Chapter 121

Clarette remained at the cathedral, sitting blankly in front of her easel until late at night.

On the canvas, only rough lines outlining the composition were messily drawn. She had already ruined her painting three times and was now using her fourth canvas.

It was because she couldn’t concentrate on her art, shaken by the shocking story she had heard from Earl Crowley.

<Estelle committed s*icide. Poisoned herself.>

<His mother’s existence was Lionel’s greatest trial. She sacrificed herself for her child.>

The words he left behind tangled Clarette’s mind. She quietly held her charcoal, brooding over the Earl’s words with a dark expression.

‘His mother committed s*icide. There’s no way Lionel doesn’t know that.’

But Lionel had spoken about his late mother like this. Last spring, at the seaside in Tivenny where he had gone to meet Isaac.

<My mother is always beautiful in my imagination. That’s enough for me.>

What was Lionel feeling when he talked about his mother back then? What was he thinking as he looked at that sea?

Clarette didn’t dare try to fathom his heart.

‘If I had known Lionel had such a past, I wouldn’t have brought it up.’

Clarette deeply regretted asking him about his mother so thoughtlessly. She was also frustrated that she couldn’t properly restore the newly discovered portrait of Estelle.

‘Once that painting regains its original form, it will surely be a magnificent portrait.’

How happy would Lionel be to see his mother’s face for the first time? He would be deeply moved and grateful for the unexpected gift.

If Clarette’s father, Arno Sollier, had painted it with care, and his apprentice, Thiago Salto, perfectly restored it…

‘Wait. Hold on.’

Clarette suddenly realized a big problem and gasped.

If Lionel found out Thiago had touched his mother’s painting, how would he react?

His joy would instantly turn to disappointment.

‘Thiago must never touch that painting. Because… Lionel likes me.’

It was an embarrassingly simple reason, but it was the undeniable truth.

Lionel liked Clarette, Clarette had liked Thiago in the past, and Lionel knew that.

No, he didn’t just know—he was constantly conscious of Thiago, jealous and annoyed.

‘That painting means so much to Lionel, so who restores it matters. More than the painting’s perfection, it’s about who repaints it and with what feelings…’

In the end, only Clarette could touch Estelle’s faded portrait. There was no man in the world who would entrust his precious mother’s portrait to the hands of a romantic rival.

‘So, I have no choice but to perfectly revive her image myself.’

Clarette recalled Estelle’s beautiful smile even in the dirty canvas. It was hard to believe that a woman who could smile so brightly would choose s*icide.

<Lady Valentin was far more cruel, thorough, and ruthless than people imagine.>

Clarette remembered Lionel’s words and bit her lip. Estelle seemed to have suffered terribly under Lady Valentin, the previous Duchess.

But it was understandable for the legitimate wife to hate the mistress—what had the previous Duke Valentin been doing all that time?

Wasn’t he too irresponsible? As a result of his two women’s conflict, one ended up committing s*icide.

‘The previous Duke supported my father and me, but… he really wasn’t a good father to Lionel. Nor a good husband to Lady Valentin, nor a good man to Estelle.’

It felt strange to suddenly see the flaws of someone she had only seen the good in.

Clarette sighed, her mind in turmoil. She tried to calm her anxious self.

Lionel is different from his father.

He’ll be a kind husband, and a father who cherishes his child.

He’s a good man. The man I like.

Someone I want to see. Someone I want to stay beside.

Clarette, as if wanting to trust Lionel, clasped her hands together.

“Clarette.”

At the sudden voice, she startled and turned around. Lionel was standing in front of the chair where Earl Crowley had sat, though she hadn’t noticed him arrive.

Wearing a neat and solemn black formal suit, he smiled gently at Clarette.

“Were you painting this late? I was worried when you weren’t at the hotel.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize so much time had passed.”

“Nothing happened? Are you still sketching?”

Lionel showed interest and approached the easel. He looked at Clarette’s canvas, which still had little progress.

“I didn’t paint well today.”

She shrank her shoulders with an embarrassed face, and Lionel encouraged her kindly.

“Take your time. There are still two weeks left.”

“It’s a problem. I wasted a whole day, so I’m not sure I’ll make the deadline…”

“You’ll be fine. You’re good at painting.”

His eyes softened with his gentle words. It was the same beautiful smiling gaze as Estelle in the painting.

Clarette felt a pang in her chest and quickly stood up.

“My name is written on the easel, so I can leave it here. I’ll just take the canvas today, so I can work at the hotel.”

“What, you’re going to paint at the hotel again? Did you have dinner?”

“I grabbed something light. The nuns gave out white bread.”

“What? That’s too meager…”

“Your Grace, shh.”

Lionel pointed out her poor meal, and Clarette hurriedly cautioned him. There were many people in the cathedral glancing at Duke Valentin, so it was best not to comment on the church’s bread.

Still, Lionel muttered his dissatisfaction.

“You need to eat well. The restaurants must be closed, is there anywhere selling food?”

“It’s fine, I don’t have much appetite… Actually, I ate a lot of bread earlier.”

Lionel shook his head at Clarette’s weak answer.

“No, I guess I’ll have to cook something delicious for you again, like in the forest.”

“That’s a nice idea, but next time. We can’t borrow the hotel kitchen.”

“Should we borrow it?”

“No, Your Grace. I’m really fine.”

Clarette repeatedly refused and turned from the easel. Lionel worried about her seeming instability, but Clarette pressed her lips and headed for the exit.

He had no choice but to follow her and change the subject.

“By the way, why are you wearing that brooch? Do you like it?”

“Oh, this…”

Clarette fiddled with the brass entry brooch she had reluctantly worn at a priest’s insistence.

It didn’t match her dress, and it sparkled under the lights, making her self-conscious.

“I have to show it every time I enter the cathedral, so I just pinned it to my clothes out of convenience. It’s not my style of accessory.”

She didn’t want to tell Lionel about the discrimination she’d faced. He looked quietly at Clarette’s subdued expression and asked,

“So what is your style? What gemstones do you like?”

“I prefer colors more transparent than this brass. Something glass-like…”

“For example, diamonds?”

“That’s too expensive.”

“Price aside, you don’t dislike diamonds, right?”

“Yes, well…”

Clarette hesitated, trailing off.

In fact, she had never seen a real diamond. The only jewels she’d ever worn were those used for decorations at the ducal residence’s auction party.

So Clarette didn’t really know how beautiful diamonds were. They looked good in masterpieces, of course.

Meanwhile, Lionel quietly observed her, who had grown less talkative. Her expression reminded him of something.

Like when she looked at Castion’s statue, ‘Spring,’ thinking vaguely about things she couldn’t have.

Diamond rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings—all would suit Clarette.

But maybe she’d find a ring burdensome, since it felt like a proposal.

‘Probably. Now isn’t the right time.’

Lionel glanced at Clarette’s clean white hand, free of jewelry.

Would he ever be able to slip a ring engraved with his name onto those graceful fingers?

Someday, when all his debts disappeared and he could live forever as Duke Valentin. When he never had to return to the battlefield and could fully take responsibility for Clarette’s future at her side.

Then, maybe he could say it.

Clarette, please, with me…

“Your Grace.”

As they left the cathedral and walked along Genoa’s boulevard, Clarette softly called him.

Lionel broke away from his sweet daydream and met her eyes.