Chapter 5.4

By the time Mr. Wharton had donned his outerwear, he took the invitations from Maurice. His hand, flipping through the names on the invitations, abruptly stopped.

Maurice curiously looked at the invitation that caught Mr. Wharton’s attention.

“Who sent it?”

“Lady Daity.”

Who?

While Maurice pondered over the unfamiliar name, Mr. Wharton handed the invitation back to him.

Maurice examined the concert invitation he had received. It was essentially a typical social gathering disguised as a concert. What was unusual, however, was the postscript.

Miss Maron is like a daughter to me. Having lost her mother at a young age, I have always felt sorry for her as she grew up lonely. I am overjoyed to see her find a good match. 

I hope you will attend the concert to share my blessing for the two of you, Mr. Wharton.

With love and blessings,  

From Lady Daity.

As Maurice stared blankly at the invitation, it felt as if the scattered pieces of a puzzle in his mind had come together.

“The lady you were with at the masquerade was Miss Maron, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Maurice felt a sense of pride for correctly guessing the answer. But it was short-lived. If the two were close enough to warrant “blessings,” what would become of the engagement to the Duke’s daughter?

“Are you friends?”

“No.”

Maurice astutely realized that the answer didn’t mean “not even friends” but rather “more than friends.”

“Have you decided not to proceed with the engagement?”

“It’s a long story.”

The final touch to Mr. Wharton’s attire was fastening the cuffs of his sleeves neatly. He lightly placed a hand on Maurice’s shoulder.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Even as Mr. Wharton said this, Maurice knew he wouldn’t. For now, he gathered the letters that needed replies.

It truly felt as though two bodies would not be enough. Whether inside or outside the theater, everyone was looking for Mr. Wharton, which kept Maurice equally busy.

As Maurice watched Mr. Wharton head toward the door, he suddenly remembered an unmentioned schedule.

“The appointment is set for noon tomorrow. Dr. Snow will come to the mansion. Please don’t forget.”

Mr. Wharton stopped in his tracks and turned around. His slightly furrowed brows showed that this was the first he’d heard of it.

“You called for a doctor?”

“I told you this morning.”

“I’m not much of a morning person.”

Maurice dropped a letter. While trying to pick it up, he dropped several more.

Mr. Wharton returned to Maurice’s side and helped him gather the letters.

“Am I sick?”

His tone was indifferent, as though discussing someone else. Maurice, collecting the scattered letters, explained.

“Your waistline has been shrinking day by day, you barely eat breakfast…”

“Skipping breakfast isn’t a big deal.”

“…and you haven’t been sleeping well at night.”

Everyone in the mansion knew that Mr. Wharton had been unable to sleep for several days.

There were accounts of his bedroom being the only one with its lights still on late into the night. Others claimed to have caught him in the kitchen at dawn, pouring himself tea, only to be startled by the sight of him.

While the maid who encountered him was frightened as though she’d seen a ghost, Mr. Wharton simply greeted her calmly and returned to his room.

The staff’s testimonies left Mrs. Miller deeply troubled.

“It seems there’s something troubling him, but he won’t say a word about it…”

With a busy schedule compounded by insomnia, everyone was deeply concerned. They even speculated on the reasons behind it.

Could it still be the issue of the engagement with the Duke’s daughter? Had Lady Wharton pressured him about marriage again?

The youngest maid, with a bright and innocent face, spoke up.

“Could it be that he’s fallen in love? My friend couldn’t sleep for days because of a one-sided love.”

Everyone burst into laughter at her suggestion.

“Mr. Wharton, in love?”

“Even a passing dog would laugh at that.”

“That’s as absurd as saying the chef forgot how to use a knife.”

While the staff laughed noisily, Mrs. Miller remained serious.

“Whatever the issue, it would be best for him to see a doctor.”

Maurice shared their concern, which is why he had called Dr. Snow, the Wharton family physician.

The sound of knocking broke Maurice’s recollection of the previous night. While he clutched the pile of letters, a maid informed him from beyond the door that the carriage had arrived.

Mr. Wharton replied, “I’ll be right out,” with a smile. From his smile alone, no one would have guessed he hadn’t slept for days. His smile, like his perfectly fastened cuffs, was impeccably worn.

***

Since the masquerade ball, Natalie’s days had been peaceful and ordinary. Like a play that ends with the closing of its curtain, she returned to her familiar routine.

Yet, at times, she felt unfamiliar emotions. It was as if she had lost something important, leaving her feeling empty. Even while reading by the window, she would suddenly find herself staring blankly outside. She often gazed at the door, where no one passed by.

When someone did pass, she pressed her face close to the window. Upon realizing it was only the postman, her excitement deflated.

It felt as though her focus had been stolen, wandering aimlessly among lifeless words. The culprit was likely the guest who hadn’t visited.

Writing letters made the problem even worse. When helping others write love letters, Natalie focused on finding the perfect expressions.

There was a vast difference between describing “your laughter” as “clear as summer leaves” versus “fresh as an olive.”

Fresh as an olive…

Natalie repeated the odd phrase in her mind and realized it had come from Mr. Wharton. Startled, she nearly dropped her pen. Mr. Wharton had now invaded even the vocabulary in her mind.

As Natalie sat absentmindedly at her desk, summer rain began tapping against the window.

She opened the window wide. She hoped the refreshing rain would wash away the thoughts that filled her head.

During these ordinary days without Mr. Wharton, Natalie became acutely aware of her position.

A fake lover.

She had no right to blame him for not visiting, nor any valid excuse to seek him out first.

Though she wished the rain would sweep away her unnecessary thoughts, the gray sky only deepened her melancholy. She began to wonder if Mr. Wharton ever thought of her or if his daily life remained undisturbed.

Natalie perched herself where raindrops could dampen the hem of her dress. Facing the cool breeze, she resolved herself.

Mr. Wharton must be busy with his own days.

If so, Natalie decided she, too, needed to spend her ordinary days diligently. To become a friend worthy of Mr. Wharton.

She rubbed the rain-soaked book cover with her skirt, as if wiping away her thoughts along with it.

Just as Natalie regained her determination, she noticed a visitor approaching the door. Even with their face obscured by an umbrella, the ornate design of the umbrella gave away their identity.

It was Mrs. Mars.

***

“Me… play the piano?”

Natalie doubted her ears. Mrs. Mars lifted her teacup with a smooth, practiced motion and smiled gently.

“Yes, you, Natalie. Don’t you think everyone would be impressed if you showed off your skills in front of the guests?”

What skills was I supposed to show when I had none?

Natalie was utterly confused.

Mrs. Mars set down her teacup and tilted her head toward Natalie.

“It’s an opportunity to show everyone what an exceptional bride you would make.”

“…”

“Your father understood this perfectly. As parents, we can’t pass up a chance for our daughter to be praised in front of others.”

Before Natalie could respond, Mrs. Mars, looking highly excited, continued.

“It’ll be a splendid recital. Even the Duke’s daughter has agreed to attend. I had to rewrite all the invitations because of it. After all, I had to mention that the Duke’s daughter would be there.”

Mrs. Mars seemed delighted as she proudly shared that Miss Windsor had accepted the invitation.

“Can’t you already picture how many people will come?”

Not wanting to dampen her mood, Natalie forced a smile. But she couldn’t even remember the last time she had placed her hands on piano keys.

Her memories of the piano were limited to endless practice sessions stuck on the same passage and being scolded by her piano teacher. It had long been established that the eldest daughter of the Maron family had no talent for the piano.

As she tried to imagine how many people would receive the beautiful invitations before her, Natalie felt overwhelmed. Just imagining playing the piano in front of so many people made her lips go dry.

She reached for her teacup. Before it touched her lips, Mrs. Mars added something.

“Oh, and this morning, you won’t believe it—Mr. Wharton has also agreed to attend.”

The name she had been waiting for came unexpectedly. Startled, Natalie hastily tilted the still-warm teacup to her lips.

“Why are you drinking tea so carelessly? You’ll end up burning your lips. Anyway, if you had replied earlier, I could have included Mr. Wharton’s name on the invitation. What a shame.”

Natalie set down her teacup and touched her burned lips with her fingertips. Her lips stung.

<END – My Unrequited Love Is Not You!> Volume 1