Chapter 23

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Homecoming
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The next day, Mr. Dalton went to the Pendleton residence. When he knocked, the maid who always answered the door whenever he visited came out and told him they were not receiving guests.

He had expected to be turned away at the door, so he asked the maid to at least deliver a letter. But the maid only replied stiffly that she was forbidden from accepting anything from guests.

In the end, Mr. Dalton had no choice but to leave his calling card and retreat.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave. So he stood across the street from the house for hours, gazing at the windows. Through an uncurtained window, he could occasionally see Miss Pendleton passing by.

Only after catching a glimpse of her could he turn away, feeling an indescribable bitterness.

As days like this continued, he began to grow anxious. A fear sprouted that Miss Pendleton might have closed her heart to him for good.

For several days, he did nothing but smoke his cigars and linger near Miss Pendleton's house, even though he knew it was of no use.

Then, a telegram arrived that made it impossible for him to delay his return home any longer. Mr. Genfield, the parish vicar on his estate, had passed away.

Considering Mr. Genfield's age, it was not a surprise, but he had been quite hale when Ian left, making the news unexpected. He realized he had stayed in London for far too long. It was time to go down to Whitefield—to console the bereaved family and to appoint a new vicar.

After putting down the telegram, he immediately found out the schedule for the earliest train. It was in an hour. He gave two instructions to the servant who had informed him of the train time.

Pack his bags for the return to Whitefield. And send telegrams to both Whitefield and Dunville Park, announcing his return. This was carried out at once.

He sat at a desk in the guest room where the servants were busy packing and took out a sheet of paper. Then, he picked up a pen and began to write a letter in haste.

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My dearest Miss Pendleton,

I write this letter to inform you of my situation, as I must suddenly depart from London. The parish vicar, Mr. Genfield, has passed away, and I must return to Whitefield as both a mourner and the landowner responsible for appointing his successor. I intend to return to London as soon as the situation is resolved. I cannot settle back in Whitefield until I have restored the connection with you that was so regrettably severed.

I am aware that you have been avoiding me since the picnic. And regarding that matter, I harbor no resentment toward you, and therefore feel no desire to reproach you. I only wish for the bridge of our friendship to be reconnected. I hope that when I return from Whitefield, you will at least grant me the opportunity to explain myself.

Your faithful servant,

Ian Dalton.

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He immediately put the letter in an envelope, sealed it, and placed it in the inner pocket of his jacket. Then he opened a drawer and took out the frame that was inside. It was a small painting of the Whitefield landscape.

Shortly after promising Miss Pendleton a painting of Whitefield, he had selected the best of the dozens of Whitefield landscapes from his sketchbook, colored it, and had it framed. It was to be a gift for her, someday.

He had intended to ask her if she would go there and live with him. That had been the plan.

He wrapped the painting in plain paper and tied it with a string in the shape of a cross. Then he took it and went outside. As per his earlier instructions, all his luggage was already loaded onto the carriage. He took the carriage to the Pendleton residence.

Soon, the carriage stopped in front of the mansion. He stepped out, holding the package with the letter tucked under the string. He immediately knocked on the Pendletons' front door. The same young maid who always greeted him appeared.

The maid looked at him with a very bland expression.

“I'm very sorry, but we are not receiving visitors, sir.”

He held out the package.

“Please give this to Miss Pendleton.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to accept anything on behalf of any guest.”

It was the same answer as last time. Conscious of his train's departure time, he spoke in an impatient voice.

“Make an exception this time. It's an urgent matter. I have to leave for my estate right now.”

“I'm sorry, but that is your concern, sir.”

“Then I suppose I have no choice but to tie this to a stone and throw it through her window.”

“If it is so vital to deliver, you should send it formally through the post office.”

“I would if I had the time. But I have to catch a train in thirty minutes!”

The maid looked at Ian for a moment. Then she crossed her arms and spoke in a more relaxed tone.

“It's not within my authority. What if I get dismissed for disobeying orders?”

“I'll arrange a position for you at another house in London. Or, would you come and work in Yorkshire?”

“I dislike the countryside.”

*A city-bred brat.*

He took two pound notes from his wallet and placed them on top of the package. For a city-bred brat, there was no better bribe than pounds sterling.

The maid stared at the two pounds and then took the package. Mr. Dalton turned and started back toward the carriage. But then he heard the maid's voice from behind him.

“Mr. Dalton, sir!”

Ian turned to look back at the maid. She took a step toward him. And she pushed the two pounds back at him. Mr. Dalton frowned.

“Do you want more?”

The maid shook her head.

“Do something else for me.”

“You want to make a deal?”

“That's right. Two pounds is nothing to me.”

He looked at the maid, wondering what on earth she was up to. But she didn't bat an eye.

“In exchange for delivering this to the young lady, you must promise to return to London. Come back and win Miss Pendleton's heart.”

“What did you say?”

“I'm telling you to regroup in Yorkshire and then come back to capture my lady's heart. After coming here so persistently, surely you won't just give up, will you?”

Mr. Dalton stared at the maid with a dumbfounded expression. She tucked the two pounds into his jacket pocket, slammed the door shut, and went inside.

Mindful of the pressing time, Mr. Dalton immediately got back into the carriage. But the maid's words were stuck in his mind.

When you return, capture Miss Pendleton's heart.

Mr. Dalton leaned back in the departing carriage and sighed.

*Damn it, if only I could, I'd have done it already.*

* * *

Anne entered the study carrying the package. The room, usually noisy with the clatter of a typewriter, was quiet today. Miss Hyde, a frequent visitor, had gone for an interview at a publishing house arranged by Mr. Fairfax, so Miss Pendleton was alone.

As always, she was passing the time with a white lace shawl draped over her shoulders, translating the Latin Bible.

Anne stood on the other side of the desk and showed the package to Miss Pendleton.

“What is this?”

“Mr. Dalton came by again today.”

“I told you not to accept anything.”

Anne put on a tearful face and said.

“I couldn't help it. He pressed it into my hands before I could refuse and was gone before I could stop him.”

Miss Pendleton let out a low sigh, then took the package. She looked at it for a moment before unwrapping it. Inside was a small-sized picture frame, containing a watercolor landscape. Miss Pendleton stared at the painting, then spoke to Anne, who was craning her neck to get a better look.

“Would you like to come and see?”

Anne moved closer to her lady's side to look at the painting. A dazzling countryside landscape was spread out within the small frame.

Against a backdrop of rolling mountains, charming farmhouses were clustered together on a vast field, beside which lay a beautiful lake and a forest of white birch trees. And on one side of the painting stood a beautiful white mansion.

Anne was impressed.

“It's so wonderful. Who painted this?”

“It's Mr. Dalton's work.”

Anne was genuinely surprised.

“Wow, really? That gentleman is an artist.”

“Indeed. He uses color so well. I didn't know he could paint this skillfully.”

“But where is this place?”

“It's Whitefield. Mr. Dalton's estate.”

*To gift a lady a landscape of his own estate.* The intention was clear. He must want to show the woman he fancies where he lives. He probably also wants to entice her, showing her where she could live if she accepted his proposal.

Anne secretly smiled, seeing right through the seemingly elegant gentleman's intentions.

*But I wonder if my lady has noticed this.* Anne glanced at Miss Pendleton's profile. The recipient of the gift was simply gazing at the painting with a calm, inscrutable expression.

“Anne, have Leon hang this in the drawing room.”

“Where should he place it?”

“Above the jade-colored console table.”

“In the most prominent spot in the drawing room?”

“It's a painting Mr. Dalton drew himself. Of course, it should be hung in a place befitting it.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Anne answered obediently and left the room to hang the painting in the drawing room.

That evening, Anne knocked and entered her lady's room to help with her hair. Miss Pendleton was standing, looking out the window. In her hand, she held a letter.

When Anne came in, Miss Pendleton went and sat at her dressing table. Anne moved behind Miss Pendleton, let down her pinned-up hair, and began to brush it, studying Miss Pendleton's face in the mirror.

Miss Pendleton had a rather somber expression, her eyes downcast as she was lost in thought. Anne's gaze naturally drifted to the letter placed on the dressing table.

Anne was dying of curiosity about the letter. Ever since her lady had returned from the picnic a week ago with a clouded expression, she had been refusing all visitors and keeping to herself.

She claimed to have caught a chill from being on the boat for too long, but to Anne, who had served her lady for nearly ten years, Miss Pendleton seemed perfectly fine. She simply did not wish to receive guests.

And for that entire week, that gentleman had come to call. The handsome young gentleman, Ian Dalton, who had worn down the Pendletons' doorstep for the past month.