Chapter 101

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 101
Chapter Title: The Hunting Party (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Perhaps the eldest son of a wealthy earl or marquess, he presumed. And the day she walked down the aisle would not be far off.

This line of thought was thanks to a hint from his sister, Janet. He had been too busy with work lately to frequent the social scene and, naturally, had paid no mind to gossip such as rumors of romance. Then came the invitation to the hunting party at Whitefield.

Though busy, he had matters to discuss with Ian and was reluctant to send his sister alone, so he had decided to head to Whitefield.

However, as Mr. Fairfax was in the midst of packing, Miss Janet asked from his side.

“Brother, if someone were to ask me to be a bridesmaid, may I accept?”

“Of course. You are certainly old enough to be a bridesmaid. But who is the bride-to-be?”

“It’s not certain yet, so I won’t say.”

“Who is it? Hmm?”

Knowing she wanted him to press her, Mr. Fairfax playfully questioned his sister. Miss Janet giggled.

“She’s a friend to us both. She has an angelic face, first-rate skill on the harp, and is the best-dressed lady in all of London.”

It was as good as saying it was Miss Lance.

“That’s all I’ll say for now. The official announcement hasn’t been made yet. Still, it’s as good as decided. The rumor is all over London.”

Mr. Fairfax did not ask who Miss Lance’s partner was. He felt it improper to pry into the private life of a lady he knew. However, he had already planned the congratulatory message and the type of bouquet he would send once the announcement was made.

He watched Miss Lance chattering away across from him and prayed inwardly.

‘May the gentleman you have chosen be a fine man. I hope your innocent heart remains unscathed and that you become a happy wife and mother, Miss Lance.’

* * *

After disembarking from the train, the Fairfax siblings headed for Dunville Park.

Miss Lance naturally joined her friends. They took a carriage waiting at the station and made their way to Whitefield.

A current of excitement flowed between them. The fact that they had been invited to the much-rumored Whitefield Hall was secondary. They firmly believed that Mr. Dalton would propose to Miss Lance at this gathering.

Rumors were already rampant throughout London that Mr. Dalton and Miss Lance were in love. The rumor, which began in the retiring room at the Lance family’s ball, had spread with such force that it had been distorted to the point where people believed the two had already set a wedding date.

Ahead of her visit to Whitefield, Miss Lance had poured her heart into selecting her clothes and accessories. Her mother had spared no expense in ordering a new dress, and upon receiving the bill from the dressmaker, had sighed and sternly warned her not even to think of returning home if she did not receive a proposal.

Miss Lance was unperturbed. For there was no way she would not receive a proposal. If he were not interested in her, why else would he have opened the gates of the Dalton estate, which had been so thoroughly cut off from high society, to the people of London? He had clearly held this gathering to summon her from distant London, propose, and announce their engagement.

Carriages began to arrive one after another in front of Whitefield Hall. Exquisitely dressed ladies and gentlemen with faces flushed red in anticipation of firing their guns on new hunting grounds stepped out of the carriages.

Miss Lance and her friends marveled at the exterior of Whitefield Hall. It was so beautiful and elegant. It would be no exaggeration to call it the most beautiful manor in England.
Miss Wilkes whispered to Miss Lance.

“Soon, you will be the mistress of this house, Dora. Heavens, I’ll be sick with envy!”

Miss Lance blushed, but a clear sense of pride touched the corners of her upturned lips.

Mr. Dalton, neatly dressed, greeted each of the guests. It was a duty he should have shared with the mistress of the house, but as the position was vacant, he had to manage it all himself.

Miss Lance looked at him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. He offered a simple smile and said, “Welcome, Miss Lance.”

That alone was enough. For a lady lost in a reverie of love, a fleeting smile was all it took to look to the future with her whole heart.

Servants carried the luggage, and guests were assigned to their designated rooms. Miss Lance changed into a luncheon dress for the upcoming meal and went down to the dining room.

On the dining table, name cards were prepared for each seat. Those on good terms, such as family, friends, and business partners, were seated at the same table, while those with awkward relationships due to scandals or business troubles were placed at tables as far apart as possible.

Miss Lance wondered. How could Mr. Dalton have known about the relationships among London’s society to arrange the seating so exquisitely? It would have been impossible without someone’s help.

Everyone had entered the dining room, and finally, Mr. Dalton made his entrance.

To everyone’s surprise, a woman was by his side. It was Laura Pendleton.

Laura Pendleton entered the dining room on Ian Dalton’s arm. She wore a sophisticated violet dress with a beautiful silhouette, adorned with diamond earrings.

The guests were surprised and began to whisper among themselves. They all knew she had been cast out of the Pendleton family and had become a governess. How could she, who had fallen to the status of a servant, appear at Whitefield Hall in such splendid attire?

Mr. Dalton looked around the room. His demeanor was dignified and confident.

“Thank you all for gathering at this retreat, hidden deep in the countryside. It is thanks to Miss Laura Sheldon, here by my side, that we are able to present this place, which has long shunned outsiders, to such distinguished guests as yourselves.”

Sheldon. At the unfamiliar surname, the assembly’s puzzled gazes turned to her.

“Some time ago, I asked this lady of great learning and refinement to take on the position of tutor for my nephews. Miss Sheldon has, for the past few months, proven to be an excellent teacher and a model adult. And then, we discovered something remarkable. Her father was none other than my childhood art instructor, the brilliantly talented painter, Louis Sheldon.”

A low gasp went through the room.

“That a father and daughter should become mentors to our two families, continuing a deep bond across generations, is a remarkable fate. We consider this a sign of divine will and have decided to welcome her not as an employee, but as a member of our family. Now, I would like to introduce her to you again. A member of the Fairfax and Dalton families of Yorkshire, Miss Laura Sheldon.”

The guests applauded, their faces bewildered.

Laura’s composed expression flushed slightly.

“On the right wall at the entrance to the Long Gallery on the second floor, we have hung the works Mr. Sheldon painted during his lifetime. Please feel free to view them at your leisure. And now.”

Mr. Dalton led Laura to the head of the table. He took his seat at the end, and Laura sat to his right.

Following him, a line of servants carrying trays entered the dining room. And from one side, musicians who had been waiting began to play.

As they ate, the guests conversed in hushed tones.

It was a surprising turn of events, but no one doubted the truth of it. Everyone who needed to know was aware that Miss Pendleton had been recommended as a governess to the Fairfax family, and more importantly, what reason would Ian Dalton have to risk the honor of two families by telling a lie for Laura Pendleton’s sake?

The nobles glanced at Laura from time to time. There was curiosity, but no animosity. She was no longer a poor, illegitimate child cast out by the head of her family. She was Laura Sheldon, under the protection of the two most traditional families in Yorkshire. Who would dare glare at her now that she was clad in armor?

After the meal, the gentlemen went out to hunt on the Whitefield grounds. The ladies decided to spend the afternoon scattered throughout the Long Gallery, the drawing room, and the billiard room.

Miss Lance, who had been feeling unsettled throughout the meal, toured the inside of the manor with her friends.

Though the Whitefield Hall she had been so curious about was right before her eyes, Miss Lance saw nothing. The image of Miss Pendleton and Mr. Dalton standing side by side was all that flashed before her.

Her friends’ words only served to agitate her further. They were furious with Miss Pendleton for suddenly appearing under Mr. Dalton’s protection. They were jealous of her for brazenly standing in the place of their friend, the soon-to-be mistress of the house, and soaking up all the attention.

“A member of the Dalton and Fairfax families? Ha! She’s still just the daughter of some unknown American, isn’t she?”

“Exactly! An illegitimate child born before marriage, an old maid working for hire in someone else’s house!”

“To think she’d show up at a place like this after pretending to be so self-aware. If I were in Miss Pendleton’s shoes, I wouldn’t even show my face here…”

“That’s enough, everyone.”

Unable to listen any longer, Miss Lance cut in. The two ladies looked at her.

Miss Lance was pressing her fingers to her temples.

“Does your head ache?”

Miss Lance said nothing, but they exchanged glances and fell silent. They had finally noticed that their queen was distressed.

They wandered about aimlessly. Passing the music room, the library, and the billiard room, they arrived at the Long Gallery.

Miss Wilkes and Miss Orson glanced at Miss Lance. Though they had just been bad-mouthing Miss Pendleton, they were curious about the paintings of Louis Sheldon, the man said to be her father.

Miss Lance was just as curious. She led her friends into the Long Gallery.

A dozen or so ladies were strolling freely through the gallery, admiring the paintings. Among the hundreds of works, the most popular was, unsurprisingly, the landscape painting hung near the entrance.

Miss Lance’s group squeezed through the ladies to get a closer look at the painting.

When they faced the artwork, they were stunned. The magical colors, which plunged the viewer into a state of ecstasy upon sight, captivated them. As they were all ladies who had received a fine education in art, they recognized the painting’s value at once.

The whispers of a few ladies gathered before the painting reached Miss Lance’s ears.

“Miss Pendleton—no, Miss Sheldon’s father was quite a remarkable man, wasn’t he?”

“Indeed. We only knew him as some sort of scoundrel from America. If he hadn't died so young, he would have become a celebrity. And Miss Sheldon would have been the daughter of that celebrity. By the way, how did a student and his teacher's daughter meet so perfectly? They were close even in London.”

“I know. At this rate, you wouldn’t believe it even if it were a novel. Isn’t it like a fateful love story?”

“Oh, but Mr. Dalton is rumored to be Miss Lance’s beau.”

“Who knows? It’s not as if the two have announced their engagement yet.”

Miss Lance stepped back. Her friends, sensing her dismay, also moved away from the painting.

“I-It’s nothing special.”

“R-Right. Brilliant talent? It looks like something a fifteen-year-old painted.”

The two friends grumbled without cause. But all three of them knew their words were empty.

Miss Lance walked slowly through the Long Gallery, her spirits dampened. Then, a particular painting caught her eye.

It was a portrait of a woman as elegant as a magnolia, with black hair and eyes. Miss Lance stopped in her tracks, not because of the woman, but because of the dress she was wearing.

A timeless, sophisticated dress of violet satin. It was the very same dress Miss Pendleton had been wearing in the dining room earlier.

The three of them recognized the dress at once. Miss Orson beckoned to a servant guarding the entrance and asked who the subject of the portrait was.

“That is the late Mrs. Dalton, the previous mistress of the house.”

The three of them were left speechless.