Sister I am the Queen in This Life [Novel] Chapter 122

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 122
Chapter Title: You, Become My Maidservant
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Clemente de Bartolini keenly caught the look of accusation in Isabella's expression. Tears quickly welled up in her innocent-looking eyes. If her younger brother, Ottavio de Contarini, resembled a Rottweiler, then Clemente de Bartolini resembled a Miniature Pinscher. The siblings certainly had their resemblances, but unlike Ottavio, Clemente looked as harmless and fragile as a small puppy.

"Isabella..."

Isabella looked straight at the tearful Clemente and spoke.

"Why are you the one crying?"

That was Clemente de Bartolini's cue to cry. As soon as she heard those words, she began to wail loudly.

"That... I didn't mean to..."

Isabella watched the sobbing Miniature Pinscher, crossed her arms, and leaned back on the sofa. *I came here to collect a debt, so how did I end up becoming a counselor?* Clemente's tearful confession went like this. Count Bartolini was a very good man. Feeling sorry for his young wife, he let Clemente do whatever she wanted. Clemente, though timid and indecisive, was the type who constantly needed reassurance of love. When her husband gave her free rein, she focused only on things he would never permit. It was a somewhat distorted, self-destructive desire, as if to ask, 'Can you still love me even after this?' Her first affair was with the young priest at the Holy See who had heard her confession. They had merely grown a little close, but at some point, a line was crossed, and after that, things spiraled out of control. Next was a young, ruined noble, and after him, a stableboy. It was a silent scream directed at her husband: 'Do you still love me even now?' The last name on the list of men her husband would never tolerate was Marquis Campa. She had met him at an art dealer's shop, and his manners—wealthy and impeccably polite—had enchanted her. Part of it must have been pure curiosity about Marquis Campa, who was rumored to be human trash; part of it a stubborn belief that she could reform him; and part of it a desire to debase herself completely by tumbling with such a man.

"I don't know why I'm like this either!"

*I'm the one who really doesn't know why you're like this.*

Isabella clicked her tongue inwardly. Did Countess Bartolini really need to confess everything about the priest, the stableboy, and the young noble, even if Isabella had irrefutable proof of her affair with Marquis Campa? This was a suicidal act, handing her own leash to the other person.

"I was so lonely... It was like I was possessed...! The priest was wicked, too... As a man of the cloth, he had a duty to guide his flock, but he shamelessly fulfilled his own desires... The stableboy was wicked, too... I am his lady, how could he dare to even think of laying a hand on me...?"

Clemente's tongue ran on and on. She rattled off a list of accusations against her past lovers. It was obvious what she was doing, dredging up her own disgraces that she would have been better off keeping quiet about. Isabella sighed to herself. Then, she said the one thing Clemente desperately wanted to hear.

"...It's not your fault."

"I knew it, right?"

Clemente's face instantly brightened. She accepted it so readily and replied so quickly that it was almost embarrassing for Isabella.

"A clergyman must set an example for his flock. Even if a member of the faithful showed an opening..."

At the choice of words 'a member of the faithful showed an opening', a muscle in Clemente's face twitched again. Isabella raised an eyebrow and quickly chose her words again.

"No, to harbor lust for a virtuous member of his flock is absolutely unacceptable. This is entirely the priest's fault."

Clemente's expression relaxed into one of gentle calm. Isabella went on like this, sequentially blaming the stableboy, Marquis Campa, and even Count Bartolini, emphasizing that Clemente was not responsible. After listening to Isabella's passionate defense of her for nearly thirty minutes, Clemente finally regained enough composure to smile faintly and sip her tea.

"Isabella, it's been so long since we've talked like this, not since we were children... I'm almost glad you found out... I was truly so lonely and struggling by myself..."

Clemente's satisfied words were cut off by Isabella.

"But, my lady."

Isabella brought up the main point with a brilliant smile gracing her beautiful face.

"There is just one thing you did wrong."

"Wh-what is it...?"

Clemente reluctantly posed the question to Isabella, looking as if she wanted to scoot away on the sofa. It was truly the last answer in the world she wanted to hear. Her Miniature Pinscher-like eyes trembled with anxiety.

"When the rumor that Isabella de Mare was Marquis Campa's mistress was circulating in high society, you should have said something to set the record straight."

Once again, tears welled up in Clemente's puppy-like eyes.

"Th-that...! At the time... my husband was watching..."

Of course, for the actual party involved to step forward and declare, 'I am the mistress,' while another scapegoat was being torn apart by the secret affair that had rocked society, was something that would require great courage from a person of very noble character. Isabella didn't expect such fairytale bravery. Not just from someone as weak and avoidant as Clemente, but from anyone.

*Even I wouldn't have stepped forward.*

But her words said otherwise.

"Poor Isabella suffered all that for no reason, didn't she? Isn't that right...?"

Clemente just lowered her head, silent. Isabella sensed that pushing any harder might make her target flee. What a fragile creature she was.

"Clemente. I'm not asking you to come forward now. You have a family; how could I force such a great sacrifice on you? I'm not that cruel."

Isabella switched to a honey-toned, soothing voice. For Isabella to put this much effort into dealing with another woman was an event that happened maybe once or twice a year.

*I can't believe I'm stooping to this.*

"Then...?"

The Miniature Pinscher cautiously raised its head at the warmth in her voice.

"You know of Isabella's situation these days, don't you?"

Isabella lowered her head, feigning sorrow. No, she was genuinely sorrowful. What had become of Isabella de Mare, who once had the world at her feet!

"No one in society invites me anywhere, and I have no friends left. Even the royal ball..."

As she spoke, she was overcome with emotion, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"No one... will go to the ball with me..."

The faces of those who had turned away from her flashed before her eyes. The empty postbox, the people who turned their heads when they saw her at High Mass. They had wagged their tails and followed her around when times were good, but now that things were difficult, not a single person offered a hand.

*Men... They can't be trusted!*

Isabella never trusted women to begin with. So, this was essentially a declaration that she would no longer trust humanity as a whole. She lifted her tear-filled gaze to Clemente.

"I'm not asking for much. Just accompany me in high society. You can at least do that for me, can't you?"

Clemente, a little surprised by Isabella's relatively moderate demand, nodded her head.

"That much, I suppose..."

"After all, I'm being ostracized for something that wasn't my fault to begin with."

Clemente flinched, as if Isabella were blaming her.

"So, you should take me with you and help me restore my good reputation. Charity work, prayer meetings, anywhere is fine."

Countess Clemente de Bartolini was well-known for her regular volunteer work at the Holy See and the almshouse. She and her circle of friends, the 'Silver Cross Ladies' Society', would visit to help the elderly and infirm, washing bedding, preparing food, and cleaning the dormitories. It was a little amusing to see these ladies, who wouldn't lift a finger for housework at home, doing menial tasks for the Holy See, but just as large-scale wheat farming was different from gardening ornamental flowers, their labor was of a different kind.

"Something like that..."

At Clemente's consent, Isabella's eyes quickly sparkled.

"Let's start right now. You have plans this afternoon, don't you?"

The best times for fostering small social connections were lunchtime and the afternoon that followed. Grand parties were held in the evening, but luncheon gatherings and afternoon tea were the mainstays for ladies of society. The reason Clemente had summoned Isabella at an odd time like eleven in the morning was surely because her luncheon and afternoon tea slots were already filled. Isabella's guess was correct; Clemente stammered in her reply.

"Well, I do, but..."

"An appointment with whom? Countess Balzo? Marchioness Salvati? No, even someone like Baroness Loredan would be fine!"

Isabella rattled off the names of the ladies in Clemente's social circle. Clemente, feeling a slight aversion to Isabella's overly detailed knowledge of her life, denied it, hoping Isabella would lose interest in her afternoon plans.

"No... no... It's not with other ladies... I'm meeting with family."

Count Bartolini had a rare engagement out of the house, starting from lunch. So, on a day her lunch schedule was free, her own family was coming to have a meal with her.

"Ottavio... is bringing a friend..."

Clemente thought that if she said no society ladies were coming, Isabella would lose interest and go home. But at those words, she clapped her hands and smiled as splendidly as a peony in May. Isabella's smile was also like a carnivorous plant said to grow deep within the Moorish Empire.

"Oh my, Signor Ottavio is coming? You must invite me, too!"

A joyful light danced in Isabella's violet eyes. She pressed Clemente again, her mind clearly made up.

"We used to play together when we were young, didn't we?"

Isabella smiled warmly, gazing intently at Clemente. Clemente flinched under that gaze. It was a perfectly sweet expression, but in her current position, Clemente could not refuse Isabella. Better to just humor her. Clemente asked meekly.

"Isabella, for the main course, would you prefer meat or fish? We have lamb and grilled mullet."

Isabella smiled, showing her teeth.

"I don't want either. I'll have the veal."