At those words, Mr. Fairfax smiled more happily than ever before. He took Miss Pendleton’s hand, shook it vigorously, and repeatedly expressed his gratitude. Then he asked Miss Hyde again if she needed any more help.

Miss Hyde committed the rudeness of shaking her head without even looking at him. But Mr. Fairfax paid no mind and kindly bid her farewell, saying he would stop by the day after tomorrow to return the Mary Shelley novel he had borrowed last time.

Miss Pendleton couldn’t help but feel sorry as she saw Mr. Fairfax’s face, which she had always thought handsome, now shining brilliantly, filled with the expectation of love.

After Mr. Fairfax left the table, Miss Hyde sat down. Her complexion had turned pale. Miss Pendleton sat beside her, holding her ice-cold hands tightly to warm them.

Miss Hyde’s face was now free of the inappropriate expression from earlier, filled only with guilt. Miss Pendleton realized that her mind had been made up completely by their brief conversation.

The day after tomorrow, she would reject Mr. Fairfax’s proposal.

* * *

After seeing off Mr. and Mrs. Morton, who were leaving straight for Italy after all the wedding events, Miss Pendleton boarded her carriage with her tired body. The carriage slowly started moving.

Miss Pendleton leaned her head against the window and stared blankly outside.

As soon as they left the quiet park surrounding the wedding venue, the busy evening streets of London unfolded.

Laborers wearing flat caps and smoking pipes walking somewhere, middle-aged women wrapped in worn capes hurrying home,

Young boys eager to peer into the gunsmith’s shop, and young workers carrying ladders to light the gas lamps.

Street vendors with piles of fruits and vegetables about to topple over, and little girls approaching well-dressed passersby to sell flowers.

It was the same busy and noisy London as always.

The scenery gradually changed as the carriage neared its destination.

Street vendors were replaced by custom hat shops and lace stores with beautiful window displays. Passersby became gentlemen in silk hats and ladies in dresses with protruding bustles.

The only hurrying people were young maids rushing to their respective mansions with urgent errands.

Finally, they had entered Grosvenor Street, the wealthiest residential area in Mayfair.

Miss Pendleton straightened up and smoothed her hair once. Soon the carriage stopped, and the coachman quickly got down to open the door. Miss Pendleton lightly stepped out of the carriage, holding the coachman’s hand. After greeting him, she went straight into her house.

The Pendleton townhouse, familiar to Miss Pendleton, was actually enough to surprise most people.

Most visitors froze as soon as they opened the door and entered, faced with the huge Impressionist painting hanging right in front of them.

And then they would feel dizzy from the series of bright and provocative oil paintings lining the hallway connected to the reception room, the red tapestries imported from China, and the porcelain vases decorated with snake paintings.

But for Miss Pendleton, who had been living here for over a decade, it was nothing new. She paid no attention to any of it and quickly walked up to the second floor. She knocked on the middle door of the three rooms.

“Laura?”

“Yes, it’s Laura. I’m coming in.”

Miss Pendleton opened the door and entered the room. The curtained room was a bit dark, with bright light coming only from the blazing fireplace.

Mrs. Abigail Pendleton, sitting by the fire, had the cat Annie on her lap and was intently looking at a stack of papers, relying on the firelight and a small gas lamp placed nearby. Miss Pendleton approached Mrs. Abigail and sat on the small stool next to her.

“Grandmother, are you feeling alright?”

Mrs. Abigail rubbed her tired eyes and replied lightly.

“Better than earlier. Though this dreadful manuscript is about to make me ill again.”

“Ah, Mr. Naze’s manuscript? I heard he rewrote it five times, is it that bad?”

“I don’t understand why he won’t listen to the advice not to repeat the same adjective more than three times in one paragraph. And I can’t fathom why he keeps mentioning that the protagonist had bad kidneys as a child every five pages. Is the necklace the two are chasing hidden in this person’s kidney? Oh my, even my healthy kidneys are starting to ache.”

Mrs. Abigail threw the stack of manuscripts onto the side table and turned to Miss Pendleton with curious eyes.

“So, dear. How was Elizabeth and Edward’s wedding today? Explain it to me in detail from start to finish.”

Miss Pendleton unleashed the sweet details of the wedding she had stored in her mind for this moment. The decorations of the venue and the faces of the invited guests. The wedding attire of the bride and groom and the pitch of their voices during the vows. The size of the reception hall and the types of food served at the buffet.

The sweetest part was the single tear that Mr. Edward Morton shed right after kissing the bride. It was undoubtedly the highlight of this wedding event and worthy of being talked about for a long time.

Mrs. Abigail was as surprised as the wedding guests at that part and soon burst into laughter. She seemed to have forgotten about her usual gout pain and the bitter taste she felt while reading the third-rate novel earlier.

“I knew it. Edward Morton. Didn’t I tell you that friend had a soft heart? But I didn’t expect him to show tears. It’s a shame I couldn’t see it in person. I’ll have to tease him thoroughly when they return from their honeymoon.”

“Oh, Grandmother.”

Miss Pendleton burst into laughter.

“Beth said she would buy some sheet music and books for you from Italy.”

“Oh, really? That’s something to look forward to. Then what did she say she would buy for you?”

“A lace shawl. A snow-white lace shawl.”

“Excellent. The one you’re using now is over ten years old, isn’t it? I was thinking of buying you a new one soon. Beth has a good eye.”

“She’s been a clever girl since childhood.”

“Yes, that’s why she ended up with a man like Edward. An ordinary woman would have been weak-kneed and unable to say a word just being near Edward. In fact, Beth was like that at first. Do you remember the first formal dinner we had at our house? Morton was so stiff, like a planted stake, and glared at Beth so coldly that she, with her usually good appetite, just nibbled on a few pieces of salad and ran away saying she had a headache.”

Mrs. Abigail clicked her tongue.

“Good heavens, even if a person is awkward in social situations, how could a gentleman treat a lady like that? And then a wedding a few months later. It’s amazing. It probably wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t bridged the gap between them.”

Miss Pendleton didn’t reply, but her face turned slightly red.

“You were the first to speak to Edward, who was drinking in a corner, dumbfounded and at a loss after Beth had fled in a hurry. Talking for nearly two hours, you figured out what a decent fellow Morton was. And that he liked Beth.”

“……”

“From then on, you often invited Beth and Edward to tea parties, and the three of you frequently went for walks in Hyde Park. Beth soon came to like Edward, and you gave a lot of encouragement to Beth, who was suffering from the thought that the wooden Edward couldn’t possibly like her. Today’s masterpiece of a wedding was ultimately thanks to you. No, why are you shaking your head?”

Miss Pendleton held her grandmother’s hand tightly with an embarrassed smile.

“It’s hard to hear, Grandmother. Their marriage was created by the two of them, I hardly intervened at all. Please don’t say such things in front of anyone.”

“Is there any need to say it out loud? Everyone in London already knows. That you connected the eldest son of the Morton family with the precious only daughter of Viscount Dyer. How many times is this now? The happy couples you’ve brought together. Your friend Rosemary and Judge McLean, Olive from the Baron Low’s family and the eldest son of the Marquess Raven family, and…”

“Grandmother, stop!”

Miss Pendleton’s face turned bright red as she shook her grandmother’s hand vigorously. Mrs. Abigail, as always, laughed happily, enjoying teasing her shy granddaughter.

“You’re so cute, blushing like that whenever someone compliments you, it makes me want to tease you more. Today’s wedding is exactly the tenth couple you’ve brought together. My goodness, our Laura is London’s best matchmaker. Our capable Laura Pendleton!”

Miss Pendleton bowed her head deeply, her face red, without saying a word. Mrs. Abigail chuckled as she stroked Miss Pendleton’s beautiful golden hair wrapped tightly in a net. Then she gently cupped her granddaughter’s chin and lifted it.

Miss Pendleton’s face was revealed in front of the blazing fireplace. Flushed cheeks and deep gray eyes shining brightly. Straight and delicate features and fair skin.

Mrs. Abigail looked at her granddaughter’s face for a moment. In the beautiful features nestled in that oval face, she could always find her daughter. Dolores Pendleton, her beautiful and intelligent daughter who had left too early.

Mrs. Abigail’s cheerful smile soon turned bitter. She caressed her granddaughter’s face.

“Laura, answer my question honestly.”

Miss Pendleton stared intently at Mrs. Abigail’s serious face.

“You’re still so beautiful at twenty-nine. As if you’ve sidestepped the flow of time. And ten years ago, you were even more beautiful than now. Then and now, you’ve been a wise and kind young lady. I’ve never seen a young lady as excellent in both appearance and character as you. Then why do you use everything you have for others? Hmm? Why haven’t you sought your own love?”