ISTL CHAPTER 24

Not long ago, the Dowager Empress hadn’t believed even a shred of Anais’s report that Max’s feelings for Roxanne were anything special.
However, a small part of her began to entertain a hopeful doubt. Perhaps there was a reason Anais Brienne was so confident, and a seed of hope began to sprout in her heart.
She found herself growing curious. She had initially dismissed it as just another of Max’s obvious schemes, but what if he truly did have feelings for Lady Bastien? If he wasn’t just dragging things out to avoid commitment but was genuinely sincere, then it was only right to support him.
So, she decided to see for herself—hoping to catch a glimpse of a man in love, reflected in Max’s eyes.
But the Dowager Empress shook her head.
‘He definitely saw me.’
Elise vividly recalled the bored look in Max’s eyes as he scanned the hall at Maison Planée. She also remembered how he didn’t spare a single glance at Roxanne as she entered the coffeehouse.
‘Sigh. I should’ve known.’
It would be a waste of time to try to bring the two together. Instead of wasting time, Max should be showcasing his charms to another woman…
But Anais, unaware of what was going on in the Dowager Empress’s mind, looked innocent as ever. Her confident assertion that everything would be fine left the Dowager Empress with no choice but to nod reluctantly.
***
Poussin, an art dealer who only visited twice a year and stayed for just a week each time, was famous for traveling across the continent to collect rare and valuable art pieces.
The salon was sensitive to trends. The value of the artworks it owned and displayed was a crucial factor in representing the salon’s worth. Especially when the seasons changed, the decorations and artworks played a significant role in the salon’s makeover.
Even with limited resources, the salon had no choice but to pay attention to appearances. Over the years, Anais had chosen to invest in paintings by emerging artists with potential.
Anais made her way to Poussin’s auction house on the sixth day of his stay in Barbier.
The butler had been frustrated enough that she had missed the first day, but when the fifth day passed without any action, his anger had reached a significant boiling point.
She couldn’t imagine how she would have calmed him down if not for the sweet and delicious bribe she had given him earlier. After all, selecting art was of great importance to the butler.
Ever since the late count’s days, Butler Georges had played a significant role in choosing the artwork for the salon. It had been his joy, too, as he had dreamed of becoming a painter in his youth. Though the salon’s finances hadn’t allowed for much art in recent times, the slightly improved situation had raised his expectations for Poussin’s visit.
Of course, Anais’s feelings weren’t much different from his.
The few masterpieces the Anderson-Brienne Salon once owned had long since been sold in times of financial need, so she too was eager to acquire a worthwhile painting if the opportunity presented itself.
But there was a reason Anais hadn’t been able to visit the gallery for six days. She had been too busy with Max, causing the salon’s work to pile up.
The need to reopen the Amour counseling room also played a significant role. She couldn’t keep it closed indefinitely.
Balancing her roles as the salon owner, counselor Amour, and the Dowager Empress’s aide required a great deal of mental energy, leaving her with little time to spare.
The butler knew all of this, so he hadn’t openly expressed his dissatisfaction. But this morning was different.
“Young Lady, you do know what day it is today, don’t you?”
“…O-of course!”
Anais quickly reassured him, understanding his pointed remarks.
Today was the last day the art dealer Poussin would be showcasing his paintings in Barbier.
“But Georges, since when did we care about auction pieces?”
The paintings that go up for auction are rare and highly valuable, with starting bids that are difficult to even imagine. Even though the salon’s finances had improved slightly, participating in an auction was still beyond their means.
“Well, until now, we could only dream of participating because of the salon’s financial situation and had to choose from the leftovers, but that’s no longer the case.”
The butler, having finished preparing to go out, smiled brightly.
“We can’t keep buying only works from unknown artists forever, can we? Isn’t that right, Young Lady?”
Butler, we’re still not at that level yet…
Usually much more realistic than Anais, he seemed momentarily blinded by excitement.
“Do you know what makes today even luckier? G. Miller’s painting is going up for auction!”
The butler was excited, suggesting that perhaps they ended up visiting on the last day just to see that painting. Anais almost reminded him of the expected price of that masterpiece but decided against it.
He’ll be disillusioned soon enough, so there’s no need for me to do it…
As the clouds grew darker, it finally began to rain by midday. The auction was well underway at a gallery discreetly located at the southernmost end of Belmont Street.
Anais gently patted Georges’s slumped shoulders. His jacket, meticulously pressed with sharp creases, was now slightly wrinkled. He was utterly deflated by the auction prices, which were incomparable to those from a few years ago.
The two of them, seated at the far end of the auction room, had long given up on winning any bids. They had resigned themselves to quietly watching the intense and jaw-dropping bidding wars. After all, their paddle marked with number 386 had remained on Anais’s lap the entire time, never once raised, and G. Miller’s piece had yet to even make an appearance.
“The ninth painting is by Cassatt…”
Out of ten total pieces, they were already on the ninth.
“Number 51. Five thousand pennies.”
“We have five thousand pennies. Any further bids?”
“Number 190. Two hundred pounds.”
“Two hundred pounds! Any higher? Two hundred pounds! Will anyone go to two hundred and fifty?”
The auctioneer scanned the crowd, trying to coax higher bids, but no one else lifted their paddle.
“If there are no further bids, no further bids…! Cassatt’s Fog is sold for two hundred pounds!”
The most prominent figure in the room was bidder number 190. Since the middle of the auction, this woman, veiled and with lush dark brown hair cascading down to her back, had been aggressively winning bids. Anais stared blankly at this mysterious woman, who could casually spend as much money on a single painting as Anais had once struggled to repay in loan shark debt.
Other participants, who had been quite enthusiastic earlier, seemed to have lost their will due to this unknown woman.
“Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The piece everyone in this room has been waiting for. The painter beloved by both Barbier and the Duchy of Lawson! G. Miller’s Dawn over Tea Tree!”
With these words, the auctioneer unveiled the painting, which had been covered with a velvet cloth. Dawn over Tea Tree was famous as the last painting G. Miller completed before his death. The audience gasped at the sight of the painting’s radiant colors, which lived up to its legendary reputation.
“We’ll start the bidding at five hundred pounds!”
The butler’s face darkened immediately, as expected. Five hundred pounds just to start? His eyes conveyed a sense of disbelief—this was too much. Then, without hesitation, the paddle with the number 190 shot up into the air.
“One thousand pounds.”
“Number 190. O-one thousand pounds has been bid!”
The auction room buzzed with excitement. Doubling the starting bid with a single call, the woman with number 190 had caused someone to slam their paddle to the floor in frustration.
No one else dared to speak. If her intention was to end the auction quickly, it seemed she might succeed. Just as the auctioneer wetted his lips, lamenting the sudden silence, something unexpected happened.
“Fifteen hundred.”
“…!”
A voice from an unexpected direction raised the bid. All eyes turned to a man seated not far from Anais, in the same back row. The man, dressed in a worn shirt and vest, had a flat cap jammed over his faded blond hair. His appearance was entirely out of place in such a luxurious auction, leading many to believe he was likely a proxy bidding on behalf of someone else who wished to remain anonymous.
“Number 76! Fifteen hundred pounds has been bid!”
No sooner had the paddle marked 76 been lowered than the paddle numbered 190 shot back up into the air.
“Two thousand pounds.”
The room buzzed with anticipation as the bids escalated. The auctioneer, barely able to keep up, quickly echoed the new bid, “Two thousand pounds from number 190! Any higher bids?”
The intensity of the auction reached new heights, as all eyes flicked between the mysterious man and the veiled woman, wondering how far they were willing to go for G. Miller’s Dawn over Tea Tree.