Chapter 8

Clarette blushed faintly, as if someone had struck her weakness.

“That’s right, I’ve never seen one. There was no way for me to see.”

“No way? What do you mean?”

“Male n*de models only pose for male artists. No male model wants to bare himself before a female artist. They think it’s disgraceful.”

Clarette’s voice was calm, but she clenched her fist as if frustrated.

“This industry is tailored to men in every way. There’s nothing I can do about it. All I can do is sketch from statues or study anatomy in books. But that alone is simply not enough…”

“But, still,”

Lionel asked, still sounding unconvinced.

“If observation is what matters, do you really need a model? Isn’t there another way?”

“What? If it’s not a model, who would undress for me?”

To this, Lionel replied as if it were obvious.

“You could just get a lover.”

“…What?”

“A lover. You live alone in a spacious house, right? Invite a man to your studio and ask him to undress.”

Lionel’s blunt suggestion left Clarette flustered.

“I-I can’t just date someone for that purpose…”

“Why not? It’s natural. If you like someone, you kiss, you undress, you do all sorts of things. If he cares for you, he’d gladly help with your art practice, don’t you think?”

Clarette pressed her lips together and sank into thought. After pondering for a while, she looked at Lionel with a face that seemed to have found a revelation.

“…I never even considered that. Not until you mentioned it, Your Grace.”

“So what did you do with the men you’ve dated? If you talk about art, that topic should come up naturally.”

“There was never a chance for that, because…”

Clarette mumbled, embarrassed.

“I’ve never dated anyone.”

Lionel fell silent for a moment. That was an answer he hadn’t expected at all.

“Wait… how old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five? And you’ve never had a lover?”

“It happens. I’m busy just painting. There are men who try to flirt with me sometimes, but I can’t date those types.”

Lionel was so surprised that he was nearly speechless. How could such a beautiful woman, who even caught his eye, not know men at all?

“What are those Moerven men doing, anyway? Unbelievable.”

“Not everyone thinks of romance as easily as you do, Your Grace.”

When Clarette rebuked him, Lionel scoffed in disbelief.

“So, are you planning to marry your art? No interest in men at all?”

“I did have someone I liked. But that was a long time ago.”

Clarette averted her gaze, as if she didn’t want to talk about that time any further. Lionel wanted to have a drink with her and hear about her old flame.

But now, he had to return as the chief mourner for the funeral.

“Too bad, but I’ll ask about that another time. I enjoyed the visit today. Even if you didn’t exactly give permission.”

“Next time, let me know in advance before you come. Don’t surprise me like this.”

“Oh, you’re giving me another chance? Even though I’m the villain who cut off your sponsorship?”

“…That doesn’t mean I’ll always let you in.”

Clarette was as formidable as ever. Lionel chuckled lightly and headed for the front door. The carriage waiting by the open-air café began to approach the studio.

Standing with her, watching the carriage, he spoke offhandedly.

“I’ll reconsider the sponsorship.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes. I told you—I liked your painting.”

More than the promise to reconsider, it was the fact that he liked her painting that made Clarette’s heart flutter. For the first time, she smiled at him.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I’m glad you liked my painting.”

Her smile was more beautiful than Lionel had imagined. Seeing her smile, he almost wanted to sponsor her again on impulse, but he managed to restrain himself.

With the Valentin Duchy buried in debt, direct sponsorship was impossible. So Lionel planned to have other nobles or businessmen support her. Even if he had to work it into business deals—he would make it happen.

As he climbed into the carriage, Clarette called out to him.

“And thank you for your advice today. I’ll finish that painting and give it to you, Your Grace.”

“Good. Have you gained some confidence now?”

“Yes, your advice helped a lot. My thinking was too narrow. I don’t have to be so fixated on official models.”

With determined eyes, she declared to him,

“I’ll try to find a lover. There were people who liked me, so if I open my heart, I’m sure I’ll be able to date someone.”

Lionel looked down at her from the carriage. Now was the moment to praise her for making a good decision.

“…Yes, go for it.”

He wished he could have sounded more sincere, but the words stuck in his throat and didn’t come out smoothly. Still, even this half-hearted encouragement was enough for Clarette, who thanked him politely.

“Take care, Your Grace.”

At last, the Valentin Duchy’s carriage departed. Clarette’s studio returned to its usual silent state.

* * *

The funeral at the Valentin Duchy started off on the wrong foot.

“Your Grace! The mourners have been waiting for over ten minutes!”

“I know, I know.”

With Oliver’s scolding echoing behind him, Lionel hurriedly changed into his black formal wear and went down to the first floor. In the main hall, where the coffins were placed, dozens of mourners waited for him.

Men and women alike were impeccably dressed. Even the contemptuous looks they cast at him for being late to the first event seemed almost rehearsed.

‘All these people are nobles?’

Having been excluded from most family events as an illegitimate child, Lionel had never experienced such a tense atmosphere before. Nobles seemed capable of attacking others with just a glance.

Well, could it be scarier than bullets?

“I apologize for being late. Let’s proceed quickly, so as not to waste any more of your precious time.”

He strode confidently through the stern atmosphere. As he walked toward his father and brother’s coffins, he felt the burn of eyes on the back of his head the entire time.

‘Let’s just get this over with. This is unbearably uncomfortable.’

Lionel turned around, holding the paper with the eulogy written on it. Before he began, he felt someone staring at him and looked up slightly.

A young man with neat black hair and violet eyes was gazing intently at him.

Earl Crowley. His cousin, Richard Crowley.

‘…That bastard.’

Lionel had never liked Richard since they were young. Though Richard was a year older, he wasn’t a direct member of the Valentin Duchy, yet he was always close to the ducal family.

As if he were the Duke’s second son.

‘He must be secretly displeased that the title passed to me. If I weren’t here, the dukedom would have been his.’

But when their eyes met, Richard gave him a faint smile.

Is he crazy? Lionel looked away from him and, in a low voice, began reading the Valentin Duchy’s eulogy.

“…May the lives of these men become an example for the great Rosenta Empire, and may their deaths be glorious because of it.”

After finishing the long eulogy, he placed a single white lily on each of his father and brother’s coffins. With Lionel’s floral tribute, all the indoor ceremonies were complete.

Shortly after, workers carried out the coffins and loaded them onto the funeral carriage. A priest from the Empire’s state religion, the Ensila Order, spoke the final blessing for the deceased.

The funeral carriage began to slowly circle the ducal mansion. Led by Lionel, all the mourners followed the carriage at a slow pace.

In the solemn atmosphere, as Lionel walked in silence, whispers could be heard from the crowd of mourners behind him.