Chapter 42

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: The American Lady (1)
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“I hear you’ve been acting as the lady of the house by grandmother’s side for twelve years, is that right? Managing all the major and minor affairs of this estate.”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

Gerald Pendleton glared at his niece, his displeasure seemingly growing at her meek reply.

“With such capable housekeeping skills, why are you still unmarried?”

“I suppose I’ve been unlucky in several ways. And I have my own shortcomings.”

Miss Pendleton answered as politely as possible to avoid a confrontation.

“Aha, so you’re saying a suitable match has yet to present itself?”

“I would never be so presumptuous, Uncle.”

Gerald Pendleton let out a low chuckle. Then, pulling on his outdoor hat, he said.

“I don’t know what you’re scheming, but you’d best abandon any thought of receiving something from my mother or continuing to live in this house. When she passes, this house belongs to our Charles. The moment the funeral is over, you’ll pack your bags and get out. Figure out how to survive on your own.”

He brushed past Miss Pendleton and disappeared downstairs. She stood motionless on the landing. His attitude just now, save for the lack of physical violence, was the same as it had been twenty years ago. Two decades had done nothing to erase his contempt and hatred for his niece.

Miss Pendleton gazed in the direction her uncle had gone. She cast a cold stare that she would never reveal under the light.

*Just like before. Just like when he would curse me with unspeakable words, accuse me of theft and beat me, and throw things until my body was bruised.*

To her uncle, she was still an unwanted dependant to be disposed of, no different from a sewer rat deserving of his contempt. The fact that she bore the Pendleton name had likely fed that hatred for a long time.

But she felt no desire to refute his gaze, nor to feel anger. She merely regarded it with a calm cynicism.

Her uncle had no idea what his niece was thinking. He didn't know that the “Pendleton” name—the very source of his identity and pride—was the shackle she had always longed to cast off.

She did not want to be bound by these shackles forever. One day, she would be free. She would discard the Pendleton name, just as her uncle wished. Not now, but someday soon.

She stood there for a moment before briskly walking up the stairs. Then, as she always did, she went up to her grandmother’s room to give her a goodnight kiss.

***

The next morning, Miss Jensen paid an unannounced visit to the Pendleton residence. Her reason was that she wanted to see the house. To arrive like this without an invitation, and not even during teatime, was a grave breach of etiquette in British society. However, Miss Pendleton showed no sign of disapproval and slowly gave her a tour of the house.

Miss Jensen was pleased with the townhouse’s interior; she was, in fact, quite impressed. In truth, with her means, she could have easily acquired a splendid townhouse in any of London’s central districts.

Grosvenor Street, however, was an exception. Befitting its image as London’s most prestigious residential area, properties there were sold selectively, with lineage, connections, and a family’s standing all carefully considered. It would have been difficult for a woman of purely American origin like Miss Jensen to find her way in—at least, not without a means like marriage.

It was understandable why Miss Jensen showed such a keen interest in this house.

As Miss Jensen looked around, Miss Pendleton did her best to satisfy her candid interest in what would be her future asset. She faithfully answered questions about the size of the rooms, the history of the furniture, and the scale of the household.

As Charles’s fiancée, Miss Jensen had the right to know about all of it. Even if the day she took possession of this house was the day Lady Abigail passed away and Miss Pendleton was thrown out with nothing.

After touring the house and sharing a meal, the two sat opposite each other in the drawing room, drinking tea. As she enjoyed the black tea and apricot cake Miss Pendleton offered, Miss Jensen began to ask detailed questions about London society—from the most popular balls and dress trends to the most influential ladies and the teatimes where they gathered.

Miss Pendleton had a fitting answer for every one of those trivial questions. She answered in rich and thorough detail, enough to satisfy all of Miss Jensen’s curiosities.

After hearing everything, Miss Jensen was full of admiration.

“You’re truly an expert on this neighborhood, Miss Pendleton. Well, having debuted at seventeen, you’ve been here for nearly twelve years. It’s no wonder you know everything.”

Miss Pendleton smiled gently and sipped her tea.

Miss Jensen watched Miss Pendleton raise the steaming teacup to her lips. It was a clean, graceful gesture that suited her elegant, refined face.

*How charming,* she thought, secretly smiling at Miss Pendleton, who was nearly five years her senior.

“It’s only natural for a fish to know the lake it lives in. I know nothing of the world beyond London society. Grosvenor Street, a few other places in London, and the boarding school of my childhood are the whole of my world. But you, Miss Jensen, have resolved to make the great adventure of crossing the sea at such a young age. I hear you plan to enter British society?”

“Oh, who told you that?”

“Mr. Price stopped by briefly yesterday to retrieve his gloves. He asked me to look after you.”

“My uncle did? I was planning to ask you formally myself, but he beat me to it.”

Miss Jensen giggled.

“Miss Pendleton, I plan to stay in England for a while with my uncle—that is, my godfather, Mr. Tom Price. I might not ever return to America. If I marry Charles, I’ll settle down here. I intend to enter London society right after we’re married.”

“You’ll be quite busy, balancing life at the rectory with life in London.”

“I won’t be going down to the rectory, Miss Pendleton. And I doubt Charles will either. We both prefer London.”

Miss Pendleton, who had been stirring her teacup with a spoon, froze.

“…Ah, I see. There’s no rule that a clergyman must live among his parishioners. I know many who keep their own homes far away and commute for services. But London is so far from the Pendleton estate.”

“I don’t think Charles is concerned about the distance. I distinctly heard him say, ‘I am far too vivacious a person to be cooped up in a country rectory with nothing to see, simply because it is far.’”

“When did he say that?”

“When he proposed to me. I asked if I would have to live in the rectory, and he immediately said that. Instead of the rectory, he offered me the townhouse on Grosvenor Street. This very place.”

With a pleased expression, Miss Jensen glanced around the drawing room where she sat.

“It’s much more splendid than the drawings he showed me. It would be hard to acquire anything better through any marriage.”

Miss Pendleton’s feelings grew complicated as she watched Miss Jensen speak as if the house were already hers. How could she be so openly delighted when she must know what fate awaited her after this house became Miss Jensen’s?

And yet, there was no sense of snobbish superiority in her behavior. Judging by her attitude at dinner last night, she wasn’t someone completely oblivious to others’ feelings.

*Perhaps she was told a fabricated story about my future. Maybe my uncle lied to her so that she wouldn’t hesitate to marry out of guilt. But what on earth did he tell her?*

Laura grew curious, but she swallowed her question, thinking it wasn't a topic she could broach directly.

“This quiet townhouse will surely be filled with life once a fine new mistress arrives. The servants and the cook here are all diligent and excellent staff. The cook is especially wonderful.”

“Oh, yes. That barbecue yesterday was magnificent. Is he French?”

“Yes. He’s well worth his high salary.”

“Excellent. The cuisine a house offers is very important in society. I suppose I’m quite lucky to be coming into this townhouse. By the way, Miss Pendleton, I have a favor to ask.”

Miss Pendleton looked at her. Uncharacteristically, Miss Jensen leaned toward her, lowered her voice by half, and spoke in a near-whisper.

“Before Charles inherits this place completely, would you mind sending the young maids away beforehand?”

Miss Pendleton instantly understood her intention. Just that morning, she had discovered Charles trying to corner and harass the sixteen-year-old maid he had been eyeing the day before. Miss Pendleton had quickly made an excuse and led the tearful girl away, reassigning her to the kitchen where she wouldn't cross paths with Charles.

“Please write them letters of recommendation so they can move to good positions. We may have promised to stay out of each other’s lives, but I have no desire to see his illegitimate children born in my house.”

Miss Pendleton nodded silently. She then wracked her brain for a way to steer the conversation elsewhere. Miss Jensen was so candid it was almost overwhelming, casually revealing not only her fiancé’s basest nature but also her own calculated intentions for the marriage.

“Miss Jensen, how many outfits did you bring with you from America?”

“One trunkful. I originally had three, but I lost two on the way here.”

“Good heavens. How did that happen?”

“The name tags on the cargo hold must have fallen off. When my servant went to collect them upon arriving in London, they were already gone, taken by someone else. In the end, I lost all the picnic dresses and dinner gowns I had so carefully chosen.”

“Oh dear.”

“But well, I’m trying not to mind. It will be easier to keep up with the trends by having things made here in London.”

“But it’s the height of the social season, so all the dressmakers will be fully booked with appointments.”

“Do you not have a personal dressmaker?”

Miss Pendleton shook her head. For the first time since entering the townhouse, Miss Jensen looked crestfallen.

“Then what shall I do? The one remaining trunk only has a few day dresses and a ball gown.”

Miss Pendleton thought for a moment, then an idea came to her.

“What about getting something from Harrods department store?”

“From a department store?”

“Yes. I went there once with some other ladies. Although the items are all ready-made, they were of good quality and perfectly in style. Anything that doesn’t fit perfectly can be altered by a servant at home.”

“Wow, that’s a wonderful idea. Let’s go together sometime.”

“I would be delighted.”

At Miss Pendleton’s ready reply, Miss Jensen stared intently at her face.

“Is something the matter, Miss Jensen?”

“You are truly kind, Miss Pendleton.”

Miss Pendleton skillfully hid her bashfulness by picking up the teacup she had set down and taking a sip.

“I heard many compliments about you from Mr. Gerald Pendleton, but I never realized you’d be this kind.”

Miss Pendleton was surprised to hear that her uncle had praised her. Come to think of it, Mr. Price had also mentioned hearing praise for her from her uncle.