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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Pygmalion's Muse
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I peeked my head over the partition and watched Margaret, who was tapping her wrist, her face showing she was growing bored of waiting outside.
“Surely you’re finished changing by now?”
It was time to go. I cleared my throat and tentatively drew back the curtain.
“Ahem. I… I’m not sure if I can accept such a dress…”
I feigned shyness, smiling as I did a little twirl. Margaret’s eyes widened.
“Not at all! Goodness. Youth really is a wonderful thing. It looks so good on someone young, doesn’t it?”
“R-Really?”
“Well then, shall we…”
She was about to suggest we leave.
Sensing this, I quickly went over to the sofa in the corner of the dressing room and sat down.
“...?”
“I’m in the early stages of my pregnancy, you see. I get tired so easily.”
Pregnancy truly is the perfect excuse! You can do it, Rose!
I feigned illness, pressing a hand to my forehead.
“Oh, of course. I was much the same when I was carrying my sons. I was quite thin back then, just like you, Madam.”
Margaret sat on the sofa across from me, a nostalgic look on her face.
“I-Is that so?”
I gave her a vague reply, my eyes scanning the dressing room.
Margaret could be Scarlett. No, I was almost certain of it!
Now, how could I use this secret to get an invitation without ruffling her feathers?
‘Come on, brain, work! Think…!’
But perhaps because its owner had overworked it in front of the elders, my brain refused to cooperate.
My eyes seemed to have spotted something, but as for using it…
“Ah, about that novel we were discussing earlier… Scarlett’s novel. To be honest, I’m a huge fan.”
Only the most conventional method came to mind.
Praising the author to her face.
As expected, Margaret turned her head away, looking embarrassed.
“But it’s difficult to admit to reading such things in polite company. A pulp novel is just a pulp novel, after all…”
“No, not at all! Have you read the *Saga of the Secret Night* series? It’s practically the bible for adolescent girls!”
“And, uh, which part exactly…?”
The truth was, I’d never read it.
I should have read a little over Philip’s shoulder when he had it! I regretted my past self’s lack of interest in romance.
While I hesitated, searching for a plausible answer, Vivian’s voice came from outside the dressing room.
“...Madam Margaret…?”
And I wasn’t the only one who heard Vivian’s voice.
Margaret stood up. She was walking toward the doorknob when it happened.
“...Lady Vivian…”
*Click.*
In that instant, I had no choice but to shove the hairpin I had hidden into *it*—the thing my eyes had spotted earlier.
*It*.
The small groove next to the fireplace.
Thanks to the lock releasing instantly, what had looked like an unused fireplace swung slightly ajar.
“...?”
Margaret turned back to look at me, her expression one of disbelief.
Then again, most nobles weren’t masters of lockpicking or experts at finding secret compartments.
‘Only me. Just me.’
A little secret known only to people who had either been locked in secret spaces since childhood or faced life-or-death situations where failing to pick a lock meant their brother would die.
“...Madam?”
She looked like she was about to tell me not to open it, but that wasn’t an option. My hand was already pushing it open.
A noblewoman who wrote steamy romance novels, nicknamed ‘The Collector,’ and who kept it all a secret.
If she had a ‘secret space’ with a hidden lock, what kind of things would one expect to find inside?
‘An intimate private life that couldn’t be shown to others.’
I knew the answer.
“...!”
And yet, when the fireplace finally swung open, I couldn’t hide my shock.
Because inside…
“...Is this… Eric?”
A photograph of Eric was placed right in the center.
Alongside paintings from what I could only guess was the ‘New Flesh’ or ‘New Nude’ school.
A photo of Eric on an altar of flesh! What kind of secret space has something like this?
*Click.*
I heard the sound of Margaret locking the door. I turned my head, my face a mask of horror.
“I was about to tell you not to open…”
Margaret advanced toward me, her face terrifying.
I hurriedly pulled something from my dress.
It was a letter. A letter handwritten by Eric himself.
“I brought this…!”
I shouted desperately at Margaret, who looked ready to devour me.
The name of that pure and handsome man was Derek. It was Derek.
I recalled a line from *Saga of the Secret Night*. And as I watched Margaret’s eyes change at the sight of Eric’s signature on the envelope, I realized.
So all of those pure and handsome men…
‘Were Eric.’
I looked up at the photograph of the ethereally handsome Eric.
***
**Chapter 9. Pygmalion’s Muse**
About an hour later—
I returned to the mansion feeling as if I’d aged five years for some unknown reason.
The butler took my gloves and asked.
“Did you happen to get into any trouble today…?”
“I didn’t. You can just ask Lily, can’t you?”
I gestured toward Lily with a sour expression. The butler scurried over to her.
“Did she really not cause any trouble?”
“...No, not really…”
“Oh, right.”
As if I’d just remembered something, I backtracked to stand before the butler. Then, with narrowed eyes, I pulled a neatly folded envelope from my dress and held it out to him.
I said, my gaze arrogant.
“Madam Margaret gave me this…”
The butler saw the wax seal on the envelope and clapped a hand over his mouth.
“...!”
It was the seal of the Beaufort family.
“Did you truly receive an invitation?”
The butler looked at me, his face filled with emotion, as if praying that if this was a dream, he wouldn’t wake up.
I gave the butler a look that said, ‘Worship me.’
*Mwahahahaha!*
You could never dream of how I got this, Butler!
“Did you think Madam Margaret would send a fake invitation? It’s for an art salon in a week.”
“An art salon! All the most influential figures of high society will surely be gathered there!”
The butler exclaimed, overcome with emotion.
“There must be a line of people trying to win the Madam over with lavish gifts just to get invited to this salon, and yet our young madam managed it with a single letter…!”
Tears of pure emotion now glistened in the butler’s eyes.
Of course, I hadn’t obtained the art salon invitation easily.
***
An hour ago, at the mansion—
‘You’re Scarlett, aren’t you?’
I asked, holding out the bound manuscript.
Margaret answered without a moment’s hesitation.
‘That’s right. And my male lead is always Eric.’
As she spoke, her eyes were filled with lust.
‘I also draw inspiration from the New Flesh school of painting.’
‘Why is it that all the women around me seem like the type to get arrested at the drop of a hat… for instance, the princess… Ella von Dennique… the first in line to the throne…’
Despite this thought, I maintained my composure and said.
‘The fact that Margaret is a bestselling author…’
How could I phrase this to sound the least like a threat, while still being a threat…?
My conclusion was this.
‘Are your sons proud?’
At the word ‘sons,’ Scarlett’s smiling expression froze.
She calmed her twitching lips and said.
‘Are you threatening me…?’
‘No. I’m just asking.’
‘If that’s a threat, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. My sons are in the far west right now. It would take you a month by carriage to tell them anything, Madam Imeline.’
Damn it. Wrong move.
As my face fell, Margaret, looking a bit more relaxed, picked up her teacup. She seemed to think it would be difficult for me to do anything with her secret.
But my offensive wasn’t over yet.
‘Eric would be fascinated to learn he’s the protagonist of a novel. I should let him know.’
I stood up as if to go tell Eric right away. Margaret’s face went pale. She cried out hastily.
‘The invitations!’
‘…’
‘…I hear you haven’t received a single one?!’
A hit.
A perfect bullseye.
I turned back, smiling as casually as I could.
‘And…?’
I could never forget the look on Margaret’s face at that moment.
It was the expression of a perfect businesswoman.
A face determined to minimize losses and maximize profits.
‘Ugh, such tiresome women.’
I shuddered, thinking how strangely similar Ella and Margaret were.
***
Just then, the whinny of a horse sounded in the distance, and the butler’s head shot up.
“The Young Master!”
‘…?’
All I heard was a horse neighing, and he knows whether it’s Eric or not?
Watching the butler trot toward the door, I checked to see if a tail was sprouting from his backside.
‘He’s human… but…’
He’s also a bit like a hound.
Soon, the door opened and an exhausted-looking Eric walked in.
Upon entering, Eric saw me and flinched, taking a step back. But after a glance at the surrounding servants, he walked toward me as if he had no choice. He took my hand and awkwardly pressed a kiss to its back.
“Have you been well? My d—”
It was written all over his face that he wanted to say ‘darling’ but couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Such a naive young master.
“I’ve been wonderful, darling.”
I quickly threw my arms around Eric’s neck. Then I leaped up, wrapping myself around him properly.
Eric hesitated at first, but when I started to slip, he had no choice but to wrap his arms around my waist and lift me.
‘Ooh, he lifted me in one go?’
I looked down at Eric, a little surprised. He muttered in a low voice only I could hear.
“What are you doing…”
“A passionate welcome?”
“...Get down.”
“You have to put me down first. It’s really high up here.”
As if just remembering my feet were off the ground, Eric slowly and gently set me down.
He forced a smile and asked the butler.
“Did Imeline behave herself while I was away?”
He means, ‘I wonder if she caused any trouble.’
I gazed at Eric like a woman in love.
“Yes, she was very well-behaved. In fact, she even received an invitation to Madam Margaret Beaufort’s art salon! And that’s not all; she also got the account ledgers back from the Senate of Elders!”
“Margaret Beaufort? The Senate?”
Eric’s face scrunched up. Then he looked at me in disbelief.
Hmph! How about that! You can’t believe I accomplished all this in a single day, can you?!
I put my hands on my hips and spread my arms wide.
“Another hug?”
