Chapter 48

The Duke’s words sent a quiet ripple through the crowd. Even the sharp Melanie Bouvier was on the verge of misunderstanding his remark.

Just what had Clarette Sollier done to overexert herself last night? As everyone’s eyes gathered, Lionel calmly explained with an untroubled face.

“Clarette’s studio was lit up until dawn. I can see her studio window from my study. It seems she was painting all night.”

“Oh, I see.”

“As expected of a resident artist, Your Grace, you pay close attention.”

“Diligent artists like her are the ones who make a name for themselves.”

Everyone relaxed upon hearing a reasonable explanation, each chiming in with their own comments. Lionel gently dispelled any misunderstanding about Clarette and turned away.

“Then, shall we have a simple meal and talk? There’s so much I’m curious about—about all those colors you create.”

* * *

Clarette opened her eyes just after noon. She stared blankly up at the bed canopy draped with curtains, recalling the scenes from the previous night.

The Duke’s unwavering gaze fixed only on her, his beautiful and dazzling n*ked form, and the sketch she had finally completed.

His voice, low and gentle in the pitch-black darkness.

‘It feels like I had a dream.’

Clarette slowly sat up and pulled back the bed curtains. It was already broad daylight outside. She had never slept in this late before in her life.

‘This is bad. I need to make paint quickly, and if I’m going to see His Grace again tonight….’

Still dazed, Clarette changed her clothes, worrying about the night ahead. She had boldly told him that she would start coloring from now on, but in truth, she was in no condition to even make the paints she needed for tonight.

“Ow.”

Having painted past midnight, her wrist was very sore. Her fingers felt oddly numb as well.

‘No good. I can’t do anything like this.’

Clarette found it difficult to even twist up her hair, so she gave up and simply tied her long hair into a loose bun. Just as she finished getting ready to go out—

Knock, knock. Someone rapped on her bedroom door. The heavy sound was clearly different from Diane’s light tapping.

Sensing who the unexpected visitor might be, she quickly cleared her throat and responded.

“Who is it?”

“Clarette, are you up?”

The Duke’s voice came from beyond the door, low and relaxed as usual.

Clarette unconsciously glanced at the mirror in her dressing room to check herself. She pressed down her stray hairs and approached the door.

When she opened it, the Duke was dressed a bit more formally than loungewear, meeting her gaze with a smile. He looked as though he had just greeted guests.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I’ve been up for a while. It’s already daytime.”

Clarette answered casually, but the Duke didn’t seem convinced. He glanced at her unusual hairstyle and spoke cheerfully.

“You look different than usual. Not planning to paint today?”

“Oh, yes. I drew a lot yesterday, so I thought I’d rest. Maybe make a little paint in the afternoon.”

As soon as Clarette said she was taking a break, Lionel’s eyes sparkled. He took her hand the moment she looked at him.

“Then would you come with me for a bit? There’s something I want to show you.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“You’ll see if you follow me.”

Led by his hand, Clarette headed straight for the studio. Was he asking her to paint again in broad daylight? On the very day her wrist hurt?

But once inside, the Duke led her not to the sofa or easel, but to the side of the room with the table. The table, which had been empty until dawn, was now crowded with unfamiliar objects.

They were all jars of pigment, each marked with someone’s seal. At the sight of those elegant designs, Clarette suddenly remembered her childhood.

“Clarette, do you know what these are?”

“Yes, of course. These are….”

She carefully broke the seal on a small jar and opened the lid.

Inside was a precious, purplish pigment not easily found in the Duchy. Clarette recalled traveling far with her father to buy this pigment.

“…This is pigment made by Mr. Kubelin. I can tell by the seal. My father and I traveled all the way to the southern part of the Empire to buy this, ten years ago, when I was fifteen.”

Her eyes softened as she reminisced. Lionel watched her expression closely and asked,

“Was the trip fun?”

“Yes, very much. I’d hardly ever left Moerven before. That trip was the farthest I’d ever gone. This deep purple, you can only get it at the southern seaside.”

Clarette let out a small, spontaneous laugh at the happy memory.

“I still remember. My dad prepared a large sum to buy this pigment, but it was much more expensive than expected. Plus, there was a big festival about to start, so Mr. Kubelin’s goods were all sold out. We were so disappointed. We even went to the Ensila Order’s temple and made a vow not to return to Moerven until we’d gotten at least a handful.”

Clarette unconsciously called him ‘Dad’ as she spoke happily. Lionel couldn’t take his eyes off her smile and asked,

“So what happened? You came back to Moerven, so did you manage to buy some?”

“No. We visited Mr. Kubelin’s shop every day during the festival, but never managed to buy a single jar. But seeing us struggling from so far away, Mr. Kubelin gathered what was left in his storage and gave it to us as a gift. It was literally just a handful, but it meant we could keep our vow to the goddess.”

Clarette carefully closed the lid, as if sealing away the memory. She gazed fondly at the Kubelin Art Society’s seal and murmured,

“I never thought I’d see this here. I’d forgotten about it for so long….”

As Clarette traced the seal with longing, Lionel looked over the jars crowded on the table and spoke to her.

“Clarette, you can paint as much as you want with these now.”

“What?”

“All these pigments you see—they’re yours.”

Clarette stared blankly at the Duke. There were so many types of Kubelin’s pigments on the table. Since they were all incredibly expensive, Clarette couldn’t believe it and looked back at the jars.

Why had these suddenly appeared in her studio….?

“Your Grace, did you… buy all these? For me?”

She wanted to ask about the debt, but barely managed to hold her tongue. As Clarette hesitated, Lionel chuckled and shook his head.

“I didn’t buy them. Your father did.”

“My father?”

“Yes. Here’s the order slip.”

Lionel pulled out a worn piece of paper from his pocket, which he’d received from Kubelin that morning. When he showed her the order slip, Clarette’s eyes widened.

It was her father’s familiar handwriting. Lionel looked at the slip with her, standing at her side.

“See here? The orderer is Arno Sollier. According to Mr. Kubelin, he ordered a large amount of pigment five years ago and never picked it up.”

Clarette quietly nodded at his words.

“Yes, he wouldn’t have been able to. My father’s memory worsened and he had trouble moving after collapsing five years ago.”

She let out a small sigh, recalling that moment. Lionel, hoping to lift her from sad memories, changed the subject.

“So, Mr. Kubelin brought these pigments here, since you’re staying at the ducal residence.”

“Did he come here himself? Today?”

“Yes, this morning. He had something to discuss with me. I summoned several craftsmen besides Mr. Kubelin. The origin of each color is different—it’s a fascinating world.”

Clarette looked at the Duke with a puzzled face. She and the art society were inseparable, but this man seemed to have nothing to do with it.

Unless it was an event like the last auction party….

“Ah.”

Clarette recalled Melanie Bouvier’s visits and quickly made the connection.

“Could it be, Your Grace, that your new business is in this field? Are you planning to do something with these pigments?”

“Yes, for now.”

Only then did Clarette realize the Duke’s intention and looked down at Kubelin’s pigments. This was both her father’s unintended legacy and the cornerstone of the Duke’s new business.

But Clarette wondered if his approach might be mistaken.