Although he was somewhat older, the fact that he had served as a soldier and returned from the war made it understandable that he was still unmarried.

A retired soldier without a wife. Moreover, he was a distant relative of a baron, sent here for recuperation and supported by the baron himself.

“He must have distinguished himself in battle.”

“Even if not, he must be acquainted with the baron.”

“Perhaps he’s the son of a wealthy landowner or a second or third son of a noble family?”

The ladies’ hearts swelled with hope.

At that moment, someone spoke.

“Let’s keep this information among the ladies of Feltham.”

“Indeed. There’s no need for word to spread all the way to Camborne, is there?”

Feltham already had more than enough marriageable daughters. There was no reason to let the daughters of the more glamorous Camborne have this golden opportunity.

A stronger alliance than ever before was formed in Feltham.

The ladies sealed the pact with the scent of tea and exchanged glances.

“By the way, when is this new steward expected to arrive?”

“According to the letter, he should be here within a week. But it’s not certain.”

A week.

The ladies quickly calculated in their minds.

Time was short. But it was enough to take their daughters to Camborne and have them adequately adorned.

“Thank you so much for sharing this wonderful news, Mrs. Surberton!”

“You’re truly remarkable!”

The ladies of Feltham, without exception, praised Mrs. Surberton.

At the same time, they pitied her.

“If it were me, I wouldn’t have shared this information. Poor Mrs. Surberton. She must have completely given up on her daughter’s marriage.”

Just as they all had daughters, so did she. Her daughter was Eloise Surberton, long past the prime age for marriage.

Her light brown hair and deep green eyes seemed to embody the vibrant colors of the countryside itself.

Moreover, her tall figure and delicate features exuded a uniquely feminine beauty.

And yet, the ladies did not consider Eloise a rival to their daughters. And for good reason…

“Miss! Where are you going?”

At Emily’s cry, the ladies turned their gaze toward the window.

Outside, they saw Eloise sitting in a cart without even wearing a hat, wielding a whip—a sight far removed from what one might call ladylike.

A fleeting sense of relief passed over the ladies’ faces.

No matter who the new steward was, he would never be interested in a lady so utterly lacking in grace.

“Miss! Your hat! At least take your hat! No, a shawl at the very least…!”

Ignoring Emily’s desperate pleas from behind her, Eloise cracked the whip.

Sensing their mistress’s urgency, the horses stomped their hooves and charged forward.

The rattling cart crossed the stone bridge and sped down the village road. It was heading toward Blissbury.

Eloise would have been captivated by the wildflowers in full bloom on any other day, smiling as the spring breeze brushed her cheeks. But today, her expression was more determined than ever.

“A week.”

She leaped onto the cart without hesitation when she heard those words through the door.

“I need to hurry.”

She had expected to wait at least a month, maybe two. But only a week?

The new steward was rushing. He might even arrive in Blissbury sooner than announced.

“My goodness. If I had known, I wouldn’t have left the paintings there.”

The mansion had a magnificent painting room. No one would barge in once the door was closed, making it a quiet and beautiful sanctuary.

Whenever her father traveled to Blissbury, Eloise would accompany him and spend time there. In that beautiful place, she left behind a secret.

“My paintings!”

A proper lady was expected to paint the beauty of nature. But having spent her entire childhood drawing flowers, grass, and trees, she had grown utterly sick of landscapes.

So next, she painted animals and insects. Naturally, that, too, became tiresome.

There was only one subject left.

Humans.

She could paint anything else at home, but not portraits.

First and foremost, Mrs. Surberton despised them.

“Of all the beautiful landscapes in the world, why paint people? At the very least, paint mythological scenes or historical moments! Why on earth would you draw coachmen, maids, or postal workers? That is not something a lady should paint!”

Mrs. Surberton hastily tossed Eloise’s sketches into the fireplace as if she had seen something unspeakable.

But that was not enough to make Eloise stop. She saw it through to the end once she set her mind on something.

So, Eloise painted the kinds of artworks her mother approved of at home while freely sketching people in Blissbury’s painting room.

Naturally, she stored her paintings in the cabinet there.

She couldn’t bring them home, after all!

If the new steward were to see that…

Since he was supposedly coming for recuperation, she didn’t think he would examine every nook and cranny. He would likely manage only the staff, just as her father had.

He wouldn’t bother checking which rugs were laid out for each season, how many silver utensils were in the kitchen, or what paintings were stored inside the old cabinet in the painting room tucked away in the corner of the mansion.

But if he did happen to see them…!

Eloise, now pale, hastily drove the carriage, all to safeguard her social reputation and dignity.

The horses pulling the carriage were not bred for speed. Even though she hurried, it still took her two hours to reach Blissbury.

“Oh my, Miss Eloise.”

Mrs. Parker, the cook, happened to be outside the mansion and widened her eyes at the sight of Eloise hurriedly dismounting from the carriage.

“What on earth is this? Did Mrs. Surberton actually let you leave in such a state?”

“If she had, I wouldn’t have made it here. You know how my mother is—she throws a fit even if I tie my ribbons incorrectly. But more importantly, has the new steward arrived yet?”

“Oh dear, we did receive word. He’s expected to arrive soon. But Mr. Surberton is still…”

“Good. That means he’s not here yet!”

Eloise brushed past Mrs. Parker and stepped inside Blissbury Manor.

As she entered the foyer, the coolness unique to well-built stone buildings enveloped her body.

Having traveled across sunlit fields, she had worked up a sweat, and now she shivered.

‘Goodness, I should have brought a shawl.’

Though she had long since recovered from the illness of her childhood, she still fell sick more easily than most whenever the seasons changed.

Emily’s worried voice calling after her came to mind. Perhaps she should have listened then?

‘She’ll be noisy when I return.’

Her mother’s scolding was a given, and Emily would undoubtedly chime in.

Just imagining it was terrifying.

Shivering once more, Eloise hurried toward the painting room.

As always, Blissbury was impeccably maintained. This was thanks not only to her father’s diligent management but also to the hardworking staff known throughout Feltham for their industriousness.

Mrs. Parker, who managed the kitchen; the Warren father and son, who tended the gardens; and Mr. Palmer, who had retired from serving a noble family in Newham and now single-handedly oversaw the household chores.

Though few, they were all skilled and dedicated workers, keeping Blissbury spotless despite its owner’s infrequent visits.

‘I hope the new steward is a decent person.’

Though the mansion wasn’t hers, Eloise had spent her childhood there—it was practically another home to her.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that half her memories were tied to this place.

Even if she could no longer visit as freely as before, she wished for Blissbury to remain as beautiful as ever.

‘Since he’s here to recuperate, he probably won’t change much, right?’

Hoping for the best, Eloise stepped into the painting room.

A bundle of papers tumbled when she opened the cabinet in the corner.

“My goodness. Why are there so many?”

She had been practicing diligently but hadn’t realized how much she had drawn.

After a glance outside to ensure no one was around, Eloise spread the drawings across the floor.

Her earlier sketches had awkward proportions, but the more recent ones looked more natural.

However, now was not the time to admire her progress.

Eloise swiftly pulled out a few particular drawings.

They all shared one common feature—

They depicted the human body, completely bare, with not a single thread of clothing in sight.

And that wasn’t even the real problem.

She searched through them until she found a drawing of a male figure. The moment she laid eyes on it, her face turned crimson.

Every single one of the male figures had the face of Lieutenant Colonel Ryan Wilgrave.

There was no way she could have found a n*de model in Feltham—least of all at Blissbury.

So Eloise had painstakingly acquired and copied a book of n*de sketches from it.

But the book’s illustrations lacked faces. The artist deliberately omitted them, believing that as soon as faces were included, people would no longer see the book as a reference but as something indecent.

As a result, Eloise’s drawings always lacked faces.

Looking at the faceless bodies, she thought,

‘It doesn’t feel complete without a face.’

So she decided to add one. But whose face could she possibly use as a reference?

She couldn’t bring herself to use the face of any man she knew.

She had tried conjuring an imaginary figure, but the result always felt unnatural.

She needed someone she could reference without guilt.

Unable to use anyone from her surroundings, Eloise agonized over it—until one night, by flickering candlelight, she found herself staring at a man’s face.

She had even requested Lieutenant Colonel Ryan Wilgrave’s portrait from a relative in Newham.