Chapter 71

Since Clarette entered the ducal residence, these days had been the most satisfying for her. During the day, she devoted herself to practicing landscapes and still lifes, and in the meantime, she continued restoring the portrait of Lionel’s mother.

Meanwhile, Clarette heard from Diane that more guests were visiting the ducal residence than before. This had started when Lionel began preparations for full-scale paint production.

“It feels like we’ve returned to the days of the previous Duke. Back then, all sorts of people used to visit the mansion like this.”

While Diane cleaned the gallery, Clarette was copying a portrait her father had painted. As she slowly moved her brush, Clarette asked Diane,

“Did the previous Duke also welcome so many commoner guests?”

“Yes, compared to other nobles. Maybe the current Duke takes after his father quite a lot. The previous Duke was generous and gentlemanly to those below him.”

Diane spoke without much thought, praising the Duke. But Clarette suddenly felt something subtle. It was because of the phrase ‘those below him.’

‘It’s not like Diane said anything wrong. After all, I’m a resident of the Valentin Duchy, I’m under his patronage, and anyway… I’m a commoner.’

Lionel cherished and cared for Clarette so much that she often forgot, but the difference in their social status was clear. Clarette recalled Jasmine de Bruyel, whom she had met on the ship to Tivenny.

‘Lady Jasmine was also the daughter of a Duke. I even heard she was set to inherit the title.’

As Jasmine’s bright, shadowless smile and lovely expression came to mind, Clarette found her cute, but her mood also sank a little.

If Duke Valentin were to kiss and show affection to such a noblewoman, a marriage proposal would realistically begin between the two houses. Even if not, at the very least, the two would be called official lovers in society.

They were people who could date or marry as much as they liked, because they belonged to the same world.

<It’s best to paint at night. At night, I can go to the annex unnoticed, and most of the staff will be asleep.>

As Clarette recalled Lionel’s words, her movements slowed. When he first suggested coming to the studio, she hadn’t thought anything of it.

‘Of course. It’s not just anything, but a n*de model, so the Duke’s honor must be protected. Besides, that decision was necessary for me too. If His Grace visits the annex too often, I’ll be treated as his mistress…’

At that thought, Clarette finally stopped her brush. She realized a serious fact she hadn’t noticed before.

‘…Can I really say I’m not his mistress?’

Painting and touching each other’s bodies and kissing afterward—well, that was part of the contract for Lionel to pose n*de.

But since their first kiss, Clarette and Lionel had sought each other’s lips and exchanged affectionate glances whenever they could. Especially lately, Lionel had often used the paint business as an excuse to visit the annex even during the day.

Then, the two would close the studio door, talk about business, and inevitably embrace and kiss.

Like lovers.

‘That’s a mistress… isn’t it?’

Clarette was shocked anew and dropped her brush. Black paint splattered on the canvas, ruining the painting in an instant.

“Oh my, Clarette! What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

As the brush rolled to the floor, Diane rushed over in alarm. Clarette hurriedly grabbed the brush, but everything had already gone wrong.

“Ah… I’m sorry, Diane. Please give me a rag. I’ll clean it up.”

“No, you look unwell, don’t push yourself! You should go upstairs and rest…”

“It’s fine, I made the mess, so let me clean it.”

Clarette was so firm that Diane had no choice but to hand her a rag and a bucket. Clarette was still dazed, but she immediately wrung out the rag and began wiping the floor.

She had cleaned up spilled paint hundreds of times before, so her movements were skillful. Even worried Diane had nothing more to add, seeing her deft hands.

But as Clarette scrubbed away the black stain, she quietly thought,

‘I’m not a noble, so I shouldn’t push this work onto Diane. She and I are equals. But if His Grace had made the same mess… I’d think it was right for Diane to clean it up.’

Then, if such a thing happened with just Duke Valentin and herself present, what should she do?

The answer was all too simple.

‘His Grace would take the lead for my sake. But that’s wrong. I’m the one who should fix it, because I’m… below him.’

Clarette gripped the dirty rag with a dark expression.

The painting was already ruined beyond repair.

* * *

That night, Lionel’s visit to the annex hadn’t been part of his original plan. His reason for coming was simple.

“Clarette is skipping dinner? Why?”

When Head Maid Susan relayed the message, Lionel immediately raised his voice. Susan thought the Duke was overreacting and answered,

“She says she’s not feeling well. She only wants some simple soup. Diane is taking care of her, Your Grace.”

“Should I call a doctor?”

“No, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

Susan replied calmly and offered advice to the young Duke.

“If you’re really worried, stop by after dinner. Diane will be with her in the bedroom.”

She meant Lionel didn’t have to worry about appearances since they wouldn’t be alone. Lionel gladly accepted the head maid’s thoughtful suggestion.

So, as soon as he finished dinner, he hurried to the annex.

“Clarette, are you inside?”

Lionel knocked on the door of her bedroom at the far end of the second floor. But there was no response from inside. Not a glimmer of light came through the crack, and even Diane, who should have been with Clarette, was silent.

Lionel finally took the liberty of opening Clarette’s bedroom door.

But inside the pitch-dark room, there was no sign of anyone. He approached the bed and drew back the curtains, but the bed was empty.

Lionel calmly closed the bedroom door. The gallery on the first floor he’d passed was dark. That meant there was only one place she could be.

Lionel stood before the studio door at the opposite end of the corridor from the bedroom. Faint light seeped out from under the door.

It was proper to knock before entering. But he felt an uneasy premonition and opened the door immediately.

Bang—the door swung open, and Clarette, sitting before the easel, sprang up in shock. She carefully set down a brush smeared with white paint and looked at Lionel with anxious eyes.

Like someone wanting to hide a secret.

“Clarette. I heard you weren’t well.”

Lionel closed the studio door without apologizing for barging in. Clarette’s subtle reaction kept bothering him.

Meanwhile, she understood why he had come and answered calmly.

“I skipped dinner because I had no appetite. I’m just a little unwell.”

“Where’s Diane? Wasn’t she looking after you?”

“I sent her away. I’m not sick enough to need nursing. It’s just a bit of a headache, nothing for you to worry about, Your Grace.”

Clarette’s responses were so polite they seemed almost cold. Lionel realized it had been a long time since she’d treated him so distantly.

Recently, she had always welcomed him with a smile.

“If you’re sick, you should rest. Why force yourself to paint? What are you working on so hard…?”

As Lionel walked up to the easel, Clarette bit her lip and avoided his gaze. He stared at the painting she was working on.