Chapter 50

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: The Last Ball (1)
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"Speak. Tell me you accept his proposal. Now!"

The anger that had flared like a fire in her heart died helplessly before her fear. If her hand was crippled, how would she live? Her insides coiled in terror.

"Uncle! Please… *sob*… Yes, alright. I'll do it. I'll do as you wish! So please…!"

Soon, the foot crushing her fingers was lifted. Miss Pendleton clutched her hand, her entire body trembling convulsively. As blood rushed back into her hand, she felt nothing but a numb, stiff sensation. The crushed part felt as if it had turned into a block of wood.

Gerald Pendleton returned to his chair and, taking a new cigar from its box, lit it.

"See that you are well-adorned tomorrow. Now, leave."

Miss Pendleton staggered out of the study. Her crushed hand was stained crimson with the imprint of his shoe. She went straight to her room and threw herself onto the bed. Then, burying her face in the pillow, she sobbed.

Misery washed over her like a tidal wave. The recent incident had thrown open the floodgates to memories of the past. In her childhood, how unyielding her uncle's cruelty had been, and how powerless she herself had felt. For over a decade since leaving Pendleton House, she had lived to escape that past.

As a top student who never once failed to place first during her seven years at boarding school. As a proper lady and a helpful friend during her twelve years in society, she had striven to prove herself. To prove how capable a person she was, contrary to Gerald Pendleton's contempt.

But the violence just now had merged the childhood and the present she had so desperately tried to keep separate.

She felt as if she were eight years old again, hit by an ashtray, crying and fleeing to the nursery.

She felt as if she were nine, falsely accused of stealing her uncle's porcelain figurine and unjustly beaten.

She felt as if she had returned to being ten, hurt by her uncle's torrent of insults, soaking her bed with tears.

She had believed she would never yield again. She had sworn she could protect herself now. But in the end, again… again…

She thrashed. Her heart felt as if it would burst. She felt powerless, wronged, angry, and she hated herself. The pain of failing to save herself from the repeated abuse seemed to tear her to shreds.

A knock sounded at the door. As if telling her to stop her suffering.

She lifted her tear-stained face. She wondered if it was her uncle, but then thought he wouldn't be so polite if he were to enter. She staggered to the door. Unlatching it, she opened it to find Anne standing there with a worried expression, holding a small tray with a bowl of soup.

Anne spoke with a crestfallen face.

"I'm sorry… I was eavesdropping at the study door."

Miss Pendleton forced her pale face into a smile.

"Thank you, Anne."

"May I… come in for a moment?"

"No, I'd like to be alone."

As Miss Pendleton gently dismissed her, Anne nodded and offered the tray. Miss Pendleton didn't think she could swallow even a sip of water, let alone soup, but she didn't want to refuse Anne's kindness.

Miss Pendleton took the tray. But the moment she grasped it, a sharp pain shot through all the fingers of her right hand as they throbbed.

"Ah!"

She dropped the tray reflexively.

*Clatter—*

The soup bowl tumbled to the floor.

Startled, Anne saw Miss Pendleton clutching her right hand. She quickly pulled Miss Pendleton's arm to examine it. The fingers of her right hand were swollen and covered in a spreading, dark red bruise.

Anne looked at Miss Pendleton with a horrified expression.

"Could you bring the first-aid box, Anne?"

Anne left the room without a word and returned from downstairs with the first-aid box. When she came back, Miss Pendleton was cleaning up the spilled soup bowl with her good hand.

Anne quickly stopped her, cleaned up the floor herself, and then went with Miss Pendleton to her vanity. As Miss Pendleton sat on the vanity stool, Anne knelt before her and began to apply ointment and wrap her hand in bandages.

Anne was as careful as possible, but every time her fingers brushed against the injury, Miss Pendleton couldn't help but flinch and let out a low groan. Seeing her mistress like this felt like a knife to Anne's heart.

Why on earth did her lady have to be treated this way? Why such a kind and precious lady?

While Anne fumed inwardly, her hands continued to bandage Miss Pendleton's hand with infinite care.

"Still, it seems no bones are broken. That's a relief, at least."

Anne bit her lip and looked up at Miss Pendleton, her expression on the verge of tears.

"How can you say that? After what was done to this small, delicate hand! Do you know how loud your scream was? I thought that man was strangling you."

Miss Pendleton gave a faint smile. After a moment's thought, she said.

"It's a good thing it wasn't my neck. There aren't many dresses that can hide the neck. As for my hand, I can just cover it with a glove and go to the ball."

Anne stared at Miss Pendleton, incredulous.

"You're going to the ball?"

"I must see Mr. Price."

Anne pictured the pot-bellied, middle-aged Mr. Price in her mind and twisted her face in disgust.

"Surely, you're not going to obey Mr. Pendleton? Are you really going to accept his proposal!"

Miss Pendleton looked intently at Anne.

"You heard everything, didn't you?"

Anne was silent, looking somewhat guilty. Miss Pendleton let out a small laugh.

"It's a good thing Uncle didn't catch you. You would have been in a world of trouble."

"I'm not afraid."

"Even after seeing my hand?"

"If it had been me, whatever that brute threw—I don't know what it was—I would have thrown it right back. I'd have smashed his face in so he couldn't even tell where his own hands were."

Miss Pendleton laughed aloud. Talking with Anne, her spirits, which had hit rock bottom, slowly began to lift.

But seeing Miss Pendleton's weak laugh only made Anne's heart ache more. This was the lady she had served for eight years. For Anne, who had suffered humiliation under all sorts of stingy and ill-tempered masters, Miss Pendleton was the best mistress imaginable. There was no one as kind and generous as her.

Anne stroked Miss Pendleton's bandaged hand.

"My lady. You won't accept Mr. Price's proposal, will you? You have the means to live on your own. You're not like me, a woman who's never been near a school. You know Latin and Greek. You'll leave Pendleton House and become a governess as planned, won't you? Right?"

Miss Pendleton looked in the mirror. In its reflection, a face with bloodshot eyes and swollen cheeks stared back at her.

"Anne, pick out a dress for me. Something splendid enough to hide this hideous face tomorrow."

"My lady, surely…!"

Miss Pendleton turned from the mirror and smiled at Anne.

"Don't worry. I have no intention of changing my name to Laura Price. I just want to look perfect tomorrow. It will be the last ball of my life in society."

"The last… ball?"

"Yes. I can no longer live as Laura Pendleton. But perhaps as Laura Sheldon."

Laura Sheldon? Anne looked at her lady, puzzled.

"Sheldon is my father's surname."

"Your father's name… Then, you and Mr. Price…"

"I won't. Not that kind of marriage."

Miss Pendleton turned her head back to the mirror.

"From now on, I will live with dignity and freedom. As Laura Sheldon should."

***

The next day, Miss Pendleton left the mansion looking entirely different from her usual self. It was not the silver-gray silk or the navy muslin dress she usually favored for balls. It was a dress she had worn for her society debut and never again since.

A sky-blue dress of fine silk, embroidered with snow-white flowers in silver thread. On her snow-white silk gloves, a sapphire bracelet encircling her wrist sparkled dazzlingly. Her hair, swept up, was not confined in its usual hairnet but was adorned with beautiful lilies, daffodils, and pearls.

Miss Pendleton rode to the ball in a white, four-wheeled carriage bearing the family crest. She first paid her respects to Mrs. Lance, who was greeting guests at the entrance, before proceeding into the hall.

As she entered, all eyes turned to her. It was the first time anyone had seen Miss Pendleton, who usually hid in plain sight with her modest appearance, so splendidly attired. A few of them, not recognizing her, even approached to ask for a dance.

Miss Pendleton's plan was working. Distracted by her radiant attire, the bloodshot rims of her eyes and the shadows beneath them were less noticeable. No one suspected that she had barely slept, having spent the night applying cold compresses to her swollen face.

Miss Pendleton refused every gentleman who asked her to dance. She walked slowly along one side of the ballroom, searching for Mr. Price and Miss Jensen.

"Miss Pendleton!"

Miss Pendleton turned at the voice coming from one side. Miss Lance was waving at her, surrounded by her friends. Miss Pendleton approached them.

Miss Lance and her friends were astonished as Miss Pendleton drew near. They had always thought her a beauty, but adorned so radiantly, she was dazzling enough to be mistaken for a debutante.

Miss Lance's friends watched Miss Pendleton with displeased expressions. It was because Miss Pendleton was far too beautiful. As beautiful as their pride and the star of the evening, Dora Lance—or perhaps even more so. After all, Miss Lance was supposed to be the most beautiful one at the ball tonight.

They fretted, whispering to one another, worried that Miss Pendleton's beauty would draw attention away from Miss Lance.

But unlike her friends, Miss Lance was purely impressed by Miss Pendleton's appearance.

"How beautifully you've dressed! Goodness. I almost didn't recognize you!"

"It is the Lance family's ball, so of course, I had to take care. In any case, you are also incredibly beautiful, Miss Lance. Truly the star of the evening."

Miss Lance, her hair adorned with fresh roses to complement her voluminous green dress, giggled.

"I've been so busy since this morning getting ready. All day long, curling, braiding, and pinning up my hair, putting in flowers, tightening my corset, putting on my dress, and spraying perfume! I couldn't possibly do it twice!"

Miss Lance shook her head as if exhausted, though she was overflowing with the pride of being the only daughter of the family hosting the ball. Miss Pendleton said what would please a lady most: asking detailed questions about her carefully chosen attire.

"I haven't seen this dress before; it's quite beautiful. It complements the color of your eyes so well, Miss Lance. Was it perhaps imported?"

As expected, Miss Lance's face lit up.

"I'm so glad you noticed. It was tailored by the most famous dressmaker in France. Though I sent the pattern for this embroidery myself."

Miss Lance glanced down at the hem of her dress. Against the green fabric, an ornate pattern of leaves was embroidered in gold thread. It was beautiful, perfectly suiting the material of the dress.

"It is truly lovely. You have such an excellent eye and sense of style, Miss Lance."

"Oh, you flatter me."

Miss Lance blushed but couldn't hide her delight at the praise. After a few more compliments, she was soon twirling on the spot, showing off her dress with pride.