Translator: Nox

17 - Chapter 17

Chapter 3: The Misdelivered Letter

Feltham's hills were growing ever greener.

The lingering chill of early spring had vanished without a trace, and laborers heading to the fields now wore wide-brimmed hats along with short-sleeved shirts.

The sheep in the pastures were ceaselessly busy grazing on the grass that seemed to shoot up overnight, while by the riverbank, impatient children were already splashing about, catching fish and playing in the late spring air.

Though it was a season of rapid growth and rising spirits, Feltham remained an ordinary rural village where people quietly went about their business, no different from usual.

But this year was an exception.

“So they’ve all flocked to Blissbury again? They have no self-respect at all!”

Eloise was grumbling to Abigail, who had come to visit.

“Yes. Everyone rushed over carrying all sorts of food. Even though it’s not the Great Holiday, Julia’s been causing such a fuss about needing to cook a turkey that I’ve been counting our turkeys every morning to make sure they’re all still there.”

Looking at Abigail’s serious face, Eloise had a hunch. Within a few days, one of Mr. Ogilvy’s turkeys would likely depart this world.

“Really, what is all this commotion about…?”

Abigail shook her head and picked up the teapot Emily had brought over.

Lately, the young women of Feltham, without exception, had all flocked to Blissbury.

It all started when Mrs. Harrison went shopping in Cambon.

While stopping by the grocery store, she happened to meet Mrs. Parker, who was in charge of the kitchen at Blissbury.

Mrs. Parker was usually a vibrant person. But the face she showed at the grocery store was filled with worry.

Startled, Mrs. Harrison led her to a nearby tea shop.

“Ever since Sergeant Thornton came to Blissbury, he barely eats. And it seems he isn’t sleeping properly either… The candle in his window flickers late into the night and only goes out at dawn. Sometimes he goes out alone into the fields at daybreak, and other times he doesn’t leave his room until noon. It seems the shock of the war still casts a shadow over him.”

She then poured out her worries, saying that despite trying every recipe she knew and making numerous dishes, he still hardly ate anything, and she feared he might collapse before summer arrived.

Even if he weren’t a distant relative of Lord Stanford, the pity felt for a young man returned from war seemed to amplify the concern.

Mrs. Harrison comforted the tearful Mrs. Parker.

Then, upon returning to Feltham, she shared the story of her meeting with Mrs. Parker during a tea time with the village ladies.

That day, the church tea time ended unusually early. Many of the ladies present hurriedly left, claiming they had forgotten something.

Strangely enough, all those who left had one thing in common: a daughter of marriageable age.

From that day on, delicious smells filled the air in Feltham.

Smoke from freshly baked bread rose from every chimney, and the scent of seasoned, roasting meat wafted from backyards.

In kitchens, all the recipes passed down from ancestors were brought out, and even those without such heirlooms confidently entered their kitchens with their own signature dishes to boast of.

The mothers scolded their daughters to dress neatly and promptly, then busied themselves preparing food with their maids.

Households retrieved picnic baskets, rarely used otherwise, from storage and filled them with newly prepared dishes.

The faces of those heading to Blissbury by carriage or horseback were full of hope.

Everyone was thinking:

A young soldier still trapped in darkness from the painful memories of war. Sergeant Thornton wasn’t the only one like that. How many could keep their sanity in a place where comrades, seniors, and juniors they had just been talking and living with were dying one after another?

The pride of having fought for one’s country tends to shatter in the face of death.

Still, thankfully, many rise above that pain. Sergeant Thornton must surely be going through that painful period now.

How beautiful it would be if someone could help him while he struggles so.

And if that someone could be a lady who might become his lifelong companion, the story would be even more beautiful.

Everyone drove their carriages roughly to Blissbury, hoping to soothe and empathize with his pain.

Carriages laden with food raced each other to Blissbury.

That was two weeks ago, and judging by Abigail’s account, the women’s race seemed to be still ongoing today.

“It seems he’s still using his health as an excuse to refuse to meet anyone. Thinking about Mrs. Parker’s message that he ‘received them well,’ it seems he still hasn’t eaten any of the countless dishes.”

“Sigh…”

After the village young ladies flocked to Blissbury, people’s interest naturally turned to which family’s food would capture Sergeant Thornton’s heart.

Feltham wasn’t a large village, but it was one long established on fertile land.

That meant families had lived in prosperity for generations, and based on that, every household was full of secret, prized recipes passed down through the ages.

The young women’s visits to Blissbury were gradually turning into a contest of family pride.

“If Sergeant Thornton is human, he’d be tempted by at least one of them.”

Saying such things, the people of Feltham even began placing bets on which family’s food Sergeant Thornton would ultimately accept.

To put it bluntly, in those bets, there were no winners or losers.

Sergeant Thornton only ever said he “received them well,” but never that he “ate them well.”

If he had refused outright, they might have felt embarrassed and given up, but his attitude ignited a competitive spirit not only in the young ladies but also in their mothers and even their household maids.

Thanks to that, it seemed the village young ladies were again dashing off to Blissbury today.

As Eloise shook her head and poured fresh tea, Abigail nodded as if understanding her feelings, and said:

“There’s no winner yet, but the frontrunner is Julia. Because of that, our mother is so excited she orders all sorts of ingredients from Cambon every day.”

“Julia is the frontrunner? He hasn’t eaten any of them, so how can there be a frontrunner?”

“Well… Julia is the only one Sergeant Thornton personally received and had tea with. In fact, she’s the only one he asked to visit again.”

“Really?”

Eloise’s hand, pouring the tea, stopped.

She thought of Sergeant Thornton. And she pictured Julia beside him.

Both were irritating, but honestly, they seemed well-suited.

Despite her unpleasant remarks, Julia’s appearance was dazzling and beautiful. Moreover, she knew her own charms well and tended to dress and adorn herself skillfully.

And next to her, she pictured Sergeant Thornton, now clean-shaven. Preferably in his army uniform.

“Anyway, Mrs. Ogilvy is so happy she probably can’t even sleep.”

Come to think of it, when Mrs. Serverton first spoke about Sergeant Thornton, Mrs. Ogilvy had shown the greatest interest of all.

She even said it seemed heaven had sent Sergeant Thornton for her second daughter, who had gone through a broken engagement in all but name, and offered prayers of thanks on the weekend.

“My mother is already looking into wedding dresses for Julia. She said the one prepared before might bring bad luck, so she seems to have written letters to all our relatives.”

Again, the image of Julia confidently declaring she would become the mistress of Blissbury flashed through Eloise’s mind.

Among the village young ladies, she wished anyone would end up well with Sergeant Thornton, but she didn’t want that “anyone” to include Julia.

“Why that expression?”

Perhaps her feelings were plain on her face. Abigail looked at her with curiosity.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course. You know how tight-lipped I am—your parents still don’t know about the time you went down into the well to rescue a duck, don’t they?”

“That’s true, but…”

After a moment’s hesitation, Eloise spoke.

“I hope Julia and Sergeant Thornton don’t get married.”

“Why? Do you actually have feelings for Sergeant Thornton?”

As if it didn’t matter whether her sister was disliked or not, Abigail’s eyes sparkled as she said this.

“If that were the case, would I have spent the last minute talking about how rude he is?”

“It’s possible. I read in a book that strong denial is a form of strong affirmation. Maybe you’re actually attracted to him and are strongly denying it.”

Seeing Abigail’s eyes shining as if she were reading a romance novel, Eloise shook her head.

Her friend’s problem was that she sometimes engaged in near-delusional imaginings.

“Forget it. More importantly, take Julia’s handkerchief with you when you go.”

Saying this, Eloise stood up and approached her desk.

“Julia’s handkerchief? Come to think of it, she did throw a fit crying about losing it, so she must have left it here?”

“Well…”

Eloise sighed and recounted the story she had overheard from beyond the bushes. As expected, this time too, Abigail wasn’t surprised.

She wasn’t surprised, but she was embarrassed. It was hardly a point of pride that her sister went around badmouthing others in front of people.

As Abigail wondered if there was any other topic to change the subject, her eyes fell on the papers piled high on Eloise’s desk.

“What are those?”

Eloise hurriedly tried to hide the papers on the desk.

“What’s going on?”

The furtive movement seemed suspicious. Abigail, leaning on her crutch, got up and approached.

“It’s nothing!”

“It must be something. What are you hiding?”

As the standoff between the one trying to hide and the one trying to see continued, another paper from the desk fluttered down in front of Abigail.

Abigail even dropped her crutch and picked it up.

And upon seeing what was written on the paper, her eyes widened.

“To Lieutenant Colonel Ryan Wilgrave?”