Chapter 38

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: A Fool in Love (1)
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Ian left his house early the next morning.

After about a thirty-minute walk, he reached Grosvenor Street. As he walked along the quiet street, the Pendleton townhouse soon came into view. He stood on the other side of the street, his gaze fixed on the third-floor window where Miss Pendleton's room was located.

He stood perfectly still, waiting to catch a glimpse of Miss Pendleton, even just her shadow. An hour later, the closed curtains of her room's window were drawn open. He stared intently at the window.

But contrary to his expectations, the person who appeared at the window was a maid in a servant's uniform. The maid threw the window wide open. Then, leaning her upper body out, she waved her arm in the air as if to check the temperature.

But then the maid, who had been casually scanning the street, suddenly stared fixedly in Ian's direction. She had spotted him.

He soon realized it was the same maid to whom he had given a letter just before leaving London. The very one who had said some rather absurd things to him. She looked at him for a moment, then made a fist and, extending her index finger, made a jabbing motion downwards. It seemed to mean he should stay right where he was.

Soon, the front door opened, and the maid came out. She crossed the carriage road, walked over to where Ian stood, and curtsied politely.

“Lingering in front of your beloved's house so early in the morning. How romantic of you, sir.”

“Is Miss Pendleton well?”

“If you mean in health, then yes, she is. But as for matters other than health, there are problems.”

“You mean the upstart from America.”

“So you know.”

Ian stood silently, smoking a cigarette. The shadows under his eyes had deepened. The maid watched him for a moment before asking.

“Have you by any chance met Mr. Price?”

“So the fellow’s name is Price?”

“Yes.”

“Do you also know where he lives?”

“Yes, I saw the address on an invitation sent to him. But I will not tell you.”

“And why not?”

“Because the look on your face, sir, suggests that if I told you, you’d run off with a gun and shoot him until he was full of holes.”

Ian exhaled a leisurely cloud of smoke and asked.

“Are you worried I’ll be hanged?”

“No. Why would I worry about a gentleman of your high station? I have enough trouble looking after myself. And to be honest, I rather wish someone would shoot Mr. Price.”

Ian sighed.

“We are in agreement on that point.”

“But it cannot be you, sir.”

“Why?”

“You have to marry the young lady, don't you? We can’t have our Miss Laura become a murderer’s wife.”

Ian looked at the maid. Her expression was one of utter conviction. Her borderline insubordinate attitude was baffling, but she was clearly on his side.

“A loyal maid, I see.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

the maid replied coyly.

“Then, you… ah, what is your name?”

“Anne Steele.”

“Anne Steele. Very well, Steele, are you willing to help Miss Pendleton and me?”

“Of course. Two pounds is quite a large sum for a maid like me.”

“Didn’t you say two pounds was a paltry sum?”

“I wanted to act tough.”

Ian stared at the maid, Anne, with a look of disbelief.

“Alright, in your opinion, what are the chances of the young lady falling in love with me?”

“Quite hopeful. For now. Since you haven’t killed Mr. Price yet, sir.”

“So you’re also saying that if I were to duel Mr. Price, Miss Pendleton would lose all affection for me?”

“Isn’t that obvious? Once Lady Abigail passes away, the only blood relative Miss Laura will have left is Mr. Pendleton. If you kill his friend, do you think he would leave Miss Pendleton in peace? What’s more, Mr. Price is the one arranging the engagement of her cousin, Charles Pendleton. Miss Laura would either be beaten to death at Mr. Pendleton’s hands or driven out of England entirely.”

Ian let out a sigh.

“I can protect her. Without question. If she abandons that useless head of the family and comes to me, everything will be resolved.”

Anne shook her head.

“Our young lady would sooner die than do such a thing.”

Ian bit his lip gently. Both William and this loyal maid were telling him the same thing. That if he touched that old fool Price, Miss Pendleton would cut him off.

“But she stands to inherit nothing from her family. So, after the dear Lady Abigail passes, where will Miss Pendleton go? That uncle of hers treats his niece like an enemy, does he not?”

Anne’s eyes widened as she looked at Ian.

“You don’t know? The young lady has been preparing to become a governess for a long time.”

Ian dropped the cigarette he was holding between his fingers.

“What?”

“You really didn’t know. Then again, the young lady doesn’t speak of such things to anyone but her closest confidants.”

Ian looked back at the window of Miss Pendleton’s room.

Laura Pendleton, preparing to be a governess?

“But it’s unthinkable for a lady of her high station to become a servant. A governess, good heavens. What family would hire a noblewoman who once lived above their own station as a servant?”

Having been a servant for over a decade, Anne agreed.

“That’s right. They’re seen as lacking professionalism, and there’s a prejudice that their high-and-mighty attitude means they won’t listen to their master’s instructions. It’s also easy for them to be misunderstood as trying to seduce the master of the house to restore their status. Even if she were to find a position, a governess can never escape poverty. However, our young lady knows Greek and Latin, so she’ll receive a slightly better salary. She’d likely be hired immediately if she entered the job market. There are hardly any governesses who speak five languages.”

Ian continued to stare at the window of Miss Pendleton’s room. As he listened to Anne, his head gradually cleared. The possibility of Miss Pendleton becoming a governess made him exceedingly calm.

Yes, she would do well. A governess’s position was not a well-treated one, but she was an intelligent and tenacious woman. If luck was on her side, she could be treated well and become independent.

That meant she could go somewhere he could never reach.

She could go somewhere beyond his grasp. At that thought, the rage that had burned in his gut and clouded his vision all last night vanished in an instant. His chest grew cold, and his mind became clear.

He had, in the truest sense, found his reason again.

For a while, he silently gazed at the window to Miss Pendleton’s room.

“Don’t tell the young lady I was here. Understand?”

“That’s easy enough… but do you have a plan, sir?”

Ian just stared at the window for a moment without a word. He stood there a little longer, then turned and left in silence.

After he left, Anne returned to her place of work, the Pendleton house. And, as part of her morning duties, she helped Miss Laura dress and did her hair.

Completely unaware of Ian Dalton’s visit that morning, Miss Laura, with a weary face, was simply worrying about whether the staircase repairs could be finished before her uncle arrived.

Anne gently soothed her mistress's worries as she brushed her hair. Meanwhile, in her mind, she pictured Ian Dalton as he had been just before he left, gazing at Miss Laura’s room.

His expressionless face radiated a chill, and his eyes were cold and settled. But they shone with a single, clear purpose.

Anne had been surprised to see such a side of him for the first time. From the gentleman named Ian Dalton, who had always seemed so elegant and ascetic, she had sensed an unexpected, dangerous obsession.

But the more Anne recalled his expression, the better she felt. The object of his obsession was her lovely and sincere mistress, Miss Laura Pendleton.

He would never give up on Miss Laura. A man with eyes like that could never give up on anything. He would surely take the young lady to his home in Whitefield. And he would give her a new name.

The name of the most respected woman in Yorkshire: ‘Mrs. Dalton.’

***

Thanks to the drawing hanging in Miss Lance’s drawing room, the news of Ian Dalton’s return to London spread like wildfire.

As it was unusual to have an uncolored sketch hanging in a drawing room, visitors to the Lance household always asked about it, and neither mother nor daughter had any intention of hiding the fact that it was a gift from Mr. Dalton.

The high society once again took a keen interest in Ian Dalton, who had reappeared without a word. The fact that the first thing he did upon his arrival was to draw a picture of Miss Lance and Miss Fairfax was particularly noteworthy.

A gentleman drawing a picture for a lady was more than enough to sow the seeds of scandal in high society. Fortunately, however, the other lady in the frame, Miss Janet Fairfax, served as an excellent breakwater against any such scandal.

Since everyone who needed to know was aware of Miss Lance’s friendship with the Fairfax siblings, people could easily surmise that she had received the drawing as a gift while visiting their townhouse.

The drawing hanging in the Lance drawing room left behind only the rumor that Ian Dalton was a skilled artist, and was gradually forgotten.

But for Miss Lance, that was not the case. The drawing he had made for her grew more important with each passing day.

She often found herself lost in thought before the drawing. Naturally, her thoughts were of the moment it was created.

A pleasant afternoon tea, herself sitting on the sofa in the drawing room of the Fairfax residence. Ian Dalton sitting across from her. The sight of him, dressed in a neat, navy traveling suit, his head bent over a sketchbook, the pencil scratching across the page. A lock of black hair falling forward. His dark, calm eyes looking at her. The soft scratching sound that echoed from his hand.

‘He was just like the hero of a melodrama.’

As Miss Lance replayed each moment, she would suddenly realize what she was thinking. Then, cupping her blushing cheeks, she would step back from the drawing.

Like any other young lady, Miss Lance loved melodramas. The countless novels, sonnets, and serenades. Many young ladies who had not yet awakened to love learned what it felt like to fall in love through such works.

A fluttering heart. A single face appearing in her mind several times a day. A feeling of shyness and thirst. A sensitivity more acute than usual. It was exactly what she was feeling now.

At first, she felt shy, but she gradually came to think of it as a rather enjoyable emotion. People often say that love is painful, but for her, at least, it was not. That was because she already believed Ian Dalton felt the same way.

The folly of believing one’s own conviction could not be wrong was a characteristic of her age, but the price for it would be hers alone to pay.

Unaware of the price she would have to pay, Miss Lance remained lost in her sweet dreams.