Chapter 33

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Mr. Price (2)
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“It stirred in me a nostalgia for my homeland, after decades of being immersed in New York's high society. A nostalgia for the English lady, the English gentlewoman—women more graceful, beautiful, and virtuous than those of any other nation. That is why I rushed here at once, using my brother's silver wedding anniversary as an excuse.”

“And how did you find them, Mr. Price? Did the English ladies in person meet your expectations?”

“No. I regret to say, the only difference between the ladies of America and those of England was in the fashion of their dresses and their taste in opera.”

“Oh, dear. I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Price.”

Miss Pendleton replied kindly, about to lift her hands from the piano keys to turn the page of her sheet music. But Mr. Price, who had been sitting on the sofa, suddenly sprang to his feet and strode over to the piano. He turned the page for her.

Miss Pendleton offered a light word of thanks and continued to play, her fingers following the notes. However, after turning the page, Mr. Price did not return to the sofa. Instead, he placed a hand on the piano lid and leaned in at an angle.

Though it was a drawing room for entertaining guests, a public space where servants could enter and exit at any moment, they were still undeniably alone. Having a gentleman who was still little more than an awkward acquaintance stand so close was exceedingly uncomfortable for Miss Pendleton.

When Miss Pendleton finished the piece, he clapped softly and murmured his praise.

Had he been any ordinary gentleman, she would never have invited him to dinner again after that incident.

But he was her uncle's dearest friend, the matchmaker for her cousin's marriage, and the bride's godfather. There was no justifiable reason to cease their association.

And so, on evenings when there was a dinner party, he would hover around Miss Pendleton.

Then, one evening, Mr. Price stood by Miss Pendleton's side as usual, listening to her play the piano. As fate would have it, the other guests who had been lingering in the drawing room had departed early, leaving her to entertain Mr. Price alone.

Miss Pendleton silently recited the Lord's Prayer a thousand times over as she struck the keys. Then, suddenly, Mr. Price seized her hand as it moved across the keyboard.

Startled, Miss Pendleton cried out, "Ah!" and shot up from her seat. Had the moment she dreaded finally arrived?

But, to her astonishment, at the same moment he grasped her hand, Mr. Price knelt beside the piano bench where she had been sitting. He looked up at the bewildered Miss Pendleton with an impassioned gaze and exclaimed.

“Miss Pendleton! Do not be alarmed. Please, I beg of you, wipe that look of horror from your face and listen to me for but a moment!”

Miss Pendleton covered her agape mouth with her hand and stared down at Mr. Price. She could not fathom why he was acting this way, but it was clear, at least, that his intention was not to dishonor her.

Just then, the voice of the maid, Anne, came from the drawing room entrance.

“Miss, what in the world—!”

Having rushed in upon hearing her mistress's scream, Anne stared in horror at the scene unfolding before the piano. An old gentleman with graying hair was on one knee before a lady more than twenty years his junior, professing his love. To call it a disgrace would not be an overstatement.

Miss Pendleton quickly said to Anne.

“It is nothing. You may go.”

Covering her mouth, Anne slowly backed away.

Once the intruder had retreated, Mr. Price looked up at Miss Pendleton and let the words he had been holding back spill out in a rush.

“I told you before, did I not? That there was no difference between the ladies of America and England, save for their taste in opera and the fashion of their dresses. I truly believed so. For no matter which ball, which tea party, or which dinner I attended in London, all I saw were women just like the trivial ladies I had known in America. I was greatly disappointed. In my heart, I had hoped that here, I might once again find my wife, Eleanor Price—a Southern belle who left me and our children for God's embrace. But my disappointment was premature. For here, at a Pendleton dinner party, I discovered a woman who is the very shadow of my wife, no, her living image. A paragon of a lady, lacking in nothing—beauty, grace, talent, or character. Miss Laura Pendleton!”

As his words poured out, the color drained from Miss Pendleton's face, turning it white as a sheet. It was a stark contrast to Mr. Price's face, which grew redder and redder with excitement as he spoke.

“Miss Pendleton, be my wife! Come with me to America and let us start a new life. The fact that you are past your prime is no fault in my eyes. I am old enough myself and not so presumptuous as to covet a young lady of twenty-one or two. I simply desire a virtuous woman to warm my bed. Miss Pendleton, please accept my proposal!”

He finished his speech, panting for breath. His passion was that of a young man, but his lungs, it seemed, could not keep up.

Miss Pendleton looked down at him with a troubled expression. While it was true she was concerned about the various conflicts that would arise from refusing a valued guest of the Pendleton family, something else was unsettling her heart.

She found herself feeling pity for his graying eyebrows, his salt-and-pepper hair, and his bloodshot eyes, which seemed on the verge of tears.

He was not doing this to trifle with her. He sincerely wanted her for his wife.

But if Miss Pendleton were the sort of person to accept a proposal out of pity alone, she would have been someone's wife long ago. She struggled to pull her hand from Mr. Price's grasp.

“Mr. Price, I thank you for your proposal, but I cannot accept it. In my heart, there is not even a shadow of love for you. And I fear there never will be. Please, I beg you to graciously forgive my refusal.”

She gave a polite curtsy and quickly went upstairs.

Under the circumstances, it was out of the question to invite Mr. Price to dinner any longer. No matter that he was a friend of the head of the house; society, after all, respected a lady's freedom to refuse a proposal and guaranteed her right to not have to share a room with a gentleman she had rejected. She immediately ceased the invitations.

But Mr. Price was a persistent man. The day after his proposal was rejected, he began sending bouquets of flowers to Miss Pendleton. Miss Pendleton was aghast at the enormous bouquet of roses that arrived for her. The thought of Mr. Price choosing it while thinking of her made her head spin.

She wrote a letter, taking care not to wound his pride, and sent it back with the bouquet. For several days, returning flowers with a letter of refusal became part of Miss Pendleton's daily routine.

Nevertheless, Mr. Price was a wily and tenacious man. Though he was no longer invited to dinner, he managed to create situations where he could see Miss Pendleton's face.

Thanks to his extensive connections in society, he could attend any ball he pleased. By piecing together tidbits of gossip, he would deduce which ball or concert Miss Pendleton would attend that evening and appear as if by magic.

It reached a point where Miss Pendleton ceased all social activities, save for tea parties exclusively for ladies.

The rumor that Mr. Price was courting Miss Pendleton spread quickly through society.

His daily visits to the florist to send roses to the Pendletons, his efforts to uncover her schedule, his trailing after her. It was because Mr. Price acted without a shred of shame in his courtship, conducting it in a manner that was, in some ways, quite public.

And surprisingly, no one in society was taken aback by this shameless courtship. Although the age difference between Miss Pendleton and Mr. Price was twenty-four years, such marriages were not uncommon in high society.

It was a common path for ladies from modest families who had missed their chance at marriage to become the second wife of an elderly gentleman like Mr. Price. Some even viewed Mr. Price's interest as a very fortunate turn of events for Miss Pendleton.

“This might be Miss Pendleton's last chance, you know.”

Mrs. Lance stated in a definitive tone at a tea party she was hosting for the ladies.

“Miss Pendleton will be thirty next year. Her chances of marriage will be gone for good. In this situation, it's a stroke of luck that Mr. Price is showing her interest.”

Another lady chimed in, agreeing with her.

“Indeed. Lady Abigail Pendleton may dote on her, but how much longer can the old woman live? I heard she's already drawn up a will leaving her entire fortune to Mr. Pendleton's second son. Miss Pendleton's share in that will is probably just a few pieces of jewelry and a used set of knives. When Lady Pendleton passes, Miss Pendleton will be utterly penniless. If she understands that, she shouldn't show such distaste for Mr. Price's attention.”

“But what can be done if Miss Pendleton dislikes him? Mr. Price's appearance is… well. Besides, his courtship is so transparent. Isn't it obvious he wants to take her to America to be a mother to his young children?”

Mrs. Lance quickly retorted.

“My dear, is she in any position to be picky? Honestly, if Miss Pendleton had any sense of reality, she would have sought this path much sooner. Instead of playing matchmaker for others, she should have been finding a gentleman like Mr. Price to rescue her.”

The ladies chattered on, reaching a consensus that Miss Pendleton should quickly accept Mr. Price. All the while, a resolve grew in their hearts that their own daughters must be spared such a fate.

After the tea party ended, they all returned to their respective homes, where they quelled their anxieties by recounting Miss Pendleton's situation to their daughters and urging them to find a husband quickly.

And most young ladies tended to inherit their mothers' views on marriage. The idea of becoming a spinster like Miss Pendleton was firmly imprinted in their minds as a fate to be avoided at all costs. Unbeknownst to her, Miss Pendleton had become a tangible horror to be averted in the hearts of these young women.

However, Mrs. Lance, the hostess of the tea party, failed to instill this fear in her own daughter's heart. For Miss Lance, seeing Miss Pendleton's situation, felt a sympathy that outweighed any sense of dread.

“Miss Pendleton cannot possibly marry Mr. Price. There's a twenty-four-year age difference between them. How could she marry a man old enough to be her father?”