists.

“When I realized I’d given a crude colored-glass trinket to an aunt who manages jewels enough to fill a hill, you can’t imagine how humiliated I felt…! Please, Aunt, accept it. This isn’t some reckless gift. I’m the heir to Dunville Park!”

“It’s not about disrespecting you. It’s because I’m a married woman. I can’t accept such a gift from another man—though calling you ‘another man’ is absurd in itself.”

Laura’s expression, coolly rejecting the gift amid a sense of unease, hardened with dismay.

Tears welled in Henry’s eyes. His dark pupils shimmered, and soon tears fell, one by one.

But the tears weren’t the issue. Henry’s face bore the look of someone deeply wounded, like a child slapped and scolded by their parents.

For a moment, Laura wondered if refusing the gift had been a mistake. Henry looked so heartbroken.

He tucked the jewelry box back into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his tears. But the tears quickly turned to sobs.

He began to weep, hiccupping.

Laura hadn’t been so flustered by anyone since her husband.

“Henry,” she called softly.

“Why are you like this? I can’t even guess what’s in your heart. I understand you might be upset that I refused your gift, but it’s not worth crying over.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Aunt… I’m sorry…”

He couldn’t continue, overcome by sobs. Henry buried his face in the handkerchief.

Laura, feeling the need to comfort him, reached for his trembling shoulder. But just as her hand was about to touch him, a voice inside her warned, “Don’t touch this man.”

Startled, Laura withdrew her hand. Her heart pounded with unease.

Man? Henry?

She stared at him. Then a forgotten memory surfaced: Henry under the maple tree, asking where she lived, his eyes and smile those of a man in love.

No.

Laura shook her head.

No, it can’t be. It’s not possible. That was in the past. Henry and I…

Yet she still couldn’t bring herself to touch him. She felt that doing so would set something irreversible in motion.

After a while, Henry’s sobs subsided. He wiped his face with the handkerchief. His pale face was flushed, his eyes pitifully bloodshot.

“Aunt.”

“…Yes, Henry.”

Laura responded in a weary voice, as if she had been the one crying.

“I’m sorry. I can’t… I can’t hide it anymore. I… I love you.”

Laura was speechless, as if her tongue had been cut out.

“I tried to hide it. I swore to carry this feeling to my grave. But… I can’t bear it. Every day, it grows stronger, and wearing the mask of a good nephew, lying… I’m not that kind of person. I wish God would take me now!”

Henry buried his face in the handkerchief again and sobbed loudly.

Laura let out a low groan. She felt dizzy, as if sitting still while a bomb had been thrown at her. The one who threw it was Henry—the good nephew she and Ian had vowed to care for with love.

She wanted to weep as he did. What was this? What in the world was happening? Henry’s feelings were impure and immoral.

But she couldn’t condemn him. His weeping figure seemed too fragile and vulnerable for a grown man, especially after indirectly confessing he wanted to die.

First, she had to calm him. He was a nephew who resembled his uncle in every way, from appearance to character. If he sank further into despair, the situation would become irreparable.

“Henry,” Laura called clearly, steadying herself.

“You know this. We’re nephew and aunt. This is a feeling that must not be.”

Henry nodded, sniffling.

“Let’s pretend this conversation never happened. I’ll forget it completely. You should forget you confessed, too. For your uncle’s sake, you can do that much, can’t you?”

“Aunt…”

At her words, Henry lifted his face from the handkerchief. Far from calming, he still looked on the verge of drowning in tears.