Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 15

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Chapter 15
The young nobility gathered in the Private Room scattered themselves across card tables, a billiards table, and sofas, conversing and drinking.
Beatrice sat near the fireplace, smoothing the folds of her Dress. Her teal eyes matched the pale blue sheen of the fabric, which caught and reflected the light with a soft luster.
“Have you heard the rumors? They say mining shares in Kent have been climbing quite steadily.”
“Oh, I’ve heard. I invested in a railway venture there myself and made a decent return.”
At the billiards table to her left, voices competed loudly over whose mines were performing well and who’d made a fortune investing where,
“I think we’ll hold the engagement ceremony before the season ends.”
“My goodness! Congratulations. You must be terribly busy now.”
On the right side of the room, a different conversation unfolded—marriages, engagements, and the marriages of others.
As the chatter flowed in one ear and out the other, Beatrice opened her Ostrich Feather Fan again.
Though she cared little for fashion, the Ostrich Feather Fan proved useful in countless ways—when enduring tedious hours and stifling yawns, or when she needed to shield her face to avoid meeting a man’s eyes.
And now: if she closed her eyes as though exhausted and fanned herself gently, no one dared approach her.
So far so good—
“Beatrice! It’s been such a long time!”
A hand struck her shoulder, and Beatrice’s startled gaze filled with someone’s face.
Large, protruding eyes and a thin frame. The figure smiling at her with a slightly twisted grin was Eugenia Norton.
“Ah…”
“Your uncle took his position as museum director today, didn’t he? Edward Rockwell—congratulations on that, Lady Somerset!”
At her sharp, exaggerated laugh, Beatrice’s body went rigid.
“Yes, well… hello.”
Beatrice instinctively checked the exit.
Should she bolt from her seat right now? Perhaps being harassed by journalists would be preferable.
There were several reasons Beatrice avoided High Society, but a considerable share of the blame fell squarely on Eugenia Norton.
“How lovely to see you, Beatrice. I hear you’ve completed your coursework at the Royal Art School and returned? You’ve been away from society for quite a while, haven’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Conscious of the surrounding gazes turning toward her, Beatrice forced her lips into a smile.
“I always thought you painted merely as a light hobby, the way High Society ladies do. But I must say, I find it truly admirable that you pursued it so earnestly and accomplished so much.”
The praise was excessively gracious, yet beneath its warm surface ran a subtly twisted edge.
A bad feeling stirred in Beatrice’s chest. Eugenia’s chronic need to monopolize the attention of all High Society had flared up again.
Probably because her uncle Edward’s recent appointment as director had drawn interest toward the Somerset family’s daughter—and that clearly rankled her.
“Everyone, do come over and say hello! Allow me to introduce you to the Noble Maiden of the Somerset line and the niece of Edward Rockwell, our newly appointed director of the Natural History Museum—Miss Beatrice.”
As Norton raised her voice toward the room, the nobility who had been chatting idly converged as though they’d been waiting for this moment.
“I’ve wanted to speak with you all evening, but you looked so fatigued I was waiting for an opening.”
“Delighted to meet you, Miss Beatrice. I’m quite a fan of Greenleaf’s work myself.”
With the added prestige of being the newly renowned director’s niece, the crowd’s attention swelled rapidly toward her.
Some recalled childhood memories of playing with dolls together in the gardens of grand estates and offered familiar greetings; others declared themselves devoted readers of Greenleaf’s works, which they’d followed through the newspapers for the past decade.
As Beatrice found herself surrounded and growing dizzy, Norton seized the opportunity to begin her cruel game.
“Well, now that your studies are finished, you’ll be marrying soon? Any Marriage Proposal Discussions in the works? Anyone you’re being courted by?”
“…No. Nothing.”
Beatrice glanced toward the exit again, searching for an escape route.
‘If I can’t get out of here, I wish all these people would just leave.’ But that would never happen.
In fact, more people were entering the Private Room—a young man with freckles scattered across his face and a loose tongue, along with his companions.
“Oh my, the Earl!”
It was then that Eugenia, who had been about to say something more to Beatrice, stiffened visibly. She quickly corrected her posture, cleared her throat, and waved gracefully toward the man standing behind the freckled youth.
“How do you do?”
Following her gaze almost unconsciously, Beatrice realized that Eugenia’s warm greeting was not directed at the freckle-faced young man, but at the tall, strikingly handsome man standing behind him.
“Why, is that you? Lord Patrick Bennett! It’s been years!”
Greetings of pleasure scattered throughout the room, and as commotion erupted around the new arrivals, a brief lull opened in the conversation.
With everyone’s attention turned toward the newcomers, Beatrice decided it was time to slip away. She was beginning to move when—
“Beatrice, where do you think you’re going?”
Quick-witted Eugenia seized her arm. Her eyes gleamed blackly with inexplicable spite and twisted malice—the look of someone desperate to inflict public humiliation at any cost.
“Don’t lose heart so easily. You’re from the Somerset line; you’re sure to be popular.”
“Listen, Eugenia.”
Beatrice straightened her spine despite the crushing pressure of her Corset. Better to seem strange than to play along with this madwoman’s game.
“I didn’t take up Painting as mere entertainment. I have no intention of marrying. I’m going to Berkion to become a painter.”
“My.”
Even Eugenia’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.
The warm laughter drained from the room like an ebb tide, and Beatrice felt herself pressed down by the strange silence that settled over the drawing room.
“Ho, a woman alone in a foreign country. Surely you’re not harboring fantasies of free love?”
A nearby man who’d overheard her words smiled with a cheap, unpleasant expression. His disagreeable gaze made Beatrice’s body stiffen slightly.
“You must be careful. There are so many men in Berkion eager to sully a respectable lady. Though I suppose if she chooses to enjoy herself willingly, there’s nothing wrong with that either.”
“Ah, quite right. She does need living expenses, after all.”
“The new museum director has the same outlook, and the Somerset family is certainly quite progressive.”
The men broke into coarse laughter and returned to their billiards game, while Eugenia flushed deeply, looking mortified.
“Are you insane? How could you say such things here? What will those men think of you…?”
Not only Eugenia’s expression grew grave, but so did those of the other women nearby.
“I beg your pardon, but I couldn’t help overhearing, and I must confess myself rather concerned,”
A young matron at the adjacent table, feeding sherbet to her infant, ventured to speak.
“Lady Somerset, your passion for learning to paint is admirable, but there’s no need to drag your reputation through the mud. A hobby is quite sufficient.”
“Did you see those men’s eyes change in an instant? We know you’re a noble maiden of impeccable standing, but….”
“A woman studying overseas alone—it simply cannot be done. She really ought to have a husband….”
The kind and gentle women continued to offer sympathy and counsel, yet Beatrice found herself unable to accept their words at face value.
“I… I think I should take my leave.”
As Beatrice rose awkwardly from her seat with a forced smile,
“…discussing a profession, I fail to see why remarks about men from Berkion are relevant.”
The voice was quiet but distinctly audible—clear enough for both the men who had been sneering earlier and the concerned matrons to hear every word.
The private room fell suddenly silent.
Beatrice turned to find the speaker.
The man reclining against the long sofa was the one who had entered with the freckled youth earlier. The one they had called Patrick….
“What—Patrick, what are you doing?”
The freckled young man beside him tried to smooth things over, but Patrick paid him no mind.
“Refrain from spouting thoughtless remarks without dignity. Keep such opinions to yourself.”
His words came out coldly as he rose to his feet. When his ice-blue eyes settled on the men around the billiards table, their spirits seemed to wither; one by one they averted their gaze, clearing their throats in discomfort.
“In any case, how tedious.”
The man let out a hollow laugh and strode straight out of the private room.
Bang!
As the door closed, an oppressive silence fell over the room. The others’ eyes flickered toward Beatrice for a moment, then, looking ill at ease, they turned away one by one.
Soon the private room filled once again with the click of billiard balls and warm laughter. Yet only Beatrice remained, her heart still racing, her flushed cheeks refusing to cool.
…What just happened? Who was that man?
Beatrice gripped the Ostrich Feather Fan in her lap and drew a deep breath.
His name was Patrick….
Thanks to his sharp rebuke, the suffocating tightness that had pressed against her chest dissolved in an instant.
How exhilarating!
She turned his name over in her mind again and again. If she stepped into the corridor now, might she encounter him again?
She wanted so desperately to thank him….
Beatrice glanced cautiously around, then rose quietly from her seat and slipped out into the empty corridor.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————