Lady Felice’s Secret Class - Chapter 54

Those memories felt like a dream—something she could never return to.

When she’d run into his arms at the docks after his return from duty, he’d scold her for still acting like a child but would burst into hearty laughter all the same.

The memories were so dazzling they brought tears to her eyes. With trembling hands, Felice finally draped the white cloth back over the display case and collapsed onto the floor.

Why is it that the past can be so painfully beautiful? If only it shone a little less brightly, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt so much now. To lose someone you cherished, to send their belongings away, unable to even see them whenever you wished…

“Grandfather…”

The guilt only grew heavier. Felice closed her eyes and took a deep breath, biting her lip to steady herself and wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

Suddenly, the silence around her brought her back to her senses.

“…Annie!”

Felice scrambled to her feet. Not hearing Annie’s voice, she hurriedly left the room. For a moment, a familiar scent lingered in the air, but she focused on the empty hallway, searching for Annie.

This was the third floor, so Claude’s scent could linger anywhere.

“…Annie?”

She carefully checked the corridor, glancing at Claude’s study and bedroom, hoping Annie hadn’t wandered there. Then Felice hurried down the stairs, calling out as she went.

“Annie!”

“Miss Felice!”

Relief washed over her at the sound of Annie’s clear voice.

“So you already went downstairs…”

* * *

The next day, Felice went into town early and bought a book—something to give Annie as a farewell gift, since Felice would be leaving soon once the Duchess’ letter arrived.

When she returned, she found everyone in the hall, staring at one of the walls.

“Does this look good here?”

The servants holding a massive painting gestured for guidance. The butler and even Claude were overseeing the installation. Felice joined them to look at the painting—it depicted a scene from mythology: a man who seemed to be Apollo on the left, three women listening to his music.

The brushwork was almost obsessive, and the artist always signed in exactly the same spot, with almost mechanical precision.

Felice recognized the artist. He was known for his compulsiveness, unable to continue painting if so much as a brush or a tube of paint was out of line.

As expected… Wait, what?

Felice tilted her head, noticing a brushstroke in the center of the painting that didn’t look quite right. It stuck out in a way that didn’t fit the artist’s usual style.

“How do you find it, Miss Felice? Does it look all right to you?”

At some point, Claude had turned to look at her, and now all the servants gathered in the hall fixed their attention on Felice as well. Startled, she quickly turned her eyes back to the painting.

“Ah… um, it looks like a piece by the artist who won last summer’s competition. Am I right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Felice took a moment to admire the enormous painting, or rather, she kept staring at that odd, misplaced brushstroke. She hurriedly glanced at the signature in the lower right corner—she recognized it instantly.

Did he sell it for cheap…? No, that can’t be. He’d never let a painting go for so little, and Claude certainly wouldn’t buy a painting just because it was a bargain.

Then, that only leaves one possibility…

The word ‘forgery’ came right up to her lips.

She nearly said it out loud, but instead, she forced a smile and swallowed the word back down.

“…It’s impressive.”

She’d have to look closer at the painting later—if she spoke too soon, she didn’t know what consequences it might have.

“I’ll be heading upstairs now.”

Unable to bear all the attention, Felice started to retreat, but before she could even take a step, she turned back.

“Um… Claude, are there any days when guests will be visiting?”

One of Claude’s eyebrows rose as he crossed his arms, his gaze sharpening. Felice opened her mouth to say it was nothing, that she was just asking, but Claude beat her to it.

“Follow me.”

“Huh?”