It wasn’t that Eugene had done anything particularly skillful. It was simply that he’d been too busy stealing sidelong glances at the face of the man who had appeared before him to spare any thought for his own composure. Even as he bowed deeply in greeting, Eugene’s blue eyes kept their gaze fixed unwaveringly on Lucian until the very end — and at that, Lucian’s bright hazel eyes lit up with even greater brilliance, shimmering with every color at once.
Instead of his usual internal “Damn—”, Eugene nearly let slip an entirely different, far more idiotic exclamation. Lucian Highwinter. Eugene’s first impression upon coming face to face with him could be summed up in a single thought.
So this is what he looks like. No wonder he could wear anything and do anything and get away with it.
His jaw had all but dropped. The awe he felt surpassed anything he’d experienced even when he’d first come to his senses as Eugene Primrose and seen his reflection in the mirror and portraits. He couldn’t voice it aloud, but if he could have, the admiration would have probably spilled out as a string of colorful expletives.
Jet-black hair dark as ebony, and beneath the deep set of his heavy brows, deeply carved eye sockets cast their own shadow — which only heightened the enigmatic quality of the eyes nestled within. Lucian’s irises appeared to be a very bright golden brown, yet threaded through with warm greens and blues. Depending on the angle, one shade or another would stand out more prominently, giving them the feel of glittering, mysterious gemstones.
And that wasn’t all — a nose that rose like a mountain ridge, lips with the corners ever so slightly curled upward, and a jawline sharper and stronger even than Ivan’s gave his overall appearance something sleek yet untamed, like a beautiful wild horse.
The faintly upturned corners of his mouth and the slightly downturned outer edges of his eyes might have made him look a touch flippant and roguish — but the well-groomed, neatly kept beard he wore served to anchor it all with a heavy, solid masculinity that balanced the whole.
Eugene stared at Lucian openly and without pretense. It was more accurate to say he couldn’t look away. If someone brought a photo of Lucian into a plastic surgeon’s office and asked to look like this, what would the doctor say? Probably either “You’d die,” or “It’d be faster to get reborn.” One or the other, without a doubt. Like standing before a single work of art — he was left stupefied, and a part of him wanted to burst into applause.
Even the trousers — which on Ivan had drawn the eye straight to his protruding crotch and nothing else — didn’t look the least bit offensive. He couldn’t quite say why. The truth was that he simply could not tear his gaze away from Lucian’s face and eyes, and if the man had been in the middle of undressing, Eugene likely wouldn’t have noticed. He’d thought he’d won some kind of face lottery by being born into this world — but could it be that the people of this world simply had elevated looks across the board?
There was reason to think so. The Lucian before him was the kind of man who could genuinely be deified for his beauty, and Ivan, too, was handsome in his own distinct way. Eugene’s sense of the world wobbled for a moment — until he glanced over at the perfectly ordinary Bates, and steadied himself.
Ivan had said, repeatedly, that Eugene Primrose’s looks were remarkable — so it couldn’t be some absurdly beautiful world across the board. It was a ridiculous thought, and he knew it, yet Lucian’s appearance had been so staggering that Eugene found himself circling back over it even after reasoning it away.
There was nothing to fault. He knew it was a poor habit — but whenever Eugene encountered someone new, he had always instinctively looked for flaws first. There was a reason the phrase “first impression” existed. Whatever was most prominent about a face was what struck him first — the shortcomings — and only second came the merits.
He knew well that judging people by their looks alone caused harm. But for Eugene, who had spent his whole life staring into mirrors, hiding and erasing the parts of himself that resembled his father, it was a way of seeing that didn’t change easily. And even by that exacting standard, Lucian left him with absolutely nothing to find wanting.
And this is the man I thought I could use however I liked?
Well. What reason would someone like this have to lend an ear to anything Eugene had to say? He could wear a jester’s costume or drape himself in burlap sacking, and no one would dare criticize his fashion. Yet for exactly that same reason, Eugene — a man of the modern world — felt a pang of something close to longing.
More familiar with modern fashion than anything this world had to offer, Eugene found himself bubbling with curiosity. What if he wore something like this? What would he look like in a style like that?
The introduction had been elegant and composed — perfect, even — but Ivan had swallowed nervously, tension coiling through him. In front of any other noble, he wouldn’t have worried even if Eugene had simply stood there with his usual cool, indifferent expression. But before the Duke of Highwinter, no one could afford to hold their chin that high.
And yet, once the greeting was over, Eugene said nothing — he simply stared openly at Lucian without so much as a word. Ivan felt himself burning from the inside out. He ended up letting out a broad smile and gently nudging Eugene aside. Eugene, for his part, had actually been holding back from speaking out of fear of making a careless mistake — but that was not at all how it looked to Ivan, who was accustomed to how his younger brother had always been.
“My younger brother’s health has not been well. He has had a long convalescence.”
“Is that so? I was beginning to think he’d been deliberately hidden away from me.”
“Certainly not, Your Grace. He has only just managed to get about again — like a fawn taking its very first steps. We’ve barely begun to breathe easy.”
“A pleasure to meet you. ‘Eugene.’“
As if to mock Ivan’s desperate attempts to redirect the conversation, Lucian deliberately enunciated Eugene’s name with pointed precision — placing particular emphasis on each syllable of “Eugene” before flashing a slow, visible smirk.
As their gazes continued to meet so openly and relentlessly, the weight of it began to press on Eugene, and he found himself glancing away without quite meaning to. Looking directly into Lucian’s eyes was, if he was honest, somewhat difficult — the man was simply too absurdly handsome. And each time Eugene averted his gaze, Lucian’s smile only deepened.
“I was passing through, but it sounded rather as though you and ‘Eugene’ were calling out for me with some urgency — I simply couldn’t walk past. I thought perhaps you might be in need of some assistance.”
“We would never presume. It was only that, in our admiration for Your Grace, we got a little carried away in our foolish eagerness to follow your example.”
Had Eugene not been there, Ivan himself would have seized on this chance to grow closer to Lucian and latched on like a leech. But there were far too many unpredictable elements about presenting an Eugene who wasn’t quite himself yet before someone who stood at the very pinnacle of high society.
Ivan wanted nothing more than for this suddenly materialized meeting to conclude as quickly and smoothly as possible. But his efforts amounted to nothing — instead of leaving, Lucian smiled with perfect ease and reclined gracefully against the sofa. He crossed his long legs with effortless elegance, laced his hands together over them, and sat there with the complete composure of a man settling into his own reserved seat.
“Ivan, you flatter me far too generously. In that case, it’s only right that I offer a little counsel in return.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Go on, then.”
“Go on with what, Your Grace?”
“The commotion you and ‘Eugene’ were making in order to follow my example.”
A flustered Ivan kept responding with blank, bewildered questions — which was, in itself, a breach of propriety. But it couldn’t be helped; Ivan and Lucian were not close enough to be exchanging conversation like this. Until quite recently, Ivan had been nothing more than a second son with no connection to the succession — hardly the sort of person who could presume to keep company with the Prince. Their entire acquaintance amounted to a handful of greetings exchanged when Kyle was present. So why was Lucian suddenly being so unexpectedly familiar with Ivan?
“The very person you wished to emulate is standing right here — is there any need to debate the matter between just the two of you? I shall spare no effort in offering my assistance. Ivan, how could I possibly turn a blind eye to you and ‘Eugene’?”
Whether to call this an honor or an awkward predicament — at this point, even Ivan could no longer pretend not to notice why Lucian had suddenly taken such an extraordinary interest in the Primrose brothers. The two brothers exchanged a sidelong glance.
Unlike Ivan, who was sweating cold and visibly tense, Eugene calmly took stock of the situation and stepped forward with quiet composure. In truth, the way things had unfolded was exactly as Eugene had hoped.
Having already learned through conversations between Bates and Ivan that Lucian was in Atrian, Eugene had deliberately raised his voice. It had been half a gamble. It ran contrary to the resolution he’d made to live as Eugene Primrose ought to — but he’d thrown caution to the wind and done it anyway.
He wasn’t the type to have any grand plans or lofty ideals to begin with, so when he’d sensed an opportunity, he’d simply gone for it on the spot. Of course, he hadn’t anticipated that the Lucian Highwinter who appeared would be this devastatingly handsome — or that he’d come in with such a peculiar, actively interested manner.
There was no other choice. The die had been cast and the situation had unfolded; the only thing to do was treat it as an opportunity and seize it. This was no longer simply a matter of liking or disliking a beard, or whether it suited someone or not. If this worked, it would go far beyond a question of mere facial hair.
If he could cultivate a connection with Lucian and ride the wave of his influence to quietly float new proposals, Eugene was certain he could avoid marriage altogether — and resolve the Primrose family’s debts on top of that. It was a different world, but he had done something like this before and had seen meaningful results.
In the world Park Yujin had lived in, there were already precedents — different in nature, but comparable. Rose Bertin, who rose from the lower classes of France to become Marie Antoinette’s exclusive designer and exerted an enormous influence over the dress of every noblewoman of her era. And Beau Brummell — George Bryan “Beau” Brummell — who gave birth to the necktie and laid the very foundation for what is known today as dandyism.
I need to become Beau Brummell. But earn money like Bertin.
Dredging up what shallow knowledge he had, Eugene sharpened his goal into focus. He needed to become Beau Brummell — the man who, as a close friend of the Prince of Wales, swept away knee-breeches and stockings and gave the world the long trousers, crisp linen shirts, neckties, and dark coats that now define the image of the English gentleman. And he couldn’t stop there — he also needed to become Edward VIII, the Duke of Windsor, who became the standard for men’s fashion in his own right.
But beyond simply being well-dressed himself, he needed to pursue profit the way Bertin had — wielding her own discerning eye to command dozens of seamstresses and build a fortune.
Eugene was no designer, and he had no specialized knowledge of making clothes — but he didn’t think it would be a problem. Because Park Yujin was someone who understood the system of sponsorships and advertising very well indeed.
Of course, the ultimate goal would eventually have to include creating goods that could generate income for the Primrose estate. But that was something he could afford to think about later — once all of this was proceeding as well as Eugene hoped it would.
Reading the general atmosphere, Eugene determined two things: Ivan was considerably intimidated by Lucian, and Lucian’s companion had no intention of joining the conversation. With that, he stepped forward boldly. Judging from the way Ivan was fawning, he needed to treat Lucian with the utmost courtesy — as one would a superior — while simultaneously piquing his interest as much as possible.
As Park Yujin, that would have required considerable effort. But right now, he was Eugene Primrose. The way Lucian had been putting deliberate emphasis on the name “Eugene” and smiling about it suggested that Eugene was already drawing on the advantage of his face — a head start on goodwill before he’d even opened his mouth. By any measure, that was practically getting something for nothing.
“Continue with what you were saying.”
“Since Your Grace is so gracious as to spare such precious time, it must be used well. With that in mind, I have a question. How much did you hear?”
Politely enough in manner, yet with a certain audacity, Eugene held his chin up without a hint of lowering it and met Lucian’s gaze directly. At the sight of his younger brother looking so dangerously close to impertinent, a cold sweat traced Ivan’s spine.
Lucian’s fickleness was well known in high society. Those who had basked in his attention had felt as though they were walking on clouds — only to come crashing down the moment his interest ran dry. And yet, not one of them had managed to resent him for it; unable to forget what it felt like to walk on those clouds, they always came crawling back.
Eugene’s ice-blue eyes met Lucian’s hazel ones. The slight tilt of his chin, the confidence radiating from his expression — fortunately, it only served to pique Lucian’s interest further.
Lucian broke into a full, open smile — bright enough to show the white of his teeth, the way a person smiles when they’re genuinely delighted. It was a guileless, unguarded smile so rare that even Basil, who had been standing back with his hands clasped behind him, taking in the scene, found himself stealing a sidelong glance.
“If you’re the one asking, I think I could give you the whole day without a second thought.”
“Ahem.”
Lucian was being as smooth and slippery as if his tongue had been dipped in butter. At his openly flirtatious remark, Basil let out a pointed, deliberate cough. At the sound, Lucian turned to Basil with a sharp, serious look of reproach — a stark contrast to the soft, teasing eye-smile he’d been directing at Eugene just moments before. But Basil was entirely unbothered, and mouthed two words without sound.
Queen Mother.
Lucian understood perfectly what Basil was trying to say — and ignored it completely. Instead, he shifted the weight of his body from where he’d been leaning against the sofa, tilting it toward Eugene. Reclining at a slant against the armrest, he propped his chin in his hand without the slightest shame and simply admired Eugene openly.
Lucian continued to smile that lazy, easy smile — while Eugene, for his part, kept a cool, indifferent expression on his face every time their eyes met, steady throughout. Most people, out of basic courtesy, would have offered at least one small smile in return. Eugene simply didn’t feel like it.
