Miss Pendleton (Update to C.222 END) - Chapter 143

He continued his thoughts, hands tucked into the pockets of his robe.

“When spring comes, I’ll gather the servants to sweep and polish the manor. I’ll also fulfill my social duties. Once the snow melts, I’ll visit the parsonage and the tenant farmers. I’ll return to my work and attend church again. And to the nephews I invited to White Field…”

He stood abruptly. The headache, quiet for a while, surged back.

He had to tell his nephews that their teacher would not return. That was why he had invited the children to White Field.

A dreadful feeling washed over him. Ian was a strict uncle, but he had always taken care not to wound the children’s hearts when disciplining them. To him, his nephews were treasures he would protect with his life, though he would never admit it, even at knifepoint.

Yet, he was about to inflict upon these precious children the same pain he had endured—the wound of losing Master Sheldon.

He rubbed his face wearily. The more he dwelt on his thoughts, the more they yielded sighs or tears.

He turned back to the window.

Whenever his mind grew troubled, he gazed down at White Field. The landscape no longer stirred him as it once did, but it offered some small comfort.

Standing by the window, he traced White Field with his eyes. The forest where he had walked hand in hand with his sister in childhood. The forest’s edge where he had paced, waiting for his father’s late return. The meadow where he had sat side by side with Master Sheldon, sharing countless stories.

A world filled with precious, warm memories—Ian Dalton’s world.

“Protecting this place is my reason for living.”

He smiled wistfully.

“From now on, this place will be my solace. White Field holds memories. It will remind me of fleeting happiness as I grow old alone. Of the childhood when I had a family. When death draws near in the distant future, I’ll find a worthy successor within the family to inherit this place. Someone kind who will care for and protect it.”

Such thoughts made him feel not thirty-one, but sixty-one. The lethargy he felt seemed fitting for such an age, and he mocked himself for it.

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