Chapter 22

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: The Picnic (4)
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“Mr. Dalton, are you feeling unwell?”

Ian turned his head to look at her. She was gazing up at him, her expression full of concern. Meeting her clear gray eyes only made him feel more guilty about his current state of mind.

“There's a good place to sit over there. Mr. Dalton, let's rest for a moment.”

She raised a hand, pointing to a flat rock on the side of the path. He shook his head.

“No,”

“You look much paler than before. I think I see perspiration on your brow as well. You must be tired from driving the carriage and rowing the boat today. Please, go and sit.”

Miss Pendleton must have been truly worried. Forgetting that they had not had any physical contact since their first meeting when they danced, she naturally took Mr. Dalton's arm and led him to the rock, seating him upon it.

Mr. Dalton found himself in an even more awkward position because of her kindness. The kinder she was, the more wretched he felt.

He sat on the cool rock for a moment, looking at her. The way she looked down at him. Her delicate features set in a pale white face, her slender arm holding the parasol.

*This is dangerous,* he thought. *At this rate, I feel like I'm going to lose my reason.*

He did not want to keep facing Miss Pendleton. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and spread it on the spot next to him. Miss Pendleton understood his intention, folded her parasol, and sat beside him on the handkerchief.

He couldn't bring himself to look at Miss Pendleton sitting next to him. He could only stare at the green foliage before him and the glittering river that peeked through it.

Suddenly, a cool breeze rustled past them.

The whisper of leaves and the fresh scent of grass stimulated their senses. For a moment, he wished this was the forest of Whitefield. If only he could be with Miss Pendleton like this, in that beautiful forest thick with birch trees.

“Mr. Dalton, is the forest of Whitefield similar to this?”

Mr. Dalton turned his head to look at her.

“If the trees filling the forest were birches, it would be just like Whitefield.”

“It must be just as lush and pristine as it is here.”

“And quiet. Since there are no people.”

“That sounds wonderful. You are a fortunate man to have such a forest nearby, Mr. Dalton. Living in London, it's hard to be near a forest this dense unless you make a point to travel to the suburbs. The best one can hope for is an artificially created park.”

“But doesn't the pride of being a Londoner make up for it?”

“I am a Londoner, it's true, but as for pride… I'm not so sure.”

“Those who live in the country tend to admire London. Even if they pretend not to, they wish for enough money to build a townhouse and visit for the Season. Many people would envy Miss Pendleton for living in the Grosvenor neighborhood.”

Miss Pendleton gave a faint smile.

“It is certainly at the forefront of fashion. There is much to do and see. Goods are always plentiful, and opportunities abound. But, it is also just as noisy and exhausting.”

Miss Pendleton tapped the dirt path with the tip of her parasol.

“What a blessing it is to enjoy such quiet. It truly makes me reluctant to return. London is just too noisy.”

A pouting voice. She was being quite candid today. Mr. Dalton liked it when she spoke so honestly. Not only was it endearing, but it also made him feel a little closer to her.

“I wish this were the forest of Whitefield. Then Miss Pendleton could stay with the trees and leaves forever. When evening comes, you could walk to Whitefield Hall to rest soundly, and when morning arrives, you could walk back to the forest again. For a day, two days, three, four—for as long as you wished.”

“How lovely, Mr. Dalton.”

“I do not say it merely in words, Miss Pendleton. Please, come to Whitefield anytime. There are rooms to spare. So many that it feels wasteful to leave them empty every day. And preparing a meal for one more person is no trouble at all. The servants, far from being bothered by a new guest, would be thrilled. It is so quiet there that even a small change is welcomed with pleasure.”

Miss Pendleton smiled.

“That is a kind offer. Thank you so much. I, too, would love to visit Whitefield someday. I want to see for myself all the beauty of the land you love so dearly. For that to happen, Mr. Dalton's estate would need a mistress, and soon.”

“Is a mistress truly necessary?”

Miss Pendleton spoke as if it were obvious.

“Is there any other way for me to stay as a guest in the home of an unmarried gentleman who lives alone, Mr. Dalton?”

“It may take me quite some time to find a mistress for my home.”

“Then I shall wait. If you do happen to marry, please send an invitation to London. I will take the first train. Ah, it's lovely just thinking about it. I would be able to see not only the beautiful scenery of Whitefield, but also Mr. Dalton with his beautiful bride.”

Mr. Dalton did not find Miss Pendleton's words pleasant. Her unreserved remarks only reaffirmed that she felt nothing more for him than friendship.

But even so, his feelings did not diminish in the slightest. The loveliness he felt from her did not change. If anything, it only fanned the flames of his longing.

“For Miss Pendleton's sake, then, I suppose I cannot dally. I will find a mistress as quickly as possible. And I will get confirmation from that very mistress's lips that Miss Pendleton will stay at Whitefield Hall for as long as she desires.”

“Oh, Mr. Dalton. That would be terribly unfair to your wife. You must not do such a thing. I would never stay at Whitefield Hall if it meant inconveniencing the lady of the house. If she seemed even the slightest bit displeased with me, I would pack my bags and leave at once. I would never do anything to disturb the comfort of my friends' marriage.”

Mr. Dalton stared intently at Miss Pendleton.

“But what if my wife, Mrs. Dalton, the mistress of my home, wished for you to be by her side forever? What if she insisted you had no choice but to remain at Whitefield Hall indefinitely?”

“…Then I suppose I could stay. If Mrs. Dalton were to accept me as a friend… But generally, wives are not capable of feeling such pure goodwill toward their husband's female friends. I simply cannot imagine such a situation.”

“I can imagine it. I can picture Mrs. Dalton gladly permitting you to live with her.”

“In that case, it would be no exaggeration to say that you know nothing of a woman's heart, Mr. Dalton. If you have a wife, you must never make such a request regarding a female friend from before your marriage. Not unless you wish to experience terrible domestic strife.”

“No, I will do it. Because if I am to marry, there will be no way for Miss Pendleton *not* to live at Whitefield Hall. Without that situation, my marriage will not happen, Miss Pendleton.”

For a moment, silence fell between them. Miss Pendleton’s gray eyes widened as she looked at him. He was staring back at her, his jaw set, his gaze intense enough to be called a glare.

If he had been able to say just one more of the words inside him, the friendship between them would have ended then and there.

But Miss Pendleton deprived him of the chance.

She rose from her seat.

“The mistress of Whitefield Hall will surely oppose it, Mr. Dalton. In fact, she would never agree to a marriage on the premise of accepting me. I hope you will not force such unreasonable terms on your future wife. And I must ask that you invite me only in the capacity of a friend.”

With those words, Miss Pendleton immediately opened her parasol, turned, and walked away.

Her demeanor was so cold that he couldn't even muster the courage to follow her and state his thoughts again. He could only watch blankly as Miss Pendleton walked away down the long forest path.

He had been utterly rejected. Cut off with no room for any other interpretation.

He remained seated for a while. The fact that he had just proposed was even more shocking than her rejection. To have pushed forward so emotionally. And right after confirming that she saw him as nothing more than a friend.

It was as if he had set out with the intention of being rejected. But he had done it anyway. And the reason for such an act was obvious. To say it was for love would be a noble expression, but to be frank, it was desire.

*Damn it. I've made the most common mistake a man can make.*

He used to laugh at men who did foolish things for women. During his time in high society, he had observed at length how foolish men could become due to desire.

They were helpless before women, especially beautiful ones. Even men from esteemed families with sufficient education fell for women's temptations with absurd ease and committed to foolish marriages.

They courted them, muttering of love and affection, but at the bottom of it all was nothing but desire. Blinded by desire, they sought to take as partners women with whom they shared neither virtue nor common ground. And a marriage built on desire alone inevitably led to a miserable married life.

He had grown sick of such foolish scenes, which had led him to stop frequenting high society.

But even if what he had done to Miss Pendleton stemmed from desire, Ian did not regret it. His proposal may have been impulsive, but it was something he would have done eventually.

This was something he had been planning subconsciously during his stay in London. To propose to her, marry her, and take her to his estate. That was the sole purpose of his month-long delay in London.

He had to explain it to her. He had to confess how seriously he loved her—that it wasn't a mere impulse but a sincere love. Then she, too, would reconsider his proposal.

He quickly folded the handkerchief, put it in his pocket, and strode in the direction she had gone. As he emerged from the woods, he saw the rest of the party in the distance. The women were playing tennis while the men sat near the court, their eyes glazed over as they watched the ladies, their dress hems fluttering as they hit the ball back and forth.

He searched for Miss Pendleton within the group. But she was nowhere to be seen. He approached Miss Lance, who was cooling off on one side of the tennis court, and asked.

“Miss Lance, do you happen to know where Miss Pendleton went?”

“Ah, Miss Pendleton had some urgent business and left early.”

“Left? By what means?”

“By the servants' carriage. She seemed to be in a hurry, so I instructed the coachman to take her at once.”

Mr. Dalton bit his lip. Her intention was painfully obvious. It was to avoid him. Did she dislike his feelings so much that she had to flee?

“But why are you looking for Miss Pendleton? Judging by the direction you came from, I thought you would have met her.”

“We were in the middle of a conversation. More importantly, what urgent business did she say she had?”

“I believe she said a relative was coming to visit. Oh, and she also mentioned this: that due to family matters, the Pendleton household would likely not be receiving guests for some time. Mr. Dalton, you may have to postpone whatever you wished to say for quite a while.”

He stood silently, gazing at the dirt path she had taken. Miss Lance said something more, but he barely heard her. She had hurried away down that path. To escape from him.

Even more clearly than her cold reaction earlier, he could now understand Miss Pendleton's mind. Miss Pendleton did not want to marry him.

She did not want him as a man. Not in the slightest.