---------------
Brought ‌to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org
---------------

Chapter 2

"Charlotte, your Aunt Elicia is resting in the carriage. I need to have a word with Count Oslo."

Lydia Augusta, the mother of the sisters, spoke with her face hardened. It was rare indeed to see anger cloud the features of a woman renowned for her ‌kindness and gentleness.

"Sob..." ‌‌‌‌‌

Charlotte whimpered as her mother's hand gripped her arm. After the incident ‌‌in the corridor, ‌‌‌‌Lydia Augusta had swiftly extracted Charlotte from the eyes of ‌‌‌the gathered crowd. As they descended the stairs outside the gallery, held fast by her mother's hand, Charlotte finally comprehended what she had done and tears began to flow.

"Oh, Charlotte..."

Lydia ‌‌sighed, watching Charlotte rub her tear-stained face vigorously with both gloved hands.

"What if Count Oslo demands compensation for all the sculptures?" ‌‌‌‌

"That's precisely why I'm going now to appease the Count's anger. Helena and ‌‌‌Bianca are offering apologies on your behalf at the gallery."

"It's ‌‌my ‌‌‌fault, so I should go and apologize myself..."

Lydia gazed at Charlotte's tear-streaked face, lost in thought for a moment, then ‌‌‌shook her head ‌‌‌and spoke.

"No, that's ‌‌enough. You go to the carriage and wait for us quietly. And don't even think of waking Aunt ‌‌‌Elicia, who is sleeping so soundly."

Taking Charlotte back to the corridor, where whispers about her would surely persist, seemed far too cruel. Moreover, Lydia harbored doubts about whether Charlotte could offer a proper and mature ‌apology.

After delivering her instructions, Lydia disappeared up the stairs, leaving Charlotte alone to surrender to her tears.

'Now the rumors of my ridiculous theatrics will spread not just ‌‌through Brentwood, but across all of London?'

Though Charlotte was accustomed to being ‌called a tomboy, she feared this incident might be beyond recovery. She could already envision the gossip: the jealous, ungainly Charlotte, envious of her beautiful sisters' talents, feigning a faint to throw herself into a gentleman's arms, only ‌‌‌to fail spectacularly and destroy Count Oslo's gallery.

As Charlotte sighed and leaned her body against the wall, a low male voice reached her ‌‌‌‌ears.

"How curious."
‌‌‌
As I turned my head, I spotted a tall man with a sturdy build leaning diagonally against the railing below the staircase where ‌‌she stood. The candlelight ‌flickering on the wall cast a subtle glow across his dark hair, and his grayish-green eyes—fixed upon Charlotte—gleamed with an icy coldness.

'This man...!'

He was the handsome stranger I'd glimpsed in the Corridor of the gallery earlier. The joy of seeing his captivating features up close was fleeting; as Charlotte realized his words were directed at her earlier behavior, her face flushed crimson.
‌‌
"Well, as expected..." ‌

At Charlotte's reddened expression, the man released a laugh that could have been either a ‌‌sigh or a ‌‌‌scoff. His full ‌‌‌‌lips, as if kissed by sunlight against his skin, curved upward in a smile.

Until moments ago, Charlotte had despaired that any gentleman who witnessed her behavior tonight would never propose to her. Yet as she watched him ascend the stairs toward her, his dangerously alluring presence made her heart race anew.

With only a few steps between them, the man met her gaze at eye level, then raised one perfectly straight eyebrow. Without releasing her from his stare, he moved with unhurried grace until he finally reached ‌‌‌the landing where Charlotte stood. Though he towered over her by at least a foot, forcing her to tilt her chin upward to meet his gaze, he seemed entirely unbothered by the disparity.

"...Lady, can you hear what I'm saying?"

His low, seductive voice caressed her ears with gentleness. It was a voice that teased her, yet she could not bring herself to dislike it. Charlotte ‌‌‌‌barely managed to answer, wiping away the tears that streaked her face.

"Oh, no, I, well, you mean there's someone else here..."

As Charlotte heard her own trembling voice echo ‌‌‌‌through the stairwell, her eyes widened. Just as she'd ‌‌said—there was only this man and herself on this ‌‌‌landing. An unmarried woman alone with a ‌‌man, unaccompanied and unprotected. Charlotte glanced nervously about her surroundings as she spoke.

"Sir, judging by your appearance, you seem to be a gentleman of considerable standing, yet without a proper introduction and without a chaperone, ‌‌how can you engage in conversation with a lady! If anyone were to see us..."
(A person who accompanies and supervises young unmarried women at social events or outings, known as a chaperon or chaperone, from the early ‌‌19th century.)

Before Charlotte could finish speaking, the man stepped closer and cradled both her cheeks in his hands.

"Oh!" ‌

Charlotte's ‌‌‌‌mind went blank in an instant. She had never felt a man's bare skin against hers before. And to be looked down upon by him ‌‌‌‌with eyes that burned with ‌both urgency and heat—his face was as beautiful as the Greek ‌‌statues she had destroyed earlier.

Could he be a suitor who had come to comfort her ‌‌‌‌under the guise of teasing? A secret admirer whose affections she'd never known? As the man's intense grayish-green eyes traced across every contour of her face, Charlotte's imagination bloomed in rosy hues. The nobleman's beautiful face drew ever closer to hers. And once more, he spoke in that seductive voice.

"Yes. You really could see it."

Lost in romantic reverie, Charlotte blinked without comprehending his words. Whatever it was she could see, if it could draw such a beautiful curve to his lips, she would welcome it gladly. Yet his smile held something enigmatic—a mingling of joy, sorrow, and warning.

The man's hands released her cheeks and slowly traced the line of her neck. She felt the gentle touch ‌‌‌of his fingers, barely grazing her ‌‌‌‌skin. A proper lady should have pushed ‌‌‌‌his ‌‌hand away, but Charlotte could not. His transparent grayish-green eyes seemed to capture her very soul and refused to ‌‌‌let ‌‌go.

"Haah...."

I exhaled the breath I had been holding. Unlike my performance ‌‌‌‌in the corridor moments ago, this time my breath ‌came in genuine, ragged gasps. That was when Mother's voice—Lydia's voice—rang out from behind me.

"Charlotte, you're still here?"

I spun around in alarm. Not only had I caused a scene in the gallery, but now I ‌‌stood close to a strange man—Mother was certain to be furious. Yet strangely, Lydia's expression bore only weariness, her voice remaining composed and measured.

"I told you to go to Aunt Elicia. Well, since everyone must return home ‌‌‌anyway, it hardly matters now."

"I—Mother, it's just that...."

I turned my bewildered gaze toward the man before me. At Lydia's arrival, he had stepped back a pace from me. Perhaps it was his impeccably gentlemanly bearing or the ‌‌‌smooth smile playing at his lips—but in that moment, I caught something contradictory flickering in his eyes: a profound loneliness. My heart unexpectedly ached at the sight.

I opened my mouth to address Lydia.

"Mother, what I mean is, this gentleman was just speaking with me for a moment...."

But Lydia's weary voice cut through my words.

"Charlotte, Count Oslo has refused our apology. I must speak with ‌‌‌‌your ‌‌father about this, so let us return home at once."

Lydia passed by both me and the man as though she had decided to say nothing of him whatsoever, leaving behind an icy chill. I stood between my resolute mother and the mysterious stranger, utterly at a loss.

Then the man, who had been watching Lydia's ‌‌‌‌‌retreating figure, leaned toward me. His dark hair shimmered as it swayed above his gleaming eyes.

"Until we meet again, my lady."

His enigmatic words drifted across my ear like a gentle ‌breeze, leaving a lingering resonance.

---------------
Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org
---------------