Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 9

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

Chapter 9
“Good heavens, good heavens!”
Beatrice’s face bloomed with a smile. She bounced on her heels, drawing both hands to her chest.
“Arthur, Arthur! You did check the recipient’s name, didn’t you? It’s Etienne Morel. You filled in the salon address correctly?”
Her pale blue-green eyes, now utterly alive with anticipation, looked up at the butler.
“Yes, Miss. I wrote it correctly, without error. The painting should arrive in Berkayon in approximately three weeks, or so I was told.”
Another delighted cry burst from her.
Arthur swallowed dryly for a moment. Yes, Etienne Morel….
For him, who had served in this manor since Beatrice’s birth, she was as precious and lovely as a granddaughter—a fact that explained why he found it impossible to refuse her requests, even as worry gnawed at him with each passing day.
Arthur lowered his voice with evident concern.
“Miss, I have sent it off safely, but….”
“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll handle everything myself. I’ll tell Mother and Father tonight, directly from my own lips. I won’t drag you into it. All right?”
Arthur sighed deeply within himself.
The Somerset household was indulgent toward their youngest daughter, certainly—but if that daughter harbored thoughts of departing alone to a distant foreign land?
Arthur felt his headache intensifying.
“Since the painting’s already sent, I suppose it’s time to lay everything bare and prepare for battle.”
“It won’t be easy, Miss….”
“Don’t worry. My mind is made up. I’m going to become a true painter, no matter what. I absolutely refuse to be treated as a mere dilettante noblewoman with a hobby.”
Merely imagining the storm to come made him feel as though he’d aged a decade in an instant.
Watching her with concern, Arthur followed Beatrice as she moved toward the canvas, his eyes weary.
To a butler, the sight of a canvas slathered thick with paint was headache enough—yet Beatrice stood transfixed before it, staring intently, until suddenly she plunged her brush deep into the paint and wielded it with savage abandon.
Those confounded Les Fauves!
Since returning from the Art Academy, Lady Somerset had become a fervent devotee of those mad painters. The way she attacked the canvas—as though it had wronged her personally—struck Arthur as utterly unseemly.
In her youth, she had painted such proper still lifes and landscapes as befitted a lady, executing them with such delicate precision that all had marveled. Yet somehow she had been drawn to this wild, bestial style of painting.
Even Arthur, whose knowledge of art was limited, could sense the brilliance shining through those works. Had she been born a common man and pursued painting, that talent alone would have earned her wealth and renown.
Those wretched Les Fauves had thoroughly ruined the young lady. And now, at this very moment, Lady Somerset was stubbornly insisting on studying painting under those very madmen!
Arthur withdrew from Beatrice’s room, trying to calm his troubled mind.
He was deeply worried about what her burgeoning ambitions would bring, yet it was clear that he in particular was not the one to dissuade her.
* * *
The Dining Room at Somerset Manor.
The Somerset family, gathered around the dinner table for the first time in ages, savored their meal at leisure. Talk turned lightly to Beatrice’s two elder brothers, who were serving as officers, and soon shifted to news of her uncle Edward, who would be returning shortly.
“Uncle Edward is coming back?”
“Yes, Beatrice. Your uncle has been offered the directorship of the Royal Natural History Museum. He’ll be staying here at the manor for a while.”
“Wonderful!”
Beatrice let out an unguarded exclamation before her mother’s sharp look silenced her. A silent reminder to maintain proper ladylike decorum.
“Two years, is it? This is certainly exciting.”
Somerset too seemed as delighted as Beatrice, and being especially fond of his brother-in-law, he appeared to hope they might live together permanently.
“My dear, tell Edward not to stay briefly but to move in altogether. Why trouble himself finding lodgings when we have rooms to spare?”
“That would be ideal, but you know Edward—he’s far too restless to settle. He’ll be too busy dashing about and poking into things.”
In any case, it was nothing but welcome news for Beatrice.
If there was anyone who could be her strongest ally in pursuing her dreams, it would be Uncle Edward.
“In any case, let’s leave that matter there for now.”
The duchess dabbed her lips with her napkin and smoothly changed the subject.
“So, have you looked at the dress I left in your room? I spared no expense on the new lace that’s fashionable in High Society these days. I had the hem decorated so it will show beautifully when you dance.”
“Yes, Mother.”
The brightness of moments before had vanished entirely, replaced by a lifeless, perfunctory reply—and the duchess’s eyebrows twitched slightly at the change.
“Beatrice. I understand you dislike it, but it’s time you began thinking of marriage. You’re twenty-five now. The age is right.”
It was a gentle rebuke, but one with steel running through it. Beatrice swallowed in silence. This was it—the moment she’d been dreading. Her mother was finally broaching the subject of marriage.
“I will make an effort going forward, Mother.”
For now, a docile answer was best. Vague compliance would see her through. So Beatrice offered a perfunctory nod.
The problem was what came next.
“I’m glad you understand the situation.”
The duchess smiled faintly.
Yet the table was suddenly charged with a palpable tension, and Somerset, sipping his wine, kept his lips firmly sealed as his eyes darted nervously between his wife and daughter.
“Since we’re on the subject, your father and I have already looked into several suitable matches for you.”
“You’ve already selected candidates for a husband?”
“Of course we must begin now. Starting tomorrow, in fact.”
“But….”
Beatrice felt heat rising within her. She’d thought her parents were different from other families….
“You’ve already completed all the studies you wished to pursue. What excuse could there possibly be for further delay?”
Her mother’s graceful smile pressed against her chest like a weight. Though a pheasant dish she favored sat before her, Beatrice’s appetite had vanished in an instant. She set down her fork and knife in silence.
“Well, first there’s Lord Ashworth. He’s the eldest son of the Earl of Kent. He’s well-regarded for his knowledge of classical painting and praised in High Society for his exemplary conduct.”
This is precisely what makes marriage so abhorrent.
Beatrice clenched her teeth and lowered her eyes. Not once had they asked for her opinion—her parents had simply decided the rest of her life between themselves.
Do I have no voice at all in this?
None whatsoever?
“Oh, and Lord Ashworth collects Still Life Paintings as a hobby, I’m told. Once he learns of your keen interest in painting, he’ll be considerate enough to allow you to pursue your hobby even after marriage.”
“I’m not painting as a hobby.”
“And….”
The Duchess continued swiftly, paying no attention to Beatrice’s murmur.
“Ah, the eldest son of Baron Fitzroy is also an excellent prospect. That would be quite suitable.”
“Wait, my dear. We agreed to exclude Fitzroy, didn’t we? He’s ten years older than our Beatrice. How could you even suggest such a thing!”
Somerset nearly spilled his wine in shock, jumping in with urgency.
“Well, yes, I suppose….”
The Duchess heaved a long sigh.
“Unfortunately, the fact that a woman has graduated from an Art Academy is a fatal flaw in the Marriage Market. The Baroness Fitzroy said to me—implying that she must have drawn Figure Drawings at school, that she must have mingled with common men—she made her insinuations quite clear, even though I am the wife of the Somerset. To think I should hear such things.”
Her mother’s rueful sigh dissolved into the air.
Beatrice struggled to compose herself, but her efforts proved futile. Heat continued to simmer and bubble up within her chest.
Was it truly such a fatal flaw for a woman to study not merely adequately, but with genuine earnestness?
“What ignorant people they are—as if it matters that our daughter paints!”
Somerset expressed his displeasure loudly, but the Duchess’s face had gone slack, drained even of the energy to be angry.
“It’s about propriety being compromised, about the family’s standing being diminished. You already know this—why ask?”
“And yet he presumed to take the Noble Daughter of the Somerset house. The audacity is beyond reason.”
“Reality is reality—there’s nothing to be done about it. We permitted that child to attend the Art Academy, so we must bear the consequences that follow.”
The Duke made a low sound of frustration, his face twisted in displeasure as he poured wine into his empty glass with deliberate force.
Yet Beatrice, seated across from them, the very subject of this conversation, could say nothing. She had simply studied diligently what she loved….

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