Chapter 137
The Gesture
The clear autumn sky on a weekend morning marked the day set aside for the portrait session.
Olivia had barely managed to resist Johann’s temptations the night before, which was why she was already bustling about from early morning.
After much deliberation, the dress she chose was a strapless, tube-top style wedding gown that revealed her neckline.
Fresh out of the bath, Olivia began her preparations with the help of the head maid, Anne, and a young servant girl.
Her side hair was loosely braided and swept up with the rest to create a voluminous style, crowned with a tiara set in diamonds and sapphires.
Wearing the rest of the jewelry from the same set, she finally slipped on long gloves that reached her elbows, then studied her reflection in the mirror.
The jewels Johann had gifted her the previous night glistened brilliantly in the transparent sunlight.
“You look so beautiful, my lady.”
The head maid and maids could not stop admiring her.
Watching with pride, Anne handed Olivia the bouquet she was holding.
Olivia gazed blankly down at the pure white bouquet. The faint fragrance wrapping around her nose was sweet.
Thinking of the man waiting just beyond the dressing room doors made her heart pound like that of a bride before her wedding.
Closing her eyes gently and steadying her breath, Olivia took a step forward.
Dressed in a raven-black tuxedo with a crisp white bow tie, Johann sat on the sofa directly facing the dressing room door.
He recalled the report he had received from Maurice that morning.
“Miss Anne visited the Allen Detective Agency.”
“For what purpose?”
“I couldn’t confirm the request. My apologies.”
The Allen Detective Agency… Why?
His gray eyes darkened further as they lingered on the tightly shut door.
What business would Olivia have with a detective agency?
Though Johann pondered, he could not arrive at a convincing answer. Naturally, he summoned Olivia’s maid.
“It was a personal matter,” she said.
When pressed about this personal matter, the maid confessed with a shamed expression that it was about family affairs—searching for the father who had abandoned mother and daughter for another maid.
Could that really be true?
The unresolved suspicion scraped at his nerves.
Rising from his seat, Johann walked slowly toward the window.
One hand slipped loosely into his pocket while he leaned against the frame, gazing out. The silvery-white ribbon of his boutonnière gleamed under the sun.
It was only then that Johann realized his wife’s chamber window looked out over the lake.
Damnably vast, the lake lay hidden among towering cedars, emitting its eerie, silent glow.
What did his wife think as she gazed upon that water?
A sudden chill spread in his chest as he remembered Olivia, entranced, walking toward the lakeside.
Should I fill it in?
The thought crossed Johann’s mind as he stared.
The memory of Olivia lying pale and lifeless on the bed gave the impulse weight. The lake was absurdly large to be filled, but not impossible. With soil from the mountains surrounding Greathill, perhaps it could be done.
At that moment, as his gaze darkened like sunlight hidden behind clouds—click—the sound of the dressing room door opening pulled him around.
“…”
There she stood.
Johann froze, eyes widening. Their gazes met, locked, like strangers seeing each other for the first time.
Bathed in the clear morning light of autumn, they stared for what felt like an eternity.
Olivia felt her cheeks heat. Was this how brides felt on their wedding day?
It was hard to believe this impossibly handsome man was her husband.
The illusion of time standing still shattered as Johann strode toward her, crossing the bedroom in bold steps.
Even in the brightly lit space, it was as if only he radiated brilliance.
“Did I keep you waiting long?”
“Every second was worth it.”
With one hand behind his back, Johann bent slightly and extended his hand.
Adjusting her grip on the bouquet, Olivia looked up at him and placed her hand on his.
He gently lifted it and kissed the back of her hand.
Then, taking a ring from his breast pocket, he slid it slowly onto her finger.
“…”
The diamond scattered light over her white glove.
As Olivia stared dazedly at the ring, Johann once again took her fingertips in his.
His gaze passed from the tiara above her head, lingered on her slender collarbone, and finally returned to eyes that gleamed bluer and clearer than any jewel.
Fixing his gaze on her, he kissed the ring.
“You’re beautiful, Olivia.”
Watching the pallor of her skin flush red, Johann could no longer resist—he claimed her lips.
Escorted by Johann, Olivia descended the grand staircase, looking slightly surprised.
Between the massive marble columns of the central hall hung red drapes, and the floor was covered by a richly patterned carpet.
On its corners, large-leafed tropical plants cast shadows in the sunlight.
But instead of an easel, what stood before them was—unexpectedly—a camera.
“A photograph?”
Johann gave a brief nod and led her toward it.
The moment he had seen the framed photograph delivered to Olivia’s maid in Litton, he realized with shock that he and Olivia had no pictures or portraits together.
But what infuriated him even more was something else—the way Olivia had looked up at Edgar in that photo, cheeks flushed, as though secretly admiring the man she loved.
It was why the frame’s glass had shattered.
“This is good. Please look straight ahead,” the photographer requested politely.
Just as Olivia turned her head from Johann toward the camera, her eyes met Clara’s.
She stood in the shadows beside a sunlit window.
“Madam Duchess?” the photographer called cautiously, noticing her distracted gaze.
Olivia’s expression, moments ago blissfully happy as she descended the stairs with her husband, was now stiff with tension.
Johann lowered his gaze, then slowly turned his head toward where Olivia was looking. Clara smiled back at them.
“Is something wrong?”
“N-no…” Olivia forced a faint smile.
Had she imagined it?
The memory of Clara’s eyes flashed in her mind—like the icy chill of a lake frozen in midwinter.
“Please brighten your expression a little,” the photographer requested again.
Olivia relaxed her lips and eyes.
But just as she turned back toward the camera, Clara appeared once more at the edge of her vision, smiling her flawless, crafted smile.
How far should suspicion go?
Uncertain how to deal with Clara, Olivia felt Johann take her hand.
“Smile, Olivia.”
She instinctively lifted her head toward him—just as the flash went off. Johann smiled faintly.
It might not have been the romantic gaze of lovers, but the startled expression of a rabbit—but still, it would serve as a satisfying keepsake of their third wedding anniversary.
When the photoshoot ended, the photographer and his assistant packed up and left.
After a short break, the couple once again took their places at the center of the carpet for the portrait session.
While the butler adjusted Johann’s attire, the head maid, the young servant, and Anne smoothed the folds of Olivia’s gown and arranged the thin veil that filtered the sunlight.
By then, the lengthening shadows reached deep into the hall.
The scratching of charcoal against canvas rang clear in the silence.
Clara, her black hair tied up high with a pale blue ribbon, wore a light blue blouse, a deep navy skirt, and a white apron trimmed with rose lace.
“My lord.”
Clara called Johann. His gaze, which had been resting on Olivia, shifted toward her.
“Please turn your head slightly to the left, and keep your eyes on my fingertips.”
Johann adjusted his posture as instructed.
“Too much—just a little. That’s it, my lord. …No, don’t move your shoulders.”
Unhappy with his motion, the click of Clara’s heels echoed across the marble floor as she approached. She stopped before him, raising her hand slowly.
“Like this.”
She gently cupped Johann’s face.
“Just a little more.”
Her pale fingertips brushed along his smooth jawline, tilting it slightly to the right.
Their eyes locked in the bright autumn sunlight—closer than Olivia had ever been.
Was she overreacting? Or would any woman feel this way, seeing another touch her man so freely?
Each of Clara’s movements felt like a hand tightening around Olivia’s throat.
It was just an artist adjusting posture for composition.
Only that…
“Chin up a little. Perfect.”
Her delicate hand tilted Johann’s chin upward, sliding down along his neck before coming to rest on his shoulders—about to move to his chest.
“How about me?”
Unable to endure it any longer, Olivia called Clara’s attention to herself.
At the same time, Johann’s gaze also turned toward her.
“Would you check my posture as well?”
Olivia lifted her lips in a smile, eyes locked on Clara.
