Although he was not young, for a soldier returning from the war, such an age for a bachelor was quite acceptable.
A retired military man, unmarried. Moreover, he was from a collateral branch of the baron's family, and the baron himself had personally arranged for him to be sent here to recuperate.
"He must have performed some kind of feat."
"Even if not, he must be a close friend of the Baron's."
"Perhaps he is the son of a wealthy landowner—or the second or even third son of an aristocratic family?"
The ladies' hearts filled with hope.
At that moment, someone said:
"Let's keep this news just between us—the ladies of Feltham."
"Quite right. Why report this to Cambon?"
Feltham already had plenty of marriageable daughters. They had no intention of surrendering such a wonderful opportunity to Cambon's more illustrious young women.
**The strongest alliance in Feltham's history was forged.**
Instead of signing documents, the ladies exchanged meaningful glances over the fragrant steam of their tea.
"And when will this new manager arrive?"
"Judging by the letter, he should arrive within a week. But that's not certain."
*A week.*
The ladies feverishly began calculating in their heads.
There was little time. But it was enough to take their daughters to Cambon and have them properly dressed.
"Thank you *so* much for the good news, Mrs. Severton!"
"You are, as always, at your best!"
The ladies of Feltham were full of praise for Mrs. Severton.
And at the same time, they sympathized with her.
*If I were her, I wouldn't share such information. Poor Mrs. Severton. She must have completely given up hope of marrying off her daughter.*
Like them, this house also had a daughter—Eloise Severton—who was long past marriageable age.
Her light brown eyes with dark green flecks shone with life, as if they had absorbed all the colors of beautiful nature.
Moreover, her slender figure and graceful lines emphasized her feminine beauty.
Nevertheless, the ladies didn't consider Eloise a rival to their daughters.
And there were reasons for that.
---
"My lady! Where are you *going?!*"
Emily's scream made the ladies look toward the window.
There, without a hat, sat Eloise in a freight cart, urging on the horses—looking so unkempt she could hardly be called a lady.
A slight relief flashed across the ladies' faces.
Whoever became the new manager would *never* pay attention to this girl, who hadn't a drop of grace in her.
"My lady! Your hat! At least take *my* hat! No—at least a shawl!"
Emily's pleas came from behind, but Eloise, paying no attention, urged on the horses.
The horses, as if understanding their mistress's impatience, began to stamp their hooves briskly.
The rumbling carriage crossed the stone bridge and emerged onto the village road. The route led to Blissbury.
Normally she would have admired the beauty of the wildflowers and smiled at the spring breeze caressing her cheeks, but now the most determined expression was frozen on Eloise's face.
*"A week."*
Hearing those words outside the door, Eloise had immediately jumped into the carriage.
*We need to hurry.*
She had thought she would have at least a month to prepare—maybe even two—but here it was only a week.
The new manager was clearly in a hurry. He might even arrive at Blissbury earlier than announced.
*My God. If I had known, I wouldn't have left my drawings there.*
---
The estate had a wonderful drawing room. A quiet and beautiful place where no one would intrude if the door was closed.
Every time her father went to Blissbury, Eloise followed him and spent time there. And in this beautiful sanctuary, she had left one of her secrets.
*My drawings!*
A respectable lady, of course, should paint beautiful nature. But having painted only flowers, grass, and trees since childhood, she had grown tired to death of landscapes.
So then she started drawing animals and insects. Naturally, she soon grew bored with that as well.
There was only one subject left.
**Humans.**
Other pictures could be painted at home, but with portraits, everything was different.
Firstly, Mrs. Severton was *completely* against it.
"Drawing *people* when there's such beautiful nature all around! You'd be better off drawing scenes from mythology or historical moments! Why would you draw grooms, maids, or postmen? That's not what a lady should draw!"
With these words—as if she had seen something indecent—she hastily threw Eloise's sketches into the fireplace.
But Eloise wasn't one to give up so easily. She had the kind of character that, once she'd decided on something, would see it through to the end.
So at home, Eloise drew only what pleased her mother's eye. And in the drawing room at Blissbury, she drew people for her own pleasure.
Naturally, she hid the finished pictures in a cabinet there as well.
*She couldn't take them home!*
*If the new manager sees this...*
She didn't think a man who had come to recuperate would inspect everything. He, like her father, would only manage the servants.
*He won't check which rugs are laid at what time of year, how much silverware is in the kitchen, or what paintings are stored in the old cabinet in the corner of the drawing room.*
*But if he does see them—!*
Turning pale, Eloise hurriedly drove the carriage forward to save her reputation and honor.
---
The horses in the freight wagon weren't designed for speed, so despite her haste, it took two hours to reach Blissbury.
"My *goodness*, Lady Eloise!"
Mrs. Parker, who had just emerged from the manor's kitchen, stared in surprise at Eloise hurriedly dismounting from the carriage.
"What kind of state is *this?* Did Mrs. Severton really let you go out looking like that?"
"If she'd allowed it, I wouldn't be here. You know my mother makes a fuss even if I tie a ribbon wrong. By the way—has the new manager arrived yet?"
"Oh, we were informed as well. They said he'll be arriving soon. But Mr. Severton is still the manager for now..."
"Excellent. So he hasn't arrived yet!"
Eloise walked past Mrs. Parker and entered the Blissbury estate.
As she stepped into the hall, she felt the coolness that comes with well-built stone buildings.
Her body, sweaty from traveling through the sun-drenched spring fields, began to tremble.
*God, I should have at least thrown on a shawl.*
Although she claimed to have completely recovered from her childhood illness, she still fell sick more often than others during the changing seasons.
She remembered Emily's desperate voice calling after her.
*Should I have taken it then?*
*It will be noisy at home.*
Mother's grumbling was a certainty, but Emily would join in as well.
The very thought was frightening.
With renewed urgency, Eloise hurried toward the drawing room.
---
Blissbury, as always, was in perfect order.
This was due not only to her father's management but, above all, to the fact that the most hardworking people in all of Feltham worked here.
Mrs. Parker, who oversaw the kitchen. The Warrens—father and son—who maintained the gardens. And Mr. Palmer, who, after retiring from service in an aristocratic house in New, ran the household here single-handedly.
There were few of them, but they were all conscientious and skilled, so Blissbury—despite the owner's rare visits—was always immaculate.
*I hope the new manager turns out to be a decent person.*
Although the estate did not belong to her, she had known it since childhood. It was like a second home.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that half her memories were connected with this place.
So even if she couldn't come here as easily as before, she hoped Blissbury would retain its beauty.
*Since he's here to recover, he's unlikely to change much... right?*
With this hope, Eloise entered the drawing room.
She opened the cabinet in the corner of the room—and a stack of papers tumbled out.
"Oh my *God*. Why are there so many?"
She knew she had been practicing diligently lately, but she hadn't realized how much had accumulated.
After peeking out to make sure no one was nearby, Eloise spread the drawings across the floor.
The earliest works were awkward, with distorted proportions. But the newer pieces showed marked improvement—more natural, more confident.
But now was not the time to rejoice in her progress.
Eloise quickly pulled several drawings from the stack.
All these drawings had one thing in common.
**They depicted naked human bodies, without a single thread of clothing.**
But that wasn't the only problem.
Eloise found a drawing of a nude male figure.
She blushed crimson when she saw it.
Because *all* of these drawings bore Lieutenant Colonel Ryan Wilgrave's face.
---
In Feltham—and even in Blissbury—she could not, of course, find a model for drawing nudes.
So Eloise had copied from an album of anatomical studies that she'd managed to obtain with considerable difficulty.
But the drawings in this album didn't include faces. The artist, deciding that the moment he added faces his book would be used for *obscene* purposes rather than as a teaching aid, had deliberately omitted them.
That was why Eloise's early drawings never featured faces either.
But looking at drawings with only bodies, Eloise eventually thought: *To truly finish the work, I need to draw a face.*
So she decided to try. But whose likeness should she use?
She did not dare draw the face of any man she actually knew.
She attempted to create a fictional character from pure imagination, but her inexperience showed plainly.
*Is there anyone I could copy without feeling guilty?*
Thinking about this—and not daring to use anyone from her acquaintance—Eloise had lain awake one night, and in the flickering candlelight, she saw a man's face.
It was the portrait of Lieutenant Colonel Ryan Wilgrave.
The one she had obtained by writing to her relatives in New.