This place, popular as a picnic spot for the nobility, was surrounded by green fields, a tranquil riverside, and lush forests. He walked towards the forest as if by instinct and soon noticed a clean walking path starting from the entrance of the woodland area. He stepped onto the path.

With each step, the noisy sounds of people grew more distant. Nothing could be heard around him except for the rustling of leaves, birdsong, and Ian Dalton’s own footsteps.

The pulse that had been throbbing in his temples since earlier began to subside. He let out a sigh. It was fortunate to have some time to gather his thoughts.

The past month had been a series of unexpected events. His original purpose for coming to London was nothing more than to see the faces of friends with whom he had only occasionally exchanged letters after graduating from university.

That purpose had been fulfilled in less than ten days. If he had moved according to his initial plan, he would now be sitting in the office at Whitefield Hall, talking with tenants.

Yet he was still in London. Moreover, he was wasting time participating in the nobles’ idle pastimes, which he had always considered foolish. It was something he couldn’t have imagined before departing for London.

The longer his stay extended, the more unsettled his mind became. He had work to do at his estate.

There were piling issues to resolve: mediating disputes between farmers, discussing land reclamation projects, addressing land lease problems. Additionally, the old pastor serving in the estate was in poor health, necessitating discussions about his will and the future of his dependents.

Although there was a land agent acting on his behalf, there were limits to what could be entrusted to someone else’s hands. He needed to return to his estate as soon as possible. However, he was held captive by a strong, invisible grip. The owner of that grip was the frail Laura Pendleton.

Laura Pendleton.

As he recalled her name, he felt his fingertips tremble slightly. In the empty forest, he clenched and unclenched his fist to suppress the trembling, fearing someone might notice. But the intense heartbeat that began with the trembling couldn’t be suppressed like his hands. He felt the pulsing tremor in his chest as he thought of her.

The ball where he first met her, her gray eyes as they danced the waltz. The trembling had started there. And after that initial tremor, his heart began to flow endlessly towards her.

He couldn’t stop visiting her house at every opportunity. He couldn’t cease the degrading act of hovering around her, trying to exchange even a single word.

The more they interacted, the more easily she opened the lock on her heart. A mind harmonizing a shy and quiet nature with an honest and unpretentious essence. Altruistic listening and intelligent responses. Graceful without pretense, just as she was.

He had never encountered a personality so appealing, nor had he ever been so captivated by someone. No lady had ever fascinated him like this before.

Before he knew it, he was pouring out the story of his life to her. Thinking back now, he had even said truly unnecessary things. His nephew, his tenants, trivial chatter that was important to him but surely useless to her. It had been so long since he’d been this honest in front of others.

Yet while he was babbling on like a fool about his relatives, his estate, and other useless matters, she remained mostly silent. Even when he occasionally asked about her, for instance about her family or relatives, she would only answer briefly.

Especially regarding her parents, he couldn’t get any answer beyond the fact that they had passed away when she was young.

Mr. Dalton could now understand why her answers had to be so concise.

The story surrounding Miss Pendleton’s birth. It could be called a common story. Such romantic elopements happened not infrequently in any social circle. But the results of these commonplace marriages invariably tended to become messy.

The old order of England was still diligently operating its rusty gears even as the 20th century approached, and the results remained fixed as unchanging social norms. People with problematic births, especially those who couldn’t inherit their father’s surname, were subject to finger-pointing no matter how excellent their qualities.

This was especially true for ladies, and even more so for ladies without money or the protection of a family head.

The conversation he unintentionally overheard among the ladies while riding in the carriage today was proof of this. The fact that they could so casually gossip about a lady from an earl’s family who was at least ten years older than them meant that Miss Pendleton was a common object of disrespect.

Mr. Dalton clenched his jaw as he thought about the earlier incident. He was on the verge of anger when he recalled the words those foolish ladies had spewed. Not just the content of their gossip, but they were looking down on Miss Pendleton so naturally.

It was easy to predict that gossip about Miss Pendleton would be quite commonplace. Miss Pendleton would likely be treated this way throughout London society.

He recalled Miss Pendleton’s gentle demeanor, her quiet and humble nature, her shy disposition and her overly sensitive reactions to others’ praises. He had simply attributed these to Miss Pendleton’s innate personality and found them lovely.

But perhaps this was an attitude cultivated from repeated experiences of contempt in London society. Being pointed at when not guarding herself, having people who seemed friendly speak ill of her behind her back.

This was a sight he had often observed when frequenting social circles in his younger days.

He felt nauseous again towards the social circles he had originally despised, and his heart ached with sympathy for Miss Pendleton.

Mr. Dalton continued walking along the path, trying to calm his feelings by momentarily halting his thoughts. But no matter how he tried to stop thinking, he couldn’t prevent Miss Pendleton’s face from lingering before his eyes.

Miss Pendleton. The clear expressions in her gray eyes. Her delicate wrist as she handed him a teacup.

He missed Miss Pendleton more than ever. If only he could hold her frail form in his arms and look into her eyes. If only he could let her pour out all her wounds and then comfort her. If he could let her rest her head on his shoulder, stroke her back, and kiss her forehead…

His face suddenly flushed at the thoughts in his head. Somehow, his sympathy for her was shifting into impure thoughts. He shook his head, trying to dispel the imaginations from his mind.

He reached the end of the path. He emerged from the forest and walked towards the riverside. But then, loud noises began to be heard from the other side of the riverbank. Sounds of laughter, shouting, and chatter. He looked in the direction of the noise.

Gentlemen and ladies were skipping stones together. Judging by the parasols the ladies were holding, they were part of the picnic group that had come together today. Two ladies and one gentleman.

He was about to turn away and pass by. But the man’s shout sounded familiar.

William Fairfax.

He turned his head and narrowed his eyes to look at them. William was in a pose just short of falling over, holding a stone and throwing it hard towards the river at an angle. And the ladies standing beside him watched this sight, then after a moment, clasped their hands together and jumped up and down.

He looked closely at the ladies and soon realized that one of them was Miss Pendleton. He immediately began walking towards them.

As he got closer to them, Miss Pendleton came into clearer view. The snow-white lace shawl she always wore and the hairnet firmly holding her hair in place. Her slender arms and neckline. He clenched his fist tightly. His heart felt more constricted than ever.

By the time he got close to them, Miss Pendleton had taken the parasol from the lady standing next to her. The lady who had handed her parasol to Miss Pendleton picked up a stone from the ground, leaned to one side, and swung her arm widely to throw it towards the river.

There was a silence following the ‘plop, plop’ sound. A moment later, Miss Pendleton tossed aside the parasol she was holding and hugged the lady who had thrown the stone, squealing loudly. And at the same time, William, standing next to them, grabbed his head and sat down on the spot, exclaiming:

“If it had just bounced five more times, I would have won! I shouldn’t have chosen such a big stone!”

“It’s not because of the stone, but because of your posture, William.”

Mr. Dalton naturally responded to Mr. Fairfax’s words of frustration. The three gentlemen and ladies turned their heads towards Mr. Dalton at once. Mr. Fairfax jumped to his feet.

“Ian, when did you get here?”

“Just now.”

Mr. Dalton answered half-heartedly and looked at Miss Pendleton. Miss Pendleton was smiling at him with a face full of vitality.

Her shining eyes and flushed cheeks caught his attention. A lovely sight. He felt heat rising to his face as he turned his gaze to her.

“Mr. Dalton, would you like to join our stone skipping game? I’ve bet on Miss Hyde, so you should bet on Mr. Fairfax!”

Mr. Dalton gently shook his head.

“I should bet on Miss Hyde as well. I don’t want to invest in the losing side just because of family ties.”

“Hey, Ian! How can you say that without even seeing? I just won earlier! My stone jumped three more times than Miss Hyde’s!”

“That was probably because Miss Hyde made a slip-up. Or maybe she lost on purpose because she felt sorry for you.”

“That’s not true! Miss Hyde, please tell him. Say you didn’t lose on purpose.”

Miss Hyde brushed back her disheveled hair.

“Mr. Fairfax’s skills are excellent. Even I, the best stone skipper in the Hyde family, feel nervous. However, I’d say he’s still far from surpassing my stronghold. If stone skipping were an Olympic sport, I would surely be Britain’s representative.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Mr. Dalton responded as if interested. Miss Hyde picked up a stone from the ground with a confident expression. She repeatedly tossed and caught it in her hand.

“Mr. Dalton, would you like to compete with me? I can crush you just as thoroughly as Mr. Fairfax.”

Mr. Dalton laughed.

“I was the Yorkshire region’s representative stone skipper when I was young. My, receiving a challenge from a national representative makes me nervous.”

“No need to be nervous. There’s absolutely no shame in losing to me. And if you happen to win – though that’s unlikely – it would be an achievement to be remembered in the Dalton family for generations. So why don’t you give it a try?”

It was a clear provocation. Miss Pendleton chimed in from the side.

“Give it a try, Mr. Dalton. I’ll bet on you this time.”