IGMU 06

Chapter  06

After finishing her preparations, Ella sat at her desk before leaving and took out a sheet of paper. Holding a pen, she exhaled as if making a firm resolution, her eyes steady and determined. Betty watched her with a puzzled expression.

“Whew.”

Soon, neat lines of Ella’s handwriting filled the page.

I accept the commission. I will return the advance payment.

When she looked at it again, the word “accept” stood out more sharply than the rest, as if she had pressed the pen harder only there.

Ella quickly reviewed the brief message once more, then placed the letter along with the 300 denars she had received as an advance into an envelope and sealed it carefully with wax.

“Betty. Deliver this letter to Miss Giberman.”

As usual, Ella stopped by the studio briefly after classes ended. Today too, the art room was empty and quiet.

Very few people even knew this studio existed. And even fewer bothered to come regularly—Ella was practically the only one who did.

Young men who aspired to become painters usually had their own private studios rather than using a secluded, dim place like this. And most noble young ladies had no serious intention of becoming artists at all—painting was considered nothing more than a hobby.

Ella, the eldest daughter of the Clarence viscount family, had loved painting since childhood. She also had considerable talent. In truth, she had wanted to formally study painting at the Royal Academy of Arts, but that had always remained an unattainable wish.

The Royal Academy held annual special exhibitions showcasing paintings and sculptures. Winning a competition or gaining attention at such exhibitions could establish one’s reputation as a recognized artist.

Most students came from minor nobility or the middle class, and graduating from the academy carried great significance for them. However, there was one major issue: all students were male.

It had always been that way. Even now, the Royal Academy continued to exclude and push women away.

Artistic education for women was limited to cultivating refined tastes suitable for a lady. Women were expected only to appreciate art well enough—nothing more. They were to grow up properly, marry well, and require no financial independence.

Ella’s father, Viscount Clarence, did not particularly approve of her painting, though he did not forbid it either. Perhaps he thought that since women were not allowed to earn a living anyway, it was harmless as a hobby until marriage.

While her peers were excitedly discussing marriage prospects with men, Ella remained indifferent. But ideals and reality were separate matters.

After her younger sister Louisa successfully completed her debutante season, her mother had begun bringing up marriage every time she saw Ella. It had happened every year since Ella’s own debut at seventeen, three years ago.

Soon, in the not-so-distant future, she was expected to marry an unremarkable man, bear children, and live a life similar to everyone else her age. But she could not accept that. She did not want to live that way.

Ella was a confirmed single-minded idealist. To live alone, one needed money—but women could neither inherit property nor earn a living.

The only economic paths available to women were selling their bodies in brothels, or becoming singers or actresses—both essentially forms of selling oneself. Either way, there were no real options.

For Ella, earning money by painting portraits was a means to achieve her dream. Because it was her only option, it was precious. The possibility of losing even that one thing she was good at was a great shock.

But she could not afford to remain discouraged forever. Just a few hours ago, she had agonized over whether she truly needed to go this far—but now there was no other choice. For her goal, she was prepared to do anything.

“I will use any means necessary.”

Ella clenched her fist, her eyes burning with resolve.

“Did you hear about it?”

“About what?”

“That Franz bought Publica.”

“You’re late, Christian. That rumor’s been everywhere for days.”

“Oh, I was out in the countryside and missed it. So it’s true?”

“So they say.”

Publica was a once-prominent newspaper focusing on politics and economic affairs.

As royal authority solidified, society stabilized politically and socially. The economy grew, culture flourished, and the central government and monarchy enjoyed overwhelming public trust and approval. Even Publica, no matter how critical it once was, could not refute these facts.

Over time, political issues that once captured public attention faded into indifference as the city expanded rapidly and the last century passed in relative peace.

As a result, Publica’s business steadily declined. People no longer cared for exhausting, complicated matters.

They preferred a comfortable, prosperous life without mental strain. Instead of thinking deeply, they chose simple pleasures.

And so gossip and rumors became far more entertaining than serious news.

Human curiosity was easily stirred by “stories”—especially those involving scandal. The more sordid, the better.

Thus, vague rumors like “so-and-so is dating so-and-so” or “so-and-so slept with so-and-so” spread through gossip papers and social gatherings, becoming accepted as fact.

In aristocratic circles, even the most detailed rumors spread through just a few degrees of separation.

Recently, a rumor that a young nobleman and a famous ballerina were involved in a scandal had become the talk of high society.

“No matter how difficult things are for Publica, its pride is still too high for ordinary money to sway the editor-in-chief. Franz must be impressive.”

“True. He brushes off gossip like it’s nothing. Starting with steel industries, and then even buying the failing Roland Hotel a few months ago and turning it profitable—he’s a genius investor. I’d love to know his secret.”

“Why don’t you just ask him? Heh heh.”

Laughing lightly, Christian sipped his coffee and looked out toward the streets.

“Easy for you to say. There’s never a right moment to bring it up.”

Even though they had attended the same academy and were somewhat familiar with him, actually speaking to Franz was difficult. Christian and the others all agreed.

Franz was surrounded by people who wanted to work with him—whether in business, clubs, sports, or even romance.

Perhaps it was because standing next to him made others feel inferior. Though arrogant in demeanor and fully aware of his own excellence, he did not exude superiority. That, oddly enough, was part of his appeal.

His perpetually indifferent expression made him seem almost lazy, like a resting tiger, yet in reality he was always busy. Twenty-four hours a day were not enough for him.

It could not simply be dismissed as natural talent; he was too exceptional.

Even to other men, he looked like a perfectly sculpted being by the gods—so it was no surprise women found him even more captivating.

Just then, the street suddenly grew noisy.

“Hey! It’s the famous F4 of Bilen!”

Across Pelga Square, Franz and his group—Marco, Richard, and Andrew—walked toward the club. Their appearance sent waves of sighs, admiration, and excited murmurs through the crowd.

When they arrived at the second-floor balcony, people immediately recognized them and greeted them. Some waved enthusiastically.

“Richard. You’re done with your morning classes?”

“Christian, long time no see. I heard you went to Lafitte—when did you get back?”

“Yesterday. Are you here for lunch?”

“No, just a quick bite at the club.”

“So you all came together? It’s been a while.”

Christian nodded to the other three.

“We ran into each other on the way here. So, did your trip go well?”

“Thankfully my father’s health wasn’t too bad, so I’m relieved—but after graduation I’ll be busy with heir training. Those days are over.”

Christian clicked his tongue in mild regret.

“Good to hear Lord Magot is well.”

Marco replied as he sat down.

The weather was pleasant, and the second-floor balcony overlooking the square and city was especially lively that day.

From above, the neatly arranged streets and the elegant old buildings made the view particularly scenic—this balcony was considered one of the club’s best spots.

“Originally I should’ve gone back to Lafitte to train under my father, but he said I could stay until graduation. Still, I’ll go home during the break to prepare for this year’s grape harvest.”

Lafitte was a recognized wine-producing region. Its vineyards and olive farms were well known, and the Magot family’s grapes, rich in sugar content and flavor, produced excellent wine.

“I suppose so.”

Everyone groaned as if already feeling the headache ahead.

“My mother says this year’s heat will make the grapes even sweeter.”

The Magot wine was also favored by Queen Elizabeth, Franz’s mother.

Queen Elizabeth particularly enjoyed fortified dessert wines like port-style wines. Franz himself was not a wine enthusiast, but he did occasionally enjoy Magot wines.

Unlike Franz, the other F4 members showed little reaction, but the noble youths around them looked at Christian with envy and admiration upon hearing mention of the Queen.

“With such high-quality grapes, it’s an honor for both the family and the estate. More importantly, it continues a tradition beloved by Her Majesty the Queen.”

At Christian’s words, Franz gave a slight nod.

If each generation managed the vineyards with such dedication, the Magot wine legacy would continue, and over time its tradition and quality would only grow stronger—solid as a house built upon bedrock.