Chapter 158
Ian realized that something truly terrible had happened.
“To tell such a lie over a mere kiss…!”
Laura raised the parasol in her hand again.
“Laura, wait…”
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
A flurry of blows rained down on Ian’s back. He curled up and shouted.
“Laura, I’m sorry! I was wrong! Darling!”
“Idiot! Moron! Shameless lecher!”
Thwack! Thwack!
The beating stopped. The parasol, pretty but not sturdy, had snapped in two after several blows.
Laura threw the broken parasol to the ground.
Ian looked up at Laura, still unable to fully straighten from his crouched position. Her face was covered in tears.
She scrubbed her face with the back of her hand.
“Liar! We really are sleeping in separate rooms!”
Laura whirled around and ran wildly towards the mansion.
Normally, Ian would have run after her to soothe her, but this time he couldn’t bring himself to follow. It was the first time he had seen her so angry since their marriage.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t upset his wife in the past year. In the early days of their marriage, he had bought her jewelry and dresses every day, only to horrify her when she saw the bills. He had also unknowingly gifted her a magnificent black steed, unaware of her fear of horses, causing her to scream and run away. And he had overworked her so much at night that she had fallen ill.
These were inevitable growing pains for a romantic who had never dated before, when he married a woman he loved to death.
But this time was different. When Laura was angry, she became even more composed than usual. She chose her words carefully, explaining her position without any sharp edges, and if words didn’t work, she resorted to pleading. Even when she was lying in bed with a backache that felt like it would break her in half, it was Laura who held Ian’s hand and asked him to limit their lovemaking to midnight, because she wasn’t made of iron. To him, who should have been begging for forgiveness.
And that Laura had just given him a beating.
‘She’s really angry. Damn it, damn it!’
Only then did Ian belatedly consider Laura’s position. She had lived her whole life trapped in the confines of her reputation. She was already sensitive to what others thought, and now she had become the subject of scandalous rumors, the talk of the town. Of course, she would resent her husband.
‘And I lied to her. I hurt her feelings and made her feel guilty just to get a kiss. How could I do this to my lovely angel? You bad son of a bitch!’
He tore at his hair and banged his head against the rubber tree he had been leaning on just moments before.
After hurting himself enough to make his forehead red, he leaned back against the tree again.
‘Why do I keep testing Laura?’
He kept putting Laura in difficult situations. He knew she hated it, but he still tried to touch her in public, and he tried to take her even in the bright light of day. No matter how nicely Laura reasoned with him, it was only temporary.
They say it’s a woman’s instinct to want to confirm love. But Ian, being a man, also constantly wanted to confirm Laura’s love.
When he touched her, he felt that she belonged to him. When she accepted him even in difficult situations, he realized how patiently she loved him, and when she trembled in his arms, he felt that she desired him too.
Laura was always cautious in expressing her emotions. She expressed her love in ways that would help her husband’s life. Her love made Ian feel comfortable and healthy, but her indirect approach fueled his dissatisfaction. The desire for his beloved wife to express her feelings.
‘Do you want me too? Do you love me? How much? Enough to let me get this close? Enough to let me ask for this much? Enough to believe you’ll forgive me even if I go this far?’
He confirmed the answer by becoming one with Laura. Even though he already knew that she loved him more than life itself, and even though he knew that his actions were not helping their relationship, he couldn’t stop.
‘She’s only human. What if her patience runs out….’
Ian desperately craved a cigarette. If he could just smoke a cigar, it would ease this frustration a little. He unconsciously reached into his jacket pocket. But all he could find was mints.
“Damn it.”
He gritted his teeth and kicked a rolling stone.
Ian paced around for a while to calm himself down, then gathered Laura’s belongings that she had left behind. The handkerchief spread out on the stump and the parasol rolling on the dirt floor. The parasol was damaged beyond repair, but he couldn’t leave something that Laura had touched on a road where anyone could pass by.
Ian dusted off the parasol and thought.
‘What do I do now?’
First, he had to soothe Laura’s anger. To do that, he shouldn’t even go near Laura until she calmed down. The best thing to do with a quiet person is to leave them alone until they calm down. If you keep pestering them to calm down, they’ll lose all affection for you.
He knew this because Ian was also a quiet person. Ian despised the kind of people who couldn’t stand being in conflict and made a fuss, begging to be forgiven.
‘Let’s wait until she cools down. Until she comes to me on her own. Of course, we’ll have to sleep separately at night too.’
He sighed and turned back the way he had come. He thought that as soon as he arrived, he would go into his study and stay out of her sight.
He passed through fields full of ripe wild strawberries and paths full of various flowers. The scenery that had always filled his heart with fantasy looked as gray as if it had been covered in ashes.
Just because the wife who used to walk beside him was gone.
* * *
The afternoon sun shone through the wooden window frame, which was divided into six squares of glass. The yellow, warm sunlight was like six neat slices of butter cut with a heated knife.
Scratch. Scratch.
The sound of someone scribbling echoed through the sunlit study. The noise, slow but steady like the ticking of a clock, suited the antique study, where leather-bound books and oak bookshelves lined the walls.
A person was sitting at a huge oak desk, where a golden table clock, an ink bottle, a paper box, a letterbox, and several dictionaries were arranged. A woman in a silk dress, her golden-red hair neatly arranged with a hairnet, leaned her head at an angle on the desk and moved the hand holding the fountain pen without rest. It was Mrs. Laura S. Dalton.
On the desk where she was bowing her head, there were three piles of paper. On the left was the original text, densely filled with French, in the middle was the manuscript paper, and on the right was the French dictionary.
She fixed her gaze on the left and wrote English sentences on the manuscript paper. The sentences written on the manuscript paper were neatly aligned like a regimented army, even though she wrote them without looking.
Sometimes her hand would stop. When that happened, Laura would turn her head to the right and rummage through the dictionary. She scanned the contents with a careful gaze, pondered for a moment, and then added a word to the manuscript paper to complete the sentence.
She read the paragraph again from the beginning. It was to check whether the word was appropriate for the flow and nuance. Laura nodded her head slightly, as if satisfied, and then turned her gaze to the left again. The sound of scratching letters continued.
It was a peaceful afternoon, as usual. Unless there was something special, she spent the afternoon translating. Laura was generally happy while working. It was well suited to her aptitude. Steadiness. Prudence. Accuracy. Laura had all the abilities that translation required. She was always grateful for finding a way to not let her abilities rot.
But what was wrong? The look on her face was strangely dark. She looked uncomfortable, as if her gums were swollen, and she looked tired, as if she had spent the night with neuralgia.
Laura, who had filled a sheet of manuscript paper, blew on the paper to dry the ink and glanced at the table clock. It was 3:25.
‘It’s almost tea time.’
She arranged the manuscript in the paper box and put a bookmark in the original text and closed it. When she closed the book, the cover was revealed.
She got up from her desk, massaged her shoulders, and walked to the window.
The rose garden could be seen from the window. Thanks to the gardeners’ meticulous care, white, yellow, and red roses were in full bloom on the branches, as dignified as the queen of an absolute monarchy holding a coronation.
Laura liked to look down at the rose garden like this after finishing her work for the day. The reward of finishing work and the luxurious joy of well-tended natural objects combined to make Laura feel pleased.
But there was no particular light of joy in Laura’s expression as she looked down at the rose garden. She was just deep in thought, as if she was thinking about something. The expression was still frowning, as if that thought was not very pleasant.
Knock knock.
Laura told them to come in, still fixing her gaze out the window. She thought it was the maid who had brought the tea for tea time.
The door opened. Tap tap, a cheerful step that didn’t sound like a maid’s entered the study.
“Aunt.”
Laura turned her head. Olivia was standing at the entrance to the study.
The clouds cleared from Laura’s face and a bright smile appeared.
Olivia walked quickly as if she was running. And she kissed Laura on the cheek and hugged her tightly, as she was used to doing.
“Am I interrupting your work?”
“Of course. It’s almost tea time.”
Laura, who was hugged by Olivia, noticed that her niece had grown taller. When they first met, she was barely over her shoulder, but now she seemed to be 5cm taller than Laura.
Olivia was now fifteen years old. As befitting her age, she had lengthened the hem of her skirt, which had always stayed in the middle of her calves, to cover her ankles, and she neatly twisted up her blonde hair without braiding or loosening it.
Her appearance had also grown accordingly. Her cheeks had lost their baby fat and her cheekbones had become slender, and her figure was gradually revealing feminine curves. Olivia, who had been a lovely pretty girl in her childhood, was gradually becoming a beautiful woman like a yellow rose blooming in the garden.
‘The little lady has become a real lady.’
