Chapter 4

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Miss Laura Pendleton (3)
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At those words, Mr. Fairfax smiled more joyfully than ever. He took Miss Pendleton’s hand, shook it vigorously, and thanked her repeatedly. Then he asked Miss Hyde if she needed any further assistance.

Miss Hyde committed the impoliteness of shaking her head without so much as looking at him. But Mr. Fairfax paid it no mind, bidding her a fond farewell and saying he would stop by the day after tomorrow to return the Mary Shelley novel he had borrowed.

Miss Pendleton couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity as she watched Mr. Fairfax’s face, which she had always considered handsome, now aglow, shining with the anticipation of love.

As Mr. Fairfax left the table, Miss Hyde sat down, her complexion pale. Miss Pendleton sat beside her, taking her ice-cold hands and warming them in her own.

All traces of her earlier improper expression had vanished from Miss Hyde’s face, replaced by a look full of guilt. Miss Pendleton realized that their brief conversation had sealed her friend’s decision.

The day after tomorrow, she would refuse Mr. Fairfax’s proposal.

* * *

After seeing off Mr. and Mrs. Morton, who were departing for Italy immediately after the wedding festivities, Miss Pendleton settled her weary body into the carriage. The carriage started off slowly.

Miss Pendleton leaned her head against the window, gazing blankly outside.

As they left the tranquil park surrounding the wedding venue, the bustling evening streets of London soon unfolded before them.

Laborers in flat caps, pipes clenched in their teeth, walking somewhere, and middle-aged women in worn capes, scurrying home.

Young boys, eager to peer into the gunsmith’s shop, and young workmen carrying ladders to light the gas lamps.

Street stalls with various fruits and vegetables piled so high they seemed about to collapse, and little girls approaching well-dressed pedestrians to sell them flowers.

It was London as it always was—bustling and noisy.

The scenery gradually changed as the carriage neared its destination.

Street stalls gave way to bespoke milliners and lace shops with beautiful display windows. Pedestrians became gentlemen in silk hats and ladies in dresses with bustled derrieres.

The only ones scurrying about were young maids, hurrying back to their respective manors on urgent errands.

They had finally entered Grosvenor Street, the most affluent residential area in Mayfair.

Miss Pendleton straightened up from where she had been leaning and smoothed her hair once. Soon, the carriage stopped, and the driver quickly dismounted to open the door for her. Miss Pendleton took the driver’s hand and alighted gracefully. After thanking him, she went straight into her house.

The Pendleton townhouse, so familiar to Miss Pendleton, was in fact a place quite capable of astonishing most people.

Most visitors would freeze upon opening the door, confronted by the massive Impressionist painting hanging directly before them.

They would then feel a sense of dizziness from the series of vibrant and provocative oil paintings lining the hallway to the drawing-room, the red tapestry imported from China, and the porcelain vases painted with serpents.

But to Miss Pendleton, who had lived here for over a decade, it was nothing new. She paid none of it any mind, trotting straight up to the second floor. She knocked on the middle of the three doors.

“Laura?”

“Yes. It’s Laura. I’m coming in.”

Miss Pendleton opened the door and stepped into the room. With the curtains drawn, the room was rather dim, the only bright light emanating from the roaring fireplace.

Seated by the fire, Lady Abigail Pendleton had her cat, Annie, on her lap and was intently studying a bundle of papers by the light of the fire and a small gas lamp beside her. Miss Pendleton approached Lady Abigail and sat on a small stool next to her.

“Grandmother. Are you feeling alright?”

Lady Abigail rubbed her tired eyes and replied lightly.

“Much better than before. Though this dreadful manuscript is about to make me ill all over again.”

“Ah, is that Mr. Nayes’s manuscript? I heard he rewrote it five times. Is it that bad?”

“I don’t know why he won’t listen to the advice not to repeat the same adjective more than three times in one paragraph. And I can’t for the life of me understand why he keeps repeating every five pages that the protagonist had bad kidneys as a child. Is the necklace they’re chasing hidden in his kidneys? Ugh, it’s making my own perfectly healthy ones ache.”

Lady Abigail tossed the pile of papers onto the side table and turned to Miss Pendleton, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“So, my dear. How was Elizabeth and Edward’s wedding today? Tell me everything, from beginning to end.”

Miss Pendleton recounted the sweet details of the wedding, which she had stored in her mind, scene by scene, for this very moment. The decorations of the venue and the faces of the invited guests. The bride and groom’s wedding attire and the pitch of their voices as they exchanged their vows. The scale of the reception hall and the variety of foods served at the buffet.

The sweetest part of all was the single tear that fell from Mr. Edward Morton’s eye just after he kissed the bride. It was undoubtedly the crowning moment of the event, a highlight that would be talked about for a long time to come.

At this, Lady Abigail was as astonished as the guests at the ceremony had been, and then she burst into hearty laughter. She was so delighted that she seemed to forget all about the gout that constantly plagued her and the bitter taste left by the third-rate novel she had just been reading.

“I knew it. Edward Morton. Didn’t I tell you he was a softy on the inside? But I never expected him to shed a tear. A pity I wasn’t there to see it myself. I’ll have to tease him mercilessly when he returns from his honeymoon.”

“Oh, Grandmother.”

Miss Pendleton burst out laughing.

“Beth promised to buy sheet music and books for you in Italy.”

“Oh, did she? Something to look forward to. And what did she say she would bring for you?”

“A lace shawl. A pure white one.”

“Excellent. The one you use now is over ten years old, isn’t it? I was just thinking of buying you a new one. Beth has a good eye.”

“She was always a clever child.”

“Yes, that’s why she ended up with a man like Edward. An ordinary woman would have been too intimidated to even speak a word near him. In fact, Beth was like that at first too. Remember that first dinner party at our house? That Morton fellow was as stiff as a post, glaring at Beth so coldly that poor Beth, who usually has such a healthy appetite, just picked at a few pieces of salad before fleeing with a supposed headache.”

Lady Abigail clicked her tongue.

“Really, no matter how socially inept a man is, what kind of gentleman behaves that way toward a lady? And then to be married a few months later. It’s a wonder. It probably never would have happened if you hadn’t built a bridge between them.”

Miss Pendleton did not reply, but a faint blush colored her cheeks.

“After Beth fled in a flurry, you were the one who first spoke to a despondent Edward, who was just drinking by himself in a corner. You talked for nearly two hours and saw right through him—what a fine man he was. And that he was in love with Beth.”

“…”

“From then on, you often invited Beth and Edward to tea, and the three of you would frequently take walks in Hyde Park. It wasn’t long before Beth grew to like Edward, and you gave her so much courage when she was agonizing over the thought that a stone-faced man like Edward could never like her back. Today’s masterpiece of a wedding is all thanks to you. No, why are you shaking your head?”

Miss Pendleton gave an embarrassed smile and squeezed her grandmother’s hand.

“It’s difficult to hear, Grandmother. Their marriage is something they made themselves; I had almost no part in it. Please don’t say such things in front of anyone.”

“Why would I need to? All of London already knows. That you brought together the eldest son of the Morton family and the precious only daughter of Viscount Deyer. How many is that now? The happy couples you’ve brought together, I mean. Your friend Rosemary and Judge Macklin, Olive from Baron Lowe’s house and the eldest son of Viscount Raven, and…”

“Grandmother, please stop!”

Miss Pendleton’s face turned bright red as she shook her grandmother’s hand. As always, Lady Abigail chortled with delight, enjoying the fun of teasing her shy granddaughter.

“You dear, you blush so charmingly whenever someone compliments you, it just makes me want to tease you more. Today’s match makes an even ten couples. Good heavens, our Laura is the best matchmaker in London. Our capable Laura Pendleton!”

Miss Pendleton said nothing, merely bowing her crimson face. Lady Abigail chuckled and stroked Miss Pendleton’s beautiful auburn hair, which was neatly bound in a net. Then she gently cupped her granddaughter’s chin and lifted it.

Miss Pendleton’s face was revealed in the light of the roaring fire. Flushed cheeks and glistening dark gray eyes. Fine, delicate features and fair skin.

Lady Abigail gazed at her granddaughter’s face for a moment. In the beautiful features of that slender face, she could, as always, see her own daughter. Her beautiful, brilliant daughter, Dolores Pendleton, who had left them all too soon.

Lady Abigail’s cheerful smile slowly faded into a bittersweet one. She caressed her granddaughter’s face.

“Laura, I want you to answer my question honestly.”

Miss Pendleton stared intently at Lady Abigail’s newly serious expression.

“You are twenty-nine, and yet you are so beautiful, as if time has passed you by. And ten years ago, you were even more beautiful than you are now. Then and now, you have always been a wise and kind young lady. I have never met another young woman as remarkable as you, both inside and out. So why do you use everything you have for others? Hmm? Why have you never sought a love of your own?”