Translator: Nox

Chapter 95

Laura visited Whitefield once a week after that. Mostly on Sundays. She attended the service led by Star, had lunch at the Parsonage or Whitefield Hall, and strolled through the forests, fields, and riverbanks of Whitefield. In her hands, she always carried her father's sketchbook.

The place where her father spent the last moments of his life, where he left behind the most paintings, the place he loved the most, and ultimately, where his young body was buried.

With the connection of her father, Laura's perspective on Whitefield changed. Whitefield, which had merely been the estate of a dear friend and a countryside with dreamlike beauty, now felt like the most special and meaningful place in the world. Like a pilgrim following in the footsteps of a great saint, she felt her father's breath in Whitefield and traced his thoughts and emotions.

Mr. Dalton was always with her, concerned that she might get lost. Laura readily accepted his kindness.

He quietly followed her, like a shadow, like air, seemingly there and not there. Then, when she found a landscape from a painting and asked if it was correct, he would answer, and if she was curious, he would explain about the time when the painting was drawn.

Through Ian's voice, Laura could picture her father, whom she had never seen. Her father sitting on a tree stump, a lawn, a large rock, a thick branch for hours, painting.

The soft breeze of Whitefield tousling her father's soft blond hair, the soft nape of his neck exposed above his shirt collar tilting towards the sketchbook, his delicate fingers diligently transferring a piece of the paradise he had captured onto paper.

A young, heartbreakingly beautiful father.

Laura sat on the stump or rock where her father had stayed and looked at the scenery he had seen, with the same gaze as her father. Each time, Laura discovered paradise.

The serene and peaceful nature of Whitefield was a magnificent work of art that God had painstakingly conceived and carefully crafted. She felt God's breath in the fragrant wind and heard God's whistle in the distant chirping of birds.

For Laura, the time in Whitefield was like a moment in heaven.

While Laura spent time in heaven, Ian was also tasting heaven: walking through Whitefield alone with Laura. How long he had wished for it. How much he had dreamed of being able to accompany her without fear of revealing his true feelings. He had believed that marriage was essential for that, but the opportunity came like an unexpected gift.

He thanked the angel who had granted his wish. Of course, that angel must be his teacher, Louis Sheldon.

Mr. Sheldon was the one who poured out immense love on his young disciple, who had lost his mother. He taught him everything he knew and comforted him with all his heart, probably because it pained him to see a boy of similar age to his daughter growing up without a mother.

As an adult, Ian often thought of Mr. Sheldon and realized how great the love he had received then was. Without him, he would have become an autistic and depressed person.

And to think that his daughter was Miss Pendleton.

He could never forget the moment when Laura fainted in his arms. That day, he had only visited the cemetery to see Laura's face one more time and to create one more excuse to invite her to Whitefield. But that incident led him to learn the truth.

At first, he was surprised, but he soon wondered why he hadn't noticed it sooner. In his memory, Mr. Sheldon was always a gentle and wise man, full of kindness and love. Miss Pendleton had inherited that character as it was.

He had always believed that his connection with Laura was fate, that falling in love with Laura was God's providence, that she was one half of a pair of gloves with him, and that the reason why no other woman had ever caught his eye was to meet her.

After learning about Laura's father, he came to blindly believe in the belief he had been holding onto, as if it were a revelation carved in stone.

'This woman is the only partner for me. This woman is the master of my life.'

He would look at Laura, sitting on the stump with an elegant posture like a goddess, listening to the sound of the wind, and think like this.

'Mr. Sheldon, who has become an angel, has led his daughter to me, to make her my precious partner, to repay the favor I owe to Mr. Sheldon by making his daughter happy.'

He felt that his affection, which had already reached an extreme, had broken through the limit and exploded into a distant realm that humans could not handle. Laura. Laura Pendleton. Laura Sheldon. A lovely, irresistible woman. The only woman connected by the thread of fate.

He wanted to fall at her feet and give her everything he had. He felt like he could sell his soul if he could only get a promise that she would be his wife forever.

But she doesn't want him.

He was frustrated. If she loved him even half as much as he loved her, they could be an extremely happy couple. But she probably doesn't love him even a speck.

It was natural for him to be so sure. Laura showed no emotional agitation in front of him. She occasionally blushed and panicked when he was being mischievous, but otherwise, she was always calm and serene.

If she had shown him a glimpse of longing even once in front of him, he would have been able to reveal his honest feelings.

But Laura showed no evidence.

Because of that, he tossed and turned every night, unable to sleep. She is an independent woman with a wealth of intellectual assets. On top of that, she inherited Mr. Sheldon's wealth and avoided poverty. She was now completely free.

If he begged her for affection, she would leave right away. For the sake of her friend's life, to avoid making the same mistake as her parents, and not to be tied to a man she doesn't love.

The third reason hurt him the most.

He knew that he was classified as a good husband material in the world. The land inherited from his parents was one of the largest in England, and he had more than quadrupled the inherited wealth in a few years, protecting the family in the recessionary England.

And he knew that he looked reasonably good in the eyes of women, although he had never given it much meaning.

But it seemed that everything he had was meaningless to her.

He tried to overcome his suffering by repeatedly sketching Laura's figure every night. But the situation worsened. Sadness can be weakened through sufficient mourning, but love burns more intensely the more you repeatedly think of the other person. Rather, the image that became clearer in front of him only fueled his passion.

He writhed in the heated bed.

'I would commit a sin to gain her love, even a sin that God would not forgive.'

That sin was, of course, continuing to lie, hiding his true feelings and pretending to be a friend, and making her love him no matter what.

'Mr. Sheldon, if I make her my own, I will repay you with several times the happiness. So please make her more careless than she is now, make her unguarded and foolish, so that there is a gap for me to push in. Right now, there is not even a gap for a needle to enter. Please, Mr. Sheldon.'

He would pray to his guardian angel with his mind blurred by the heat.

* * *

"Mr. Dalton, it looks like it's going to rain."

On a peaceful Sunday afternoon, Laura, holding a sketchbook in her hand as usual, said as she walked along the lush birch tree path of Whitefield with Mr. Dalton, opening and closing her hand.

Mr. Dalton, who was walking beside her, stopped and looked up at the sky. The sky visible between the dense birch trees was only blue without a single wisp of cloud.

Laura became embarrassed as she looked up at the sky with him.

"Ah, it's not a sky that's going to rain at all."

"Why do you think it's going to rain?"

Laura awkwardly rubbed her right hand.

"Around the time it's going to rain, this hand gets numb."

Laura naively answered, assuming that he wouldn't know anything about this hand. But he knew more about her than Laura thought.

A memory flashed through Mr. Dalton's mind, and he clenched his teeth.

Damn Gerald Pendleton. The muscles in his jaw twitched.

Soon he erased his agitation and turned towards the mansion.

"Let's go back."

"Ah, no, Mr. Dalton. I think it's just hurting."

"There's nothing as accurate as the signals of the body."

Laura shook her head.

"This hand often confuses people. I need to give it a steam pack from time to time, but I've been a little negligent lately, so my hand is complaining. It hasn't been thirty minutes since we came out, and I'd be sad to go back like this."

He looked at her with an unwilling face, then smiled slightly.

"Then, Miss Pendleton, will you take responsibility if it rains in the middle?"

"Responsibility? What kind?"

"The responsibility for getting me wet. If the floor gets wet and muddy, you have to carry me to the mansion. If I get wet in the rain and catch a cold, you have to take care of me, and if I get upset by the sound of the rain and whine, you have to sing me a lullaby."

Laura chuckled.

"That's what my father used to do, right?"

"That's right."

Laura rolled her eyes.

"Only things that are impossible or inappropriate for me to do. But there's one thing I can do for you."

"What is it?"

"If your clothes get wet, I'll lend you my dress. Wear it and go back."

The two laughed out loud.

They slowly entered the forest. Walking through the snow-white trees, they soon came to a field where willow leaves and foxtails grew up to their knees. After walking for a while through the golden meadow bathed in the clear sunlight, they came to a large lake that reflected the blue sky like a mirror.

Laura was impressed by the beautiful scenery.

'If it were Renoir, he would have painted the nudes of plump women against this background.'

She opened her sketchbook and flipped through the pages. She found a painting that was exactly the same as the scenery in front of her. She looked at the painting.

Instead of the nude of a woman, her father drew a boy against this background. A child sitting on the grass with his knees up, hugging his knees with both arms, watching the ripples created by the wind on the lake. It was Mr. Dalton at the age of eight.

A smile spread across Laura's lips.