Ian looked at his wife’s expression through the mirror. A sad smile appeared on her face.

“It’s our father’s name.”

“Do you dislike it?”

Laura shook her head.

“I think I’ll feel happy every time I call the child’s name.”

“That’s a relief.”

“If we have a daughter, what name should we give her?”

“You name the daughter. The child in your arms right now is a girl, isn’t she?”

Laura gently looked down at the girl doll. Soon, two syllables, common in England but used by many remarkable women, slipped from her lips.

“Jane.”

“Jane?”

Laura nodded. Ian thought for a moment, then recalled a certain lady from his memory—a splendid brown-haired woman who had once bested him at skimming stones.

“Miss Hyde?”

Laura nodded.

“Our child will live in the 20th century. If it’s a daughter, I want her to be a splendid woman suited for the 20th century. Like Miss Hyde.”

“That’s wonderful. But what if she grows up and sails off to Asia?”

“Parting with children is a parent’s fate.”

“Already feeling sad.”

Ian began brushing her hair with a wry smile.

Laura’s hair became soft and fluffy. Ian tightly embraced her from behind. Along with Laura, the doll she was holding also came into his arms.

In the mirror, the Dalton couple already looked like a family of three.

“Whether it’s Louis or Jane, I hope they come to us soon.”

“Me too.”

Laura turned her head and kissed her husband’s cheek.

“You’ll surely be a wonderful father.”

“Not as wonderful as you.”

Ian pressed his lips to Laura’s.

It was much later when the two in the mirror stopped kissing and headed to the bedroom.

Whitefield had been buried in snow since the first snowfall in mid-November. It was an unusually snowy winter. Every fortnight, heavy snow poured down, blanketing the white birch forest in white. Traffic came to a halt, and farmers had to trade their sickles for shovels, but the world was a pristine paradise.

Children played in the snow until their faces turned red, and dogs wagged their tails, following them. Countless snowmen sprang up around the village, and children sang songs while circling snowmen with carrot noses. This continued through Christmas, January, February, and into March.

In a small cabin nestled in a chestnut forest far from the village, smoke rose steadily from the chimney and stovepipe throughout the winter. The fireplace, which Ian never allowed to go out, sent white smoke curling from the chimney, while the stovepipe connected to the kitchen carried the warmth of her husband’s love.

Laura spent most of her time downstairs. Sitting on a plush sofa near the fire, she sewed baby clothes or knitted tiny socks for the child.

Laura had never experienced such profound happiness in her life as she did this winter in the cabin.

Her husband carried her up and down the stairs every day. He prepared delicious meals for every meal and fetched anything she needed within a day.

One reason Laura felt this cabin life was perfect was that Ian seemed just as happy as she was. He was busy all day with cooking, cleaning, preparing firewood, and shoveling snow, yet he often hummed tunes and cracked jokes.

He was genuinely happier than when they were at the manor. Spending the long winter alone with Laura was a joy. He could personally attend to her baths and hair, tasks usually left to maids, and kiss his wife anywhere he pleased. It was like a second honeymoon.

They often sat close by the fire. Ian loved resting his hand on her belly. The baby, now with limbs, swam playfully in the amniotic fluid all day. Ian felt the baby’s movements through his hand on her belly.

The kicks made him truly feel like a father, even more than the doctor’s pregnancy diagnosis. It was a feeling that came from his heart, not his head.

“Daddy, say it. Daddy.”

Ian would playfully whisper to Laura’s belly. At those moments, Laura burst into giggles. He felt both the baby’s kicks and the vibrations of his wife’s laughter through his palm.

A growing baby. A wife laughing out loud. All the conditions for happiness were met.

He tightly wrapped his arms around Laura’s shoulders.

“I want to live here forever.”

Laura placed her hand over his.

“Me too.”

“You too?”

“Yes.”

They gave each other bittersweet smiles, knowing it was an impossible wish. Their time in the cabin was merely a brief respite. They had Whitefield Hall, a home they loved, but the cozy, ordinary life they had now was something they could only dream of there.

Ian buried his face in the nape of Laura’s neck and sighed.

“If we were a carpenter couple, it might have been possible.”

“You, a carpenter, and I, a carpenter’s wife?”

Ian toyed with Laura’s hair.

“Would you have married me if I were a simple carpenter? With nothing but two axes and a rundown cabin?”

Laura pictured herself as a carpenter’s wife in her mind.

Wearing a plain fabric dress and a cloth headscarf, sweeping and cleaning the cabin by hand. Collecting eggs from the henhouse in the backyard to sell at the market, preparing stew for her husband’s return.

It seemed happy enough. If her husband was Ian.

“If you were a carpenter, we’d have married within a month of meeting. I’d be eager to sew your shirts and cook your dinners.”

“Damn, why was I born a lord?”

They chuckled and shared a kiss. The crackling sound of the fire burning the logs echoed through the cabin.

But, as they had foreseen, their simple happiness wasn’t meant to last. They were, after all, the lord and lady of the Dalton family.

In April, as Laura entered her seventh month of pregnancy, Remzwick visited the cabin.

Servants from Whitefield had occasionally come to the cabin, but only for critical approvals. To avoid disturbing the couple’s rest, Remzwick and Noel had handled matters on their own.

When Remzwick arrived, Ian happened to be at the market buying groceries. Laura, knitting in the living room, greeted him.

Opening the front door, Laura smiled at Remzwick, one hand on her hip, her belly prominently swollen.

“It’s been a while. Come in, Remzwick.”

Startled momentarily by the lady’s significantly swollen belly, he quickly stepped back, recalling that his scent might upset her.

“If I were going to be sick, it would’ve happened the moment I opened the door. I’m fine now.”

She smiled gently and gestured for him to come inside. Hesitating, Remzwick stepped into the cabin.

Thanks to the fireplace, the interior was filled with warm air, thawing his body, which had frozen from the horseback ride.

He sat on the sofa as Laura directed.

As if she were the wife of an ordinary carpenter hosting a guest, Laura poured Remzwick a cup of peppermint tea.

A lady serving tea to a butler. Remzwick, feeling deeply honored, accepted the steaming cup.

With a soft grunt, Laura sat on the sofa. It seemed a pregnant woman needed to muster energy for even simple tasks. Remzwick, who had little experience with pregnant women, glanced curiously at the lady as she leaned against a cushioned sofa and picked up her knitting needles.

She looked quite different from her appearance at the manor. Her hair, usually neatly secured with a hairnet, was now braided loosely like an Indian girl’s. Instead of her usual restrained dresses, she wore a voluminous checkered dress with cute frills. Her cheeks were plumper, and she exuded a relaxed air.

It was clear without her saying it: life in the cabin was deeply fulfilling.

“Ian will be back in half an hour. He never leaves the house for more than two hours.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Laura worked her knitting needles, asking in a leisurely tone, “So, what’s happened at Whitefield?”

“Well…”

Remzwick, sipping his tea, looked troubled.

“Mr. Finch has taken a leave of absence, my lady.”

Laura’s hands stopped.

“Noel? Why?”

“He was injured.”

Laura’s eyes widened.

“Is it serious?”

“His life is not in danger.”

“What caused it?”

Remzwick hesitated.

“Is it a secret?”

“It’s somewhat gruesome.”

Remzwick glanced worriedly at Laura’s swollen belly.

“Remzwick, I didn’t lose the baby even when my husband stormed into the study and turned the desk into a pincushion early in my pregnancy. Just tell me.”

Remzwick wet his lips. Right, unnecessary worry. The lady is strong and half-owner of Whitefield. She’ll find out eventually, so best to tell her now.

“Betty Rozy injured Noel Finch.”

“…Noel’s lover, Betty Rozy?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know. Betty Rozy won’t speak, and Mr. Finch isn’t in a condition to give a statement.”

Laura set her knitting aside.

“Betty couldn’t have hurt a grown man enough to force a leave with her bare hands. What did she use, and how did she hurt Noel?”

Remzwick swallowed hard.

“She swung a chef’s knife, used for filleting fish, at Noel’s stomach. While heavily drunk on rum.”

“Good heavens.”

Laura pressed her hand to her forehead.

“…I should’ve listened to you earlier and dismissed them both.”

Remzwick quickly shook his head.

“My lady, this is entirely my fault. Months ago, I received a report about Betty Rozy’s drinking problem. I dismissed it as minor and only gave her a warning. After the incident, I investigated and learned her father was an alcoholic who killed someone and was hanged. I should’ve looked into her background sooner. It’s my negligence. You may dismiss me, and I’d have no complaints.”

Laura grimaced but smiled.

“Where would we find another butler as fine as you?”