“Come in, Uncle!”

As Ian Dalton ascended the stairs of Dunville Park, he encountered Olivia Fairfax. He smiled warmly at his niece, who had grown as tall as his shoulders and now carried herself with a refined, ladylike air.

“You’ve been well, I take it?”

“Of course. How is Aunt doing?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

The smile on Ian’s face deepened.

The previous night, after learning of her pregnancy, the two had lain side by side, talking late into the night.

Would it be a boy or a girl? Which room would become the nursery? How many nursemaids should they hire? How should they approach the child’s education?

Laura Pendleton’s face, chattering away while resting on her husband’s arm, was radiant with life. Her anticipation for the child to come and the joy of sharing that anticipation with her husband made her so beautiful that even a rose would pale in comparison.

Their conversation was vague, but it didn’t matter. Love and happiness were right there with them.

Olivia’s cheeks flushed. Ian’s face, smiling as he thought of his wife, seemed even more striking than usual. The anticipation of the unborn child lent a refined glow not only to Laura but also to Ian’s features.

Ian snapped back to the present.

“She’s doing well. As well as you are. My dear niece, your face is positively glowing. Have you fallen in love for the first time, perhaps?”

“Love will begin in London. Until then, I’ll only love Aunt.”

He laughed heartily.

“Good. Love freely. You’re the only one I’d share Laura with.”

Ian asked Olivia to tell her mother that he would visit the parlor after seeing Henry Fairfax. The two parted ways at the staircase leading to Henry’s room.

As Ian walked down the corridor toward Henry’s room, the smile vanished from his face.

Upon reaching his destination, Ian flung the door open without knocking.

The large room reeked of disinfectant. Henry Fairfax lay asleep on the bed, and beside him, a middle-aged maid serving as a nurse sat in a chair, crocheting something.

The nurse stood up. She was well aware of Ian Dalton, the landlord of Whitefield.

“Step outside for a moment.”

The nurse gathered her crocheting materials, gave a slight curtsy, and left.

Ian approached the bed.

His sleeping nephew’s face was half-covered in purple bruises. His head was plastered with bandages covering stitches, and his lips were caked with dried blood. His torso was wrapped in layers of bandages, like armor, to restrict the movement of fractured bones.

Ian’s gaze, as he looked at his nephew’s ravaged state, was as cold and emotionless as black coal.

He sat in the chair the nurse had occupied, crossed his legs, and waited silently for Henry to wake.

About ten minutes later, Henry groaned, his face contorting as he stirred his lips.

“Throat… dry…”

His voice cracked. But Ian didn’t move.

“Water…”

Henry, pained and irritable, opened his eyes with a scowl. His dark eyes searched for the nurse who was usually by his side.

Instead, they found his uncle. Henry’s gaze sharpened instantly.

“Olivia is eavesdropping at the door.”

It was a warning to keep his voice low. Resignation settled over Henry’s face.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“If I meant to kill you, you wouldn’t have made it out of the study that day.”

Ian’s voice, arms crossed, dripped with icy disdain.

“I’ll admit I wanted to put a bullet in your arm or leg.”

Henry stared at Ian. There was no hostility toward a rival or resentment toward the one who had left him in this state.

“I’d rather have died.”

“This brat still hasn’t learned his lesson?”

“I’d rather die than never see Aunt again.”

Tears welled in Henry’s eyes.

Ian observed his nephew’s state with cold detachment. The incident in the study had brought him a disappointment he had never felt in his life, rendering him utterly indifferent to his nephew’s emotions.

All Ian felt toward Henry was contempt and betrayal.

“I thank God I didn’t hit you. If I’d killed you and been hanged, the child Laura carries would’ve been fatherless.”

“…What?”

“Laura is pregnant.”

Henry, initially stunned, soon gave an incredulous reaction.

“Congratulations.”

Ian raised an eyebrow.

“You think you’re in a position to say that?”

“I mean it. Truly, congratulations. Aunt must be thrilled.”

Ian was utterly dumbfounded, and with it, his anger toward Henry surged.

Henry, the boy he had doted on like a son, practicing fatherhood in his youth. What this boy had done to his family was beyond shocking. The mere fact that Henry had feelings for Laura and dared to voice them was outrageous enough, but his actions had nearly brought a catastrophic crisis to Ian’s household.

While Henry was troubling Laura, a new life was growing inside her. If Laura had been a weaker woman, the stress caused by Henry could have led to a miscarriage.

No, most women would have lost the child after the shooting incident in the study. That the baby was safe was only because Laura was a strong woman.

If anything had happened to the child, Ian would have killed Henry, no matter the cost.

“Your love is abnormal, Henry. I’m not talking about the legal relationship between nephew and aunt. You feel no jealousy toward me. You didn’t even try to woo Laura or ask her to be your lover. Of course, that’s why I let you live.”

Ian gave a cold smirk.

“You’re even smiling and congratulating her for carrying another man’s child. By any measure, this proves your love is a fantasy.”

Ian continued in a low voice.

“Your love is merely a form of worship. Like a Christian loves the Virgin Mary or Greeks prayed at Athena’s temple, you were seeking salvation. And the reason for that is probably the woman you met in Paris, Celine.”

Henry’s face, already devoid of a smile, hardened at the name “Celine.” It was perfect proof that Ian’s guess was correct.

“I’m sorry you went through that, but the moment you tried to touch my wife, there was no forgiving you. Your injuries are no excuse for the havoc you’ve wreaked on my family. You are no longer my nephew.”

“Uncle, I…”

“Never set foot in Whitefield again. The moment you step onto my estate, I’ll personally cut off your limbs. Don’t even think about seeing Laura. If I catch you following her, I’ll pluck out your eyes. If you want salvation, go to a church. If you need a woman, find one elsewhere. I won’t tolerate any more disruption to our family.”

“Uncle…”

Henry’s eyes brimmed with tears. The image of his aunt, gazing at him with kind eyes, flickered in his mind. A pure, warm woman. A wise lady who seemed capable of driving away any misfortune.

“I was wrong, Uncle. I know I’m a wretch. What I did was a betrayal of you both. But… I felt like I couldn’t go on living otherwise. I was afraid that, having lost my dreams and been defiled, I’d end up killing myself. If I could have even a corner of Aunt’s heart, I thought I could find comfort and keep living.”

“Every last piece of her is mine.”

“I know how much you love Aunt. I was mad to covet her, knowing that. But I never meant to harm you. I didn’t want to steal your happiness. That’s why I tried to keep it a secret between Aunt and me, so you wouldn’t suffer.”

“So your plan was to make a fool of me?”

“…”

“A man betrayed is pitiful, but a man who doesn’t even know he’s been betrayed is worse. Your plan was worse than formally challenging me to a duel. Damn it, to think I had a nephew like you. If it weren’t for the baby, I’d strangle you right here.”

Tears streamed endlessly from Henry’s eyes.

“Uncle, if I can’t see Aunt, then… where do I find salvation? Where do I find comfort? She was the only one who gave me a reason to keep living…”

“Sounds like something Lancelot would say about Queen Guinevere. You live in reality. Laura isn’t a queen; she’s an ordinary woman who wants a happy family. Your worship only brings her misery.”

Henry bit his blood-crusted lip.

He hadn’t considered that his feelings could make Laura unhappy. He had merely clung to her to survive his own misery.

“Because of me, Aunt would be unhappy? She always tried to bring me happiness.”

Laura was the woman who had brought a rain of love to his barren heart, a love he had never known before. That sensation was so sweet and enchanting that he had recklessly thrown himself at her.

For someone as broken as he was, there was nothing left to protect.

Ian, in a businesslike tone, explained the real reason for his visit: an alibi for the assault on Henry, arranged with Remswick.

Through a private detective, they had identified the thief as a former employee fired from Whitefield years ago, who had committed the crime to support his eight children. He had already lost two fingers to the bullet Henry took, and, having stolen nothing, his life was now even more wretched.

With a family of children to support, sending the man to prison would doom his wife and children. So Ian had decided, in agreement with Henry, not to press charges.

Henry readily agreed to the alibi. He had no calculations about how public knowledge of being shot by his uncle for pursuing his aunt would harm him or his family’s reputation. His consent stemmed solely from a sense of debt to the Dalton couple.

“Forgetting your aunt will be impossible. Any man who recognizes Laura’s worth can never forget her. No matter what woman you meet, you’ll compare her to Laura and realize there’s no one better. Living itself will be torture.”

Ian continued stiffly.

“A fitting punishment for you.”