To be saying such things right after a funeral. Ian sighed inwardly.

“No.”

“What on earth were you doing in London for over a month?”

“Listening to William nag me to find a suitable woman. In London it’s William pressuring me, here it’s my brother-in-law. Where can I escape to be free of this burden?”

Robert Fairfax laughed heartily, inappropriate for the occasion.

“You could escape it immediately by picking any maiden and making her Mrs. Dalton. Though you’d be trading it for the nagging of a wife instead!”

Mr. Dalton silently began walking towards a less crowded area. Robert walked alongside him.

“I’m of the same mind as your sister. I hope you’ll soon be tied to a young lady. Having experienced marriage myself, I can say the sooner the better. Especially for a man. You can’t imagine how invigorating it is to have your own household and family.”

“You mean the nagging of a wife?”

“You get used to it. She’s still my wife raising my children. If you listen with the attitude of ‘My dear wife is paying me extra attention today, what an honor for our family,’ it’s not so bad in its own way.”

“Whenever I hear married people talk, I find it quite confusing. I can’t tell if they love or hate their spouses.”

“That’s because it’s both. You don’t understand the complex emotions of a married couple. I didn’t understand either when I was a bachelor. I truly learned about life after getting married. The joys and sorrows of human existence. In that sense, you only know half of what life is about. You’re still just a child.”

“It seems married people collectively learn somewhere to treat bachelors like children. Perhaps I should hurry and find a Mrs. Dalton to make me a real adult, if only to avoid this treatment.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. Go find one quickly. I actually thought you might bring back a young lady from London. Surely the London social scene is much better than this neighborhood.”

“The ‘waters’… If you mean beauty, then yes. There are certainly more beautiful women than in Yorkshire.”

“So, among those women, was there none who captivated you?”

Mr. Dalton briefly thought of one woman who had crossed his mind, but shook his head at his brother-in-law.

“My, my. If I had been in your position, I would have fallen in love a hundred times over.”

“It’s a good thing you weren’t born as me then. Falling in love a hundred times would be no small feat.”

Despite the continued cynical responses, Robert Fairfax laughed heartily.

“You’re being awfully prim and proper. Well then, come visit Dunville Park soon. See your sister’s face and let’s go hunting together.”

“Yes. Thank you for coming, brother-in-law.”

Robert Fairfax shook hands lightly with Mr. Dalton, then casually put his hands back in his pockets and sauntered off to where his carriage was waiting.

Ian stayed until all the mourners had left. Then he discussed the living arrangements for Mrs. Genfield and her family, who remained in the now-empty vicarage.

Mrs. Genfield had only a younger brother, an officer deployed to India, and it had been decided that she would live with her brother’s family when they returned to England. But it would be several years before that family returned to England.

Ian decided to rent them a small cottage east of Whitefield at a low price until they could join her brother’s family.

With matters settled, Ian left the vicarage and began slowly walking down the road stretching towards Whitefield Hall. As the vicarage and Whitefield were within a 30-minute walk, he had left his carriage behind.

After leaving the village with its small shops and houses of various sizes, a quiet tree-lined road soon appeared. It was a peaceful path with streams and fields peeking through between the trees over 40 feet tall on both sides of the road.

Sunlight filtered through the thick foliage, scattering patches on the ground. Ian walked, treading on these pieces of sunlight. After the tree-lined road ended and crossing one field, a densely wooded area appeared.

It was a birch forest that gave Whitefield its name. Walking along the wide, well-maintained dirt road, one could hear the song of nightingales and the sound of wind rustling through the trees.

His heart warmed as he gazed at the birch trees filling his view.

Though he had walked this path thousands of times since childhood, it felt fresh after his long journey. During his stay in London, he hadn’t realized it, but he had been unconsciously missing this place. This Whitefield where he was born and raised.

He suddenly became aware of how much he loved this place. His heart responded with intense affection for every blade of grass, every tree, and even every clump of soil that met his eyes.

He passed through the forest and crossed a bridge spanning a wide stream. Soon the natural trees gave way to well-tended garden trees. Before long, the massive Whitefield Hall came into view.

Whitefield Hall was an enormous mansion, its sheer size apparent even from a distance. Built of beautiful white marble bricks in harmony with the white forest, the multi-storied stone building had the dignity and class befitting the home of this land’s master. He entered through the front door, passing by the neatly landscaped garden and fountain.

As soon as he entered, the small and stocky old butler Ramswick approached him.

“Welcome home, sir.”

Mr. Dalton nodded.

“Send some of our servants to Hartnum Cottage early tomorrow morning to tidy up. It’s where the Reverend Genfield’s family will be living, so tell them to take care.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

He was about to head straight to his study but turned back to Ramswick.

“Did I ask after you when I returned yesterday?”

“No, sir. But it’s alright.”

“Have you been well, Ramswick?”

“Yes, I’ve been well.”

“And your health?”

“Yes.”

“Your knee?”

“It’s fine, thanks to you, sir.”

Ian smiled faintly.

“I’m glad. I’m sorry for being away so long.”

“Not at all, sir.”

Ian went up to his study. However, Ramswick followed him into the study.

“Is something the matter?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Ian’s expression invited him to speak.

“About the land agent we hired temporarily. I think it would be best not to employ him any longer.”

“Why is that?”

“While you were away, he worked diligently for half the day. From morning until afternoon. But for the rest of the day, he would hunt recklessly on your hunting grounds and try to play unseemly tricks on the maids.”

Mr. Dalton’s brow furrowed.

“In fact, if this were all, I wouldn’t have mentioned it, but it seems he may have taken a bribe during the mill leasing process. One of the servants overheard two people whispering about it in a pub.”

He sighed, “Hmm,” and folded his arms.

“I wonder if there’s such a thing as an honest land agent in this world. They always try to take something beyond their wages one way or another.”

“I’d bet there isn’t.”

“I’d bet on that too,”

Ian immediately sat at his desk, wrote a letter, and handed it to Ramswick.

“Send this tomorrow along with his wages for the work done so far.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

Ramswick left with that.

Ian sat down and began working. Though he had been away from Whitefield for less than two months, there was a mountain of work. The most urgent matters were calculating tenant rents, resolving legal disputes within the estate, settling conflicts between farms over fence installation, and meeting with potential building tenants.

Once those were resolved, he needed to personally visit the mine currently being excavated and meet with lawyers as soon as possible. But before that, he had to review how the land agent had handled things in his absence.

He examined the account books and read through the lease-related documents prepared by the agent and the business-related letters that had arrived. There were parts that differed completely from the explanations he had received by letter so far, and some matters had been handled in direct opposition to his instructions.

As he went through the documents, his mood grew increasingly gloomy.

He was angry at the land agent for handling things so poorly, and additionally irritated with his brother-in-law who had recommended this agent. The fact that he had introduced such a person showed how indifferent his brother-in-law usually was about his estate.

But Ian knew. He knew from personal experience how difficult it was to find a trustworthy land agent.

After his father’s death, who had entrusted the entire estate management to the land agent, Ian was shocked to discover through ledgers and documents how much money the agent had embezzled over the years.

He immediately dismissed the agent and handled everything himself. It was a series of troublesome tasks, but he couldn’t let the foundations of Whitefield be eaten away.

Once again realizing that land agents were an untrustworthy lot, he reorganized the messy ledgers and re-recorded the documents. Then he wrote letters in turn to lawyers seeking legal advice.

After several hours, when the day’s tasks were adequately wrapped up, he rose from his desk and went to the window. Nightfall had dyed Whitefield a deep navy blue. The moon and stars shone piercingly over the black silhouette of distant winding mountain peaks.

He opened the lid of a wooden cigarette box placed on a table near the window. He took out one of the cigars inside, put it in his mouth, and struck a match. As he lit the end of the cigar and deeply inhaled the filter, his throbbing headache subsided. With a more relaxed feeling, he looked out the window while puffing on the cigar.

A leisurely and satisfied mood. He finally felt that he had truly returned to Whitefield. This was his real life. In front of the study window overlooking all of Whitefield.

As he tapped off the ash, he thought about his recent life in London. The streets filled with carriages and people, and the bustling balls. The formal dinners and tea parties surrounded by elegant furniture.

Though it had been socializing with London’s highest class, it held little meaning for him, so even the afterimages were blurry. He could barely remember whom he had met or where he had gone.

There was only one thing he remembered clearly. A single lady living in the Pendleton house on Grosvenor Street.

He tapped the ash into the ashtray. His sense of satisfaction faded.

What would she be doing now? Dancing at a ball? Attending a formal dinner at a friend’s house? Gazing at the night sky from her room like him?

Ah, would she be longing to see me as I long to see her?

‘Not likely.’

He smiled self-deprecatingly. How could she, who had so firmly rejected him, who had refused to see his face for a week, possibly want to see him? She probably wouldn’t even think of him. He took another drag on the filter.

He had been thinking constantly since the train ride back to Whitefield. About why she had cut him off so abruptly before he could even properly propose. About why she, with such a kind disposition, had become so cold towards him, even if she didn’t love him.