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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 72
Chapter Title: Unveiling the Fraud
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Margaret, who had been looking back and forth between Eric and me with an intrigued expression, finally spoke.
“I’m sorry, Young Lord, but compensation for this matter should be made not only to me but also to the original artist. Of course, Baron Anthony’s words were a bit harsh for a pregnant woman…”
Margaret winked at me.
*…?*
Ah.
Could it be?
I quickly placed a hand on my stomach. I scrunched up my face and subtly leaned against Eric’s shoulder.
“Oh dear… my stomach… Oh dear… My little Rose… were you very startled?”
At that, the surrounding nobles began to whisper among themselves.
“C-come to think of it, isn’t Madam Imeline pregnant?”
“Shouting at a pregnant woman is a bit…”
“Now that you mention it, that’s right.”
I peeked at Margaret through narrowed eyes. She wore a satisfied expression.
*So this is what she wanted me to do…*
What a cunning woman.
It was clear that Margaret, too, had been displeased with Anthony’s rude behavior toward me.
But why?
*I thought she wouldn’t have a good impression of me after I threatened her…*
Is this for Eric’s sake, not mine?
But this wasn’t an issue that could be resolved by simply saying, “Anthony was in the wrong first, so let’s just call it even.”
The insult Anthony gave me was intangible damage, but what Eric did to Anthony’s painting was tangible damage. Which meant there was a clear price for compensation…
I watched as Anthony glared at Eric and me, his eyes filled with venom.
*Damn it… He looks like he’s going to demand a lot of money…*
It’s not my money, but it’s a waste to give compensation to a guy like that!
I surreptitiously met the eyes of Vivian, who was standing in the back. She was now with Olivia and Dorothy, the very ones who had been badmouthing her so fervently. That… that spineless creature.
I recalled the secret about Anthony that Vivian had blurted out in the washroom.
*‘Well, he painted a picture of Olivia. That’s why Olivia got furious and rejected his marriage proposal.’*
*‘Why would she reject a proposal just because he painted her?’*
*‘Because it was no ordinary painting!’*
She said it was a secret, but—
Whatever. Now that it’s come to this, I’m just going to expose him.
Watching Anthony stand up triumphantly, I said to Margaret.
“If these paintings were created without the consent of their subjects, can they truly be called art?”
Margaret’s eyebrow twitched.
Especially at the words “without consent.”
I glared at Anthony with angry eyes and, this time, spoke in a voice only he could hear.
“You… you’re a pervert, aren’t you?”
*It was a nude painting of Olivia. He wasn’t some master of the physical form; he was just a pervert who painted nudes, that man.*
That’s what Vivian had told me earlier.
I was going to use this to blackmail Anthony and get something out of it!
To think I’d end up using it like this…!
✵ ✵ ✵
Eric pulled my arm and muttered.
“Can you take responsibility for what you just said?”
“I don’t know about responsibility… but don’t you dare pay him any compensation. To Madam Margaret, maybe, but we can’t give it to that pervert.”
“Didn’t you say you’re not interested in seeing good triumph over evil?”
Eric frowned.
He was right.
I truly have no interest in seeing good triumph over evil, so until a moment ago, I was just thinking of letting this slide smoothly. But…
Isn’t he just infuriating? A pervert trying to extort money from our Young Master.
I glared at Anthony.
Anthony shouted, his voice even louder than when he had been angry at me earlier.
“D-do you have proof? W-who said that?! Who!”
I instinctively glanced toward Olivia, Dorothy, and Vivian. Olivia, her face pale, met my gaze.
*She’s annoying, but…*
I can’t say anything.
Olivia was an unmarried young lady. No matter how annoying she was, I couldn’t tarnish her honor.
I bit my lip.
“S-see! You have no proof! Th-there’s a limit to justifying your lack of taste! A-and th-this is art! Y-yes, what does art need with morality? C-consent? If I were to use a model, th-that model should consider it an h-honor to their family…! So why would I n-need their c-consent?!”
As I remained silent, Anthony became even more emboldened and shouted.
Thanks to that, Anthony’s logic was going completely off the rails…
*What does he mean, why would he need consent? Does he even realize that it’s not words but shit flowing out of his mouth…?*
I saw the nobles in the salon divide into roughly two camps.
The women, who recognized how much bullshit Anthony was spouting and shot him looks of contempt, and the other nobles, who wore expressions suggesting they thought I had just blurted something out without proof, a take-it-or-leave-it kind of accusation.
But none of them seemed willing to abandon their own dignity to help either me or Eric.
Just like Olivia, who was pale with the realization that this was now her story.
Eric, with an expression that conveyed his resolve to rip apart not the painting this time, but Anthony’s mouth, pulled the dagger from the canvas.
*Right, he was the type who liked to take the lead in punishing villains…*
Honestly, I didn’t want to stop Eric, but for the sake of the ducal family’s honor, I forced myself to step in front of him, blocking his path.
“Let’s just hold back… really…”
Just as I muttered this.
Alexia, who had been deathly pale, spoke up.
“You said you needed to speak with the original artist, didn’t you?”
“…?”
Alexia looked between Eric and Margaret, then turned to Anthony with a haggard face. Anthony, who had been spouting nonsense, suddenly stared at Alexia as if he’d turned into a truly docile dog.
It was in that moment.
Alexia raised her hand high and brought it down across Anthony’s cheek with a tremendous crack.
*Smack—!*
A sound like a large, wet blanket being slammed against a flat stone echoed, and Anthony collapsed to the floor like a deflated ball.
When he lifted his head, his reddened cheek came into view.
“A-Alexia…!”
She had hit him so hard that it looked as if the pervert had shrunk a little.
Hearing the unbelievable sound of the impact, I froze.
“…?”
Eric froze as well.
“What do you mean, what consent? …Don’t give me that crap about art! You were better off when you were just a third-rate, trashy artist.”
Alexia said something I couldn’t quite understand and then walked over to me.
*Aah, am I going to get hit?! This woman is terrifying!*
Without realizing it, I retracted my neck like a turtle and hid behind Eric. Just then, Alexia reached a hand out to me and said.
“I’m Alex. Alex, Alexia. The names are similar, right? Thank you for recognizing me. That painting is mine.”
I covered my mouth with one hand.
*…Wow…*
Alex.
I repeated the name of the artist the butler had told me about. The one whose style was similar to Anthony’s recent work…
*It was her… No wonder the paintings had such weight to them…*
And so does her fist.
I hesitantly took Alexia’s hand with my other one. Alexia smiled brightly.
*She’s smiling… after body-slamming someone…*
I swallowed hard.
“You have a very good eye. You have a fine wife, Young Lord Eric Orleans.”
Alexia said to Eric, extending her hand. Eric refused her hand with a reluctant expression.
“My apologies. I’m already taken.”
✵ ✵ ✵
After that, things were wrapped up with incredible speed.
As if everything had been prepared in advance, Madam Margaret calmly called for an appraiser.
The appraiser began to meticulously compare the paintings of Alex and Anthony.
He then pointed out that the period when the artist known as Alex, a leader of the new physicalist school, had become less active coincided with the period when Anthony’s style had suddenly transformed. He then brought out paintings from that period onward and offered his opinion that the works of both artists appeared to have been painted by the same person.
All this was said right in front of Anthony, who was bleeding profusely from his nose. Anthony was seated in the front row of this public humiliation.
Anthony tried to raise his hand to object several times, but each time, Eric put it down for him.
With force.
“…Stay still. Unless you want to disappear without a trace the moment you step outside this salon.”
It’s a thought I’ve had ever since he kidnapped Priest Andrea…
Lines like that seem more suited to someone like me, not Eric. How did things end up this way?
“Y-Young Lord! If Duke Orleans finds out about this, he’ll try to help me…”
“Will he? I doubt it. He’ll certainly move quickly to dispose of the paintings, though.”
Right. Of course, the Duke is a man who fits the term ‘cutting losses’ perfectly. Didn’t he quickly cut ties with Helena, the woman he was supposed to marry?
In any case, Alexia had plenty of evidence to prove she was Alex.
Not only could she, blindfolded, correctly identify every minute detail of the paintings she had created, but the unpublished works hidden in an underground studio twenty minutes from the salon, later brought by a salon attendant, were the decisive blow.
Anthony’s signature was written at the bottom of those works.
*The underground studio was near here…?*
“But why did you hide the fact that you were Alex and work under Anthony’s name?”
An art lover in the salon asked. Alexia answered with a troubled expression.
“My family didn’t want me to paint such vulgar pictures. For an unmarried noblewoman to paint such things is…”
The story Alexia began to tell from that point on was an ordinary, common one.
Her family, upon discovering that Alexia was the new physicalist artist Alex, tried to sell her off to any man as quickly as possible.
It was then that Anthony recognized Alexia’s true identity and approached her.
Anthony proposed that they marry, and that she hand over Alex’s paintings for him to publish under his own name. That way, he argued, the money would belong to them both.
*Ah, a truly all-around bad guy…*
In truth, people who are bad in one way tend to be bad in other ways, too.
*Like the Duke of Orleans, for example… someone like the Duke of Orleans…*
But when Alexia saw that Anthony couldn’t recover even a shred of conscience until the very end, she had body-slammed him.
“Y-you people know nothing of art!”
But until the end, Anthony refused to admit that he had stolen another’s creations, let alone that he had painted models without their consent. He loudly declared that he would send a formal letter of protest to Alexia’s family and then stormed out.
Though for someone making such a loud declaration, he walked with hurried steps, his face trembling with fear.
But as soon as he left, Margaret spoke to an attendant in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
“The paintings I bought—sell them all off for cheap.”
She then even gave away some of the ones hanging in the salon to the nobles for free.
She had deliberately taken a loss to completely demolish Anthony’s value.
Margaret smiled brightly, bowed her head to me, and said.
“Now, following my lead, all the nobles will sell off their Anthony paintings, and he won’t have any time to write letters of protest.”
*So this is why people need money…*
Feeling the power of money once again, I looked at Margaret with eyes full of respect.
