My Husband Lives in a Painting - Chapter 58

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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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My Husband Lives in a Painting 058
Though I burned with questions I couldn’t ask, I settled for shaking my head instead.
What use was there in blaming anyone for my motion sickness?
Still, I’d recovered enough to straighten my hunched shoulders.
“In any case… with so many windmills, it seems you produce quite a variety of goods. Do you supply the merchant guilds as well?”
“Most of what we grind and press is consumed within the fiefdom itself. We’re too busy feeding the younger folk.”
Claude added the explanation matter-of-factly.
“Apart from staple items like flour, rye, and rapeseed oil, the crops we harvest change each year. We gather opinions during planting season and decide that year’s crops together.”
“The fiefdom residents decide directly through meetings?”
“Yes. The Main Residence doesn’t interfere in local affairs, after all.”
Watching him recount the fiefdom’s operations without hesitation, I found myself looking at him with fresh eyes.
“That title of Fiefdom Lord certainly wasn’t given to you without reason.”
“It’s merely a matter of convenience. As you know, I hold no official rank.”
“Yet you appear to already possess one in all but name.”
“Appearances can be deceiving. Should my mother change her mind, I could be stripped of everything in an instant.”
“……”
His reply was brutally pragmatic, leaving me momentarily speechless, but Claude smiled faintly as if it were nothing.
“In any case, shall we head inside the manor now?”
Compared to the Main Residence, Ortega in the western fiefdom was disappointingly small in scale.
Furnished merely for farm management, it lacked the grandeur and refinement expected of a noble estate or a place to receive distinguished guests.
Yet despite its modest size, the interior was spotless—not a speck of dust anywhere.
And the moment we crossed the threshold, people came rushing out.
“The Fiefdom Lord has arrived! Everyone, come out!”
“Fiefdom Lord! You’ve finally returned!”
“We’ve missed you so much!”
Their enthusiasm was so overwhelming that I found myself stepping backward without thinking.
Claude, meanwhile, seemed accustomed to such a reception and remained composed as he continued conversing while surrounded.
“Anyone watching might think I’d just returned from war. What’s gotten into all of you?”
“War is exactly what it feels like! Is Ortega not an ordinary household?”
“Fiefdom Lord, you really were summoned by Belladonna? What did she want? I was so worried I couldn’t sleep properly!”
“That’s a lie! He was rolling around eating five bread rolls yesterday!”
“Hey, close your mouth, will you?”
The boisterous atmosphere was so unfamiliar that my head began to spin.
‘Is it always like this?’
Despite having lived through a previous life without a class system, I’d grown accustomed to the serene atmosphere of Clodhel and the Main Residence, making this scene utterly strange to me.
Yet it seemed I was equally strange to them.
The moment they spotted me standing behind Claude, they all held their breath.
“Gasp. This, this person is perhaps…….”
“Oh, oh the Ortega Lady?”
Not “Madam,” but “Ortega Lady.”
In that deliberate distance of address, I felt the gap between us plainly.
‘Of course they won’t welcome me. In their eyes, I’m complicit with Belladonna, the woman who drove Claude away.’
I habitually erected walls in my heart, but they crumbled with disappointing ease.
“What manner of speech is that to use with Madam!”
“Oh, I, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Madam, forgive him. He’s simply not accustomed to formality. Please be generous in your understanding.”
“Ah… no, it’s fine, so please don’t press him.”
As I brushed off their concern with feigned composure, Claude chuckled, recognizing how aristocratic I suddenly appeared.
While I was narrowing my eyes at him, a warm, gentle hand seized mine.
“Madam, welcome so much!”
“Ah, I—”
Just as I instinctively tried to pull my hand away, my gaze fell upon the woman’s face.
She was wearing an eye patch.
“I’ve wanted to meet you so badly. You’re every bit as beautiful as Hope wouldn’t stop praising!”
“……”
“Though humble, I’ve prepared our finest guest room for you beforehand. Since this is my first time hosting someone of such distinction, I do hope it meets your expectations.”
A smile without a trace of falsehood came toward me like sunlight, and without thinking, I opened my lips.
“Are you Maria?”
“My, how do you know my name, Madam?”
My premonition, as always, was correct.
It was the very maid who had returned from Bouteer’s estate in her childhood, bearing marks of terrible things done to her.
“In any case, it is an honor to serve you directly. I shall do my utmost to ensure your stay is without inconvenience.”
“……Yes, thank you.”
I felt a quiet relief at the fact that no shadow crossed her face.
Claude clapped his hands to draw everyone’s attention.
“Well, that’s enough dawdling for all of you. Back to your posts. Don’t tell me you were planning to idle away the entire day using me as an excuse?”
Ha-ha-ha!
The servants burst into laughter at Claude’s light rebuke, as if they’d heard a pleasant jest.
Yet they obeyed, picking up the mops, buckets, and burlap sacks they’d set down on the floor with practiced ease.
“Well then, you should retire as well. I’ll show you to your room. And Hope?”
“Yes! I’ll be sure to escort Miss Romaine to hers!”
The bustling servants dispersed, and Hope vanished from sight with Romaine in tow.
Once we were alone, Claude tilted his chin toward the stairs in a gesture for me to follow.
“You’ve nothing scheduled for today?”
“I’m expected to be awake all night reviewing accumulated reports, but you are welcome to rest thoroughly.”
“Resting while you work—I feel guilty about that.”
“Perhaps you might conceal that smile playing at your lips before you speak.”
“Oh, forgive me. A slip.”
I climbed the creaking wooden stairs beside Claude, trading light remarks with him as we went.
Even the groaning of the old wood seemed to dissolve into the warm air, and the sound felt oddly comforting.
“Here we are.”
“Oh……”
The room he showed me was, contrary to my expectations, spacious and pleasant.
At a glance, it was plainly the finest room in the manor—one prepared with genuine care.
I pressed gently on the bed linens, which carried a faint fragrance, then turned my head toward Claude, who stood in the doorway with his arms crossed.
“Is the room too small?”
“No. It’s more than adequate.”
“That’s surprising. I hear noblewomen are rather particular about their sleeping quarters.”
“That’s merely prejudice. I can sleep anywhere—on the floor if necessary.”
In my past life, there were countless nights when I slept on bare ground without so much as a mat, so this room was more than I deserved.
But my words were interpreted rather strangely.
“……Surely you weren’t treated that way while in Clodhel?”
“Ah.”
Could he really have taken it that way?
But since I had no way to explain the full context, I chose to brush past it vaguely.
“What I meant was, I’m very pleased with the room.”
“……”
“You should go now. You said you have much to attend to.”
I gently pushed Claude toward the door, though he still seemed to have more to say.
His gaze remained sharp and searching right up until the door closed, as if he were trying to read into my very depths.
“Sleep well, Claude!”
Only after the door shut did I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Once I heard his footsteps fade completely down the corridor, I slowly lifted my head and looked around the room.
Then I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my palm slowly across the plump pillow.
The gentle warmth seeping through my skin held the memory of afternoon sunlight.
“……This is nice. Cozy and warm.”
How long had it been since I’d been alone with peace of mind?
As if my soul were trying to steal warmth from those whose spirits were full, to fill the hollow places within me, I held the pillow close for a long time.
* * *
Having prepared myself early in the morning, I quietly observed the rhythm of the manor’s day.
Though the distance was great, this too was Ortega. Only the nature of the work differed.
“What’s the weather like today?”
“Perfect. Cool but with warm sun—the crops will grow well.”
“Good. Let’s go pull weeds!”
While the servants of an ordinary noble house devoted themselves to maintaining the manor and attending their lord, these people seemed to pour their passion into tilling the land and planning harvests.
“I’ve just come from the rye field—nothing out of the ordinary happened overnight.”
“Thank goodness. All that effort chasing those wild boars beyond the mountains paid off!”
“Now we just need to keep managing the weeds until harvest, and repair the irrigation ditches too.”
Separate from the busy manor, I—who had come under the guise of recuperation—was given no particular work to do.
So there I stood, offering bland observations like “the tea tastes fine” or “the land must be good for this,” when Claude returned from inspecting the storage shed, stirring up clouds of dust.
He dismounted from his horse with practiced ease and was about to receive reports from his servants when he caught sight of me—and immediately dismissed them.

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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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