Chapter 1. An Unwelcome Guest

There was a car parked in front of the house. One she had never seen before.

And it really was a car. Not a carriage.

A sleek, black mass of metal stood grandly in the drizzle. It was elegant and imposing. But Claire was far too tired to feel the strangeness of it.

“I’ll marry you.”

Those were the words she heard just ten minutes ago. A proposal, no less.

“You don’t have anything now, right? So I’ll be generous and take you in. Just bring yourself.”

Whoever said a proposal could sound like a handout?

Claire swallowed the bitterness rising on her tongue and looked at Toby—the one she had once considered a friend. Then she answered plainly.

“No.”

“You think you’re something special? It’s your parents who were great, not you.”

“Toby.”

“Let’s be real. You’ve got nothing, don’t you? Your famous parents are dead, the inheritance they left is pathetic, and all you’ve got now is a passably pretty face and a young age!”

Claire stared quietly at the young man, shouting in rage.

“Stop acting like you’re above it and marry me already. Don’t be an idiot.”

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t marrying you be the real idiocy?”

“What?”

“Think about what you just said. If you were me, would you want to marry you?”

Was that flash of embarrassment in Toby’s eyes real? Or just her imagination?

It didn’t matter.

Claire let out a sigh and ended the conversation.

“So, no.”

“Claire.”

“Let’s never see each other again.”

It was when Claire was carefully going over her plans for the future.

“Miss Wyde.”

Claire paused and tilted her umbrella slightly back. Only then did she register the presence of the car and the people standing around it.

The person who seemed to have called out to her asked again.

“Are you Miss Claire Wyde?”

“Yes.”

“…Are you really?”

“Both the name ‘Claire’ and the surname ‘Wyde’ are fairly common, but if you’re looking for the daughter of Jonathan and Irene Wyde, then you’ve got the right person.”

There was no reply.

One person slowly opened an umbrella, while another tapped the rear door of the car a couple of times before clicking it open.

At last, the car’s owner personally stepped out.

He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. Though age and weight had given him a stately appearance, he was likely quite handsome in his younger years.

Among the middle-aged men Claire had met so far, he was certainly the most distinguished. His deep, ashen-gray eyes seemed to pierce right through his surroundings.

“This is His Grace, Duke Bertrand.”

One of the attendants introduced him.

“I am Alexander Cypress,” came a heavy, resonant greeting.

The duke briefly shook Claire’s cautiously extended hand in a short handshake.

“I know this is belated, but I came after hearing the news about the Wyde couple. Such a tragedy. Anyone with ears would grieve for them.”

“Thank you. If my parents had heard those words, they would’ve been pleased by the praise.”

“It’s not praise. Considering the legacy they left behind, it’s a fair assessment, don’t you think?”

“Thank you again for your kind words. Truly.”

“Not at all.”

Jonathan Wyde, the famous composer, and Irene Wyde, the legendary soprano.

A month ago, they died tragically in a carriage accident. Before being Claire’s parents, they were geniuses who had left an unforgettable mark on the history of music.

Naturally, grief poured in from both the music world and the upper class.

The Duke of Terran, the Earl of Sheffield, the Viscount of Penning, the famous poet Rory Days, and many others.

Lavish carriages would stop in front of her house whenever it pleased them. Royal attendants dressed in full regalia even came knocking on the door.

So the visit of a duke was hardly surprising. Claire took the key from her pocket and extended a polite invitation.

“It’s a humble home, and I feel ashamed to host such an esteemed guest, but would you care to step inside for a moment?”

“I believe I shall.”

Until now, all the nobles who had come to visit wore smug expressions, chatting excitedly about their own grief as they offered condolences.

So she expected this man to be the same.

But around the time he was halfway through his tea, the duke brought up a completely unexpected topic.

“That landscape painting… is that what it is?”

“Yes. Though I quite like the portrait of the Wyde couple beside it, I couldn’t take a family painting from their only daughter now, could I?”

“……”

“Both pieces were painted by the same artist. It’s not a style I recognize.”

This time, the duke stood up himself and walked over to the painting. With his hands behind his back, he began studying it seriously. Watching his dignified figure, Claire unconsciously clutched the hem of her skirt.

“There’s definitely talent here. Bold brushstrokes and excellent composition.”

“……”

“Do you know where this painting was purchased, Miss Wyde?”

“It wasn’t purchased.”

“A gift, ah?”

It seemed the duke’s eyes had finally reached the lower-right corner of the painting. After confirming the signature written there, he slowly turned around.

Claire nodded quietly.

“I painted it.”

“Well now!”

The duke burst into laughter. Caught off guard by what that laughter meant, Claire was momentarily confused. After a good round of hearty laughing, the duke finally collected himself.

“Forgive me. Not exactly something to laugh at, is it?”

Perhaps feeling a bit sheepish, he rubbed the back of his neck once.

“But who would’ve guessed? A daughter born to parents hailed as incarnations of music, and blessed with the gift of painting…”

“Hm.”

As if struck by a sudden idea, the duke snapped his fingers.

“Alright, Miss Wyde. I’ll get to the point. Would you accept my patronage? I mean it in the purest sense.”

“…Do you mean you wish to commission a painting?”

“Yes.”

The duke, now back on the sofa, sank comfortably into his seat. His gray eyes glinted with something mischievous.

“What kind of painting would you like?”

“A portrait of me.”

“I see.”

“Since you’re just starting out, I can’t promise a sum that’ll make your eyes pop. But I assure you, it’ll be more than enough to launch your career as a painter.”

A portrait of Duke Bertrand…

“I accept.”

Was her reply too quick? The duke raised an eyebrow slightly, pretending to be surprised.

“Are you sure, Miss Wyde?”

“What would be the problem?”

“It’s a portrait, after all. You’ll have to follow me.”

To paint a portrait, one must understand the model. That meant Claire would need to stay near the duke for a while to observe him.

She had already been considering moving out of this house for many reasons, so it was actually a welcome suggestion.

Claire took a moment to process her feelings. Ah, is that so? The sensation surrounding her clearly signaled a turning point in life.

“I’m fine with that.”

“Straightforward.”

For some reason, the duke found her simple answer extremely amusing and chuckled cheerfully.

And so, a week later,

Claire boarded a train alongside the duke.

A train bound for the northern region of the Kingdom of Lenore—toward Duke Bertrand’s territory.

* * *

Under the clear sky, a tennis ball cut sharply through the air. It slipped into an open space on the opposite court and landed cleanly.

A passing shot.

Applause broke out at the crisp play. The referee blew a short whistle, signaling the end of the match, and the two players exchanged a light handshake.

“Thank you for the great match, senior.”

“Likewise.”

Daniel patted his junior’s shoulder with a bright smile, then gave a nod of acknowledgment to a classmate who had acted as referee.

“That was incredible, Daniel. I’ve never seen such a clean topspin before.”

Glancing to the side, Daniel saw his old friend Charles winking playfully. Charles grinned and gave a small bow.

“Yeah. There were quite a few guys betting you’d lose today because you looked off. I raked in a nice sum off them!”

Daniel stared at him, and Charles fluttered his lashes with a shameless look.

“I told you not to gamble. Go give the money back.”

“Hey! That’s harsh!”

“……”

“Yessir, I understand.”

Whether Charles pouted or not, Daniel walked off at a relaxed pace. The family servants were due to arrive later that afternoon, so it was about time he got ready to head home.

“Dan, Dan. Daniel?”

“What?”

“We’re planning a big party over the break with just the kids. Wanna come? You’re coming, right?”

“Where?”

“My villa in Burness. I’m planning to crash there from July till the end of break, so drop by whenever it’s convenient.”

Burness—a small coastal town in the northwest, known for its beautiful scenery and filled with noble family villas.

Even the Bertrand ducal family owned two villas there.

“You’re going to keep it clean, right?”

Daniel’s question made Charles stammer.

No, this can’t be happening.

He was just about to shout, “How are a bunch of guys supposed to party cleanly?” but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

That was the beginning of the problem.

“This party sucks.”

The words were thrown at the host by a guy who flipped a table over with just his foot.

The atmosphere shattered instantly, and the party basically exploded. While everyone froze up to gauge his mood, Daniel was the only one grinning mischievously.

“George Phillips.”

“…Uh, uh, huh?”

“Want me to make it fun?”

Daniel didn’t report him that day, but of course, George started avoiding him from then on.

Snapping out of his memories, Charles let out a deep sigh.

If the party didn’t stay clean, it would inevitably become what Daniel considered fun.

But if they partied dirty without inviting him… Charles looked at his friend with a mix of admiration and awe.

Daniel Alexander Philip Cypress.

The promising young man who would one day become the third Duke of Bertrand—and perhaps unsurprisingly—captivated everyone’s attention.

He carried the natural elegance of a noble lineage. His chiseled features were inherited from his mother, a celebrated beauty of her time.

All those traits came together to form a presence that could mesmerize anyone.

A young man who hadn’t quite shed his boyishness, but whose vibrant air carried a hint of dangerous rebellion. Polite arrogance, languid restraint, and unrestrained grace.

The most radiant beauty of youth, embodied.

There was no way Charles could exclude a friend like that from his own party.

Naturally.

Charles made a firm decision.

“You’re going to party clean, got it?”

“Sure.”

“You’re coming, right?”

“Yeah.”

Daniel nodded calmly.

Charles chattered a little more, then left a message to send his regards to the family before turning to go.

His footsteps grew faint in the distance, and above them stretched a blue sky—so vividly clear it looked like it had come from a painting.

It was perfect weather to return home.

His younger sister, Francis, was currently traveling, so only his father would be at the duchy now.

…Or maybe the ‘guest’ his father had invited would be there too.

Daniel clicked his tongue.