Chapter 52

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: The Last Ball (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------

The thought sent Miss Lance’s heart pounding, and she could not calm it.

Could it be that the two of them had been in love? And had their relationship soured?

Miss Lance felt as if her head was spinning with anxiety. The suspicion that the object of her affection might have shared some sort of bond with another woman shook her to the core.

She tore her gaze away from him, trying to regain her composure.

It was clear they were not in love with each other now. She had never once heard a rumor of Mr. Dalton visiting the Pendletons since his return to London. The only social gathering he had attended was her own tea party.

Firmly grasping that fact, the possibility that Mr. Dalton’s heart belonged to Miss Pendleton vanished from her mind. Miss Lance’s anxiety subsided, but her suspicion remained. Miss Pendleton had been so flustered just now when the incident at the picnic was mentioned.

She recalled the events of the last picnic. Mr. Dalton, who had been conversing with her, had disappeared into the woods, saying he had something to attend to. About an hour later, Miss Pendleton had come running out, pale-faced, and hastily departed in her carriage. And then Mr. Dalton had come running after her.

Why had Miss Pendleton left for home in such a rush? And why had Mr. Dalton run out looking for her?

She then remembered telling Mr. Dalton about Miss Pendleton’s lineage by the lake. As Miss Lance pieced together her thoughts, a flash of insight struck her.

‘Mr. Dalton learned of Miss Pendleton’s bloodline and abandoned her!’

With that thought, Miss Lance felt as if she had solved every mystery within her. For in her mind, it all fit together logically.

The two must have had feelings for each other. Miss Pendleton must have liked Mr. Dalton. After all, he was an exceedingly fine, handsome, kind, and gentlemanly man. And Mr. Dalton must have felt something for Miss Pendleton as well. Though she was older, Miss Pendleton was kind and pretty.

That must be why Mr. Dalton had gifted her the Whitefield painting. As a token of his affection. But in the end, Mr. Dalton must have learned of Miss Pendleton’s heritage and confronted her about it in the woods.

Miss Pendleton would have confessed the truth honestly… and because of it, Mr. Dalton had declared an end to their friendship!

This explanation perfectly accounted for the puzzling behavior of both Miss Pendleton and Mr. Dalton at the picnic. Heartbroken by Mr. Dalton’s declaration, Miss Pendleton had left, and Mr. Dalton, feeling guilty for sending her away like that, must have followed. He was, after all, a gentlemanly and good-hearted person.

If this was true, then Mr. Dalton was a terrible man. To forsake love over a matter of lineage—it was an ungentlemanly act. Wasn't that something only a villain would do in a melodrama?

If he was the villain, then Miss Pendleton was the tragic heroine. She could have formed a bond with such a wonderful man, yet she was ultimately cast aside. All because of her parents’ sin, not her own.

As an avid consumer of melodramas, she was, for a fleeting moment, indignant at Mr. Dalton’s actions and felt sorry for Miss Pendleton. But even as she thought this, Miss Lance’s true feelings could neither completely despise Mr. Dalton nor fully side with Miss Pendleton.

Because Miss Pendleton’s rejection was inevitable.

A man like Mr. Dalton would never decide to marry her knowing of her lineage. The head of a family, responsible for its prestige, would never tarnish its authority by taking a wife with a problematic bloodline. It was an antiquated and unreasonable course of action, but that was simply the way of the world.

Miss Lance felt it a pity, her heartbreak. She had thought her a wise and prudent lady, but had she become a fool in the face of love? How could Miss Pendleton, who was old enough to know better, be unaware of a fact that even she, at only twenty, understood?

Then again, Miss Pendleton was the daughter of parents who had made a reckless marriage, so it would not be strange if she had inherited such a nature.

“Miss Lance, are you listening to me?”

Lost in thought with her eyes cast down, Miss Lance was brought back to her senses by Mr. Fairfax’s voice.

“Ah, I do apologize, Mr. Fairfax. What were you saying?”

Mr. Fairfax gave a gentle smile to Miss Lance, who had clearly been daydreaming.

“With whom will the belle of the ball be dancing the first waltz?”

At his question, Miss Lance smiled and looked toward the spot where Mr. Dalton had been standing. But the place where he had stood was empty. Panicked, Miss Lance looked around.

“Where did Mr. Dalton go?”

“He left just a moment ago.”

Miss Lance stared blankly at the empty space. She had been so sure he would ask her for the first waltz.

Mr. Fairfax read the disappointment on Miss Lance’s face.

“Oh dear, it seems Ian made a promise and forgot. The scoundrel.”

Miss Lance could only manage a hollow smile. He had never made any promise to her. It was merely her own wish—to dance the first waltz with him at the first ball hosted by her family.

But she had truly believed he would ask her to dance. Considering the favor and interest he had shown her until now, it seemed a reasonable expectation.

And maybe, just maybe, he would confess his love to her while they danced. It was for the sake of such fantasies that she had endured the pain of her hair being pulled repeatedly while it was being styled and a corset so tight she could barely breathe, all without a word of complaint.

Mr. Fairfax was flustered by the look of despair on Miss Lance’s face. She wasn’t crying, but she was on the verge of tears.

He wondered if he should go find Ian right away. But the cotillion was already ending, and people were leaving the dance floor. The waltz would begin soon.

In his haste, Mr. Fairfax extended his hand to her.

“Thanks to Ian, it seems I may be the lucky one. Miss Lance, would you do me the honor of the next dance?”

Miss Lance looked at the hand offered to her. While she was fond of Mr. Fairfax, he was not the one she had been hoping for. She had wanted Mr. Dalton to extend his hand like this.

But the belle of the ball could not simply stand there like a wallflower without a gentleman for the first waltz. Her pride would not allow it.

She returned Mr. Fairfax’s smile with a strained one of her own and took his hand.

“With pleasure, Mr. Fairfax.”

* * *

After leaving Miss Lance’s group, Miss Pendleton slowly made her way through the crowd toward Miss Jensen and Mr. Price.

“Good evening, Mr. Price. And Miss Jensen.”

Miss Pendleton curtsied politely. Upon seeing her, they both greeted her with equal courtesy.

“You’ve arrived early, Miss Pendleton.”

“Yes. My preparations finished sooner than expected, so I was able to hurry over.”

Miss Jensen chattered cheerfully.

“Your maid must be quite skilled. We were delayed by a good thirty minutes because the servants forgot to polish my uncle’s shoes. I made sure to tell my aunt to give them a good talking-to before I left.”

Miss Pendleton smiled at Miss Jensen’s words and subtly glanced at Mr. Price’s expression. He remained silent, completely detached from the two ladies’ conversation. Usually, it would be Mr. Price doing this sort of gossiping.

“Mr. Price?”

At Miss Pendleton’s call, Mr. Price, who had been staring at the floor, lifted his head. His characteristically large, protruding eyes fixed on her.

Miss Pendleton, who had opened her mouth to ask after his well-being, closed it again. His eyes were filled with sorrow. He looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment.

Miss Pendleton looked at Miss Jensen. Miss Jensen sighed softly as she looked at her godfather, then subtly gestured with her head for Miss Pendleton to move aside. It was a sign asking if Miss Pendleton wanted her to leave. Miss Pendleton gave a quiet nod.

“Well then, I shall go see Miss Lance. I must see how beautifully the belle of the ball is dressed today.”

“You are more beautiful, Miss Jensen. In my eyes, at least.”

At Miss Pendleton’s words, instead of her usual thunderous laugh, Miss Jensen let out a refined chuckle, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Of course! Look who helped me get ready!”

Miss Jensen departed, the hem of her golden skirt swishing. Only Miss Pendleton and Mr. Price remained. In a voice a tone lower than usual, Mr. Price requested,

“Would you care to step aside for a private word with me?”

Miss Pendleton nodded. Mr. Price led her out to the balcony.

Miss Pendleton glanced around. The spacious balcony was connected to the others without any partitions. There were curtains meant to divide the sections, but they were tied back, leaving the space completely open. Fortunately, there was no one else there.

The two stood side by side, gazing out at the London cityscape. The brightly lit gas lamps, the splendid carriages rushing toward the ballroom, the silhouettes of busy porters coming and going.

“Thank you for helping Joan settle in London, Miss Pendleton. I am indebted to you in many ways.”

“Not at all, Mr. Price. I simply shared a pleasant friendship with Miss Jensen and did nothing that required any great effort.”

“I have a firm grasp of both American and British society. I know how different the two are. Joan was born and raised in America; she is an American lady to the bone. High-spirited and vivacious. Frankly, she does not possess many of the qualities welcomed in British society. Yet that same girl has, as of today, become a perfect London lady. Just like you, Miss Pendleton.”

Mr. Price looked at Miss Pendleton.

“Joan was surely influenced by your demeanor and conduct through her association with you. Her elegance, her modesty, her gentleness—it is thanks to you, Miss Pendleton, that she was able to emulate the qualities of a perfect lady.”

Miss Pendleton gazed silently at the night street. She could feel Mr. Price’s eyes boring into her face.

“Miss Pendleton, after hearing my goddaughter’s story, I was faced with two choices. To go and confront Gerald at once, or to wait a night and hear the explanation directly from you. As you can see, I chose the latter. I want the truth.”