Masterpiece - Chapter 7 - Such a passionate gaze puts me in a difficult spot

Chapter 7 – Such a passionate gaze puts me in a difficult spot

Translator: Yonnee

—

Opening the door and stepping into the drawing room, Vessia found her father’s guest, waiting there.

The artist, Couven Wyeth.

Seated on the drawing room’s sofa, the man brought a teacup to his lips. Gently holding the delicate cup, he gathered the rose-colored lips and blew away the hot steam.

The long windows bathed the man’s robust features in pale light.

Vessia was captivated by this sight of him. It was as if the dust particles, which had been floating and sparkling in the space like fireworks, froze for a moment.

That was until Couven noticed the two of them and burst into a cough.

Feeling their presence, the artist briefly looked at Vessia and then at Maybach, who had just come out of her bedroom. It was a fleeting examination of their appearances.

He seemed surprised, sipping both his tea and his astonishment until he choked painfully.

“I, beg, your pardon.”

The artist quickly raised his palm to his reddened lips. The tea that had been expelled from his mouth hit his large hand and then fell to the floor, stopped by his palm.

Couven’s face turned bright red. Lacking breath, he wiped away the tears forming in his eyes with the back of his hand. Coughing, the sound filled the quiet drawing room.

Vessia should have paid more heed to Baudry’s warning that she would regret this if she went out like this. A good first impression didn’t necessarily mean it would be a lasting one anyway, even if it went perfectly. Nevertheless, she had somehow managed to ruin it herself.

Vessia blamed herself. She couldn’t take her eyes off Couven, who still couldn’t stop coughing. Using a handkerchief she had taken from the robe over her chemise, she gently dabbed at the corner of his mouth.

The pink rouge had already stained the white fabric. Vessia clenched the handkerchief in her hand and muttered a quiet curse.

“Ah, sh*t…”

Couven heard a faint curse during his coughing fit. The hacking was so irritatingly noisy to his own ears. Although his throat still itched, the artist momentarily forced himself to stop.

While wiping away the tears that had formed due to the physiological response, he assessed the ducal lady’s reaction, trying to gauge her mood. Her eyebrows furrowed, showing her displeasure.

“Ke-hum! Ahem, ah…”

Wiping his wet lips with his shirt sleeve, Couven cleared his throat. As the artist stood up, the maid, who had been wiping away the spilled tea from the table, stepped back.

Standing next to the ducal lady, Maybach smiled smugly and adjusted his cravat on his shirt collar. He neatly combed his disheveled hair, then clasped the ducal lady’s hand, on the back of which the man pressed his lips.

“I will take my leave now.”

His sky-blue eyes rolled towards the artist. The young nobleman placed his left hand against his right chest and politely greeted him. The artist also bowed to the nobleman in a similar manner. It was a somewhat bewildering feeling.

Maybach exited the drawing room with rather brisk steps.

Ker-chak.

The door beyond signaled the nobleman’s departure as it closed.

Excluding the servant, the two individuals left in the drawing room, Vessia and Couven, were the first to regain their composure. Vessia was the one who pulled herself together first.

She tugged on the thin strap of her chemise on her shoulder. She was bothered by the marks on her shoulder and the reddened, blooming patches just below her collarbone.

But now was not the time for self-blame. Vessia, having collected herself, opened her eyes wide and blinked.

Couven Wyeth.

She already knew the name of the artist. But she wanted to hear that name in his voice. She was curious about how Couven would pronounce his own name.

To hear that voice, she would have to extend her hand first.

“I am Vessia Quixote.”

The ducal lady spoke politely and extended her pale and slender hand. The artist, however, hesitated to readily take her beautiful hand.

He examined the back and palm of his own hand, turning it over. He remembered washing his hands thoroughly before leaving his house, but he had to make sure that there was no residue left. Just in case, he also rubbed his palm against his trousers.

He couldn’t speak for other artists, but for Couven, it was a kind of occupational habit.

“My arm will fall off at this rate,” Vessia teased.

Not missing any of his hesitations, Vessia extended her hand a bit further. Her sunflower-like, golden eyes looked up at the man.

She didn’t know what he was hesitating about, but she reassured him with a gesture.

Although the ducal lady calmly urged him, he hesitated and couldn’t quite grasp her fair hand.

He was worried that if, because of this handshake, any rash or hives developed on the ducal lady’s body, he would be solely responsible.

He could feel the stinging gaze of the maid left in the drawing room were palpable. It was as if she was scolding him for leaving her lady’s precious hand hanging in the air.

‘If I release some of the pressure from my hand, it should be fine…’

“Come on.”

“I am Couven Wyeth, an artist.”

After his pondering, Couven finally extended his hand to Vessia. When the ducal lady firmly grasped it, their hands intertwined seamlessly.

Judging by her hand, Couven felt as if her body temperature was lower than other people. And, there were calluses on her palm, not as one might expect from a noblewoman.

Couven furrowed his brow in curiosity, wondering how many calluses could there be on the precious ducal lady’s palm.

Vessia, meanwhile, found Couven’s hand to be strong and warm like a fireplace, despite its rough texture. She couldn’t help but smile slightly as she shook his hand firmly.

For update pings, novel discussions and/or to send mistake reports, join our discord server~!