[Full] Miss Pendleton - Chapter 39

Who would be distressed by feelings that are unlikely to be frustrated?

Her reckless belief had an element of vanity in overestimating her own beauty, but it wasn’t entirely baseless delusion. She had learned from her interactions with Miss Janet that Mr. Dalton wasn’t particularly fond of socializing. The fact that he had returned to bustling London must surely be for some purpose.

She thought it must be related to her. Because ever since Ian Dalton returned to London, he had been consistently attending her tea parties.

Since arriving in London, Ian had been visiting Lance’s tea gatherings quite frequently, though not daily, along with Miss Fairfax. He mingled comfortably with the hostess, Miss Lance, and her main tea party members: Miss Susan Donovan, Miss Victoria Wilkes, and Miss Daisy Orson.

The ladies were initially flustered by Mr. Dalton’s frequent appearances at the tea parties, as they had never really associated with him before. However, they soon became captivated by his impeccable manners and gentlemanly kindness, welcoming him gladly.

He was polite to all the ladies, but especially kind to Miss Lance. Although Ian himself wouldn’t have known, this had led to a long-standing speculation among Miss Lance and her friends that he had feelings for Miss Lance. Ian Dalton’s sudden reappearance in London and frequent visits to Miss Lance were enough to turn that speculation into certainty.

Of course, his kindness towards Miss Lance never once exceeded the manners a gentleman would show to a lady in society. His kindness was reasonable and ordinary. But since they had already firmly misunderstood Mr. Dalton’s true intentions, it was perhaps natural that all his actions seemed like affection for Miss Lance.

“Did you hear what he said earlier? ‘I completely agree with you!'”

Miss Victoria Wilkes exclaimed in an excited voice in the drawing room where the four ladies were left alone after Mr. Dalton had left the tea party early.

“He said to Dora, ‘I completely agree with you.’ And he said it three times!”

“Victoria, were you counting all that?”

Miss Lance asked awkwardly.

“Is that the issue? He said he completely agrees with your words.”

“Victoria, what does that even mean? It’s just something people say.”

“Yes, the words themselves might not mean much. But remember the tone. Remember the expression and gestures. That’s what he was saying: ‘My heart belongs entirely to you!’ Dora, didn’t you feel it?”

Dora Lance said nothing. Her face had turned as red as a pomegranate seed. The other three ladies’ hearts fluttered and swelled at Miss Lance’s reaction.

They loved their perfect friend to the point of worship. So they were proud that she had stolen the heart of such a wonderful gentleman. As if they themselves were receiving the love of such a gentleman.

“He’s fallen in love. Otherwise, he wouldn’t come to tea parties this often.”

“That’s right, I think so too. Maybe soon… soon, he might propose to Dora!”

The three ladies let out a collective ‘Kyaa!’ cheer.

Miss Lance tried to stop her friends from going too far, but she was too pleased with the possibility they were suggesting to put much force behind her words. In fact, it was more like encouragement than discouragement. Seeming to deny, but then affirming. Shaking her head, but then lowering her eyes shyly and remaining silent.

That attitude appeared to her friends to be full of numerous implications. It seemed to hint that some kind of signal was passing between Ian Dalton and Dora Lance.

“If Dora becomes Mr. Dalton’s wife, their children will probably be so beautiful.”

“Just beautiful? They’d be almost like angels!”

“Dora, what names will you give the children?”

Miss Lance tried to smile awkwardly, but all that came out was an expectant smile. Her friends fanned Miss Lance’s flushed face and giggled.

“What are you laughing about? Dora, you’ll make us your bridesmaids, right?”

Miss Lance shook her head.

“Don’t say such things. Nothing has been decided yet. I don’t even know Mr. Dalton’s feelings.”

But none of the ladies gathered there believed Miss Lance’s words. Not even Miss Lance herself who had spoken them.

“Right, if Dora says she doesn’t know, how could we who aren’t involved know? Right~?”

When Miss Wilkes looked around at the other friends as she spoke, the rest of the ladies nodded while trying to hide their sly smiles.

“But, if you do have a wedding, it must, must be held at Whitefield. That way, we can see Whitefield Hall, either as guests or bridesmaids. Understood?”

Miss Lance, belatedly thinking she should be more cautious, kept her mouth tightly shut. With the person in question backing out, the three ladies lost the momentum to continue their foolishness. Their conversation shifted to Whitefield.

“Come to think of it, Whitefield Hall is famous, but there’s not a single picture of it.”

“That’s right. For such an old mansion, you’d think there’d be pictures circulating.”

Miss Susan Donovan from Yorkshire pretended to know.

“It’s a tradition passed down from the previous Dalton generation. They try not to display the family crest or the status of the mansion externally as much as possible. I heard that a quiet, pastoral life is the Dalton family tradition. That’s why Mr. Dalton doesn’t open the mansion to tourists either. The mansion is strictly a home, so it shouldn’t be exposed to others, they say.”

“So that’s why Whitefield Hall is the only one missing from travel brochures?”

Miss Wilkes sighed. But Miss Daisy Orson, who was nearby, clapped her hands and exclaimed.

“Ah, that’s right! There is someone who has seen a picture of Whitefield Hall!”

The eyes of the three ladies turned to Miss Orson.

“What? Where? In which gallery?”

“In the drawing room of the Pendleton family townhouse!”

“What?”

The eyes of the three ladies widened.

“When we had a tea party in the Pendleton drawing room, one of my friends saw a landscape painting hanging there. When she asked Miss Pendleton what that painting was, she said it was a picture of Whitefield!”

“Huh? How did the Pendleton family get a picture of Whitefield?”

As Miss Wilkes tilted her head, Miss Lance, who was nearby, speculated.

“Mr. Dalton used to frequent the Pendleton house, remember? He must have drawn it for them then.”

The other ladies were all surprised at those words.

“Ian Dalton and the Pendleton people became that close? Close enough to give them a picture of Whitefield Hall, which is never shown to outsiders?”

Miss Orson shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, I guess Miss Pendleton must have really worked on Mr. Dalton. Having such a rare picture hanging there helps with the fame, doesn’t it?”

Afterwards, the ladies kept asking Miss Orson about the picture, but since Miss Orson had only heard about the existence of the picture, she couldn’t satisfy their curiosity. The ladies ended the tea party in a very tantalizing state, with their curiosity not at all resolved.

After her friends left, Miss Lance, alone, sat down in front of the harp placed in one corner of the drawing room and began to delicately pluck the strings.

Her eyes followed the sheet music and her fingers diligently moved to where they should be positioned and plucked the strings with force. But her mind couldn’t concentrate on the music and wandered elsewhere.

Mrs. Dalton. The wedding march at Whitefield. The mistress of Whitefield Hall. Children who would inherit the Dalton name and be the spitting image of herself and Ian Dalton.

These were imaginings sweeter than the cream cakes she had just eaten at the tea party. She indulged in happy fantasies, elated with joy.

For the past few days, if the picture he had drawn for her kept sending Miss Lance to the Fairfax family’s drawing room, today’s tea party kept sending her to the grand mansion of Whitefield.

Miss Lance played and replayed one page without even thinking of turning the sheet music, imagining a beautiful future with him. A new life that would begin at Whitefield in the future.

To her, the future with Mr. Dalton was no longer a delusion or vain hope that she should indulge in briefly and then emerge from. It was a future that would rightfully be placed before her, like a loaf of white bread that would be on her table tomorrow.

Without realizing it herself, she had lost her discernment, swept up by friends who couldn’t distinguish between wish and reality.

Miss Pendleton was incredibly busy for a while. Before her uncle came to America, she had a mountain of things to do. For several days, Miss Pendleton lived completely unaware of the news that Ian Dalton had returned to London, amidst her worries about new guests.

But she hadn’t forgotten Ian Dalton. Even in her busiest moments, whenever she entered or left the drawing room, she always first looked at the picture of Whitefield hanging on the wall.

The meticulous landscape painting of Whitefield, where not a single brushstroke was careless. Every time she saw Whitefield, so beautifully transferred by his hand that it dazzled the eyes, she felt a faint ache in her heart.

It felt like several months had passed, even though it hadn’t even been a month since he left. She recalled his dark eyes and the warm expression on his delicate face, and her heart ached thinking of him having to leave after only giving her a gift due to her rejection.

But whenever such thoughts came to her, she quickly shook them off. It was the best thing for both herself and him.

In the warm spring of May, a splendid four-wheeled carriage bearing the Pendleton family crest stopped in front of the Pendleton family townhouse.

Miss Pendleton, standing in front of the mansion alongside the servants right on time, could see a young man with a sleek face stepping down from the carriage door opened by a servant.

Although she had never seen him before in her life, she could immediately tell from his flashy attire and angular face that he was Charles Pendleton, the second son of the Pendleton family.

‘He’s the spitting image of uncle in his youth.’

Miss Pendleton became even more nervous upon seeing his face. Charles Pendleton resembled her uncle too much. As soon as she saw him, the image of her uncle throwing a cigarette case made of birch wood at her and chasing her away from the fireplace in her childhood vividly came back to life in her mind, piercing through the veil of time.