MAC 15

Chapter 15

The young nobles gathered in the private room were scattered around the card tables, billiard table, and sofas, chatting and drinking.

Beatrice sat near the fireplace, smoothing out the folds of her dress. The pale aqua gown, chosen to match her blue-green eyes, reflected the light with a subtle sheen.

“I heard the shares in the mines of Kent have been rising quite a bit lately. Have you heard the rumors?”

“Ah, yes, I heard about that too. I made a rather nice profit investing in the railway project over there.”

At the billiard table on her left, people noisily discussed whose mines were doing well and who had invested where and increased their fortune.

“I think we’ll be having the engagement ceremony before the season ends.”

“Oh my! Congratulations! You must be terribly busy now.”

On her right, an entirely different conversation was taking place.

Marriage. Engagements. Other people’s marriages.

As the voices of those around her flowed in through one ear and out the other, Beatrice opened her fan once more.

Beatrice had never been particularly interested in fashion, but an ostrich-feather fan was useful in many ways.

It was useful when she needed to cover a yawn while enduring a tedious gathering, or when she wanted to hide her face so she wouldn’t make eye contact with men.

And right now, if she simply closed her eyes and gently waved the fan as though she were completely exhausted, no one would bother approaching her.

Everything had been going well until—

“Beatrice! It’s been ages!”

Startled by the hand tapping her shoulder, Beatrice found someone’s face filling her field of vision.

Large eyes that looked as though they might roll right out of their sockets, a thin frame, and a smile that was slightly twisted at the edges.

It was Eugenia Norton.

“Uh…”

“I heard your uncle was appointed director of the museum today. Sir Edward Rockwell, right? Congratulations, Lady Somerset!”

At the sharp, exaggerated laughter, Beatrice’s body stiffened.

“Uh… yes. Hello.”

Beatrice instinctively glanced toward the entrance.

Would it be better to simply bolt out of here right now?

At this point, being hounded by reporters outside might actually be preferable.

There were many reasons Beatrice stayed away from society, but one of the biggest reasons was none other than Eugenia Norton.

“It’s so good to see you, Beatrice. I heard you completed the entire course at the Royal Academy of Art and have finally returned. You were away from society for quite a long time, weren’t you?”

“Mm-hm. That’s right.”

Aware of the attention gradually turning toward her, Beatrice forced the corners of her lips upward.

“I always thought you painted merely as a lighthearted hobby, like the other society ladies. But I must say, I truly admire the fact that you devoted yourself to it so seriously and actually accomplished something.”

The compliment was almost excessively sweet, yet beneath its surface warmth was something strangely twisted.

A bad feeling slowly raised its head in the back of Beatrice’s mind.

Eugenia’s chronic obsession with monopolizing the attention of all society must have flared up again.

It seemed that her uncle Edward’s appointment as museum director had drawn far too much attention to the daughter of the Marquess of Somerset for Eugenia’s liking.

“Everyone, come over and say hello! This is Lady Beatrice, daughter of the Marquess of Somerset and the niece of Sir Edward Rockwell, who has just been appointed the new director of the Natural History Museum.”

As Norton raised her voice toward the room, the nobles who had been leisurely chatting began gathering around as though they had been waiting for an opportunity.

“I’ve wanted to speak with you for a while, but you looked so exhausted that I was waiting for the right opportunity.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Beatrice. I’m a great admirer of Mr. Greenleaf as well.”

With the added distinction of being the niece of Director Rockwell, who had become the talk of high society that evening, people quickly flocked toward Beatrice.

Some brought up memories of playing with dolls together in the gardens of their grand estates when they were children, attempting to establish a sense of familiarity.

Others introduced themselves as devoted readers of Lord Greenleaf, whose work they had known only through newspaper pages for the past ten years.

As Beatrice became surrounded by people and her mind began to go numb, Norton finally began the cruel little game she had evidently been waiting for.

“Well, now that you’ve finished your studies, I suppose you’ll be getting married soon? What about marriage proposals? Is there anyone you’re seeing?”

“…No. There isn’t.”

Keeping an eye out for a chance to escape, Beatrice glanced toward the entrance once again.

If I can’t get out of here, perhaps I should just wish everyone in this room would leave instead.

Of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

Even now, someone was entering the private room.

And judging by appearances, it was a young man with a face full of freckles who looked like the sort of person who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, accompanied by his companions.

“Oh my, Lord Viscount!”

Eugenia, who had been about to say something else to Beatrice, suddenly froze.

She quickly corrected her posture, cleared her throat, and waved rather elegantly toward the man behind them.

“Hello.”

Beatrice instinctively turned her head in the same direction.

Only then did she realize that the person Eugenia was greeting so warmly wasn’t the freckled young man, but the tall, exceptionally handsome man standing behind him.

“Well, well, who do we have here? Viscount Bennett! How many years has it been?”

Warm greetings flew from every direction, and amid the sudden commotion, a brief opening appeared in the conversation.

Everyone’s attention had shifted toward the newcomers.

This was her chance.

Beatrice decided she should slip away while she could.

She had just begun to move discreetly when—

“Beatrice, where do you think you’re going?”

Eugenia, quick to notice everything, grabbed her arm.

Her eyes gleamed darkly, filled with inexplicable spite and twisted malice, as though she were desperate to publicly humiliate Beatrice somehow.

“Don’t be too discouraged. Just wait and see. A daughter of the Marquess of Somerset is bound to be popular.”

“Eugenia.”

Beatrice straightened her back, enduring the pressure of her tightly laced corset.

Rather than endure humiliation just to dance along with this madwoman’s tune, perhaps it would be better to simply let everyone think she was strange.

“I didn’t paint merely as a hobby. I have no intention of getting married. I’m planning to go to Verquion and become a professional painter.”

“Oh my.”

Even Eugenia looked slightly surprised, her eyes widening.

The cheerful laughter in the room ebbed away like the tide going out, and Beatrice began to feel crushed beneath the strange silence that settled over the drawing room.

“Well, well. A woman traveling abroad alone? Are you perhaps dreaming of some sort of free love?”

One of the men who had been listening nearby gave a nasty smile and chuckled.

Beatrice’s body stiffened slightly beneath his unpleasant gaze.

“You’ll have to be careful. I hear there are so many men in Verquion who are desperate to defile respectable ladies. Though, I suppose there’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself willingly, is there?”

“Ah, yes. Of course. You’ll need money to live, after all.”

“The new museum director and now this. The Somerset family certainly is an open-minded bunch.”

The men burst into loud laughter and returned to their billiards.

Eugenia Norton, meanwhile, turned red with apparent embarrassment.

“Are you crazy? How could you say something like that here? What will those men think of you…?”

It wasn’t only Eugenia.

The women sitting near Beatrice also wore increasingly serious expressions.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help worrying after hearing your conversation.”

A young-looking married woman at the neighboring table, who had been feeding her baby spoonfuls of sherbet, cautiously spoke up.

“Lady Somerset, your passion for learning to paint is admirable, but you don’t need to drag your own dignity through the mud. You can simply study it as a hobby.”

“Just look at those men. Did you see how their eyes changed immediately? We all know that you’re a refined young lady, Lady Somerset, but…”

“Studying abroad alone as a woman is simply out of the question. Surely you need a husband…”

The kind and well-meaning women continued offering words of comfort and advice, but Beatrice couldn’t simply accept their concern at face value.

“I… I think I should leave now.”

Beatrice smiled awkwardly and had just begun to rise from her seat when—

“…They’re talking about a profession. I don’t understand why anyone needs to bring up what men in Verquion are like.”

It was a low but distinctly clear voice.

The men who had been mocking her moments earlier and the women who had been expressing their concern could all hear it perfectly well.

The private room suddenly fell silent.

Beatrice turned her head, searching for the person who had spoken.

The man leaning against the long sofa was the same man who had entered with the freckled young man moments earlier.

The one they had called Viscount Bennett…

“Uh, Patrick? What are you doing?”

The freckled young man sitting beside him tried desperately to defuse the situation, but Patrick Bennett didn’t even acknowledge him.

“Rather than saying whatever comes to mind and making yourselves look undignified, why don’t you keep those thoughts to yourselves?”

The man spoke coldly and abruptly stood up.

When his piercing blue eyes settled on the men around the billiard table, they seemed to shrink back.

One by one, the men avoided his gaze and awkwardly cleared their throats.

“Honestly. What a ridiculous lot.”

With a derisive laugh, the man strode straight out of the private room.

Bang!

The moment the door closed, a terrifying silence descended.

The remaining people’s eyes briefly shifted toward Beatrice before they awkwardly turned away one by one.

Soon, the sound of billiard balls striking one another and cheerful laughter returned to the room.

But there was one person who couldn’t simply return to normal.

Beatrice.

She was still unable to calm her racing heart as she tried to cool her flushed cheeks.

…What had just happened?

Who was that man?

Beatrice tightly clasped the fan resting on her lap and took a deep breath.

His name was…

Patrick Bennett.

Thanks to that man’s refreshingly blunt remark, the heavy knot that had been pressing down on her chest suddenly disappeared.

How satisfying!

Beatrice repeated the name she had heard moments earlier silently to herself, over and over.

If she went out into the corridor now, would she be able to see him again?

She wanted to thank him somehow.

After cautiously looking around, Beatrice quietly rose from her seat and slipped out into the empty corridor.