ISTL CHAPTER 25

The starting bid had quadrupled in less than a minute. The auctioneer, invigorated by the fierce competition, began to amplify the excitement in the room.
“Two thousand pounds! The lady with the veil bids two thousand pounds. Now, what say you, sir, number 76?”
“Two thousand three hundred.”
“Three thousand.”
“Three thousand three hundred.”
The man holding the paddle numbered 76 continued to bid, though less aggressively. The woman with the number 190 paddle, however, smirked as if she had already secured her victory.
“Number 190 bids four thousand pounds.”
“…”
The auction house fell into a stunned silence. Who was this woman, throwing around such vast sums without hesitation?
Curiosity shifted from the fate of Dawn over Tea Tree to the identity of the mysterious woman behind the veil. Anais was no exception.
Judging by her voice, the woman was likely young, around Anais’s age. But who in their social circle could so casually spend such a fortune?
Anais’s light-colored eyes traced the woman’s rich, dark brown hair as a sudden realization hit her.
‘…Roxane?!’
Yes, if it was Roxane de Bastian, the daughter of the fabulously wealthy Marquis de Bastian, this extravagant display was entirely plausible. Anais had heard from Camille that Roxane had a keen interest in art, but…
‘This much?’
Just as Anais solidified her suspicion that the veiled woman was indeed Roxane, Dawn over Tea Tree seemed on the brink of being sold.
Anais cast a sidelong glance at the man sitting at the end of the row. He had pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his inner pocket and was seemingly checking the maximum bid his client had authorized. It appeared that today’s final auction piece was destined to belong to Roxane.
But then, their eyes met. His gray-brown eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as if he found something amusing.
“Number 76.”
He broke the silence.
Would he raise the bid by another 300 pounds? Or perhaps 500 pounds?
With that kind of cautious strategy, it would be difficult to secure the painting…
“Six thousand pounds.”
“…!”
The room was shocked into silence once again.
The auctioneer was momentarily speechless at the unbelievable bid. For the first time, the woman with the number 190 paddle turned to look at the man who had outbid her. Though her expression was obscured, it was likely as stunned as everyone else’s.
“Did he really say…?”
“Six thousand pounds?”
“Who is this guy representing? Is he even a legitimate bidder? This has to be a joke.”
Whispers of disbelief rippled through the room. The auctioneer, regaining his composure, quickly tried to restore order.
“Six thousand! Six thousand pounds! We’ve set a new record! G. Miller’s masterpiece Dawn over Tea Tree at six thousand pounds! Do I hear any higher bids?”
All eyes were on the woman holding the 190 paddle. After a moment’s hesitation, she slowly raised her paddle.
“…Six thousand five hundred pounds.”
“Number 76.”
The man barely let her finish before he spoke again.
“Ten thousand pounds.”
“This is unreal…”
“Another record! Ten thousand pounds! Do I hear any other bids? Anyone?”
Silence fell over the room.
“G. Miller’s Dawn over Tea Tree sold to the gentleman with paddle number 76 for ten thousand pounds!”
The crowd erupted in applause for the man who had just won the painting with an astonishing bid. As people tried to approach him to discover who he was representing, he was already making his way out of the auction house.
Anais glanced over at the unmoving figure of Roxane, who seemed to be lost in another world amidst the chaos.
‘It must be Roxane…’
She was eerily still, almost as if she was untouched by the commotion around her. Just as curiosity about Roxane’s expression gnawed at Anais, her butler gently pulled her out of the auction room.
Since Anais hadn’t expected much, she wasn’t disappointed by the outcome. She wandered through the gallery, eyeing the unsold paintings. Although she felt the need to leave with something, nothing caught her eye. The tightness of her shoes was starting to make her legs ache.
‘Today’s not my day.’
She regretted not taking the butler’s advice to make time for an earlier visit.
Anais’s gaze remained fixated on the painting by Arthur Giverny, whose name she had remembered from a previous purchase. The painting before her captured the tranquil ambiance of an afternoon in the park, with the kind of impressionistic brushstrokes that seemed to glow with life.
The art dealer, who had been casually smiling, confirmed Anais’s recognition. “You remember, don’t you? It’s a follow-up to the painting you bought last year.”
Anais glanced at the nameplate that read ‘Arthur Giverny.’ She recalled that the artist had supposedly stopped painting.
“But you mentioned that he had stopped producing works,” she said.
“I don’t know what changed,” the dealer replied. “I happened upon this while staying in the Lawson Duchy.”
Anais couldn’t tear her eyes away from the painting, which exuded a charm and emotional resonance that she found captivating. Her fascination was so evident that her butler, sensing something amiss, intervened.
“Miss, you’re not seriously considering buying these, are you? Why are you just smiling?”
Anais’s smile broadened. “Yes, I’m buying both paintings. Please have them sent to the salon.”
“Both of them? Lady, you truly are the only one who sees the value in these works. I’ll ensure they’re carefully inspected and sent to the salon.”
The art dealer quickly took a check from Anais before the butler could protest further. The butler groaned softly.
“Miss, of all the paintings, why these? Why Arthur Giverny, a name with no reputation?”
Anais looked at her butler with a reassuring smile. “You remember the painting by Arthur Giverny I bought last year?”
The butler nodded, although he still appeared skeptical.
“It was an unconventional piece. The brushstrokes were uneven, and it didn’t meet conventional standards. But that was precisely what drew me to it. The painting of the harbor at dawn had an intensity to its colors that was remarkably compelling.”
Anais’s eyes softened as she recalled her initial encounter with the painting. “At that time, I was trying to change the outdated image of the salon with the little funds I had. Even though I had to sell it due to financial difficulties, my father never judged the paintings purely based on their immediate market value. Many of the masterpieces he acquired were not highly valued when purchased.”
Her butler’s face reflected his contemplation. Anais’s conviction was clear; she valued art not just for its market price but for its intrinsic emotional and aesthetic appeal. Her decision to purchase Giverny’s paintings was based on this deeper appreciation.
“Art, after all, has value beyond just the monetary,” Anais concluded softly.
The butler, though still wary, saw the determination in Anais’s eyes and fell silent, accepting her decision. Anais’s enthusiasm and understanding of art were beyond mere financial considerations; they were driven by a genuine passion for capturing and preserving beauty.
“These paintings look that way to me. Just like the masterpieces my father once recognized.”
“Miss……”
“Can you believe in me just as you believed in my father?”
George, who knew the late Count Brienne as well as Anaïs did, was reminded of his past with the Count by her words, causing his eyes to mist up.
“Of course. I always trust your judgment, Miss.”
Although the housekeeper’s ambitious plan to bring a well-established artist’s work to the salon had come to naught, he wiped his eyes with a deeply moved heart.
On the way back, the rain grew heavier.
The two, who had left the gallery a bit late due to choosing paintings, hurriedly climbed into the carriage to escape the rain. As Anaïs roughly wiped the moisture from her wet hair and clothes with the handkerchief George had handed her, the carriage suddenly jolted.
“Oops, are you alright? I’m sorry! I didn’t see the puddle.”
While the coachman, who had quickly disembarked to assess the situation, dealt with the problem, Anaïs looked out through the curtain and took in the gray sky. Then, her gaze fell downward, and she was taken aback.
“……?”
Something out of place caught her eye in the narrow space between the building’s exterior walls. Anaïs pressed her face to the window and squinted.
‘Is that a painting?’
There was a familiar painting, terribly torn and discarded. She recognized it instantly without much effort.
“Cassat’s…… 〈The Mist〉?”