Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 4

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 4
Knock, knock.
“Young master!”
Patrick started at the sudden sound. He hastily stuffed the letter away and closed the box lid, then kicked the troublesome thing under the bed with undue haste.
Rising abruptly, he wrenched the door open with irritation.
“What is it?”
The butler standing in the doorway blinked uncertainly before delivering his message.
“It’s… the second son of the Harrington family has come to call. He heard that you had returned and came at once.”
Dominic Harrington?
At the name of a friend he hadn’t seen in ages, Patrick threw on his jacket and hurried downstairs to the drawing room. Of course, before closing the door, he made sure once more that the Black Box was well hidden beneath the bed.
“…So from next year, I plan to build my career in Parliament in earnest.”
Through the half-open doorway drifted the murmur of gentle conversation.
“Oh my, how delighted your mother must be! And what of marriage? Is there a young lady who captures your fancy? The last time we met, the Countess wore such a bright expression.”
“I have seen Lady Sudbury several times. Barring any unforeseen complications, I intend to propose to her.”
Peering from the doorway, Patrick caught sight of his friend seated opposite the Countess, the two of them in amiable conversation.
“Lady Sudbury! What a virtuous young lady she is! Every time I see her, I think how wonderful it would be if she were a match for our Patrick!”
“Well, that is rather awkward for Patrick, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Dominic. Since we’re already being awkward about it, I do wish someone would find a suitable match for Patrick too. Is there no one in your circle?”
“I shall look into it, madam.”
Dominic Harrington replied with the courtesy befitting a well-bred nobleman, but even from the back of his head—covered in that striking red hair—one could easily discern that he was sending out desperate signals for rescue.
“Dominic!”
Patrick threw open the door wide, breaking into a broad smile.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the good Doctor Bennett!”
“I’m no doctor.”
Dominic Harrington rose with characteristic wry good humor and embraced Patrick warmly.
“I’ve only been home a few hours—how on earth did you know to come find me?”
“The servants at home were all in a state about the handsome young viscount of the Bennett Family returning. You must be enjoying your popularity.”
Dominic laughed, letting out a low whistle. The light freckles scattered across his russet cheeks bore his usual playful expression.
“But wait, this isn’t the moment for that.”
Dominic withdrew a pocket watch from his waistcoat, clicked it open to check the time, then leaned toward Mrs. Bennett with an easy charm.
“Might I impose upon you to lend me this handsome son of yours for a time, madam?”
“Already?”
“I know well enough that it is impertinent to spirit away a son who has scarcely arrived, but I do beg your understanding, madam. I have waited years for this friend of mine.”
The Countess rolled her eyes lightly at his smooth-tongued plea.
“Your words flow so prettily. So, you’re off to drink, is that it?”
“When old friends meet, there is much to say, and when there is much to say, the throat naturally grows parched.”
“Very well, but do not stay out too late.”
The Countess grudgingly consented, though her gaze toward her son—who had caused such disruption that morning—was decidedly cool.
…The boy had made such a fuss this morning, and now he was off to drink?
Something in that disapproving look seemed more pointed than usual. Patrick, thinking he should mollify his mother’s mood somewhat, crept closer to her.
“I shall return shortly, Mother.”
“I’m sure you shall.”
Though her displeasure persisted, when her usually cool-mannered son gently took her hand and pressed a kiss to its back, the edges of her expression softened.
“But do not think you can slip through this so easily, Patrick. You must attend every tea and every ball without fail.”
“Of course, madam.”
The boy certainly knew how to answer well! But seeing her neat eyebrows begin to knit again, Patrick hastily excused himself from the drawing room.
* * *
The nobility of Brionia Kingdom divides broadly into two classes based on where they dwell.
First, the prominent families from throughout the realm who return to their grand townhouses in Glenbury when the Social Season begins—families such as the Bennett Family and the Harrington Family.
Second, St. Osburn, where the high nobility have dwelt since ancient times in great mansions near the royal palace, bound by generations of royal connection.
Of all the mansions in St. Osburn, none commanded such distinctive grandeur as that of the Marquess Somerset.
With a central keep at its heart, two symmetrical wings spread out on either side, and surrounding the whole was a remarkably expansive garden—rare in these parts—that made the estate resemble a small palace in scale.
The Marquess Somerset, master of this great mansion, was renowned for putting it to excellent use. In his youth, having traveled the world as a royal envoy, he had collected wonders and artworks from every corner of the globe, filling his residence with them.
And at this very moment, three enormous carriages laden with baggage were rolling into the Somerset Estate in succession.
“They’re arriving—straighten yourselves! Form your lines!”
Led by the elderly butler Arthur Banks, the housekeeper and her staff, the coachmen and gardeners—all stood with proper bearing, craning their necks in anticipation as the carriages came to a halt.
At last the carriage stopped, and before Arthur could reach the door, it swung open of its own accord. Out bounded a young lady with luminous golden hair—Beatrice Somerset.
“How has everyone been?”
With eyes as clear and green as spring leaves touched by dew, rosy cheeks, and lips curved in a gentle smile, she showed not a trace of fatigue despite the long journey, radiating vitality.
“Welcome home, Miss!”
Beatrice and the servants were exchanging warm greetings when a booming cry rang out from the entrance hall.
“My daughter! Beatrice!”
The Marquess Somerset, that notorious softie who melted at the sight of his youngest darling, forgot all propriety and came bounding out.
His portly frame made the run seem rather laborious, but he pressed on with heavy breaths, grinning broadly as he spread his arms wide toward his daughter.
A stark contrast to her husband, the Marchioness Somerset came gliding forward with her head held high and her bearing altogether refined—the very picture of restrained nobility.
She had inherited the brilliant golden hair and green eyes that made her beautiful, and even as she witnessed the boisterous reunion of father and daughter, she did not hurry but walked with unhurried grace.
“Goodness, child, how thin you’ve become! Staying up all night painting, are you? Have you been skipping meals?”
“What? Have I really lost weight?”
“Of course you have—there’s barely any flesh left on those bones! Whatever shall we do!”
It was the same familiar fuss she had witnessed several times in the months before, and before that—only this time the difference was that she had truly graduated and returned home for good.
“Do stop making such a fuss and step aside. Anyone watching would think we haven’t seen each other in years.”
The Marquess, who had been caressing his daughter’s cheeks with such concern, found himself gently displaced by his wife, who stood half a head taller than himself.
“Our daughter, truly splendid. Top-class graduation, no less.”
“I take after mother, you see.”
Though the Marchioness’s expression rarely changed in everyday moments, there was a profound tenderness visible in the way she drew her daughter into an embrace.
“What about me? Don’t I deserve a share of this embrace?”
The Marquess smiled broadly and wrapped his arms around his wife and daughter both. With only two older brothers, each with a considerable age gap, Beatrice was the youngest and most precious treasure of the household.
Meanwhile, the servants bustled about, unloading her belongings.
Great canvases and easels, plaster casts of every size swathed in cloth, studies and sketches of all descriptions—the sheer volume far surpassed anything she had brought home during previous holidays.
“I’m sorry and grateful for all your trouble. It is rather a lot, isn’t it?”
“Not at all, Miss!”
Fortunately, the Marquess had long since converted the east-wing conservatory into a studio for his daughter some years ago. Thanks to this foresight, Beatrice’s numerous works could be moved directly into the estate without requiring any rearrangement.
“All I need do is unwrap them, and I can show you the piece I’m working on now. Come along!”
“Yes, yes. Let’s have a look, then.”
The Marquess and Marchioness, gladly indulging their daughter’s enthusiasm, made their way into the estate.
“The truth is, I never expected to graduate top of my class. You know how much grief they gave me? ‘A woman—and a noblewoman at that—studying at an art college?’ The looks they gave me!”
“Yes, well… I can imagine.”
“It was endless! ‘A lady destined for society shouldn’t be mingling with commoner men in such places. You’ll never find a husband!’ They went on and on about it. Every time I heard it, I felt the anger rising….”
Beatrice had drawn some distance ahead, spilling out her words in a rush of indignation, when the Marchioness, who had been following quietly, suddenly jabbed her husband in the ribs.
‘When will you tell her?’
‘Not today. Tomorrow.’
A silent exchange passed between them. The Marquess Somerset made clear his refusal, insisting that today was not the time, and his wife’s jaw tightened at his reluctance.

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