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~Chapter 70~
“It didn’t work.”
Ethan, who had been lounging with his legs folded on the carriage seat, suddenly sat up.
“How much did you offer?”
“Fifty gold a year as sponsorship.”
That was about four years’ worth of living expenses for a commoner.
Ethan gave a helpless laugh at the tiny amount and waved his hand.
“Go again. Keep raising the offer until he agrees.”
As Riden shifted, preparing to get up, Ethan waved again.
It meant: Stay put.
“Stanley offered too little. Raise it and he’ll—”
“Sir.”
It was Stanley who cut him off.
“…?”
“Please let me finish. Fifty gold was just the starting point.”
“You raised it?”
“Yes, up to five hundred gold.”
Ten times more.
That was forty years’ worth of commoner living expenses—offered every year as sponsorship.
Ethan’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.
“Even then he refused?”
“Yes. I offered five hundred gold, and he still said no.”
Hearing that, Riden’s lips curved into a smile.
“Looks like I’ll have to go. Stanley, would you open the door?”
“Yes, my lady.”
With Stanley’s help, Riden stepped down from the carriage, glancing back at Ethan’s displeased face.
“You’ll come with me, won’t you?”
The painter’s garden was behind the main house.
“Wow…”
She had seen his paintings in her previous life.
His unique style had captured his home and garden so beautifully that she had once stood for a long time before his work on the white walls of an exhibition hall.
Now, walking in his garden in person, Riden felt as though she had stepped inside one of his paintings.
The name was different now, but the feeling was the same.
She turned to Ethan.
“Smaller than I imagined, but beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
They stood on a bridge crossing the pond, admiring the view, when the painter’s wife approached.
“Madam, your garden is stunning. I can see why Onora keeps painting it.”
Vera smiled.
“It’s modest, but perfect for my husband’s work. Would you like to come in for some tea? It may not be worthy of a noble lady, though.”
“Not at all. But first, I’d like to meet Master Onora. I heard he paints in the garden at this hour.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’ll take you to him.”
Riden and Ethan followed Vera through the garden.
As she walked ahead, Vera pointed out the flowers.
“These are my husband’s favorites. They’re rare, even for nobles, yet here they are in our poor little garden.”
Riden admired them sincerely.
The whole way, she felt the painter’s stubbornness in sparing no cost for his art.
As they passed under the narrowing willows, Vera pointed ahead.
“There he is—at his favorite spot.”
Onora sat before an easel, the pond in front of him.
“Honey.”
Vera called gently.
“We have guests.”
Onora turned his head. Paint-stained apron, and a face full of irritation.
‘No wonder. Stanley must’ve barged in with nothing but money.’
As Riden and Ethan approached, his expression grew more displeased.
But he set his brush down on the palette, stood, and greeted politely.
“I don’t know what brings you to such a humble place, but if it’s the same matter your knight spoke of, my answer is the same.”
Riden felt Ethan’s eyes on her.
She whispered to him,
“Won’t you raise the offer?”
“Is he worth it?” Ethan murmured back.
“I only agreed because of the bet. We can just buy the flowers we need. I won’t waste money on pointless things.”
Riden chuckled softly.
She had thought he’d raise the amount sky-high just to win—but he was the practical type.
“Then you’ve given up, which means I win?”
“Really? Look at his face—it hasn’t changed. Neither of us persuaded him. It’s a draw.”
“What if I do persuade him?”
“You’re not going to offer more than five hundred, are you?”
Ethan’s gaze was oddly understanding of the painter.
“If he didn’t waver at five hundred gold a year, then for some reason, he’s already chosen his life’s path. No matter how you try, he won’t budge.”
“A man who has chosen his path in life…”
He was right. Onora had long realized that among nobles, there were no patrons who would let him paint freely without chains.
So he had decided: better to live poor and obscure, free to paint as he wished.
‘That’s why he lived poor and died poor.’
“Sir, don’t you think even someone who’s chosen their path could change it—if they meet an unexpected piece of luck?”
Riden rose slightly on her toes and whispered,
“I plan to be that unexpected luck for him.”
“…”
She stepped closer to Onora, admiring the garden.
“So this is where those famous works were born? It’s breathtaking.”
Onora frowned in confusion.
“When you say ‘famous works,’ my lady, which ones…?”
Oops.
To Riden, Onora was already a genius painter—but not yet here.
She smiled lightly.
“You’re a new artist now, but I mean you’ll soon be famous. I heard you refused the Duke’s sponsorship.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Then how about the MacCary County’s sponsorship instead? Since you’re still rising, fifty gold a year seems fair.”
Her bright smile left Onora dumbfounded. Even Ethan looked puzzled by her intention.
The most heartbroken was Vera.
More than anyone, she longed for her husband to accept a noble’s support.
But if he had just refused the Duke’s offer of five hundred, would he accept fifty?
‘Please, even fifty—take it! We’re out of flour, you stubborn man!’
Without hearing her silent cry, Onora replied, his voice tense,
“I just refused the Duke’s five-hundred-gold offer. That’s right—five hundred a year. Enough! Money isn’t the point. Whether it’s fifty or five hundred—”
Riden cut him off with a calm smile.
“You don’t want sponsorship? Then I’ll just hire your wife.”
“…Hire her?”
“Yes. I’d like to employ her. Fifty gold a year, same as I offered you.”
The shears in Vera’s hand slipped to the ground.
“Me? Not my husband?”
“After seeing this place, I realized something. I thought I liked your paintings. But I think I love the flowers and places in them even more.”
“….”
“And it’s your wife who tends this garden, isn’t it? Then I only need to hire her.”
Vera had always maintained the garden so her husband could devote himself to painting, despite their poverty.
Later, in Onora’s diary discovered after his death, he had often described his wife working in the garden.
So perhaps the real gardener had always been her.
‘One look at Vera’s outfit and it’s clear—she’s the gardener.’
Apron, gloves, shears, and that wide-brimmed hat.
Riden stepped forward and clasped Vera’s hand.
“Come to MacCary and work as a gardener. Bring your family, and we’ll provide a place to stay.”
“You’re just tricking me! You’ll use her as bait to drag me there, then force me to paint portraits I don’t want. I’m not going.”
Onora ranted angrily.
But Vera silently met his gaze.
She had hoped her husband would bend his stubbornness—just a little.
She was exhausted by poverty. Their children were hungry.
Her own work outside brought little income. She had thought supporting him from behind was the only way out of this misery.
‘Me? A gardener?’
She had never imagined being offered such a role.
She had always tended the garden for her husband—but never thought she could be hired as someone’s gardener.
“I’ll go.”
At those words, Onora’s eyes flew wide open.
