Translator: Nox

Chapter 37

<Chapter 37> Back to London (3)

Miss Pendleton was a lady who cherished friendship. After all, the reason he had become close to her in the first place was to arrange a match between her and one of his friends.

Miss Lance was Miss Pendleton's closest friend. Then, it might be possible to get closer to Miss Pendleton again through Miss Lance.

He soon straightened his clothes and stood up. Then, he went downstairs with Janet.

In the drawing room, Miss Lance, wearing a deep rose-colored dress and a wide-brimmed hat that looked like a tray on her head, was having tea with William. When Ian appeared, Miss Lance smiled brightly and held out her hand to him. He approached Miss Lance and kissed the back of her hand.

"Goodness, Mr. Dalton! You vanished from London without a word!"

"I am sorry to have done so, Miss Lance."

"And you reappeared as suddenly as you disappeared."

Ian nodded and sat on the sofa where William was sitting. Janet went to sit slightly on the opposite sofa with Miss Lance.

Miss Lance began to express her condolences for the pastor's obituary and asked about life in Whitefield. Mr. Dalton readily answered everything she asked. Impeccably polite, but without any wit, only the facts as they were.

No matter how much she might be a lady who could be a bridge to Miss Pendleton, he was a man who had little talent for entertaining ladies.

But Miss Lance, who was ready to listen to anything Ian Dalton said with interest, laughed and enjoyed every word. Ian thought cheerfulness was not a bad trait, but he wondered why she was so amused by the lease issue that had even gone to court.

She must be either a scatterbrain who finds everything funny or a little lacking in intelligence. He thought dryly.

About twenty minutes passed, which was happy for Miss Lance and extremely boring for Mr. Dalton. Ian tried his best to act like a likable gentleman to her, but as there was a limit to hiding his true nature, his expression gradually disappeared. He gradually began to feel tired of Miss Lance's tactless laughter and uninformative curiosity.

I just want to be holed up in my room, wasting away with a cheroot. Ian thought, looking into his teacup.

"Mr. Dalton, you really chose a good time to return. This is the height of the Ball season, and soon there will be the Cambridge and Oxford boat race. Ah, come to think of it, Mr. Fairfax and Mr. Dalton went to different universities, so you'll be cheering with your pride on the line, won't you?"

Mr. Fairfax interjected.

"No, I don't know about me, but Ian isn't very interested in sports games. Even if Oxford beats Cambridge five years in a row, he won't hold any grudge against me. He'd rather be angry at me for dragging him out to see something like a boat race."

"How strange, I thought it was instinct for men to be so invested in such things! Then what do you enjoy, Mr. Dalton?"

Ian took a sip of tea and replied.

"I mainly read books or ride horses. I lead an extremely boring life."

"He also does drawing! Miss Lance, Ian is an artist. He draws things like pianos or vases exactly as they are in real life."

Janet interjected to brag about her handsome in-law. Miss Lance put down the teacup she was holding at the unexpected story.

"Oh my, you draw? And at the level of an artist?"

Ian waved his hand, thinking it was going to be a nuisance.

"No. Janet is exaggerating. I'm definitely not at the level of an artist."

"No, Miss Lance. I saw Ian's sketchbook the other day, and he was better than the art teachers who come for lessons."

"Janet, stop it."

Ian stopped Janet. But it was too late to turn off Miss Lance's interest. She asked Ian to show her his drawings, and even when Ian refused, she asked again. Mr. Fairfax, who was next to her, also began to urge Ian to show Miss Lance the drawings.

Ian was embarrassed and looked at William, but William was just watching the fire from across the river. For him, treating the visiting lady with courtesy was more important than saving his friend from embarrassment. That was just like William.

Eventually, Ian had a servant bring down the sketchbook from his luggage.

The two ladies opened Ian's sketchbook and began to look at it with their heads together. As they turned each page, sketches filled with farmers plowing fields, livestock grazing in the fields, and his nieces and nephews, young boys and girls, unfolded before the ladies' eyes.

The ladies exclaimed. The drawings were truly wonderful, born from accurate observation, delicate skill, and affectionate gaze. In the eyes of the ladies, who had been trained in art education since childhood, Ian Dalton's drawings were flawless masterpieces.

Janet watched Miss Lance's expression slightly even while looking at the drawings. Miss Lance's eyes sparkled every time she looked at a drawing, and her cheeks gradually turned as lovely a rose color as the dress she was wearing.

Janet was thrilled that she was impressed by Ian's skills, who was residing in her house. Strictly speaking, Ian was not a member of her family, nor was he close to her, but somehow, she felt as if she had become a wonderful person if someone connected to her was wonderful.

That was why this seventeen-year-old immature girl felt like she was flying into the sky at Miss Lance's request as she closed the sketchbook.

"Mr. Dalton, would you draw my portrait in this sketchbook?"

Ian, who had been waiting to quickly get the sketchbook back and leave, expressed his reluctance at her sudden request.

"I would like to grant Miss Lance's request, but I cannot take a lady alone as a subject. I am not a professional portrait painter, so there may be a misunderstanding."

"There are only four of us here, Mr. Dalton. If only four people keep their mouths shut, no one will leak the secret."

"No. I don't mind if it's a woman or a young lady before entering society, but a single lady who has already made her debut is not allowed. It will definitely cause a problem with your reputation. Miss Lance."

Miss Lance felt very grateful to Ian for thinking of her. But she still wanted to have a portrait born from his hands. She was conscious of Janet, who was sitting next to her, and came up with a way.

Miss Lance held Janet's hand tightly and asked.

"Then, please draw it with Janet. Would that be okay? If it's with Janet, my reputation will be protected, and Mr. Dalton can draw more comfortably."

William came to Ian and whispered in a smiling voice.

"Miss Lance seems to like you very much. Just draw it for her. Since Janet is there, Miss Pendleton won't misunderstand."

Ian had a headache. He often drew, but he didn't feel like holding a pencil at all in his current mood. But Janet, who was excited about the opportunity to be in the same frame as Miss Lance, the flower of society, began to urge Ian.

Ian, who would normally refuse such a laborious service even at the risk of rudeness, had no choice at the moment. Miss Lance was not just a lady, but a string that could connect him to Miss Pendleton.

He had a servant bring the pencil case in his bag and moved the armchair on the opposite side of the sofa where the ladies were sitting.

"I'm only going to draw one, so you two can do as you please. You can tear it in half and take it."

Mr. Fairfax quickly said.

"Of course, the drawing is for Miss Lance."

"Oh my, Janet, you're so kind. Thank you. When I receive the drawing, I will hang it in the most visible place in my drawing room and show off Janet's beauty to everyone who comes."

Miss Lance praised Janet in a sweet voice. Janet blushed and savored her words.

The drawing will be hung in the Lance family's drawing room! Miss Lance will show off her beauty!

She felt like shouting and making crow noises.

Soon, the pencil case arrived, and he took out a pencil and a knife and sharpened it with a dry expression, as if a farmer was sharpening a sickle before cutting rice. In the meantime, the two ladies touched each other's hair and dusted off their clothes, preparing to be captured on canvas.

Soon, Ian designated the place where the ladies would sit and the angle of their gaze. And with the words not to move, he picked up the pencil. The two ladies looked at Ian with the most chaste, lovely, and elegant expressions in the world.

Scribble, scribble, scribble. The sound of graphite rubbing against paper lingered in the drawing room.

While Ian was playing with the pencil on the paper, William stood next to Ian and looked at his sister. Rosy cheeks and a lovely expression. He loved his sister very much, and he felt a subtle sense of satisfaction at the thought that Janet's appearance would remain forever in a painting.

But Ian, who was actually drawing, had no satisfaction or emotion. For him, copying a subject that did not move his heart was the hardest thing to do. He had lived his life hardly ever mentioning his drawing hobby so as not to receive such requests, but this was a disaster.

The drawing was completed in less than 30 minutes. He held the sketchbook horizontally, blew on the surface to blow away the graphite powder. Then, he tore the paper neatly and handed it to Miss Lance.

The two ladies stared intently at the drawing. Their appearances had been transferred to the paper as they were, with the help of a skilled artist's fingertips. The ladies expressed their admiration.

"Wonderful, Mr. Dalton! This is the first time I've seen such a delicate and accurate portrait. Mr. Fairfax's dress pattern and expression are captured as they are!"

Ian expressed his thanks calmly. Miss Lance and Mr. Fairfax held on to Ian for a long time to convey their admiration for the drawing. But since teatime also had a suitable time, Miss Lance rose from her seat at a timing that would not violate etiquette.

William emptied one of the picture albums in the house so that Miss Lance could safely take the drawing and inserted Ian's drawing. Miss Lance thanked the kind William and invited the three to her house to see the paintings hanging in the drawing room. The three promised to visit soon and sent Miss Lance off.

Miss Lance opened the picture album in the carriage heading home and looked at the drawing he had drawn for her. His drawing skills were excellent. Such precise and clear expression could only be seen in a professional painter.

She could not help but be surprised to learn that Ian Dalton had such delicate abilities. There were many wealthy gentlemen in the world, but there was no gentleman who was so artistically talented.

Miss Lance quietly looked at the drawing and recalled the scene of him sketching her appearance.

Beneath his black hair, his black eyes, shining earnestly, moved busily between her and the paper, and his large, slender hands copied each of her features, the wrinkles of her clothes, and the shape of her hands onto the paper.

His eyes had touched every part of her, those black eyes. She felt her cheeks turn red and closed the photo album. And she trembled slightly.

As soon as she arrived home, she brought the best frame in the house, put the drawing in it, and hung it in the most conspicuous place in the drawing room, as she had promised Janet.

She looked at the drawing whenever she passed by the drawing room. And she naturally recalled him drawing her picture, and every time, she blushed and quickly turned her eyes away from the picture.