When Ann told the gentleman that she was declining his visit as per the lady’s orders, the gentleman, with an expression as if he had expected this, asked to deliver a letter instead, but ultimately left only his visitor’s card before withdrawing. He would then linger around the house for hours before leaving.

Observing this situation, it wasn’t strange for Ann to deduce that something must have happened between the two at the picnic.

Thus, Ann couldn’t suppress her curiosity about the letter.

What could it say? A simple greeting? If so, the lady wouldn’t be in such a low mood. Or perhaps a confession of love? Maybe a proposal? If that were the case, it was incomprehensible why she would have such an unpleasant expression now.

‘Ah! If only the lady were like other silly girls who tell their maids everything about their love affairs!’

Ann sighed inwardly and focused on brushing the lady’s hair diligently. If she felt troubled, she would naturally speak up. Ann finished brushing her hair and loosely braided it into a single plait so it wouldn’t tangle while she slept.

At that moment, Ann’s patience was rewarded. Miss Pendleton opened her mouth.

“Ann, Mr. Dalton said something akin to a proposal to me.”

‘I knew it!’

Ann inwardly cheered but outwardly feigned surprise.

“Oh my, really? Did he confess his feelings?”

“No. He said something that would allow one to infer his feelings.”

“Miss, I’m not well-educated enough to understand difficult words like ‘infer’. But from the nuance, it seems he didn’t say it outright, but rather hinted at it.”

“Something like that.”

“Is that why you’ve been refusing visitors lately?”

“Yes. He must have found it very strange that I pretended to have a cold for a while. Did you notice?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. I can’t deceive your keen eye, Ann.”

“But Miss, are you continuing to avoid Mr. Dalton after receiving his proposal? Do you… intend to refuse him?”

Miss Pendleton nodded.

“But Miss, he is quite a good… No, never mind. It’s entirely your will, who am I to… But hiding like this is foolish. Whether you accept or refuse is your right, acting like a guilty person is not a dignified attitude. If a gentleman has the freedom to propose, a lady has the right to refuse.”

“Ann. Your words are not wrong at all. Theoretically, that is.”

“I don’t know what ‘theoretically’ means, but… I suppose it’s something like ‘in one’s thoughts’?”

“Yes. You’re always good at grasping context. So you should be able to understand the ambiguity of the situation. It would be incredibly rude for a lady like me to refuse a proposal from someone like Mr. Dalton.”

“What kind of lady are you, Miss?”

“One without a dowry and of a certain age.”

“But Mr. Dalton likes you despite knowing that.”

“I’m grateful that he likes me, but marriage is a different matter.”

“Why?”

“Because it would be an unbalanced marriage. I have nothing to bring except myself. Even if he says he’d be satisfied with just me, that’s only when love is at its peak.”

“But his love could last a lifetime. You’re beautiful and have a good character, Miss. If his nature isn’t base, he’ll always be faithful to you. And if his tastes are refined, he’ll never tire of you.”

Miss Pendleton chuckled and replied.

“You always think well of me. But this issue isn’t about taste.”

Ann wanted to argue but prudently kept her mouth shut and finished tying the braid.

Miss Pendleton rose from her seat and went to stand by the window. Ann brought the shawl draped over the chair, wrapped it around Miss Pendleton’s shoulders, placed her hand on her shoulder, and asked in a low voice.

“Then, how do you feel, Miss? Do you have no feelings at all for him?”

Miss Pendleton was silent for a moment. It was a meaningful silence.

“Ann, do you know what the greatest advantage of being an old maid is?”

“What is it?”

“Being able to share friendships with young gentlemen without any tension. I relied too much on that advantage. That’s why he misunderstood. I have no love for him at all, Ann.”

Ann sensed something in that brief silence just now. It was clearly hesitation. So she realized that her words weren’t entirely sincere.

But she could no longer persuade her mistress. She knew that the lady wasn’t one to be persuaded, and that matters of the heart couldn’t be manipulated by a third party.

Ann finished tidying the lady’s hair, bid her goodnight, and left the room.

With a soft click, the door closed, and Miss Pendleton was left alone in the room. She paced back and forth for a while. She sat on the bed, then stood up, went to the window and then retreated, sat in the rocking chair and then stood up again…

Her mind was restless and wandering. Her feet, which had been drifting around the room, soon stopped in front of the dressing table, and her hand automatically grasped the letter on top of it.

She unfolded the letter she had put away. Her eyes began to follow the neat handwriting spread out on the paper. The clean writing style. The polite content. To write such a letter and even remember to bring the promised gift in the midst of such turmoil. He was a good person.

But when her eyes reached the last sentence of the letter, ‘Ian Dalton’, she held her breath. The last image she had seen of his face flashed before her eyes.

The gaze that had looked at her. The emotion that pierced straight through like a flying spear.

Miss Pendleton dropped the letter. Her body curled up. Her shoulders trembled slightly.

His emotions were so intense that they frightened her. It was a clearly discernible feeling. He had poured out his emotions without spilling a drop. A desire so intense it was almost frightening.

If he had broached the subject at his home or in a public place, she could have handled it a bit more gently. But it was in the forest. A forest where no one else was around. She had fled, fearing what might happen.

After that, he had persistently come to visit, and when she wouldn’t see him, he even lingered around the house. It was proof that the emotions from that day in the forest were neither her imagination nor his temporary impulse.

Miss Pendleton spent a troubled week pondering. When exactly had his feelings begun? For a month, their friendship had been wholesome and comfortable.

She had never thought of him as a man, and she believed he felt the same way. After all, she was inadequate to be his marriage partner. It seemed she had been too casual with him, relying on that fact.

She looked at the letter again. The news of his departure for Whitefield.

It was fortunate for Miss Pendleton. She hoped he could cool his feelings while down at his estate. If they could return to being friends when he came back after sorting out his feelings. Even knowing Mr. Dalton’s heart, she still cherished him. As a friend.

‘No.’

Miss Pendleton murmured unconsciously.

‘Don’t deceive yourself, Laura. Are you really just perplexed by his feelings?’

Miss Pendleton bit her lip. Her hand unfolded Mr. Dalton’s letter again. The words saying he would return. Miss Pendleton’s heart tightened at that sentence, then loosened, then tightened again.

He had left. But he would return. And she was happy about that. She was happier about the fact that he would return than she was sad about his departure. Was this merely a feeling for a friend?

To say so would be a lie. She didn’t want to lie to herself. She had missed him all week. Not seeing him when he had visited almost daily for a month left her feeling empty and lonely.

Knowing he was leaving London today made her feel uneasy, and whenever that happened, she had reread his letter promising to return countless times. It would calm her loneliness.

Her lapse in judgment had not only made him fall in love with her. It had also inclined her heart towards him.

Miss Pendleton folded the letter again. Her fingertips trembled and her heart pounded. She knew she was feeling emotions that were unacceptable to herself. For the first time in a very long while. It was an unwelcome guest to her.

An effort that could not bear fruit, a desire that could not be fulfilled, an emotion that would bring pain that wouldn’t end quickly. She knew from experience. To have to go through that process again.

‘He wants me. Isn’t that enough?’

Miss Pendleton’s heart wavered at that thought for a moment. If his and my feelings align, what more is needed? Why should I think complicated thoughts?

But even as she thought this, her hand was naturally fingering the pearl pendant she always wore. She took off the necklace. In the middle of the necklace strung with tiny pearls, a delicate oval silver ornament with an intricate violet design was shining.

She placed her fingertip on the edge of the silver ornament. A convex button could be felt. She pressed it firmly.

With a click, the front of the ornament popped open. When she opened it, a woman’s profile was revealed inside. A portrait of a woman drawn with delicate brush strokes. Gray eyes. Red hair. A maiden with fair skin and fine features. Her mother, Dolores Pendleton.

She who had lived only until eighteen was preserved just as youthful on paper, living on around her daughter’s neck. She caressed the silver frame containing her mother’s image with her fingertips.

If only she had lived, she would have been a middle-aged lady by her side. But she had died. Her mother, who had died in a distant cottage far from London, suffering from the effects of a difficult childbirth and unable to receive proper treatment due to poverty.

This necklace was given to her by her father when she was seven years old, when he left her at her grandmother’s house. Her father had left, saying only that he would come back for her someday. That was the end. For her, parents became beings that could only be found inside this small pendant.

The pendant had been a part of her throughout her growth. She often opened the pendant to look at her mother’s image.

In her childhood, to forget her sorrows. During her time at boarding school, to comfort her loneliness. In her late teens when she debuted in society, to find someone who could empathize with her.