As if enchanted, Eloise stood and took the portrait from the wall.
His light-gold hair was neatly combed and styled. His clear blue eyes shone with brilliance. His large, steady gaze gleamed with an unwavering faith that knew no fear—even in the face of tens of thousands of enemies—and his firmly pressed lips seemed to reflect the determination with which he led an infantry battalion.
Emily had once seen this portrait and remarked, "He's just a cute blond fellow, isn't he? I really don't understand." But to Eloise, as long as it was Ryan Wilgrave, he seemed like the most beautiful man in the world.
Both her father and mother assumed that Eloise, having grown up in this rural backwater, simply admired the hero who had accomplished great deeds in the wider world.
And so it was.
But the deeds for which Eloise loved him were somewhat different from those most people extolled.
*"He always achieved the minimum number of casualties."*
By collecting newspapers that didn't reach Feltham until a month after publication, Eloise had tracked his every movement.
Where his battalion moved. Who he aided. How many losses occurred afterward.
The 57th Infantry Battalion had suffered few casualties to begin with, but even in the battles it joined, the death toll was noticeably lower than in others.
He was sometimes criticized in newspaper articles for allegedly saving his own skin and retreating too quickly in battles where he should have boldly advanced.
At first, these were only isolated voices. But after the war's end, during the process of awarding honors, those conversations resumed.
*People have different thoughts when they enter and when they exit.*
Those who had shouted his name during the war began to claim afterward that they had succumbed to momentary impulse—and published statements renouncing their previous support.
Along the way, moralizing articles appeared about how deplorable the current state of affairs was—when young women, charmed by his appearance, gave him unconditional support.
*Ah, now is not the time for this.*
Eloise, who had been brooding over the articles about Lieutenant Colonel Ryan, smoothed the wrinkle from her forehead and began to act quickly again.
Naturally, Eloise selected the drawings of nude male bodies with Lieutenant Colonel Ryan's face sketched onto them.
*As soon as I get home, I'll burn all of this!*
First, she needed to load them into the cart.
Eloise quickly tied the stack of drawings with rope and picked them up.
The sheets of paper, light individually, turned out to be quite heavy when gathered together. And the volume was considerable.
If it were anything else, she would have called the servants for help. But with *this*—under no circumstances.
Eloise walked out of the drawing room, trying not to make any noise, and carefully made her way toward the stairs.
The moment she stepped onto the first step—
**"Stop, thief."**
An unfamiliar male voice rang out.
"*Ow!*"
Eloise yelped in surprise at the voice that came from behind without warning. At that very moment, her foot—about to step down—slipped, and her body swayed.
She needed to immediately drop what she was holding and grab onto something.
*No!*
Instead, Eloise clutched the drawings even tighter. Her body lurched and flew forward.
She knew better than anyone how hard the stone of the Blissbury staircase was, so she braced herself for the inevitable pain and closed her eyes tightly.
But—
*Swish.*
Someone grabbed Eloise's arm and pulled her toward them. Her body, light as a doll's, was lifted with ease and set upright in the hallway by the stairs.
"Ah?..."
Not feeling the expected impact, Eloise slowly opened her tightly shut eyes.
*Who the—*
At that moment, she saw the man standing beside her.
And then—
**"A-A-A-A-AH!"**
Eloise screamed so loudly it seemed the entire estate shook—far louder than the first time.
A man in filthy clothes, with burning eyes, stared down at her.
Eloise panicked at his unkempt appearance. She thought even a street tramp would have looked cleaner.
*Who is this? How did he get into Blissbury? And is he really holding my hand right now?*
Eloise's gaze darted to her arm. A dirty hand, caked in dried mud, clutched her bare forearm.
Even though she lived like an unbroken colt, Eloise was still a lady.
That is—she was not so shameless that she felt no embarrassment when her defenseless body was grabbed by an unknown man.
"*Let go!*"
Eloise roughly batted the man's hand away with what she was holding.
With a dull thud, the man released her and stepped back.
At that very moment, the rope holding the stack of papers came undone, and sheets began to rain down the stairs.
"*No!*"
Seeing her drawings scattered across the steps, Eloise fell to her knees and began to collect them in a panic.
Luckily, the drawings hadn't flown very far. After gathering the last sheet and turning around—
"Is this... Ryan Wilgrave?"
*—!*
Eloise raised her head in horror at the man's voice.
The man held one of her drawings in his hand—picked up at some unknown moment. He looked at Eloise with an expression of contempt.
"Not only a thief, but also a pervert and a slut. Do you enjoy secret nights alone with images like these?"
Eloise, frozen with shame at having her drawings discovered, did not immediately understand what he was saying.
And a moment later, when the meaning of his words finally reached her, she blushed not only to her neck but also to the tips of her ears.
*She had never heard such an insult in her entire life!*
Even a drunken tramp wouldn't allow himself such words!
Eloise was certain of it. Dirty appearance. Vulgar speech. And, to top it all off, a boorish attitude toward women.
*This man is definitely a vagabond who has entered Blissbury with ill intent. Or worse—a deserter who has fled service in disgrace!*
Having gained confidence, Eloise no longer hesitated.
"Mrs. Parker! Mr. Warren! Mr. Palmer! There's a *stranger* here!"
Her scream, let out at the top of her lungs, echoed throughout Blissbury.
Thoughts of propriety and ladylike behavior vanished from her mind. This was Blissbury—a place she valued as much as home, perhaps more.
And for a stranger to be here? *Absolutely unacceptable.*
Fortunately, the sounds of running footsteps could be heard. Eloise, glaring at the man, grabbed a small stone statue nearby as if intending to use it as a weapon.
The man looked at her in surprise, then looked her up and down. It was clear from his expression that he didn't understand why she had called for help.
At that moment, the household staff appeared at the bottom of the stairs. With the air of someone reinforced by a thousand warriors, Eloise pointed her finger at the man and shouted:
"This *tramp!*"
"What kind of maid is *this?*"
At the same moment as Eloise, the man asked a question of the people who had come running.
They both, puzzled by each other's words, muttered:
"Tramp?"
"Maid?"
It sounded like *"What the hell?"*
The staff who had come running looked from one to the other with confused faces.
Then Mr. Palmer, the first to grasp the situation, coughed and stepped forward.
"I believe there's been a misunderstanding between you both. Lady Eloise, this is the newly arrived Sergeant Ryan Thornton. Sergeant Thornton, this is the daughter of our manager, Mr. Severton—Miss Eloise Severton."
---
At Mr. Palmer's words, both slowly turned their heads and looked at each other.
And simultaneously, they said:
"*This maid* is the manager's daughter?"
"*This tramp* is the new manager?"
Both voices expressed utter disbelief at Mr. Palmer's words. But at the same time, they realized how they appeared to each other.
Eloise quickly straightened her clothes and her disheveled hair. Ryan brushed the dirt from his garments.
Although this did not change their appearances much.
Looking at each other again, they greeted each other with completely different expressions.
Eloise dropped into a slight curtsy, holding her skirt. Ryan bowed, pressing his hand to his chest.
The greeting was perfectly polished—as if they were trying to prove their status.
But this politeness was short-lived. Although their movements remained impeccable, their gazes remained sharp.
Ryan was the first to break the silence—in which sparks seemed to fly.
"I'll give this back to you."
*This?*
His words caused Eloise's gaze to drop lower. Or rather, to the drawing in his hand.
*—!*
Faced once again with the shame she had momentarily forgotten, Eloise, disregarding all propriety, snatched the drawing from his hands.
Her heart pounded wildly.
*Did Mr. Palmer or Mrs. Parker see it?*
Eloise quickly glanced around, but fortunately the others seemed only to be watching with curiosity—not seeing what was drawn on the paper.
Just as Eloise was about to breathe a sigh of relief, Ryan spoke again.
"You've never seen a human body in real life, Miss Eloise."
He glanced down at his waist and added:
**"It's not that small."**
Having said this, he turned away as if he had nothing more to say to Eloise.
Mr. Palmer, seeing him walk away with long strides, bowed hastily to Eloise and followed him.
"Oh, you see, Lady Eloise. I *told* you—at least throw on a shawl. And why is your hair so disheveled..."
Mrs. Parker, standing nearby, chided her gently for the misunderstanding, but her voice didn't reach Eloise's ears.
Ryan Thornton's words echoed in her head.
*He's not that small? What?*
Then she glanced at the drawing he had given back.
*—!*
Eloise's face turned redder than an autumn apple.
In her drawing, Ryan Wilgrave stood without a single thread of clothing, facing the viewer.
And below his waist—there was *something* she had sketched while closing her eyes tightly several times.
***And this, in his opinion, is small?***