“At a glance, you could tell he was a noble. Even with a hat on, his features were so striking that they couldn’t be hidden. Not to mention how handsome he was—I was honestly stunned. But he had such a cold aura. He only spoke when necessary. He seemed like the kind of person you wouldn’t dare strike up a conversation with.”

“Oh my, really?”

The staff, all of whom had turned to Joanna, lamented in unison that they hadn’t been at the salon that day.

“Why did it have to be that day of all days?”

“Exactly. We were all at the salon every other day except that one.”

Amid the lively chatter, one of the employees suddenly asked,

“So why did he come to the salon?”

“He came to look at a painting. You know the landscape painting that the youngest young master of the Regner family bought a while back? He specifically asked whether there were any other works by the same artist.”

“Oh, so he came to buy a painting? Then what happened?”

Brushing the crumbs from the corner of her mouth, Joanna gave a small shake of her head.

“No. That day, he only looked around the exhibition hall on the second floor and then left.”

“Oh my. Then doesn’t that mean he might come back?”

“I’m not sure… I really don’t know.”

Joanna trailed off in response to the question from the employee sitting beside her.

Now that she thought about it, it did seem strange. The Duke had appeared to know exactly which painting he wanted, yet he had left without asking anything further.

After swallowing another bite of bread, Joanna tilted her head.

‘Did he not like the paintings on display? Or maybe he asked Winter something in private that day. Well… I suppose that’s possible.’

Without giving it much more thought, Joanna neatly folded the empty bread wrapper and stood up first.

“All right, shall we get back to work? If we don’t finish organizing the list today, tomorrow morning is going to be hectic all over again.”

“Yes. Thankfully, there’s not much left, so we should be able to finish quickly.”

After checking the time, the employees rose from their seats one by one. The scraping of chairs echoed through the room, signaling that their break had come to an end.

Just then, Mrs. Roche, who had been on the third floor, came into the staff lounge. Seeing the salon owner already dressed in her coat, hat, and gloves, Joanna was the first to follow her out.

“Are you heading out?”

A gentle smile touched Mrs. Roche’s lips as she checked the strap of her handbag and adjusted her gloves.

“Yes, I have somewhere to stop by. I’m also meeting Winter. I’ll be leaving first today, so I’ll leave the closing up to you.”

“Of course. Don’t worry. We’ll finish everything and make sure the salon is locked up before we leave.”

After cheerfully seeing Mrs. Roche off, Joanna and the other employees immediately returned to their respective tasks. The lively chatter disappeared as though it had never happened, and before long, the salon was once again filled with the bustle of work.

***

Mrs. Roche arrived at Winter’s home and studio in the early evening. With the days growing shorter, the sky had already begun to darken.

After sending her driver, Logan, back first, Mrs. Roche knocked on the door.

“Welcome.”

Winter, who had been expecting her, welcomed her inside the tidy studio.

The room was warm and inviting, with the small stove still giving off a gentle heat. A long line stretched across the window, where sketches of various sizes hung neatly in a row.

Smiling faintly, Mrs. Roche removed her coat and let Winter take her gloves.

“You must be cold. I’ll make you some tea first.”

“It’s all right. Take your time. It’s already warm enough in here. I had no idea this place could be so cozy.”

Taking a seat at the table by the window, Mrs. Roche looked around the room.

Art supplies and brushes were neatly arranged along the wall, with stacks of canvases carefully lined up beside them. Every corner of the room reflected how quietly and diligently Winter had filled this space over time.

When she had first offered Winter this house, which had stood empty for so long, she had been deeply concerned. She worried whether Winter would eat properly or whether it was all right to leave her living alone.

But those worries had proven unnecessary.

Winter had been living each day with quiet diligence, more faithfully than anyone else.

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Winter poured the tea into two round cups, and delicate wisps of steam slowly rose into the air.

After showing Mrs. Roche the two paintings she had recently completed, Winter carefully propped them against one wall.

“I’ll carry the paintings for you when you head home later.”

“It’s all right, Winter. I’m not such a frail old woman that I can’t carry a couple of paintings.”

Waving her hand dismissively with a lighthearted chuckle, Mrs. Roche spent a long moment quietly admiring the canvases standing before her.

On a personal level, she genuinely liked Winter’s style of painting.

The delicate brushwork, warm palette, and gentle strokes that seemed to softly soothe the heart were especially captivating.

“Winter, as it happens, there are already people asking about your paintings. Several noble ladies close to the Marchioness of Regner have requested to be notified whenever a new piece arrives. I was thinking of informing them before your paintings go on display in the exhibition hall. What do you think?”

“Yes, please do.”

Winter readily agreed, trusting Mrs. Roche’s careful thought and consideration. From the very beginning, she had entrusted the exhibition and sale of her paintings entirely to Mrs. Roche.

“Does your arm still bother you? Any pain or discomfort?”

“No, I’m fine. I don’t think there are any lasting effects.”

Mrs. Roche, who still worried about Winter’s injured arm from time to time, smiled with visible relief.

“I’m glad to hear that. Even so, don’t push yourself. An arm that’s been fractured is always weaker than before. Do you understand?”

“Of course. Don’t worry.”

Replying in her usual calm manner, Winter wrapped both hands around the teacup, savoring its comforting warmth.

There was something she had wanted to say today.

From the very beginning until now, Mrs. Roche had never once pried into her past.

Not where she had lived before coming to Santero.

Not what kind of life she had led.

Not even why she had refused to reveal her name at the hospital.

That was precisely why.

It no longer felt right to keep hiding things from Mrs. Roche.

Rather than letting her hear the truth from someone else…

Winter believed she should tell her herself.

More than anything, she wanted to prevent unnecessary misunderstandings from falling upon Mrs. Roche, who had introduced her as a relative.

“Mrs. Roche.”

Winter slowly raised her head. Her voice was low and earnest.

Looking at her with quiet curiosity, Mrs. Roche gently set down her teacup.

“There’s… something I need to tell you. It’s something I’ve never spoken about before.”

The moment the words left her lips, her throat tightened.

Opening up about the feelings she had never shared with anyone was far from easy.

But she knew she had to be honest.

Winter straightened her back.

“Before I came to Santero, I was a painter in the capital, Vartz. While I was there… I met someone.”

“And I fell in love with him.”

Mrs. Roche’s gaze remained warm.

It was the look of someone who was simply ready to listen.

“That man… is Duke Mayer, who is now here in Santero.”

It was a confession born from countless hours of deliberation.

For Winter, it was the first time she had ever revealed the feelings she had kept buried deep within her heart for so long.

Like unfastening a seal that had been bound tightly shut, the words she had suppressed for so long quietly poured out.

“…A great deal happened, and in the end, I had no choice but to leave Vartz. I returned to my hometown of Ceres, but before long, I packed my belongings once again.”

“There was no place left for me there, either.”

“……”

“I boarded a train to Santero with no real destination in mind. I thought that no matter where I went, I could always make a living by painting… I believed that raising my child on my own wouldn’t be impossible. Seeing your daughter and little Lily sitting beside me on the train gave me the courage to keep going. I truly thought I could make it.”

At the mention of her daughter and granddaughter, Mrs. Roche’s eyes trembled faintly.

She could imagine the sense of kinship Winter must have felt toward her daughter, who had also been returning to her hometown alone with only her child.

“…Then the accident happened. When I woke up, I had nothing left. That was when I met you at the hospital, Mrs. Roche. When I was completely lost, you were the one who reached out your hand to me.”

“Winter.”

Mrs Roche softly called her name — a name that had long since become as dear to her as family. Reaching out, she gently covered the back of Winter’s hand with her own.

How difficult it must have been.

The man she believed to be the love of her life had broken up with her, leaving her to endure everything alone and unable to tell him about their child.

She wished she could go back and embrace the Winter of those days.

‘And to think… that man was Duke Mayer.’

She had witnessed countless secret relationships between nobles and artists come to an end.

The nobles would keep the artists by their side as though they were mistresses, only to discard them without hesitation once they had grown tired of them.

They would not offer a single word of explanation.

It was always the person left behind who was forced to bear all the pain.

Mrs. Roche slowly closed her eyes, then opened them again and looked back at Winter.

How much she must have suffered.

How lonely that world must have been.

“Thank you for telling me, even if it’s only now. Winter, I will always be on your side. And it wasn’t I who saved you back then—it was you.”

Her wrinkled hand gently stroked Winter’s shoulder and arm.

After a long pause to gather her thoughts, Mrs. Roche finally spoke again.

“Then… what about you and His Grace…?”