Chapter 11

2. The Owner of the Gallery

There was a peaceful countryside blessed with breathtaking scenery.

Beneath a towering mountain, golden rice fields swayed in the wind like the waves of a deep sea.

The clear songs of birds echoed through the air, reminding people of nature’s beauty.

A winding river merged with the sea, and at sunset, the landscape became a painting come to life.

In that place stood a small gallery.

And recently…

I had become its owner.

When I left the ducal estate, there were three things I valued most while searching for a new place to settle.

First—

It had to be as far away from the Duchy as possible.

Second—

It had to be somewhere no nobles would recognize me.

Third—

It had to be a place where I could easily build a new life.

After much thought, I chose Lorencia, one of the southernmost regions of the Empire.

It was an agricultural region where most of the residents were elderly people.

The entire place had the warm atmosphere of a close-knit country village.

It was also where Diana and I used to visit the summer villa together back when we were still daughters of a count.

After Diana married and moved to the Duchy, the distance became too great, and we rarely visited again.

To me, it was a familiar place.

Yet it was also very far from House Whitdrian.

Using the money I had personally saved over the years, I purchased a gallery that was on the verge of bankruptcy.

To be honest…

Even I wasn’t sure why I had suddenly decided to buy it.

I was simply drawn to it.

Perhaps because a gallery, which seemed better suited to a bustling capital city, looked lonely standing all by itself in the countryside.

I thought…

Maybe I could fill that empty space.

I also liked that there were living quarters attached for those who managed the gallery.

And so…

I became the owner of a gallery in the countryside that almost no one ever visited.

Now that I was no longer the Duchess…

I needed at least some income.

Not much.

Just enough to support myself.

…According to the contract, since I had chosen the divorce, House Whitdrian was actually supposed to provide me with financial support.

But…

I didn’t want to live that way.

I wanted to make my own choices.

Earn my own money.

And live freely.

If I accepted their financial support…

I felt as though I would remain bound to House Whitdrian forever.

That was why I ignored the clause concerning life after the divorce and simply left.

The gallery only received a handful of visitors each week.

There was no way the admission fee alone could support my livelihood.

So I decided to sell coffee and tea inside the gallery.

Since I had once run a café in the Duchy, it wasn’t a bad idea.

Fortunately, as time passed, regular customers slowly began to appear.

The gallery happened to sit along the road connecting the village to the nearby town.

That certainly helped.

The beautiful view from the gallery—

Golden rice fields rippling like dancing waves—

also attracted people.

Whether passing by for their own reasons or simply strolling through…

People began stopping at my gallery.

No one knew…

That I had once been the Duchess of House Whitdrian.

Although it had nearly gone bankrupt, it was still, without question, an art gallery.

Various paintings still hung on its walls.

Living among them every day…

One day I suddenly found myself wanting to paint as well.

After all…

Since it was my own gallery…

Wouldn’t it be all right to display my own paintings?

While shopping in town one day, I happened upon a small craft shop.

I bought an easel, a canvas, inexpensive oil paints, and a few brushes.

Whenever I had free time, I sat outside the gallery, enjoying the cool country breeze.

Or I watched the countryside gradually turn golden beneath the evening sunset…

As I absentmindedly moved my brush across the canvas.

I didn’t even know what I was painting.

They weren’t portraits.

Nor landscapes.

My paintings were closer to abstract art.

Whenever I let my hand wander freely across the canvas…

My heart gradually became calm.

The paintings I finished were hung quietly in one corner of the gallery.

Visitors occasionally stopped to admire them.

Some even became regulars because they enjoyed drinking coffee while appreciating the scenery and the artwork.

They were peaceful days.

Little by little…

My new life became stable.

Then…

One day…

A customer walked in.

* * *

The bell above the entrance rang.

It sounded unfamiliar somehow.

Sitting behind the counter, I stood up.

“Welcome.”

As I greeted the visitor…

A single man entered my view.

He was a stranger.

Dressed in a black cloak with his hat pulled low over his face…

He gave off an unusual impression from the very beginning.

Until now, the people who visited this place were usually either travelers curious about a gallery standing in the middle of nowhere…

Or ordinary middle-aged women who loved chatting…

Or quiet individuals who simply came to enjoy the scenery.

Most of them were older.

Compared to them…

This man felt entirely different.

He radiated the presence of someone young and physically strong.

His face remained hidden beneath the cloak, making it impossible to identify him.

But every confident step he took carried undeniable strength.

There was even an elegance about him that didn’t seem fitting for an ordinary commoner.

Who is this man?

One thing was certain.

He looked completely out of place in such a quiet village.

He had the unmistakable air of a traveler from somewhere far away.

He strode directly toward me before slightly lifting his head to read the menu.

Then he sounded surprised.

“A menu? I thought this was a gallery…”

“It also serves as a café. We couldn’t survive on gallery visitors alone. As you can see, it’s quite a secluded place.”

It was a common question.

Many first-time visitors were surprised to discover a café inside.

“I see.”

He nodded as though the explanation made perfect sense.

Even to him…

This peaceful countryside didn’t seem like the sort of place where one would expect to find a gallery.

A moment later, he looked toward me.

Although I still couldn’t see his face beneath the cloak…

He spoke calmly.

“A cup of hot coffee, please.”

“…That will be 3,500 penny.”

His low voice filled the room.

When I answered, he quietly paid.

Soon…

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee spread throughout the gallery.

As I prepared it…

I couldn’t help stealing glances at him.

He definitely wasn’t someone you’d normally meet in a place like this.

What kind of person is he?

It had become one of my habits after becoming the gallery’s owner.

Watching customers.

Imagining the stories each of them carried.

For some reason…

I found myself especially curious about his.

Soon, I focused on making the coffee.

When it was finished, I held it out.

“Your coffee is rea—”

I stopped mid-sentence.

His gaze had become fixed on something.

He was staring at one of the paintings on the wall.

There was nothing unusual about looking at paintings inside a gallery.

But of all the paintings…

His eyes had landed on mine.

The ones I had painted in my spare time.

The ones hanging quietly along the wall.

“Those paintings.”

A slender white finger emerged from beneath his cloak.

He pointed toward them.

“They don’t list the artist’s name.”

“I’m curious.”

“Who painted these?”

“…I did.”

“You?”

He turned toward me.

His face was still hidden.

Then his gaze shifted to the coffee in my hand.

“Ah.”

He walked over.

“Thank you.”

His gentle voice carried warmth as he accepted the mug from my hands.

His hand briefly emerged from the cloak.

White.

Neat.

Young.

Without a single wrinkle.

The hands of someone who had never done hard labor.

Holding the warm mug, he slowly approached the paintings.

One hand tucked into his pocket…

He sipped his coffee while studying them carefully.

“Have you ever formally studied painting?”

“…No.”

“I simply paint whenever I feel like it and hang them here.”

“Perhaps because I own a gallery, I started wanting to paint as well.”

“It’s only a hobby…”

“So I’m rather unskilled.”

Many visitors showed interest in the artwork.

Even those who only came for coffee usually looked around the gallery.

But…

Out of all those paintings…

No one had ever singled out mine before.

It was both surprising…

And a little embarrassing.

Truthfully…

I wasn’t knowledgeable about art.

Although my family had been no different from commoners in wealth…

We were still nobles.

So I had received some art lessons as a child.

But they had been so few that I barely remembered them.

Before Diana married, we had occasionally visited museums together.

Later, while serving as the Duchess, I attended galleries as part of noble social gatherings.

That was the extent of my knowledge.

I was practically an amateur.

“You painted these as a hobby?”

He looked genuinely astonished again.

“For paintings made as a hobby…”

“They’re remarkably well done.”

“…Thank you.”

“To be honest…”

“I’ve actually been considering taking them down because they don’t seem to fit with the other paintings.”

It wasn’t intentional…

But every painting I had made was monochrome.

Perhaps because I had already lived a life filled with enough brilliant colors…

My hand naturally avoided vivid ones.

As more of my paintings filled the walls…

The gallery itself began to feel darker.

I had even wondered whether I should simply throw them away.

“Why?”

He shook his head.

“They’re wonderful paintings.”

“…Don’t they make the gallery feel a little gloomy?”

I asked cautiously.

Once again…

He shook his head.

As he slowly examined each painting, he continued,

“They may use monochrome colors…”

“But if you look closely, they aren’t actually gloomy.”

“The colors are dark…”

“But each one expresses a different level of brightness.”

“That’s what makes the paintings so vibrant.”

“And those clean, deliberate lines organize that richness beautifully.”

“Ah…”

“They’re beautiful paintings.”

“So what I’m trying to say is…”

Realizing he had spoken far more than intended…

He paused before turning toward me.

“I think…”

“You have talent.”

“…Do you really think so?”

His praise trailed off in my ears.

Because I could tell…

He truly meant every word.

No one had ever praised my paintings like that before.

Feeling strangely embarrassed…

I scratched the back of my head.

By then, he had already emptied his mug.

Setting it gently onto the counter, he said,

“…I’ll come again.”

With those words…

He disappeared.

The hem of his fluttering black cloak lingered vividly in my vision as he turned away.

For a long while…

I simply stood there listening to the fading sound of the little bell above the door.

It left me with an indescribable feeling.