Chapter 24

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: The Truth of Mutual Feelings
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When Anne, following her lady's orders, informed the gentleman that he could not visit, he wore an expression that seemed to say he had expected as much. He asked if she could at least deliver a letter, but in the end, he only left his calling card and withdrew. He would then loiter around the house for hours before finally leaving.

Observing this situation, it was hardly surprising that Anne deduced something must have happened between the two at the picnic.

Thus, Anne could not suppress her curiosity about the letter.

What on earth could it say? A simple greeting? If so, her lady wouldn't be in such low spirits. A declaration of love? Perhaps a proposal? If that were the case, her current grim expression made even less sense.

‘Oh! If only my lady were like the silly young misses of other houses, who spill every detail of their romantic affairs to their maids!’

Anne swallowed a sigh and focused on diligently brushing her lady's hair. If she was troubled, she would speak of it in her own time. Anne brushed all her hair and tied it into a loose, single braid so it wouldn't be a bother while she slept.

But then, Anne's patience was rewarded. Miss Pendleton began to speak.

“Anne, Mr. Dalton said something to me that was akin to a proposal.”

‘I knew it!’

Anne cheered inwardly but feigned surprise on the outside.

“Oh, my! Truly? Did he confess his feelings for you?”

“No. He said something from which I could infer his feelings.”

“My lady, my learning is scant, so I don't know difficult words like 'infer.' But from the sound of it, it seems he didn't say it outright, but rather hinted at it.”

“Something like that.”

“Is that why you haven't been receiving any visitors lately?”

“Yes. You must have been very puzzled by my pretending to have a cold all this time. You noticed, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. I can never fool your sharp eyes, Anne.”

“But my lady, have you been avoiding Mr. Dalton ever since his proposal? Are you... planning to refuse him?”

Miss Pendleton nodded.

“But my lady, his prospects are so... No, never mind. It is entirely your decision, so who am I to say... But hiding like this is foolish. It is your right to accept or refuse, and acting like a guilty person is hardly a dignified way to behave. If a gentleman has the freedom to propose, then a lady has the right to refuse.”

“Anne. Not a word you've said is wrong. In theory, that is.”

“I don't know what 'in theory' means... but I suppose it's something like 'in one's head'?”

“Yes. You're very good at understanding the context. So you'll surely understand the ambiguity of the situation. For a lady like me to refuse a proposal from someone like Mr. Dalton is terribly rude.”

“What kind of lady is 'a lady like you'?”

“One with no dowry, and who is getting on in years.”

“But Mr. Dalton knows all that, and he still likes you.”

“I am grateful for his affection, but marriage is another matter entirely.”

“Why?”

“Because it would be an unequal match. I have nothing to bring to it but myself. Even if he claims he would be content with just me, that is only talk for when love is at its most passionate.”

“But his love could last a lifetime. You are beautiful and have a fine character. If his nature is not base, he will always be faithful to you. And if his tastes are refined, he will never tire of you.”

Miss Pendleton replied with a faint smile.

“You always think so highly of me. But this issue has nothing to do with taste.”

Anne wanted to argue, but she prudently held her tongue and finished tying the braid.

Miss Pendleton rose from her seat and went to stand by the window. Anne took the shawl draped over the chair, wrapped it around Miss Pendleton's shoulders, placed a hand on her shoulder, and asked in a low voice.

“Then, what of your own heart, my lady? Do you have no feelings for him at all?”

Miss Pendleton was silent for a moment. It was a meaningful silence.

“Anne, do you know the greatest advantage of becoming a spinster?”

“What is it?”

“It's the ability to share a friendship with young gentlemen without any tension. I relied too heavily on that advantage. That is why he misunderstood. I have no love for him whatsoever, Anne.”

Anne had sensed something in that brief silence just moments before. It was clearly hesitation. So she knew that her lady's words were not entirely sincere.

But she could not persuade her lady any further. Not only was Miss Pendleton not one to be swayed by persuasion, but Anne also knew that matters of the heart were not something a third party could control.

Anne neatened her lady's braid, wished her a good night, and left the room.

*Click.* The sound of the door closing was heard, and Miss Pendleton was alone in the room. For a while, she paced back and forth. She sat on the bed and stood up, went to the window and retreated, sat in the rocking chair and stood up again...

Her heart was restless and wandering. Her pacing feet soon came to a halt before the dressing table, and her hand automatically grasped the letter lying upon it.

She unfolded the letter she had put away. Her eyes began to trace the neat script spread across the paper. A clean style. Polite content. To think he had written such a letter and even sent the promised gift amidst the confusion. He was a good man.

But when her eyes reached the final line of the letter, 'Ian Dalton,' she held her breath. The last image she had of his face appeared before her.

His gaze upon her. An emotion that pierced straight through her like a flying spear.

Miss Pendleton dropped the letter. Her body flinched. Her shoulders trembled slightly.

His feelings were so intense they frightened her. It was an unmistakable emotion. He did not let his feelings drift; he drove them home. A desire so strong it was terrifying.

If he had spoken of it at her home or in a public place, she could have handled it more gently. But it was in the woods. A deserted wood. She had fled, fearing what might happen.

Afterwards, he had visited relentlessly, and when she refused to see him, he had even taken to wandering around her house. It was proof that his feelings in the woods that day were not her own delusion or his fleeting impulse.

Miss Pendleton spent an agonizing week pondering. When on earth had his feelings begun? For a month, their friendship had been wholesome and comfortable.

She had never thought of him as a man, and she believed the same was true for him. After all, she was an inadequate person to be his marriage partner. Relying on that fact, she seemed to have treated him far too casually.

She looked at the letter again. The news that he was leaving for Whitefield.

For Miss Pendleton, it was a relief. She hoped he could go down to his estate and cool his emotions. If he could sort out his feelings and they could return to being friends upon his return. Even after learning of Mr. Dalton's heart, he was still precious to her. As a friend.

‘No.’

Miss Pendleton repeated to herself without realizing it.

‘Don't fool yourself, Laura. Are you truly only bewildered by his feelings?’

Miss Pendleton bit her lip. Her hand picked up Mr. Dalton's letter and unfolded it again. The words saying he would return. At that sentence, Miss Pendleton's heart tightened, then loosened, then tightened once more.

He had left. But he would return. And she was happy about it. She was happier about the fact that he would return than that he had left. Could this be merely a feeling for a friend?

To say so would be a lie. She did not want to lie to herself. She had missed him all week. Not seeing him, who had visited almost daily for a month, felt empty and lonely.

Knowing he was leaving London today made her feel restless, and whenever she felt that way, she would read his letter, the one saying he would return, over and over. Doing so would calm her loneliness.

Her complacency had not only made him fall in love with her. It had also made her own heart lean towards him.

Miss Pendleton folded the letter again. Her fingertips trembled, and her heart pounded. She knew she was feeling an emotion she could not permit herself. For the first time in a very long while. To her, it was a bewildering, unwelcome guest.

It was a feeling that would bring fruitless effort, unattainable hope, and a pain that would not end quickly. She knew from experience. To have to go through that process again.

‘He wants me. Isn't that enough?’

Miss Pendleton's heart wavered for a moment at the thought. If his heart and mine are one, what more is needed? Why must I complicate things?

But even as she thought this, her hand naturally fumbled for the pearl pendant she always wore. She took off the necklace. In the middle of the strand of small, tightly strung pearls, a hard, oval silver ornament with delicate violet-shaped filigree gleamed.

She brought her fingertip to the edge of the silver ornament. She felt a convex button. She pressed it firmly.

*Click.* The front of the filigree popped open. Opening it revealed the profile of a woman inside. A portrait of a woman painted with a delicate brush. Gray eyes. Red hair. A maiden with fair skin and fine features. Her mother, Dolores Pendleton.

Having lived only to the age of eighteen, she was preserved on paper in her youthful form, living on, worn around her daughter's neck. She caressed the silver frame holding her mother's image with her fingertips.

She was a woman who, had she lived, would have been a middle-aged lady by her side now. But she had died. Her own mother, who had suffered a difficult birth in a remote cottage far from London, her body taking a blow, and who had died without proper treatment due to poverty.

This necklace had been placed around her neck by her father when he left her at her grandmother's house at the age of seven. Her father had left with only the words that he would come for her someday. That was the end of it. For her, parents had become beings she could only find within this small pendant.

Throughout her formative years, the pendant was a part of her. She would often open it to gaze upon her mother's image.

In childhood, to forget her sorrow. During her time at boarding school, to soothe her loneliness. In her late teens, when she debuted in society, to find someone who would understand.