MAC 09

Chapter: 09

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!”

A bright smile spread across Beatrice’s face. She even bounced on her feet and clasped both hands to her chest.

“Arthur, Arthur! You checked the recipient’s name carefully, right? It’s Mr. Etienne Morel. And you wrote the salon address correctly, didn’t you?”

Her blue-green eyes, completely free of sleepiness now, gazed up at the butler brimming with anticipation.

“…Yes, my lady. I wrote everything correctly without a mistake. I was told it would take nearly three weeks for the painting to arrive in Verquion.”

“Eeeee!”

Another excited squeal escaped her. Arthur swallowed nervously for a moment.

Yes, Etienne Morel…

Having served in this household since the day Beatrice was born, Arthur regarded Beatrice, who was young enough to be his granddaughter, as an utterly precious and lovable child. That was probably why, despite worrying about everything she did, he could never bring himself to ignore any request she made.

Arthur lowered his voice worriedly.

“My lady. I did manage to send it safely, but…”

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll take care of everything myself. I’ll tell my parents personally tonight. I won’t drag you into this. All right?”

Arthur let out a series of deep sighs inwardly.

The Marquess and Marchioness of Somerset were endlessly indulgent toward their youngest daughter, but what if that daughter was planning to travel alone to a distant foreign country?

Arthur felt his headache growing worse by the second.

“The painting has already been sent, so now I just have to tell them everything and start the fight.”

“It won’t be easy, my lady…”

“Don’t worry. I’ve steeled myself for it. I’m going to become a real painter no matter what. I absolutely hate being treated as though painting is merely a hobby for a noble lady.”

Just imagining the storm that was about to come made Arthur feel as though he had aged ten years.

Worried for her, Arthur followed Beatrice with gloomy eyes as she approached the canvas.

From a butler’s perspective, merely looking at the canvas covered thickly with layers of paint was enough to give him a headache. Yet Beatrice stared intently at the canvas as though deep in thought, then suddenly dipped her brush deeply into the paint and began swinging it about wildly.

Those blasted Fauves!

After graduating from art school and returning home, Lady Somerset had somehow become an ardent follower of those mad painters. She treated the canvas as though it were some sworn enemy, and to Arthur, it was simply unacceptable.

When she was young, she had painted neat, ladylike still lifes and landscapes so delicate and detailed that they looked almost real, earning admiration from everyone who saw them. How on earth had she come to be attracted to such a beastly style of painting?

Even to Arthur, who knew little about art at the time, her dazzling talent had been obvious. If she had been born a commoner man and had been able to study painting, he thought that talent alone could have brought her wealth and fame.

Those blasted Fauves had thoroughly ruined his young lady. And now Lady Somerset was even insisting on studying painting under the very madmen of that “Fauvist circle”!

Arthur withdrew from Beatrice’s room, trying to calm his troubled mind.

He was deeply worried about what would become of Lady Somerset’s rapidly growing ambitions, but one thing seemed certain: she was no longer in a state where she would listen simply because he tried to dissuade her.

The dining room of Somerset Manor.

The Somerset family had gathered for dinner for the first time in a while and were enjoying their meal at a leisurely pace. They casually discussed Beatrice’s two older brothers, who were serving as officers, and soon the conversation turned to her maternal uncle Edward, who would be returning home shortly.

“Uncle Edward is coming back?”

“Yes, Beatrice. I heard your uncle was offered the position of director of the Royal Museum of Natural History. He’ll be staying at this estate for the time being.”

“Wow!”

Beatrice accidentally exclaimed loudly, but she quickly closed her mouth when she caught her mother’s sharp gaze. It was an unspoken signal to maintain the dignity expected of a lady.

“Has it been two years? This is certainly something to look forward to.”

The Marquess of Somerset looked just as excited as Beatrice. He was particularly fond of his brother-in-law and seemed to hope that Edward might simply move into the household and live with them.

“Dear, tell your brother-in-law not to stay for just a short while but to move in altogether. Rather than arranging separate accommodations for him, he can simply stay here. We have more than enough rooms.”

“That would be nice, but is Edward really the sort of person who would do that? He’ll probably be busy running around somewhere, stirring things up wherever he goes.”

Whatever the case, it was wonderful news for Beatrice.

If there was one person who could become her strongest ally and support her in pursuing her dreams, it would be Uncle Edward.

“Anyway, let’s leave that topic for now.”

The Marchioness picked up her napkin and dabbed the corner of her mouth before smoothly changing the subject.

“So, did you look at the dress I had brought to your bedroom? I had it decorated with plenty of the new lace that’s fashionable in society these days. I had the hem embellished so that it would stand out when you danced.”

“Ah, yes.”

The cheerful expression she had shown moments ago was nowhere to be seen. When Beatrice replied in such a dry and insincere tone, the Marchioness’s eyebrow twitched slightly.

“Beatrice. I know you dislike it, but it’s time you started thinking about marriage. You’re twenty-five. You’re old enough now.”

The rebuke was quiet but carried weight. Beatrice swallowed silently.

The moment she had been dreading had finally arrived. Her mother had begun talking about marriage.

“I’ll gradually try harder from now on, Mother.”

For the time being, she would answer obediently. It would be better to remain as vague as possible and let the matter pass.

With that thought, Beatrice nodded half-heartedly.

The problem came next.

“I’m glad you understand the situation.”

The Marchioness gave her a faint smile.

Yet there was a strange tension hanging over the dining table, and the Marquess of Somerset, who had been sipping his wine, kept his mouth firmly shut while anxiously watching his wife and daughter.

“Since we’re on the subject, your father and I have already looked into several suitable matches for you.”

“Wait. You’ve already chosen candidates for my husband?”

“Of course. We have to start now. Starting tomorrow, in fact.”

“But…”

Beatrice could feel her temper slowly rising.

She had thought that her parents, at least, would be somewhat different from other people…

“You’ve already finished all the studies you wanted to pursue. What excuse is there left for delaying things any further?”

Her mother’s elegant smile seemed to press down on her chest.

Her favorite pheasant dish sat right in front of her, but Beatrice had suddenly lost her appetite and quietly set down her fork and knife.

“Now, first, there’s Lord Ashworth. He’s the eldest son of the Earl of Kent. He’s highly knowledgeable about classical paintings and is widely praised in society for his impeccable conduct.”

…This was exactly why marriage was so dreadful.

Beatrice clenched her teeth and lowered her gaze.

How could parents decide a woman’s entire remaining life among themselves without even asking the woman concerned what she wanted?

Do I have no say in this at all?

Really?

“Oh, and I heard Lord Ashworth enjoys collecting still-life paintings as a hobby. Once he learns how deeply interested you are in painting, I’m sure he’ll be considerate enough to let you continue enjoying your hobby even after marriage.”

“I don’t paint as a hobby.”

“And…”

Pretending not to hear Beatrice’s muttered words, the Marchioness quickly continued.

“Oh, the eldest son of Baron Fitzroy would also make an excellent husband. He’s quite suitable.”

“Wait, dear. We agreed to exclude Fitzroy. He’s ten years older than our Beatrice… How could you even consider such a man?”

The Marquess of Somerset nearly spat out his wine as he hurriedly interrupted in shock.

“Well, you see…”

The Marchioness let out a long sigh.

“Unfortunately, the fact that a woman has graduated from an art school is a fatal flaw in the marriage market. Baroness Fitzroy was subtly hinting to me that Beatrice must have drawn nudes at school and probably spent time associating with commoner men… Can you believe I had to listen to such things even though I’m the wife of the Marquess of Somerset?”

Her mother’s self-deprecating sigh dissipated into the air.

Beatrice tried to suppress her discomfort, but she could not.

A burning anger kept bubbling up inside her chest.

Was a woman’s decision to study seriously, instead of learning only an “appropriate” amount, really such a fatal flaw?

“What ignorant people! What’s wrong with our daughter painting?”

The Marquess of Somerset shouted angrily, but the Marchioness looked so drained that she seemed to lack even the energy to get angry.

“They’re saying it lowers her dignity and diminishes the standing of the family. You know that perfectly well, so why ask?”

“How dare they say such things when they’re being given the honor of marrying a young lady of the Somerset family?”

“Reality is reality. What can we do? Since we allowed that child to attend art school, we have to deal with the consequences as well.”

The Marquess grunted and frowned as he poured wine generously into his empty glass.

Yet Beatrice, sitting across from them, could not say a word despite being the very person this conversation was about.

She had only worked hard to study something she loved…