Chapter 24
<24> The Truth Is, They Feel the Same
When Ann, following Miss Pendleton's orders, told the gentleman that visits were not allowed, he seemed to have expected it, asking her to deliver a letter instead, but eventually leaving only his visiting card and retreating. He then loitered around the house for several hours before finally leaving.
Watching this situation unfold, it was not strange for Ann to deduce that something must have happened between the two during the picnic.
Therefore, Ann could not suppress her curiosity about the letter.
What on earth could it say? A simple greeting? If so, Miss Pendleton would not be so downcast. Or a declaration of love? Perhaps a proposal? If that were the case, her current unhappy expression made even less sense.
'Ah! If only Miss Pendleton were like those frivolous young ladies from other households, confiding all her romantic stories to her maid!'
Ann sighed and diligently brushed her mistress's hair. If she felt stifled, she would naturally tell her. Ann finished brushing her hair and loosely braided it into a single plait so it wouldn't bother her when she slept.
Just then, Ann's patience was rewarded. Miss Pendleton opened her mouth.
"Ann, Mr. Dalton made something like a proposal to me."
'I knew it!'
Ann cheered inwardly but reacted with feigned surprise on the outside.
"Oh my, really? He confessed his feelings?"
"No. He said something that would allow one to infer his feelings."
"Miss Pendleton, I have little learning, so I don't know difficult words like 'infer.' But judging by the nuance, it feels like he didn't say it outright but hinted at it a little."
"Something like that."
"Is that why you haven't been receiving visitors lately?"
"Yes. He must have found it very strange that I pretended to have a cold for a while. He must have noticed, right?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. I can't fool Ann's sharp eyes."
"But Miss Pendleton, after receiving the proposal, you've been avoiding Mr. Dalton? Perhaps... do you intend to reject his proposal?"
Miss Pendleton nodded.
"But Miss Pendleton, he is very well-off... no, never mind. It's entirely up to you, so what am I saying... But hiding like this is foolish. Acceptance or rejection is your right, but acting like a guilty person is not a dignified attitude. If a gentleman has the freedom to propose, a lady has the right to refuse."
"Ann. Everything you say is correct. In theory, that is."
"I don't know what 'theoretical' means... but it probably means 'in terms of thinking,' right?"
"Yes. You're good at grasping context. So you can also grasp the ambiguity of the situation. It's very rude for a lady like me to reject a proposal from someone like Mr. Dalton."
"What kind of lady is 'a lady like you'?"
"I have no dowry, and I'm old enough."
"But, Mr. Dalton likes you even knowing that."
"It's kind of him to like me, but marriage is a separate matter."
"Why?"
"It's a lopsided marriage. I have nothing to bring except myself. Even if he can be satisfied with just me, that's only when love is at its peak."
"But his love might last a lifetime. You are beautiful and have a good character. If his nature is not base, he will always be faithful to you. If his taste is refined, he will never tire of you."
Miss Pendleton chuckled and replied.
"You always evaluate me favorably. But this issue has nothing to do with taste."
Ann wanted to argue but cautiously closed her mouth and finished tying the knot.
Miss Pendleton got up from her seat and went to stand by the window. Ann took the shawl hanging on the chair, draped it over Miss Pendleton's shoulders, placed her hand on her shoulder, and asked in a low voice.
"Then, what about your feelings, Miss Pendleton? Do you have no feelings for him at all?"
Miss Pendleton was silent for a moment. It was a meaningful silence.
"Ann, do you know what the biggest advantage of being an old maid is?"
"What is it?"
"Being able to have friendships with young gentlemen without any tension. I relied too much on that advantage. That's why he misunderstood. I have no love for him at all, Ann."
Ann sensed something in that brief silence just now. It was definitely hesitation. So she realized that her words were not entirely sincere.
But she could no longer persuade Miss Pendleton. Not only would she not listen to persuasion, but she also knew that matters of the heart could not be swayed by a third party.
Ann tidied up Miss Pendleton's hair, said goodnight, and left the room.
The sound of the door closing, click, was heard, and Miss Pendleton was left alone in the room. She wandered around the room for a while. She sat down on the bed and got up, went to the window again and stepped back, sat in the rocking chair and got up...
Her heart was restless and wandering. Her feet, which had been wandering around the room, soon stopped in front of the dressing table, and her hand automatically grabbed the letter on the dressing table.
She unfolded the letter she had folded. Her eyes began to follow the neat handwriting spread out on the paper. Clean writing style. Polite content. To write a letter and even bring the promised gift in such a flustered state. He was a good person.
However, when her eyes reached the last sentence of the letter, 'Ian Dalton,' she stopped breathing. The last image of his face flashed before her eyes.
The gaze that had been directed at her. An emotion that pierced straight through like a flying spear.
Miss Pendleton dropped the letter. Her body shrank. Her shoulders trembled slightly.
His emotions were so intense that they frightened her. It was a clearly recognizable emotion. He poured out his feelings without holding back. A frighteningly intense desire.
If he had brought it up at her house or in a public place, she could have handled it more gently. But it was the forest. An empty forest. She had run away, fearing something might happen.
After that, he had persistently visited and, when she refused to see him, even roamed around the house. It was proof that the emotions in the forest that day were not her imagination or his temporary impulse.
Miss Pendleton spent a painful week agonizing. When did his feelings even begin? For a month, their friendship had been healthy and comfortable.
She had never thought of him as a man, and she believed he felt the same. Because she was not good enough to be his marriage partner. Relying on that fact, she seemed to have treated him too freely.
She looked at the letter again. The news that he was leaving for Whitefield.
It was fortunate for Miss Pendleton. She hoped he could go down to the Estate and cool his emotions. If, when he returned after sorting out his feelings, they could go back to being friends. Even knowing Mr. Dalton's feelings, he was still precious to her. As a friend.
'No.'
Miss Pendleton muttered without realizing it.
'Don't deceive yourself, Laura. Are you really just embarrassed by his feelings?'
Miss Pendleton bit her lip. Her hand picked up Mr. Dalton's letter again and unfolded it. The words that he would return. Miss Pendleton's heart tightened and loosened at that sentence, then tightened again.
He was leaving. But he was coming back. And she was happy about that. She was happier that he was coming back than that he was leaving. Was this simply a feeling for a friend?
To say so would be a lie. She didn't want to lie to herself. She had missed him all week. Not seeing him, who had visited almost every day for a month, left her feeling empty and lonely.
Knowing that he was leaving London today made her feel restless, and every time she felt that way, she repeatedly read the letter saying he would return. Then the loneliness subsided.
Her carelessness had not only made him fall in love with her. It had also made her heart lean towards him.
Miss Pendleton folded the letter again. Her fingertips trembled, and her heart pounded. She knew that she was feeling emotions that she could not allow herself to feel. For the first time in a long time. It was an unwelcome guest for her.
It was an emotion that would bring fruitless efforts, unattainable desires, and pain that would not end soon. She knew it from experience. To have to go through that process again.
'He wants me. Isn't that enough?'
Miss Pendleton's heart wavered at that thought for a moment. If his and her hearts aligned, what more could be needed? Why should she have complicated thoughts?
But even as she thought that, her hand naturally reached for the pearl pendant she always wore. She took off the necklace. In the middle of the necklace, which was densely strung with small pearls, shone a hard, oval silver ornament with delicate violet-shaped filigree.
She brought her fingertips to the edge of the silver ornament. She felt a convex button. She pressed it hard.
Pop, the front of the filigree popped out. When she opened it, the profile of a woman was revealed inside. A portrait of a woman drawn with delicate brushstrokes. Gray eyes. Red hair. A fair-skinned maiden with fine features. Her mother, Dolores Pendleton.
Having lived only to the age of eighteen, she was preserved on paper in her youthful appearance, living on the neck of her daughter. She stroked the silver frame containing the image of her mother with her fingertips.
A woman who would have been a middle-aged woman by her side if she had only lived. But she had died. Her mother, who had suffered damage to her body after a difficult birth in a cabin far from London and died without receiving proper treatment due to poverty.
This necklace was given to her by her father when she was seven years old, when he left her at her grandmother's house. Her father left only with the words that he would come back for her someday. That was the end. For her, her parents had become beings that could only be found in this small pendant.
The pendant had been a part of her throughout her growing years. She often opened the pendant and looked at the image of her mother.
In her childhood, to forget her sadness. During her time at boarding school, to soothe her loneliness. In her late teens, when she debuted in society, to find someone to empathize with.
