Chapter 27

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: The Master of Whitefield (2)
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In retrospect, she was a remarkably rational person. She valued harmony and trust between a man and a woman, but she never overestimated the power of love. During their walk in the woods, she had stated it plainly: a marriage between mismatched individuals could never bring happiness.

She must have pushed him away, intending to nip it in the bud, conscious of her dowry and her parentage.

From his perspective, it was incomprehensible. Why should any of that matter? Even if she had no dowry, he was already a wealthy man. He was earning more than enough from his estate’s income and business ventures without needing to acquire more money through marriage.

The matter of her parents was the same. He couldn't care less whether she was a commoner or how her parents had come together. Was she worried about the local gossip? That his reputation might suffer? But he was already ill-spoken of due to his own personality.

Anyone who needed to know already knew that Ian Dalton, the master of Whitefield, was an ill-mannered and difficult man. What real damage would be done by adding that he had taken a wife with common blood?

He imagined pouring out these thoughts to her, trying to persuade her. She would surely listen to him calmly. She would shake her head when he spoke ill of himself and nod when he made a reasonable point.

She would fix her earnest gray eyes on him, just as she always did, and understand his every thought with that seriousness and intelligence he loved most about her.

But in the end, if he were to attempt again the proposal that had failed once before, she would…

She would shake her head.

*Damn it.*

He took another deep drag of his cigar to soothe his burning insides.

Beneath her warm heart, she was a person true to her principles. No matter how much he tried to persuade her, begged her, or finally lost his temper and threw a fit, she wouldn't bat an eye. Indecisiveness was a foreign concept to her. Her reasoning was a greater obstacle than her emotions.

But he couldn't give up on her either. In his thirty years of life, this was the first time he had ever felt the desire to marry someone.

If he let her go, he would likely never feel this way again. Then he would become the heirless bachelor his peers so dreaded becoming. He had little desire for an heir, so he had no intention of forcing himself into a marriage with a woman he did not want, just for the sake of having children.

He stubbed out his cigar, his mind made up.

Laura Pendleton. I must bring her to my estate. By any means necessary. Yes, I’ll finish my work at Whitefield as quickly as possible, find a reliable land agent, and then return to London.

He had to find someone trustworthy. Because he wouldn't be coming back until he had convinced her. This time, when he went to London, he would absolutely return to Whitefield with her. If persuasion failed, he would cling to her and beg. If that didn't work, he would threaten to kill himself. She was a kind person; she would have no choice but to marry him, if only to save my life.

*I should probably find that old pistol I haven't used in ages around the time I find a land agent.*

He thought this quite seriously. His mind knew he was about to behave like a petulant boy, but his heart, as if to prove it was his first time in love, was blind. And he was a man who let his heart lead his head.

He spent the evening pondering how to best unleash the temper he had so carefully concealed until now.

***

Ian Dalton’s daily life after returning from London was ordinary. He spent his mornings reviewing documents and his afternoons meeting with tenant farmers or solicitors. Occasionally, he would visit the rectory for tea with the young reverend and his wife or accept invitations to dine with local farmers.

Ramswick, who faithfully assisted Ian, thought his master’s routine was the same as before he left. On the surface, at least.

His handling of work and his conduct toward others were no different. Any other servant would likely not have noticed a change.

But Ramswick, who had been the butler of Whitefield Hall since Ian was a babe in a cradle wiggling his fingers at a mobile, could immediately sense that something inside him had shifted.

A distracted air. A pensive look in his sunken eyes.

Ramswick began to worry that his beloved young master, now his dependable lord, was troubled by something. At night, lying in his small bedroom, he would toss and turn, his eyes closed but his mind still on Ian—no, his master.

On the fourth day after Ian’s return, Ramswick knocked on the study door to get approval for the past month’s household expenses and the servants’ wage ledger. But there was no answer. Thinking his master might be out, he opened the door and went inside. Ian was sitting by the window, the sketchbook he always carried resting on his lap.

Ramswick called to Ian, but he didn't notice. He seemed to be lost in thought, staring out the window. Ramswick considered just leaving the documents, but the pensions for the retiring servants needed to be approved quickly, so he had no choice but to approach him.

He went to Ian’s side and called his name. Only then did Ian turn his head toward Ramswick. He seemed completely unaware that the butler had entered the study. Ramswick offered the documents with an apologetic expression. Ian nodded, took the papers, and began to review them.

As he did, Ramswick studied his master’s face. He looked tired, as if he hadn't been sleeping well for the past few days. The butler’s concern deepened. But Ian, oblivious to Ramswick’s worry, was focused solely on the documents.

He held out a hand wordlessly to Ramswick, who, as if on cue, retrieved a pen from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to him. Ian swiftly signed the documents and returned them.

“Make sure the severance is paid properly.”

“Do not worry, my lord.”

Ramswick took the documents and bowed, ready to take his leave. But as he did, his lowered gaze fell upon the sketchbook open on his master’s lap. The image of a beautiful lady was drawn upon the paper.

Realizing his indiscretion, he quickly averted his eyes from the sketchbook. Fortunately, Ian, having finished his task, had already turned his head back to the window, lost in thought again, and didn't seem to have noticed Ramswick looking at his drawing.

Ramswick quickly exited the study. Once the door was closed, a faint smile spread across his placid face. He had discovered the source of his master’s preoccupation. It was lovesickness.

For the rest of the day, Ramswick went about his duties with his usual stoic expression. But inwardly, he was humming a cheerful tune. His young master—no, his lord—who had shown no interest whatsoever in marriage, seemed to have found a woman worthy of being his partner in London.

To think that the match for his master, who had cut himself off even from Yorkshire society, was in London. He chuckled softly, finally understanding why Ian, who had sworn to be back within ten days, had lingered in London for over a month. *Our young master is courting now. Heh heh.*

From then on, he continued to observe Ian, feigning nonchalance. His master handled his work with his usual composure, but whenever the schedule dragged, he couldn't hide his impatience and would hurry Ramswick along. The cheroot box emptied faster than usual, and in the evenings after his work was done, he would often sit before the fireplace, staring intently at the image of the woman in his sketchbook.

Ramswick realized he was trying to finish his work and return to London as soon as possible. He did his utmost to help his master process everything quickly, in accordance with his wishes.

Although his own workload would double in his master’s absence, and things would hardly run as smoothly, he earnestly hoped that his master would bring the beautiful lady from the sketchbook back from London as the new mistress of the house.

As a truly loyal butler, he wished only for the prosperity of Whitefield, his lifelong place of work, and he was keenly aware that a mistress was necessary for that. If Ian had no son, the succession of Whitefield would pass to a relative.

As a result of their efforts, within a week of his arrival, all the important matters that had piled up during his absence were dealt with. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ian immediately gave Ramswick an order.

“I need to visit my sister at Dunville Park. Prepare my horse.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Soon, Ian’s prized sleek black horse stood saddled in the courtyard. Dressed in a neat brown riding habit, Ian mounted the horse. Holding the reins with his gloved hands, he spoke to Ramswick, who had come to see him off.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but I must return to London in a few days. I don't know how long I'll stay, but it will likely be longer than last time. In the meantime, find a land agent to manage Whitefield.”

“Will you not be entrusting it to Mr. Robert Fairfax this time, my lord?”

Ian’s jaw tightened as he nodded. Ramswick bowed his head.

“I will place an advertisement in the papers immediately.”

Ian gave the horse’s flank a light tap. The well-trained steed carried its master out of the Whitefield gardens. Ramswick watched Ian’s departing figure. His face was alight with pleasure.

*Our young master is finally bringing home a mistress.*

Suppressing the tune that threatened to escape his lips, he went back inside the manor.

***

Dunville Park was close enough to reach in under an hour if one rode hard without resting the horse. The path was so familiar to Ian that he could have ridden it with his eyes closed. He had traveled it constantly since childhood.

At first, it was to play cards with William; from the age of eight, it was to see Henry in his cradle. Now, it was to look after his ailing sister and his boisterous nephews.

After a long ride across a field dotted with heather and rocks, he soon entered the vast hunting grounds that surrounded Dunville Park. This was a place his brother-in-law often spent more time in than his own home. Anyone with urgent business with him knew to search the hunting grounds first.

As Ian slowed his pace to rest his weary horse, he heard the sharp crack of a gunshot in the distance. *My brother-in-law is out hunting again today, as expected,* he thought, unconcerned. But from the same direction as the shot, the loud shouts of young boys followed.