Chapter 2.6

After her daily tasks were done, Liz would draw Valentine in the evenings.  

It was to warm up before starting to paint in earnest.

‘A portrait all of a sudden. What is this….’

Though she had accepted it on impulse, honestly, she wasn’t confident.  

It had been a long time since she last held a brush.  

At least as an apprentice seamstress, she had made patterns.  

But since becoming a maid, she hadn’t touched a brush at all.  

Even when there was an opportunity to draw, she refrained.  

The occasional doodles on the ground with a twig were all.

‘Still, it’s not a bad thing.’

Opportunities for a commoner to learn painting were rare.  

Most had to start as apprentices in ateliers, and even then, the pay was almost nonexistent.  

Being able to learn painting without such a difficult process was almost miraculous.  

If she learned as much painting and etiquette as possible, she could become a tutor in a quiet village after Isabel returned.  

It was the best future she could achieve while working as the Duchess of Winchester.

‘I can start anew.’

But why was it?  

Every time she murmured those words, “start anew,” and looked at the image of Valentine she had drawn in her notebook, her heart tightened.  

Surely she could learn many things and take a step into a new world.  

That’s why she decided to learn Winchester’s etiquette and draw portraits.  

Liz put down her pen and picked up the teacup next to her.

“Oh….”

The handle of the teacup Liz held snapped with a crack. Lukewarm tea splashed onto the back of Liz’s hand.  

She furrowed her brow, placing the broken handle on the saucer.  

She had almost burned herself.

“I don’t think Martha would make such a mistake….”

Since that day, Jenny hadn’t come near Liz.  

Martha also attended to Liz without saying much.  

Well, after such a quarrel, Martha must have noticed.  

Liz pushed the teacup aside and instead opened the newspaper scrapbook beside her.  

It was a collection of articles related to Valentine Winchester.  

There was a limit to drawing him based solely on imagination.  

Fortunately, it was customary for families to compile the achievements of their heads.  

So Liz had asked Martha to borrow this scrapbook from Winchester’s library.

“Wow… there’s so much.”

Liz marveled as she flipped through the scrapbook.  

Spy shooting, succession to the dukedom, timber business organization, mining investment and exploration, trade profit achievement.  

Each was a significant accomplishment.  

Just by looking at this scrapbook, one could grasp the recent history of the Holt Kingdom.  

The reason for the unusually large number of portraits was probably due to Valentine’s handsome appearance.  

There were even rumors that newspaper sales noticeably increased on days when Valentine’s articles were featured.

“People are all the same.”

Liz chuckled as she turned to the last page.  

At that moment, Liz’s hand stopped.  

The scrapbook spread open, filled with articles about Valentine and Isabel’s marriage.

Winchester and Myra, the Union of the Century!

Her heart sank with a thud.  

Liz stared blankly at her hand.  

Her hand touched the hand of Isabel in the picture, with its glittering engagement ring.  

For a moment, from her fingertips to her head, it felt as if she was frozen in a single line.  

Liz bit her lip tightly.  

Why was it?  

Why did Miss Isabel abandon the name of Winchester and disappear?  

The two figures staring at Liz were so perfect….

“What?”

Liz felt a strange sense of incongruity and looked closely at the portrait.  

Isabel’s hand was merely hovering lightly over Valentine’s hand resting on the table, not touching it.  

There was no excitement anywhere in Isabel’s expression.  

Isabel’s golden eyes held the same cold gaze she usually directed at Liz.  

She was so beautiful, but she didn’t look like a bride-to-be to anyone.  

The same was true for Valentine.  

His eyes were utterly uninterested. It was a gaze unfamiliar to Liz.

“That can’t be….”

Liz opened her drawing notebook.

Her depiction of Valentine’s gaze was different.  

It was confident and arrogant, yet sometimes anxious.  

But this anxiety was not a weak unease. It was a dangerous tension that emerged from holding some expectation.  

He was extremely careful not to reveal emotions in his eyes.  

Thus, his gaze ultimately only fluctuated within his pupils, while his expression remained calm.  

However, he didn’t appear as dull as he did in those portraits.  

Instead, the suppression of emotion led to a silent, boiling allure.  

Liz’s Valentine existed in such a way.

“But why….”

Liz swallowed and checked the other portraits once more, slowly.  

Yet, none of the portraits captured the Valentine she knew.  

He seemed too delicate or, conversely, excessively oppressive.  

And most had that same bored expression as in the picture with Isabel.  

Even if they were simply drawn for articles, they were all works of skilled professional artists.  

Liz swallowed unconsciously. Confidence began to swell.  

Perhaps Liz was the only one who could truly capture Valentine.

“Honestly, I feel like I can’t fully capture him on canvas no matter how I draw….”

Liz picked up a pen and notebook and began drawing him.  

She glanced at the scrapbook, sketching his facial lines and feather-light hair.  

But when it came to drawing his deep eyes, she closed the scrapbook entirely. It felt more like a hindrance.  

Her hand paused when it was time to draw his lips.  

Maybe because she had spent so much time practicing pronunciation, his lips now stood out too vividly.  

Recalling the perfectly moving soft shape of his lips made her throat dry.  

Liz unconsciously touched her own lips.

“Valentine… Winchester.”

Liz murmured, as if following the shape of his lips.  

At that moment, a soft voice echoed in her ear.

“Did you call?”

Startled, Liz dropped her pen.  

A low chuckle was heard.  

Turning her head, Valentine’s face was right above her shoulder.

“When… when did you come?”

Liz quickly adjusted her posture and tidied her hair.  

Valentine watched her and raised the corners of his mouth.

“I heard you calling.”

“Really, don’t tease me.”

Liz laughed and pouted.  

Even if the rooms were adjacent, it was unlikely he heard that small whisper.  

Before she could ask why he came, Valentine glanced over Liz’s desk.

“Were you practicing drawing? Even this….”

“Oh, the scrapbook?”

Valentine nodded wordlessly, looking a bit sheepish.

“I brought it thinking it might be useful. It’s practically living modern history of Holt.”

Valentine replied with a chuckle.

“You mean exceedingly old-fashioned and clichéd.”

“That’s not what I meant…. I meant it’s impressive.”

Liz said, glancing at him.  

Valentine looked down at the scrapbook for a moment, then shook his head.

“Anyone else would have done it if they were a Winchester.”

“That’s not true!”

Liz denied with wide eyes.  

In reality, his achievements were already among the most significant in Winchester’s history.  

But Valentine shook his head with a smile.

“I am someone who does predetermined tasks. So, the things I’ve achieved are not special.”

He slowly turned his gaze to the window. Winchester’s scenery was visible at a glance.  

A garden cultivated without a single blemish, people moving like dolls.

“Winchester performs predetermined duties, cherishes predetermined things, and lives a predetermined life.”

Liz couldn’t bring herself to speak.  

She also knew about the tragedy of the previous Duke and Duchess of Winchester.  

The Grand Duke was assassinated, and the Duchess was bedridden due to it.  

Liz couldn’t even imagine how young Valentine endured to protect Winchester.  

Then the music from the turntable stopped.  

Valentine approached the turntable.  

He lifted the pin with his right hand.  

As he placed the needle on the stationary record, the round record began to spin again, and music flowed out.  

Valentine murmured softly.

“That is Winchester.”

The music was beautiful but no longer sounded beautiful.  

It was just a beautifully spinning treadmill, like Valentine Winchester’s life.  

Perhaps because only duties existed in his Winchester, Valentine was asking Liz to become such a Winchester too.  

Liz looked at his profile with a sympathetic expression.  

Valentine’s face had already changed to that bored expression seen in the newspaper.  

It was still beautiful.  

But it wasn’t the look Liz wanted to draw.

“…No.”

Liz shook her head slightly.  

The Valentine she knew wasn’t such an old-fashioned person.  

He had boldly overcome the crisis of his fiancée’s disappearance and taught her, a mere maid, to have the appearance of a noble.

“Valentine, you’re not someone who lives a predetermined life.”

At least Liz could say that confidently.  

The Liz who was here now, herself, was proof of that.

“I’m here.”

In his life full of predetermined things, Liz’s existence was the only thing not predetermined.  

Valentine stepped forward and silently looked down at Liz.

‘Was it presumptuous?’