Chapter 4. A Sudden Shower

Daniel paused mid-step at a melody that felt familiar yet somehow not. Where had he heard this before?

Ah. He remembered.

It was the piano solo “Lament of the God” from Act 3, Scene 1 of the opera Nymph of the Laurel Tree.

A piece that captured the sorrow and fury of the sun god who had failed in his unrequited love, expressed through a passionate, stormy melody.

“She’s playing that… like this…”

There was no divine rage to be heard—just a kid squawking away on their own.

Fine, he could accept the lack of emotion.

But the tempo… no, not just the tempo…

“It’s grotesque.”

Daniel fell silent for a moment and offered a silent prayer for the composer.

If Jonathan Wyde had heard this, he would’ve cried. How could someone butcher one of his masterpieces like this?

More than the composer’s grief, though, Daniel was primarily concerned for the well-being of his own ears. That performance needed to be stopped.

He followed the sound, intending to talk some sense into whoever was playing.

But why was it—

When he quietly opened the drawing room door, and saw who was seated at the piano—

The sense of reality that had seemed intact just moments ago evaporated.

He hadn’t imagined this scene. No, he didn’t want to imagine it. A breath slipped out of him without thinking.

He felt himself sinking.

Daniel, with a bitter taste building in the back of his throat, watched as the daughter of the ‘Wyde couple’ produced the most dreadful noise in the world.

And no—he wasn’t exaggerating.

Just look at Henry on the sofa, doubled over in laughter.

“Ahahahah!”

Claire Wyde, her face burning red, was trembling in embarrassment. She seemed to know perfectly well how disastrous her playing was.

Daniel leaned silently against the doorway. A smirk slid from his lips.

The undeniable truth, so painfully clear, was forming itself into a single sentence.

Claire Wyde, daughter of the famous Wyde couple, had no musical talent whatsoever.

And yet, she was receiving patronage from his father… Ha. It felt like someone had just stamped the confirmation seal on a document.

What was the word for giving support to a woman with no talent?

‘A mistress.’

Daniel scoffed inwardly and crossed his arms—unaware that their eyes were about to meet.

Caught in surprise, the woman stood up from her seat in a panic. Seeing her bite her lip, it was clear how humiliated she felt.

Well, it wasn’t a performance she could show anyone with pride. At least she seemed fully aware of that.

“Henry.”

“Young Duke! You’ve returned?”

Henry immediately cut off his laughter and sprang up from the sofa. He bowed respectfully, and Daniel returned the gesture with a simple wave of his hand.

“How was the semester?”

“Mm, crap as usual. You know how it is.”

A mischievous smile spread across his red lips. At the young duke’s playful reply, Henry also let out a light chuckle.

“Haha, sounds like you’ve been doing well. That’s good to hear.”

“Thanks. And you? You’ve been well?”

“Yes, very well. Though things have been a bit busy lately.”

“That’s good.”

Daniel gave a casual shrug and straightened his posture.

“We should play tennis together sometime.”

“It would be an honor. Call me whenever you like.”

Henry began glancing back and forth between him and the woman, as if uncertain what to do next.

Daniel had no intention of requesting an introduction, so he turned to leave without hesitation—but then stopped.

“Miss Claire Wyde.”

“Yes? Yes, Your Grace.”

Her voice was lovely. Even more than he’d expected.

A clear, light tone, like spring blossoms blooming, brushed delicately against his ears. It seemed her mother, Irene Wyde, had at least passed down her voice.

Though clearly, it hadn’t helped her singing.

“Don’t do music. Please.”

Considering her disastrous sense of rhythm earlier, he didn’t even need to hear more to know.

“It’s enough to rot someone’s ears.”

Having said what he wanted, he turned completely and walked away.

* * *

Claire clenched her teeth and glared coldly at the piano keys. Beside her, Henry was fumbling through some sort of awkward consolation.

‘No, seriously!’

Her parents had undoubtedly been geniuses whose names would be remembered forever in the history of music. Their legacies would never be erased.

Jonathan Wyde had composed a symphony at the age of thirteen. Irene Wyde had performed a celebratory concert before the King of Iberne at the age of ten.

Because of that, the music world had always paid attention to Claire Wyde. People expected that a child born from two prodigies would surely surpass them.

Thanks to those expectations, Claire had realized—before she had even turned five—that she had absolutely no musical talent.

…She’d thought she’d made peace with it.

So then why was she this angry now?

‘Because he’s got a rotten personality.’

The duke’s explanation was becoming all too clear.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of her shame, Claire finally muttered through clenched teeth.

She couldn’t hold it in.

“Who does he think he is…”

She’d meant to say it under her breath, barely audible—but Henry Rotner apparently had very sharp ears. He burst out laughing, having caught her words clearly between her hissing breaths.

“Hahaha! Ahahahaha!”

Forget dignity—he was clutching his stomach and howling. Claire lifted her head and shot him a sharp glare.

“Mr. Henry.”

“Pffft—haha!”

“Mr. Henry Rotner?”

Noticing that her voice had taken on an ominous edge, Henry quickly pulled himself together.

“Y-Yes. You called, Miss Claire?”

She stared at him. Silently. For a very long time.

As a sharp-witted lawyer, Henry immediately attempted a truce.

“I truly apologize. I take full responsibility for my laughter and solemnly swear not to repeat a single word of what you just said to the Young Duke.”

“Good.”

“Then… am I forgiven?”

“Is your conscience still intact?”

“I work in a profession where one can’t afford to keep a conscience.”

Claire gave a small laugh at the well-placed joke.

Henry Rotner proved to be a knowledgeable and witty conversationalist. After a pleasant stroll through the garden, Claire saw him off at the gate.

But just as she turned to head back toward the mansion—

She looked up, following the golden light of the evening sun, and caught sight of an open window on the second floor.

As the breeze ruffled her hair, she tilted her body back, trying to meet the gaze of whoever might be watching.

The blond man did not look away. He continued to watch her with a composed, analytical gaze.

Even as Claire glared up with all her frustration packed into her stare, his expression remained unchanged. Unaffected. As if her anger didn’t register in the slightest.

Then, he smiled ever so faintly—making him seem even more infuriating.

‘You’re annoying.’

‘So, so annoying.’

Claire sharpened her gaze. But still, the man did not avert his eyes.

It was a childish kind of staring contest. Yet they continued, for quite a long while.

Neither had any intention of backing down.

Neither of them realized that what they were feeling now was less about pride and more about sheer pettiness. They simply focused, entirely and only, on each other’s eyes.

For a very long time. Without tiring.

Then suddenly, Claire bit down hard.

It was the coolness of the evening air that brought her back to reality. That man was the Young Duke. And she was just a commoner. A girl with nothing.

Yes.

This was a fight whose outcome had been decided from the beginning. She swallowed the bitter taste of defeat and turned her head away.

As she walked off, practically retreating, she suddenly realized something a little ridiculous.

The man knew who she was.

She knew who he was.

…But they had never actually greeted each other properly. Not even once.

* * *

Claire was quick with her hands, but the Duke of Bertrand was just as particular.

It wasn’t until after having five of her compositions rejected that she was finally allowed to move on to the next stage.

What’s more, the duke was as busy as he was meticulous. Two or three days a week, it was impossible to work at all.

Claire gratefully accepted the occasional days off.

In the immediate aftermath of her parents’ passing, things had been overwhelmingly chaotic. Countless people had come to visit, regardless of their status, and she had had to keep moving to welcome them all. She couldn’t possibly turn away those who had come to pay their respects.

Only now, granted time alone, was Claire learning how to digest her grief—how to remember her parents without pain.

This place was good.

Truly peaceful.

Though occasionally, just occasionally, she’d catch a glimpse of something golden and unexpected—at which point her heart would lurch and she’d have to turn away.

Butler William appeared precisely when the grandfather clock struck twice.

The drowsy lull of 2 p.m. clearly had no effect on him. As always, his perfectly composed demeanor was something to admire.

“Miss Claire.”

At his gentle smile, Claire guessed accurately.

“It’s my day off today, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s correct. His Grace the Duke sends his apologies.”

“Thank you for letting me know.”

“If you’ll be in the study, shall I bring you a snack?”

“No, that’s alright. I was thinking of going for a walk today.”

William gave a slight nod and glanced out the window.

“It may rain, so do take an umbrella with you.”

“I’d better make it quick then.”

Looking out beside him, Claire tilted her head.

“But the sky is so blue.”

“Never underestimate the northern weather. It’s more temperamental than a teenager going through puberty.”

“What a perfect description!”

Claire quickly dressed and got ready—to make the most of her walk while she could.

…But she hadn’t expected the weather to be this moody.

She had barely stepped onto the field in front of the estate when a sudden downpour trapped her. The rain came heavy and hard, all the more so for how abruptly it had started. The sensation of it pounding on her skin was no joke.

Frantic, Claire looked around, then hastily used both hands to form a makeshift umbrella. After hopping between puddles, she finally found shelter beneath a nearby fir tree.

“What do I do now?”

Brushing back her soaking hair, Claire peered out from the edge of the branches.

The rain wasn’t letting up—it was coming down harder. A chill crept up from her feet, curling around her legs.

Achoo!

With a loud sneeze, she looked toward the distant mansion. Measuring the distance, she seriously considered her options.

Should she run back now, or wait until the rain eventually stopped?

‘It’s so cold…’

She rubbed her arms over her drenched clothes, trying to preserve some warmth. Just as the wind blew fiercely through the branches and she instinctively curled in on herself—

Thump. A jacket dropped over her head.

“The weather’s rather unforgiving today.”

Came the voice of someone on horseback—his first words.

“Get on.”

Without even waiting for a reply, the young duke wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up.