Chapter 36

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 36
Chapter Title: Back to London (2)
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“Now I’m hearing from you the very words every man says after his proposal is rejected. Well, I suppose it’s not uncommon for a gentleman or a lady to test the waters with talk of marriage. But that’s nothing more than a shallow ploy, and Miss Pendleton is not the sort of lady to test the heart of a man she loves in such a way. Her heart isn’t with you, Ian.”

“I know. It’s obvious, since she refuses to see me at all after what happened.”

William sighed.

So that was why Miss Pendleton had been smiling so awkwardly and trying to change the subject whenever Ian’s name came up lately.

“I think, first and foremost, you need to focus on restoring your friendship with Miss Pendleton. You’ll only get a chance to win her heart if you start over as friends.”

“My thoughts exactly, William. But I can’t just let that old man be. I have to get him away from her, by any means necessary. If not with a gun, then some other way.”

“Ian, I agree that this is an unpleasant situation for Miss Pendleton. However, I believe we should let her handle things with that man on her own.”

“What?”

Ian glared at his friend, his eyes turning menacing again. But William remained calm.

“Miss Pendleton is a fine lady, but objectively speaking, her birth and fortune are severely lacking. Since she doesn’t have the protection of the head of her family, she must seem like someone who can be trifled with without any real consequences. It’s a sad state of affairs, but that’s how most people see it.”

“…”

“I heard that countless flies swarmed around her after her debut. They continued to flock to her even after she was past the prime age for marriage. Mr. Price’s intention to make her his second wife is almost wholesome by comparison to those who scheme to lure her into becoming their mistress or take her as a lover for their own amusement. They’re a filthy lot.”

As he listened, a thin vein pulsed on Ian’s forehead.

“But Miss Pendleton has never once succumbed to such temptations. She has always cut them off so cleanly that those pests have been forced to retreat. I believe this time will be no different. She won’t yield to external pressure and accept Mr. Price’s proposal. Ian, Miss Pendleton is more than capable of dealing with Mr. Price herself.”

“…So, you’re telling me to do nothing but stand by and watch.”

“My only intention is to increase your chances of marrying Miss Pendleton. If you interfere now, you’ll only worsen the relationship. She was very fond of you as a friend, and even now, after rejecting you, she laments the loss of your friendship. But if you make a scene with Mr. Price, who is a friend of Miss Pendleton’s, in a situation where even a sliver of possibility remains, she will be done with you for good. Forget marriage; she won’t even speak a single word to you.”

Ian pressed the cigar he was smoking into the ashtray, extinguishing it, and rose from the desk he had been leaning against. He walked over to the fireplace on one side of the study. He stood there before it, his hands in his pockets.

Having spent more of his life with Ian than without, William sensed the volatile energy simmering just beneath his friend’s surface, on the verge of eruption.

From the way he walked to the fireplace, from the rigid set of his back as he stood motionless before the flames, from the suppressed breaths he exhaled, William Fairfax could feel the full force of his friend’s unventable rage.

William felt a pang of unease, as if he were seeing a reflection of himself when he had been courting Miss Hyde. The heart of a man unable to save the woman he loves from her troubles was a maelstrom of anger and misery.

Besides, Ian—though he would surely fly into a rage if told this to his face—was a far more romantic and sensitive soul than himself. He did not give his love easily, but once he did, he was a devoted and single-minded man. The fact that he could not rescue the woman he loved from such an insult would be an unbearable torment for him.

Ian stood as if frozen. After about five minutes, William cautiously approached his side. Ian was staring into the flames with a pale face. His eyes blazed with fury and a pain that went even deeper.

William spoke carefully.

“I was thinking earlier. If your heart’s desire is fulfilled, it would be a happy ending for you both. I believe that not just out of friendship, but from an objective standpoint. You are a man who could make Miss Pendleton happy in every way.”

Ian remained silent.

“If you can only win Miss Pendleton’s love, you can protect her for the rest of her life. She could forever wear the armor that is the name Ian Dalton. So please, be prudent. You cannot give in to this anger now.”

Ian continued to gaze at the fire. His jaw trembled slightly, and his eyes seemed to have caught the light from the hearth, burning with an inner flame. He stood there, suppressing the ragged breaths that threatened to escape him.

A moment later, Ian muttered in a low voice.

“If I had my way, I’d hunt down every man who has insulted her, one by one, and land a punch on each of them. Starting with that old man.”

Alarmed, William placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Ian, calm down…”

“William.”

Ian pulled the pistol from inside his jacket and held it out to him.

“If I ever try to do something like that, I want you to shoot me with this gun on the spot.”

William took the pistol. Ian turned and walked out of the study. Soon, the sound of a door closing came from the guest room across the hall.

William let out a great sigh of relief. He had, for now, prevented Ian from engaging in a duel of honor. As a friend to both Ian and Miss Pendleton, he had done the best he possibly could.

***

Ian entered the guest room. His luggage sat neatly on a small side table. Instead of going to the bed, he sat in the chair beside the table.

He took a silver cigarette case from his bag, lit one, and drew in the smoke. The strong smoke filled his lungs and swirled out again. But it was not enough to quell the fury that licked at his insides, stoking the fires in his belly.

The rage that had surged the moment he received William’s letter in Whitefield showed no signs of abating, continuing to burn within him. He wanted to kick the man loitering around her out of London, out of England, for good.

But if he did that, his connection with Miss Pendleton would be severed forever. He would never see her smile again. No, he would never see *her* again.

He would rather his insides burn to black from this directionless rage than let that happen.

As he smoked the cigarette, he thought of her again. The spot by the fire where they had always sat facing each other. The deep shadows the hearth cast upon her face. Her clear, gentle expression. Her elegant and intelligent voice.

The image of her that had squeezed his heart throughout his time in Whitefield tormented him once more. He squeezed his eyes shut. His heart churned, and he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He wanted to see her. He wanted to be face to face with her again. It felt as if he would pay any price just to see her one more time.

His directionless rage merged with his longing for the woman he loved, creating an agony that felt lethal. He remained seated at the side table, his eyes closed, clutching the burnt-out cigarette.

She was here, so much closer than in Whitefield. And yet, he was just as unable to approach her. Could there be a more terrible form of torture? He bit his lip and let out a low breath. He longed to see her. So much…

Even after smoking all the cigarettes he had, his insides were not calm. He began to pace the room. He hadn’t slept properly for days, and his condition was terrible, but he was in no mood to sleep. He sat at the desk in the corner of the room and started to write a letter to Miss Pendleton, only to crumple up the paper. He took out another sheet and began to scribble, only to discard it again.

Even if he let her know he was in London, she wouldn’t agree to see him. She would be on her guard, just like before. So what was the point of writing a letter? He leaned against the desk, his head in his hands, trying to think of a way to meet her again. But nothing came to mind. No way to break through her defenses.

Several hours passed like this. A soft knock came from the door. When he answered, William’s sister, Janet, peeked her head in. Her cheeks were flushed as if she had been drinking in the afternoon.

“Ian, are you busy?”

Ian looked at Janet with a weary face.

“Why?”

“Well, Miss Lance is visiting, and when she heard you were in London, she said she simply must see you.”

“Miss Lance? Who is that?”

Miss Janet’s eyes widened as she looked at Ian.

“Dora Lance. Don’t you remember? You even had dinner at the Lance estate!”

He briefly searched his memories of London. Dora Lance. The name didn’t ring a bell. To him, any time in London not spent with Miss Pendleton was not worth remembering and was therefore quickly forgotten.

He flipped through the album of memories associated with Miss Pendleton and soon found a certain young lady.

Ah, the friend Miss Pendleton introduced at that ball?

Only then did he remember her clearly. Her overly bright smile, her vapid opinions, and the strangely clingy way she behaved that put one on edge. Ian had seen so many young ladies like her that if Miss Lance hadn’t been a friend of Miss Pendleton, he wouldn’t have remembered her face, let alone her name.

“Miss Lance wants to see me? Why?”

Janet fidgeted, at a loss for words. Ian told her flatly that he would not be coming down. He had no desire to waste time on a lady like Miss Lance, nor was he in any mood to receive guests.

But Janet had boasted that she would fetch Ian right away and didn’t have the courage to go back down to the drawing room and disappoint Miss Lance. She mumbled to the cold Ian.

“But, Ian, I told her you were home…”

“Tell her I’m sleeping, Janet.”

“At this hour? That will make you seem terribly lazy.”

“Just say I arrived on the night train.”

Janet mumbled on.

“Still, you went on that picnic together…”

“What do I care…”

Ian, who had been speaking dismissively, suddenly stopped.

He remembered the look on Miss Pendleton’s face on their way back from a walk in Hyde Park during his last visit to London. He had been showering her friend with compliments to lift her spirits. He remembered the joyful blush that had colored her cheeks.