Aldrin clasped her hands together desperately and kept nodding her head over and over. Between that and her gaunt, hollow appearance, it seemed as though even if Eugene made some outlandish request of her right now, she would agree to it without a second thought.
“If you take on my commission, unlike before, you will need to be employed by me and live here at the residence. You’ll be treated the same as the other maids. However, your duties will consist of painting here as I instruct — you won’t need to do other work like the rest of the servants. The painting must come first.”
If she were simply coming and going from the townhouse on a regular basis, it would invite unnecessary talk — but bringing her in as a maid to live below stairs posed no problem. She would be residing in the Primrose townhouse as a housemaid while painting.
“In exchange, I will pay you one gold coin per month as wages.”
One gold coin — when Eugene had asked the head butler, he’d been told that one gold was the monthly living expense for a commoner family of four, and that the maids at the townhouse all received roughly that amount, with slight variations. The head butler said it was an exceedingly generous sum, but honestly, Eugene couldn’t quite feel the weight of it.
Part of that was simply because he hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the currency value of this world — but more to the point, Eugene had spent three hundred gold just today having three outfits made at Atrian. And even that had been relatively affordable by his standards, as he had deliberately avoided anything too extravagant, unlike Ivan.
Roughly one hundred gold per garment. Aldrin would need to save every single coin for over eight years without spending a penny before she could afford even one of the outfits Eugene had commissioned today. The sheer extremity of the wealth gap made him dizzy. The vast, hopeless gulf of it made him wonder if this could really be right — but the head butler had said, on the contrary, it was excellent treatment.
In truth, room and board were provided along with a maid’s uniform, and small additional income came along from time to time, so in effect, a young woman living alone was essentially shouldering the livelihood of a household of four entirely on her own. Moreover, the head butler said there were plenty who would accept even less, simply for the chance to live in close proximity to nobility.
“Of course, before any of that, it would need to be verified that you are capable of carrying out my commission.”
If he’d had enough time, he could have taken anyone and worked with them, back and forth, adjusting as he went. But as he’d said time and again, Eugene didn’t have that luxury. He needed someone who could read the room and keep up with him on their own — even when Eugene’s own guidance fell short. He knew it was a vague and difficult ask. But that was precisely why Eugene intended to put Aldrin to work first, and if it became clear it was asking too much of her, he would call the next candidate.
Given enough time and opportunity, Aldrin would surely be able to produce the work Eugene envisioned. The problem, however, was that Eugene lacked the ability to guide her there.
He knew absolutely nothing about painting — and though he had gone and set all of this in motion, he was still working out how to put the ideas in his head into words and convey them to someone else. At Eugene’s words that her employment was not yet fully confirmed, Aldrin dropped to her knees right there on the floor.
“I’ll do it. Please let me. Young master. You are the only one who has ever paid for my paintings.”
“Then — ten days from today. I’ll observe for ten days whether you are suited to my commission. Even if things don’t work out partway through, I will pay your wages in full, so do not worry.”
“Oh, thank God! No — young master, my lord! Thank you.”
Aldrin cried out “my lord” instead of “young master,” loudly. It was as much a declaration as a promise — that she would throw herself into the opportunity Eugene had given her with everything she had. For Eugene, a modern person, it was a form of address that stirred an unreasonable degree of discomfort.
“Rest for today, and we’ll begin tomorrow. If there’s any luggage you need to collect, go with Peter.”
“There’s nothing. I could start today, right now. My lord.”
“No, no. Today… I’m tired.”
Aldrin had already been thrown out of her rented room without even being able to properly gather her painting supplies. At the lodgings of the dye factory where she had been staying temporarily, there was nothing that belonged to her — not even a crumb of bread. She had been cast out into the world entirely alone. When she had been brought to the Primrose townhouse by Peter, fear and anxiety had led the way.
But now that her stomach was full and she was soaking in the warmth of these lavish surroundings, one thought struck her with sudden clarity — whatever happened here, it was better than being thrown out onto the streets. And more than that, coming face to face with Eugene, whose beauty was almost sacred in its quality, a deep, unshakeable conviction welled up inside her — that someone this beautiful and noble could never mean her harm.
Aldrin’s eyes shone brightly as she gazed at Eugene as though he were her savior. No — he was her savior. Eugene, unsettled by her unguarded, devoted stare and uncomfortable with being called “my lord,” waved a hand even though he wasn’t particularly tired, and called the head butler over. Watching the youngest young master’s face go stiff with awkwardness, the corner of the head butler’s mouth curved into a gentle arc.
“Head butler, draw up a contract with Aldrin and prepare a room for her.”
“Yes, young master.”
Eugene passed the loose ends off to the head butler and made a swift exit from the gallery. The head butler took Aldrin and headed downstairs. All the way to the butler’s office, weaving through the bustle of busy servants, the head butler’s smile never once left his face.
His words and actions had made it look as though he was leaving everything to the head butler — but in truth, Eugene had prepared everything in advance with the head butler’s guidance: not only the employment contract, but a nondisclosure agreement as well.
It seemed as though, after the ordeal he had been through, the youngest young master was finally breaking out of his shell — meticulous and capable in his handling of things now, which filled the head butler with a quiet sense of pride. Having been present since the birth of all three young masters, the head butler could hardly keep his heart from swelling.
News of Eugene privately taking in a commoner maidservant spread to Ivan’s ears in no time at all. It was only natural — Ivan was, at the moment, the highest-ranking adult and the one overseeing the Primrose townhouse.
Ivan, who had once been burned by a scandal involving a “commoner woman,” actually kicked out of bed at the news. But the intense interest in her was not Ivan’s alone. When Aldrin appeared in the servants’ dining hall, every maid in the room turned to stare at her.
It was a somewhat worrying situation, but Aldrin seemed unfazed, as though she were well accustomed to being stared at like some oddity. From the moment she had picked up a brush to paint — a commoner woman of all people — she had been treated as a freak so relentlessly that she had long since grown immune to it.
Filled with determination to give it her all, she proved her abilities the very next day after arriving at the Primrose residence. The reason her talent had never had the chance to shine until now came down entirely to her station and the sex she had been born into — and the simple fact that she had never encountered the right wind. Aldrin adapted to the Primrose residence, and to Eugene, far better than expected.
Having forged a spirited life for herself in an era where the standing of a commoner woman was barely above nothing, she was a uniquely resilient woman. When Eugene told her not to call him “my lord” because it made him uncomfortable, she accepted it readily — so now it had become “Eugene.” Still an address that felt weighty for a modern person, but better than “my lord.”
“Aldrin, from now on, we’re going to draw a man. He should be facing forward, standing upright — but not too rigid.”
“Yes, Eugene.”
And so today, the real work began. From here on, Eugene and Aldrin would lay the foundation of what was essentially a “portfolio” — the framework for what would become a “lookbook.” Eugene broke down the ideas in his head as much as he could, explaining them in terms that Aldrin, a person of this era, could understand.
“Set the brush aside, and think of it as sketching the underdrawing in a bit more detail. You don’t need to labor over the coloring. A rough first pass is fine — just enough to distinguish what kind of texture and color of clothing the figure is wearing.”
“Who should I draw?”
They hit a wall from the very start. Aldrin was accustomed to painting by looking at objects or people in front of her — she was weak when it came to forming an image purely from imagination with nothing before her eyes.
“Hmm… The most handsome man Aldrin knows. He needs to be tall and lean, with broad shoulders and an imposing build. And his face should be small, so that when you look at him head to toe, the overall impression is clean and well-proportioned.”
As Eugene described it to Aldrin, he found himself thinking of Lucian without realizing it. Eugene Primrose’s appearance was nothing short of breathtaking, but for the man who had once been the modern Park Yujin, Lucian’s looks were closer to his own personal taste.
The memories of that day began surfacing freshly, vividly — and Eugene gave his head a firm shake. If the concept proved effective, he intended to apply it broadly, but for the immediate moment this illustration was for Lucian, so of course all the criteria would naturally center on him. That was all it was.
Eugene tried to push away the image of the Duke of Highwinter, who kept threatening to become some kind of internal standard. He tried calling to mind the countless idols and celebrities he remembered from Park Yujin’s memories — but every road led back to Lucian Highwinter. The man had a face that imprinted itself on the mind.
“Forgive me for saying so, but he sounds exactly like His Grace the Duke of Highwinter.”
Eugene, who had been pacing around Aldrin, stopped dead in his tracks. For all his efforts to erase Lucian from his thoughts, that name had come flying out immediately.
“Aldrin, have you heard of the Duke of Highwinter?”
“But of course. Is there anyone in the capital who doesn’t know of him?”
“Oh?”
“I once painted his portrait under someone else’s name to sell it. Regardless of station, I imagine every woman in the capital has at least one portrait of him hidden away somewhere.”
“Hm…”
Eugene let out a low murmur, struck by the thought that he was apparently that much of a celebrity. This was as good as calling the man this world’s idol. The reach of his fame had spread not only through high society but among commoners as well — the influence was extraordinary.
Eugene didn’t bother asking why Aldrin had painted and sold Lucian’s portrait under someone else’s name. That morning, Aldrin had already confessed at length, hands clasped desperately, all the hardships she had endured.
As it turned out, Aldrin had a man she had been promised to in marriage, and she had been painting under his name all this time. At first, he had said it was because there were limits to what a woman’s name could achieve, and she had agreed. But before long, he had taken to pocketing the patronage money Aldrin received from Eugene and exploiting her entirely.
It was ultimately for this reason that she had ended up on the street, unable to even properly collect her painting supplies. Having been mired in poverty for so long because of it, she would have copied and sold any painting that could earn her money.
Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t help being curious. For how much, and how many times, had Lucian Highwinter’s portrait been sold? He was tempted to ask offhandedly — but something about it pricked his pride, and Eugene pressed his lips shut in silent displeasure.
Turning it over in his mind again, Eugene suddenly felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him. Even if he was a modern person from the year 202X — could he really captivate someone of that magnitude? Every woman in the capital supposedly kept his portrait close to her heart. Somehow, the worry Ivan had expressed began to make perfect sense to him now.
“Oh! Until not so long ago, I truly believed there could be no one in the world whose form had been so perfectly sculpted by the gods as his. I suppose my view was simply too narrow. But I’ve changed my mind now.”
Perhaps she’d misread the look on Eugene’s face for something else, because Aldrin rushed to get her words out quickly.
“I am too low-born to have ever seen him in person — but I am quite certain that you, Eugene, must be far more beautiful. You are the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on.”
“Enough with the flattery. That’s not what I was looking for.”
“How could someone as ignorant as I ever dare to deceive you? I have painted his portrait so many times that I could draw it with my eyes closed. Only — he is a different sort of handsome from you. If the two of you were to stand side by side, it would truly be something remarkable.”
“Enough, enough.”
Eugene waved a hand. He knew Aldrin’s words were sincere. As she had said, they were simply different kinds of beauty — and Eugene’s own appearance was nothing to discount either. If Eugene had moved through the world as freely as Lucian did, portraits of him would have been scattered everywhere just as readily.
