Chapter 19
I composed my expression as usual and replied, and the baroness’s face twisted slightly in a strange way. Pretending not to notice, I lifted my chin just a little.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t heard the gossip circulating in society. The affectionate, family-oriented husband—he had been the very picture of that ideal. And yet, at a recent banquet, that same man had apparently cared more for the actress beside him than for his startled wife.
Praise is always followed by envy and jealousy. So, of course, the social circles would seize upon that as an opportunity for scandal.
I looked at the baroness and smiled sweetly.
“Since she’s talented, isn’t it only natural to help her if one can?”
“R-right. I actually saw one of her plays once, and it was quite impressive.”
The baroness’s face turned red. Her husband shot her a warning glance, and she quickly averted her eyes, fanning herself faster.
“I think I’ll take a look at the other exhibitions.”
With a gentle smile, I excused myself from Hayden and walked toward another gallery room.
Inside me, questions were sprouting rapidly.
Why had he kept it a secret that he was sponsoring Chloe?
‘Don’t trust your husband too much.’
That unpleasant voice rose again from memory. I bit my lip and gripped the champagne glass in my hand.
What exactly had that man meant? If I could, I wanted to grab the phone again and ask him—
Why did he call me?
What was it about my husband that I shouldn’t trust?
Frustration made irritation boil up inside me.
I raised the glass and drained it in one go. The sweet yet bitter alcohol settled heavily in my empty stomach.
I wasn’t one to enjoy drinking, but right now, I needed the help of alcohol to stay steady.
“Marchioness, are you feeling unwell?”
A woman beside me tilted her head, studying me with concern.
Startled, I straightened my back and offered the kind of polite smile any proper lady would.
She wore a dazzling dress and heavy makeup, yet somehow she managed to look elegant rather than vulgar—a curious presence.
“No, I’m fine.”
I smiled socially, and she wrinkled her nose playfully.
“The champagne served here is quite good, but it’s stronger than it tastes. You might want to be careful.”
“I appreciate your thoughtful advice. Though… I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
“Ah, my apologies for the late introduction.”
The woman smiled and took a card from a small silver case, handing it to me.
[Chail Delica, Owner of Chail Gallery.]
“Oh.”
Chail Delica—she was famous in society. The Eccentric Lady, as people liked to call her.
I looked at her with a sheepish smile.
A woman who had built her own business and achieved success with it. Not exactly in line with Melinda’s ideals, but her ventures were thriving nonetheless.
Especially with her exceptional taste in fashion and art, she often drew grudging admiration from the very nobles who disapproved of her.
“I didn’t expect to meet you like this, Miss Delica.”
“The pleasure is mine, Marchioness.”
Chail’s smile brightened, the large feather in her hair ornament swaying lightly.
“If you don’t mind, would you like to see some of the other pieces? Today might be Caden Paul’s debut, but there are many wonderful works on display.”
She winked playfully, offering me her arm in an escort gesture usually seen from men. I found the gesture amusing and took her hand readily.
Chail led me into the smallest room in the gallery. Unlike the others, it was softly lit, creating a serene atmosphere.
There were mostly small paintings—about the size of two palms—but one portrait on a side wall caught my eye.
The woman in the painting was turned slightly away yet seemed to look directly at me. Her eyes held a mysterious hue that was hard to describe as any single color.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Chail asked as I stepped closer to the portrait. Beautiful? I gazed blankly into the woman’s sorrowful eyes. She looked as if she were about to cry.
Why paint her like that?
The expression—so full of sadness—made me feel strangely sorry for her.
“Of all the new works, this one’s my favorite,” Chail said softly, affection in her eyes. “It feels… comforting somehow.”
“Comforting?” I repeated, looking back at the painting.
“How could such a sorrowful face be comforting?”
When I replied bluntly, disagreeing with her sentiment, Chail turned her head sharply toward me.
“In that case, this painting should belong to you.”
“What?”
“No one else seems more suited to own it than you, Marchioness. What do you say?”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh and shook my head.
“Shame,” she sighed, glancing between me and the painting. “It really seems made for you.”
“Then how about this—I’ll keep it here, and I won’t sell it to anyone else. You can come by whenever you wish to look at it. What do you think?”
I didn’t understand her reasoning, but her suggestion didn’t sound unpleasant.
Turning back to the portrait, I studied the woman’s sad eyes once more. She stared back quietly, the same silent sorrow in her gaze.
“Winter, there you are. Shall we go?”
Just then, Hayden entered, breaking the quiet. At the sight of him, irritation surged again—anger I had momentarily forgotten thanks to Chail.
“Miss Delica, I had a lovely time today. I hope we can meet again?”
I meant it sincerely—gratitude for letting me forget my mood, even for a little while.
Her catlike eyes curved as she nodded. “It would be an honor, Marchioness.”
Hayden raised an eyebrow and took my hand, leading me out. Behind us, Chail’s airy voice followed.
“Winter, don’t get too close to that eccentric lady,” Hayden said the moment we settled into the car. “She’s not the kind of person who’ll be of any use to you.”
I slowly turned to look at him. That was far from the topic I had expected him to bring up first.
“…Wasn’t it you who arranged for Caden Paul’s exhibition at her gallery?”
“She may be strange, but she’s got an excellent eye. For a new artist, hosting an exhibit there is a mark of value.”
He gave a small, humorless chuckle—oddly ill-fitting for him. I listened silently, then nodded once.
“Still,” he added with a gentle smile, “keep her outside your social circle, Winter. Her reputation isn’t exactly spotless.”
Normally, I would have agreed without hesitation. But this time, I withheld my answer and met his eyes squarely.
“Hayden.”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t you think you have something to explain to me?”
My tone was soft but insistent. Hayden’s gaze dimmed, and a heavy silence filled the car.
“The story about you sponsoring Chloe—what does that mean?”
At my direct question, he turned his eyes to the front windshield. In the dim interior, I couldn’t clearly see his face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Winter.”
He rubbed his fingers together, eyes fixed on the passing view outside. Every movement spoke of wanting to avoid the conversation.
‘What is he thinking?’
A dutiful son, a kind husband, a family man—
Anyone who knew Hayden would say the same.
“You’re so lucky to have a husband like the Marquess of Wolfhaze. His affection for you is plain to see.”
“You should be grateful for a gentle man like Hayden, Winter. Plenty of women would give anything for a husband who doesn’t raise his hand.”
“I’m just relieved you married a good man. He’s truly a blessing, that husband of yours.”
All those comments of envy and reassurance echoed through my mind.
And suddenly, I began to wonder if any of it was really true.
‘Don’t trust your husband too much.’
That grimy, static-laced voice seemed to whisper again.
‘I heard the master is seeing another woman.’
A young girl’s cheerful voice overlapped it.
I clasped my hands tightly in my lap. Stop it. Stop thinking.
‘Winter, you always overthink things. That kind of habit won’t do you any good.’
My mother’s words, from long ago.
Overthinking was poison—the kind that dragged you straight into hell.
“Hayden, please explain. Please…”
I shut my eyes tight and pleaded.
And I could feel him finally turn toward me.
(To be continued…)
