Chapter 68

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: The Women of Dunville Park (1)
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The next day, Ian arrived at his sister's estate, Dunville Park.

As he had requested by telegram, a carriage was waiting at the train station. He took the carriage to the Fairfax residence. Upon entering, he immediately asked a servant for his sister. The mistress of the house was in her private drawing-room, he was told.

He went straight up to the second floor and opened the drawing-room door without knocking. Mrs. Fairfax was sitting near the hearth, cooing at little Ian, who was not yet a year old, on her lap.

And beside Mrs. Fairfax sat her lovely thirteen-year-old blonde daughter, Olivia Fairfax.
Shaking a toy at baby Ian.

It was a picturesque scene symbolizing domestic peace, but he had no qualms about shattering the picture. He strode directly into the room.

"Oh, my! Without even a knock!"

Mrs. Fairfax exclaimed in surprise upon seeing her younger brother. Beside her, Olivia Fairfax's eyes widened as she looked at her uncle.

Ian asked, removing his hat.

"Are you well?"

"I'm fine. But you don't look fine. Did you catch consumption in London? Why do you look like that? You, with nothing to boast of but your face."

"Mother, don't say that. He's still handsome, our uncle."

Olivia quickly defended her uncle's appearance. Indeed, in Olivia's eyes, her uncle was still dashing. Ian Dalton was the very picture of the prince she always dreamed of.

"Olivia, have you been well?"

"Oh, Uncle. I told you not to do that!"

As Olivia had always instructed, Ian politely removed his hat and bowed his head. Then he took his niece's outstretched hand, which she offered with the air of a queen of society, and kissed its back.

"Have you been well, my lady?"

"Hmph, of course. Uncle—ah, no. Sir."

He released Olivia's hand and turned his gaze back to Mrs. Fairfax.

"I've found a governess for Daniel and George."

Mrs. Fairfax looked bewildered.

"When did I ever ask you to find a governess?"

"You didn't."

"So you found a governess without even telling your nephews' mother?"

"If they're to attend public school, it's time they had a tutor."

"That's true, but I'm not so sure. My husband and I both agree that we'd pity the teachers who would have to handle them if we sent them to school."

"You and brother-in-law must be the only parents in the country who joke about their children's education like this."

"It's the secret to our good health."

He asked Olivia to give them a moment. At her adored uncle's request, she rose from the sofa, gave a slight curtsy, and left the room.

"Sister."

"This must be serious. Should I ask the Ian in my arms to give us a moment as well?"

"Soon, Miss Pendleton will be arriving."

Her hands, which had been soothing the baby, stilled.

"She is the new governess."

"...But she's the daughter of a nobleman. How did she end up..."

Ian placed his hat on a nearby stool and sat beside his sister. He then told his sister everything about Laura.

That her parents had eloped, and as a result, her position within the family was precarious. To make matters worse, her father was an American, and after the death of her grandmother, who had protected her, she was cast out without any inheritance.

"Miss Pendleton must have suffered a great deal."

Mrs. Fairfax sighed with a look of pity. A lack of prejudice regarding lineage was a trait the siblings shared.

"She will arrive here within a week. I've summoned her. I'm going to entrust her with Daniel and George's education for five hours a day."

"You would subject the woman you love to such an ordeal?"

"That's actually why I came to ask you this. We need to whip those rascals into shape before she arrives. Leave the boys to me for a while."

"Very well."

Mrs. Fairfax readily handed over her two sons as if he had asked to borrow a pair of forks from the table.

"But if Miss Pendleton is coming as a governess, that must mean you still haven't won her heart, does it not? If you think she's the one, you should snatch her up. Why are you dawdling? When will you marry and have children?"

His expression darkened at the renewed talk of children. There was still something he had not told his sister.
Something that was not a problem for him, but would be a significant one for his sister.

"There's one more thing I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

"She is one year younger than I am."

Her jaw dropped—something that hadn't happened even when she heard that Miss Pendleton was the illegitimate daughter of an American father.

"Then she's a spinster!"

*Just as I expected.* Ian grew sullen.

"If she is a spinster, what does that make me, who is older than her?"

"Are men and women the same? A man can father children at any age, as long as his loins are sound. But a woman has a set time for childbearing!"

"And yet the child you bore at forty-two is currently drooling on the back of your hand?"

Mrs. Fairfax quickly wiped away the drool from little Ian's mouth with a napkin.

"My case is different! You know. Shortly after Henry was born, my husband fell from his horse and injured his back, and was bedridden for a full five years. After three years of spa treatments in Bath, he finally recovered, and ever since, he's been constantly trying to prove to me that his back is fine..."

"Enough! I have no interest in your marital relations with brother-in-law. Not one bit!"

Ian cried out in disgust.

"Anyway, you can't compare yourself to me, Ian. How many children can a twenty-nine-year-old woman possibly bear?"

"Somewhere between one and a dozen. Or she might not have any at all. I don't care about such things."

"You don't care about children? Is that something the head of the family should say?"

"I'm not trying to purchase a horse or a cow. I'm trying to find a wife. If the sole condition for choosing a partner is procreation, what makes humans any different from animals?"

"Still, twenty-nine is too old."

"Sister."

"A fact is a fact. Twenty-nine is too old."

She adjusted the son nestled in her arms.

"It seems you're blinded by love and can't see reason, but you need a son. An heir. If you die without a son, Whitefield will pass to some distant relative you've never even met. To someone who wasn't born in Whitefield, who has never even felt a handful of its soil. You're smart, so you must know what will happen. If this recession continues, the heir will surely sell off Whitefield. And by the time of our grandchildren, Whitefield will be nothing but factories. Is that what you want for our home?"

Ian sighed. His mind was unchanged, but he understood all too well what his sister was worried about.

Ian and his sister Margaret had inherited the Dalton name from their father, but they were raised under vastly different circumstances. As the firstborn son, Ian received all the education permitted to a man and inherited Whitefield immediately upon graduating from university. The only education Margaret was permitted was preparation for marriage, and she had only inherited a dowry befitting a daughter of the Dalton family.

But the two of them had a common inheritance: their love for Whitefield. Although she had married before she was even twenty and now lived at Dunville Park, she still loved Whitefield. As much as Ian, who had inherited it, and sometimes, even more than he did.

That was why Mrs. Margaret Fairfax obsessively badgered Ian about marriage. She held the belief that land possessed a value beyond mere property only to those who were born and raised on it. To someone with no affection for the land, it was simply a part of their assets.

"If I were you, I would have married a robust woman and had a dozen children the moment I inherited the family title."

"Yes, you certainly would have. I've always thought you should have been the one to inherit Whitefield. You're the kind of person who would do anything for it. That's the difference between you and me. As the head of the family, I will do whatever is necessary for Whitefield. With one exception. I will not marry to protect the land. Not even if it passes to some distant relative."

"Ian. A small sacrifice is necessary as the head of the family."

"As a man, it's a matter I cannot compromise on. I cannot live in the same house with a woman whose character doesn't suit mine. To be blunt, the thought of a woman I do not love lying in my bed is unbearably revolting."

Mrs. Fairfax started to say something more, but then closed her mouth. What more could she say to that stubborn fool? There was no point wasting her energy on a lost cause.

She rested her chin on the warm crown of her squirming son's head, lost in thought.

Mrs. Fairfax was still opposed to the idea of Miss Pendleton. No matter how she thought about it, twenty-nine was too old. Even if she were to marry and conceive immediately, she would be thirty by the time she gave birth.

Childbirth was something to be done in one's twenties. Having been forced to bear four children after the age of thirty, thanks to a vigorous and careless husband, she knew all too well. That giving birth at an older age was something to be avoided at all costs.

She loved her children. But the memory of bringing them into the world was horrific. It was a war-like process, rife with blood, screams, and pain.

Even after the process was over, it took a full year for her body to recover. But she considered herself one of the lucky ones. After all, there were still plenty of women who died in childbirth.

That brother of hers would not understand his sister's concerns in the slightest. Weren't men a species that believed babies simply fell from the sky?

*Hmm,* she thought, rocking her little Ian. *Still, if they were to marry within the year and quickly produce a son, wouldn't that be acceptable? He seems so fond of her. And more importantly, when has that boy ever been so head over heels for a woman?*

A month ago, Ian's sudden return to London must have been entirely because of that young lady. Her brother was a man who prioritized the management of his estate; since inheriting Whitefield, he had never once left it for more than a week.

For such a man to go to London twice within a few months and stay there for over a month each time, one could guess the depth of his affection for Miss Pendleton. He was a man who loved his land, Whitefield, more than anything. And now, he had found someone he loved even more than Whitefield.

For the impossibly fastidious Ian to fall in love. It was nothing short of a miracle.