Chapter 22

Mr. and Mrs. McLeod planned to stay until Vivian's wedding. Jennifer once again took charge of the estate affairs and expelled Evelyn from the manor. The once quiet and reserved lady now sternly criticized the baron for his outrageous behavior of keeping a mistress, saying, "Father, you can do whatever you wish, but at least wait until after Vivian's wedding. I believe the Lord Chancellor would have something to say about this."

Being married, she was no longer under her father's control. Now, as the eldest woman in the Hield family, she had to protect the engagements and reputations of her two sisters, ensuring they remained untainted.

Vivian's wedding was only a few days away, so the baron relented.

"It seems you'll be quite lonely for a while," Vincent remarked, swirling his glass of wine with a knowing smile. Mike stood by the window, gazing at the snow-covered garden.

"She's my daughter, after all," Baron Hield said with a resigned look. "And now she's Mrs. McLeod."

Luther laughed, standing near the fireplace with his face flushed from the heat, looking almost bashful.

"How is Mrs. McLeod doing?" Mike suddenly asked.

Luther paused for a moment, then smoothly replied, "She is well. She's busy preparing for the wedding and taking care of George and Anna. She's very meticulous and will undoubtedly make an excellent mother."

He subtly hinted, hoping to please a certain prominent figure.

A mother, perhaps.

Mike was momentarily lost in thought. To him, Jennifer was still the little girl who would curl up on his lap to listen to him read. Her hair was soft, her face innocent. But in the blink of an eye, she had grown up, married, and would soon have children of her own.

Time is a cruel thing. It takes away youth, innocence, and all that is beautiful and precious. People can only reminisce about these things in their memories, pretending they still exist.

"Oh, Mike," Baron Hield exclaimed, "you don't look well. Come, have a glass of brandy."

"I think he might need some rest," Vincent put down his glass. "I'm sorry, but I must ask you both to leave now. Tomorrow, Mike and I will visit Hield Manor."

He politely but firmly issued a dismissal, and the baron and Luther quickly left. Mike still stood by the window, his face pale and his posture rigid, like a tree burdened by the winter snow. Vincent walked over and embraced him.

"You were quite rude," Mike said, leaning against Vincent, feeling the young man's warm body and strong heartbeat. "I was just reflecting on how Jennifer has become Mrs. McLeod, yet I still feel she's always by my side."

"If you wish, my love," Vincent said tenderly.

Mike looked up and kissed Vincent's chin.

"No," he said, his eyes glistening, "she has her lover."

"And I have mine."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, I trust you."

As one trusts the inevitable falling of leaves, the freezing of lakes, the decay of corpses.

Vincent took Mike's hand and gently kissed it.

"Then, I swear by this country, I will always be by your side. And you will have my loyalty."

As they left, Luther looked up and saw two figures close together by the window. Mike was tilting his head back, receiving Vincent's kiss. His eyes were closed, his waist arched gracefully, while Vincent suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze sharp and fierce, like a predator disturbed during a hunt. His eyes seemed to pierce through the glass and the falling snow, striking Luther's shoulder.

Luther shivered.

"Get in quickly," the baron urged from the carriage. "The wind is biting cold."

"Yes, sir."

Vivian's marriage had been arranged early on, but with Jennifer's wedding, Susan's death, and Baron Hield's foolishness, a series of problems arose, and no one could make plans for her. Now, with Jennifer back at Hield Manor, though she had been married for only a few months, she had a completely different demeanor. Her way of handling household affairs and her manner of socializing were no different from other ladies. When she spoke to Vivian and Anna, her tone and expression increasingly resembled their mother. She was no longer the lady of the Hield family, but she bore the responsibilities of the manor's mistress.

Vivian found a sense of peace with Jennifer that she had long missed, something hard to imagine before. Vivian had always played the role of the mature protector. Marriage had transformed Jennifer, making her grow rapidly from an innocent girl. Now, it was her turn to protect her sisters.

"The wedding preparations are going smoothly," Jennifer told Vivian. "I brought something for you. I wanted to keep it a surprise until the end, but I'm not good at keeping secrets."

She led Vivian to a wardrobe and opened the dark doors to reveal a white dress.

"Oh, my God..." Vivian raised her hand to cover her lips, her eyes welling with tears.

"I thought... you didn't bring it... I mean, in such a sorrowful time..." She spoke haltingly, shock and joy mingling in her heart, swelling until they choked her.

It was Jennifer's wedding dress.

Vivian's new wedding dress was already made, and it was beautiful, of course, made by a tailor in the capital at Andrew's request. It was the most fashionable style in town, with a neckline inlaid with white pearls that complemented the blue trim. By comparison, Jennifer's dress seemed simple and old-fashioned.

Yet it was so beautiful, so unique.

"I thought you needed it," Jennifer said, holding Vivian's trembling hands. Her palms were soft, her voice gentle, her scent a blend of girlish freshness and the rich fragrance of a lady. She was both sister and mother.

"The lace on it was given to me by Mother. Now, I'm giving it to you."

Something new, something old, something borrowed, something blue.

Now, it was complete.

Susan was gone, but the living must continue. Life went on, relentlessly moving forward. The girl would embark on a new journey. Though she might often find herself alone, at this moment, she was not.

The same was true for Mike.

He often overthought, becoming hesitant and fearful. Susan's death and his niece's marriage made him realize the impermanence of life, that no one could stay forever. He began to yearn for marriage, for someone who truly belonged to him, who would stay by his side, hold his hands in death, and kiss his forehead. "I won't confess," he thought to himself. "God won't hear my confession, so I won't do it. I'll use my last strength to feel his kiss, to say to him one last time, 'I love you.'"

In reality, Mike didn't know who that person would be. Or perhaps such a person wouldn't exist at all. But now there was Vincent. He was handsome, wealthy, healthy, and very young. He would outlive Mike. Maybe, before their love faded, Mike would reach the end of his life, and he might die in the arms of his young lover.

He would die in the embrace of love, in the act of being loved.

If so, he had nothing to fear.

Since Mike was staying at Thomas Manor, the occasional business that required his attention was also sent to Vincent's desk. Although Vincent knew the bleak state of Roshire's affairs, he was still shocked by what he saw. "My dear, you're too lenient with them."

Mike's land was farmed by tenants, with variable harvests. He didn't charge them exorbitant rents and taxes, so even in good years, few pounds reached Mike's hands. "Don't look at that," Mike anxiously took the letter from Vincent's hand.

The older man turned away, pretending to organize his messy desk, burying his flushed face in his collar to hide his embarrassment.

Mike had never been a good manager, but exposing this to his young lover still filled him with shame.

"Perhaps you should consolidate the land?" Vincent suggested. "I can introduce you to professionals. They will survey the land, choose suitable crops, and find the right buyers."

"Thank you for your concern, but I prefer to maintain the status quo."

Mike inherited Roshire Manor from his brother, who took it over from their father. To this day, Roshire Manor still operated traditionally. Mike had no intention of changing that, even if it meant more wealth. He feared that any change would erase the manor's old imprint.

In this remote town, everyone lived as their ancestors did. Barring accidents, they would be born, marry, and die in the same house. Their heirs would continue this life, bringing the next generation into their brief existence.

"Very well," Vincent didn't press the issue. He exaggeratedly spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. "As you wish."

Setting aside business, they quickly grew intimate again. Vincent held out his palm. "May I?" Mike paused, then smiled.

He demurely placed his hand on Vincent's and nodded slightly.

It was a silent dance. Young gentlemen and ladies learned various dance steps from a young age, effortlessly navigating turns and steps. In these dances, they found their marital partners, gaining love and marriage.

Sometimes, they could only gain one.

Mike relinquished control to the young man, following his lead. They drew closer, their breaths mingling, in a perfect position for a kiss. Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded outside. Mike pushed Vincent away, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble against the desk.

The door was flung open, and the duchess's voice rang out, "I heard William has written! Where is the letter?"

As Vincent's mother, she possessed the same striking golden hair, complementing her snow-white skin and noble demeanor, making her as radiant as gold. She hadn't anticipated Mike's presence and quickly masked her anxious expression, adopting a more dignified composure. Mike bowed to her and hurriedly took his leave.

Vincent rubbed the spot where he'd been bumped, watching Mike flee and seeing the expectant look on his mother's face, unable to help but furrow his brow.