Chapter 29

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: A Lotus Bloomed in the Mud
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“To be fair, if it’s a collaboration, it should be credited as a joint composition.”

Cesare de Como approached slowly, greeting Ottavio and his other friends with high-fives.

“Beautiful Isabella, it has been a while.”

He suavely bent a knee, offering a bow to Isabella. Isabella rose and nodded in return, then extended her hand. Cesare kissed the air above her hand with a loud smack before letting it go.

“You are as beautiful as ever. Today, too, your beauty is worthy of the finest lady in San Carlo.”

He paid no mind to Lucrezia’s stare as he strode up to Isabella and leaned close to her ear. From a distance where she could feel his breath, the man whispered to her in a languid tone, as if sharing a secret.

“Your strength is your beauty. Trying to wear clothes that don't fit, just because you’re swayed by someone else, is nothing but ugly. Like today.”

Isabella’s eyes widened as she stared at Cesare.

“Swayed by someone else?”

“Am I wrong?”

“I don’t pay any mind to a girl like that!”

“I never said who, but you understood perfectly. To think you possess such intelligence on top of this beauty. Goodness.”

He raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture.

“Everyone! The Lady de Mare is so clever!”

Ottavio and the other young lords snickered in unison, as if on cue. Isabella’s face turned scarlet with humiliation, and Giulia de Valdesar whispered something to the person beside her, a smirk playing on one side of her lips. Isabella was certain Giulia was mocking her. Camelia de Castiglione didn’t dare to laugh as openly as Giulia, instead lowering her head and desperately trying to control her expression. Just as Lucrezia was about to intervene, Cesare beat her to it.

“I came today expecting to hear good music, but I was treated to an unexpected spectacle instead. I believe I’ve seen all there is to see, so I shall take my leave.”

He gave Lucrezia an elegant nod, turned on his heel, and walked out. Ottavio and the rest of Cesare’s group bowed to Lucrezia as well before leaving in a rush. With her fiancé gone, Camelia de Castiglione looked lost for a moment before bidding farewell to Isabella and Lucrezia and departing. Once Giulia de Valdesar also rose to leave with a polite, distant smile, the other young ladies followed suit in a flurry. Left alone, Isabella’s eyes widened as she looked around. The only people remaining were the musicians of the Holy See, the supervising nun, and a few priests—all people under the absolute influence of her father, Cardinal de Mare. Isabella finally unleashed the fury she had suppressed in front of the influential nobles.

“What are you all staring at?! Get out!!!!”

***

Cesare led his group of friends out of the main entrance of the Grand Basilica of San Ercole with a leisurely stride. As he was about to swing himself onto his usual russet steed, Ottavio, who was holding his own horse’s reins beside him, spoke up.

“Hey, Count Cesare. Since when do you meddle?”

Cesare turned his head arrogantly to look back at Ottavio.

“What are you talking about, Ottavio?”

“Weren’t you quite fond of Isabella de Mare?”

Ottavio shrugged.

“Isabella de Mare has a lot of pride. Honestly, with a face that pretty, she has a right to. It’ll take some effort to soothe her again. Are you that confident she’ll get over it, or have you simply lost interest?”

Cesare’s face twisted into a deep frown. He seemed genuinely offended. He spoke through his scowl.

“Wrong is wrong. Since when does Count Cesare hold his tongue for the sake of a woman?”

He took off his hat in annoyance, ran a hand through his hair, and shot Ottavio a look.

“If she wants to be with me, she’ll have to endure it. If she doesn’t want to hear unpleasant things, she should have the sense to only say wise ones. Do you know me so little, Signor Ottavio?”

Cesare vaulted onto his horse.

“I’m leaving first. Let’s meet at the salon. I’m in a foul mood and need a drink.”

With that, he spurred his glossy, russet steed, which galloped away with a vigorous neigh.

***

Dragged home, Arabella was immediately seized by the scruff of her neck by Lucrezia and hauled into her mother’s drawing room. Isabella, still in the elaborate outfit she had worn to see her friends, stood behind Lucrezia, sobbing pitifully.

“Mother, Mother. How can I ever show my face again?”

Isabella shed tear after tear, looking as if she might collapse from crying.

“Did you see Count Cesare’s face? It was a look of contempt! Did you see Giulia de Valdesar’s expression? She’ll never speak to me again! What if I’m ostracized from high society?”

“My daughter, my poor daughter, don’t cry. Everything will be all right.”

Lucrezia soothed her eldest daughter, stroking her hair. Then she turned and barked furiously at her younger daughter, who was trembling in the corner.

“How could you make such a scene there!”

Arabella bowed her head, staring intently at the floor.

“N-no, it’s just… I thought my sister gave me permission… The score was wrong, and the piece was about to be presented that way…”

“Who cares if the piece was presented incorrectly! That stupid song! Your sister’s name has been tarnished, and it’s a complete disaster!”

At her mother’s mention of a disaster, Isabella began to wail even more sorrowfully. Arabella tried her best not to get swept up in her mother’s anger, thinking that one pattern on the marble floor looked like a donkey, another like a puppy.

“You should have just stayed quiet!”

As Lucrezia pointed an accusing finger, Isabella chimed in from behind her, adding fuel to the fire.

“That’s right! You just had to show off and start strange rumors about my piece!”

Arabella, who had been trying her hardest to look away, finally snapped at Isabella’s words, “my piece.”

“Your piece? It’s my piece!”

“What did you say?”

“It’s the piece I wrote! You stole it!”

“Hey!”

Arabella stopped arguing with Isabella and turned to plead with Lucrezia.

“Mother, Mother. It really is my piece. My sister stole it. Even if no one else believes me, you have to.”

But Lucrezia was fixated on something else.

“Are you talking back to your sister right now?”

“Mother!”

“You must always be respectful to your elders! Have I not told you not to talk back to your sister?”

As Arabella began to cry in frustration, Lucrezia scolded her harshly.

“Is ‘your piece’ or ‘my piece’ so important? Sisters share everything! If you ruin your sister’s marriage prospects, are you going to take responsibility?!”

At the mention of ruining marriage prospects, Isabella began to sob hysterically. Lucrezia, in turn, scolded Arabella even more fiercely.

“Our Isabella is such a jewel in high society! Such a proud daughter to me! I won’t tolerate anyone ruining that! Not you, not your precious piece—I will never forgive it!”

Lucrezia picked up the oak rod used for punishment. It had never been used on Isabella, but it was a favorite tool reserved for Arabella and, more recently, Ariadne—the two troublemakers.

“How many times should I strike you? Tell me how many you deserve for what you’ve done!”

Her face a mess of tears, Arabella spoke to Lucrezia.

“I didn’t do anything wrong! Isabella is the one who’s wrong for stealing my piece! None of this would have happened if she hadn’t stolen it!”

“How dare this insolent child talk back to her own mother?! And stop blaming others! How could your character be so rotten that you still blame your sister even after all this?”

*Whoosh!*

Lucrezia swung the oak rod threateningly through the air.

“Kneel! Hands out!”

Startled by her mother’s roar, Arabella awkwardly knelt but still had no intention of being hit. She twisted her body, trying to inch backward. Lucrezia leaned forward, lunging after her. In the confined space, Arabella did her best to evade her mother without openly fleeing, but then Isabella viciously intervened. She used her own knee to pin down Arabella, who was already on the floor, holding her little sister captive for their mother. Arabella’s brief struggle came to an end.

“Give them here!”

Caught, Arabella finally extended her palms, crying her eyes out.

*Thwack!*

Lucrezia struck Arabella’s palm with the oak rod.

*Thwack!*

With each strike, Arabella shed endless tears. But Lucrezia did not stop. After landing all ten blows, Lucrezia, annoyed at the sight of Arabella crying, hit her one more time. Only then did she throw the oak rod to the floor and shout.

“Go to your room and stay there! You are not to go anywhere but High Mass for a month! You will take your meals in your room! And don’t even think about seeing any meat!”

Having finally received the blessed order of dismissal, Arabella threw herself out of her mother’s drawing room as if escaping.

*Thud!*

The heavy, brown oak door slammed shut in front of her. She had succeeded in escaping, but being cast out was heartbreaking. Inside Lucrezia’s drawing room was a love and bond between a mother and sister that Arabella could not be part of. Expelled, Arabella fled toward the west wing, where the children’s rooms were. The maids whispered as they watched the little lady run by crying, but no one spoke to her or offered comfort. As servants, they were afraid of their mistress’s unpredictable temper.

But in the west wing, Ariadne was waiting, having heard of the commotion Lucrezia was making in the east wing drawing room. Seeing Arabella’s disheveled state, Ariadne said nothing, simply opening her arms. Arabella didn’t say a word either—no apologies, no admissions of misjudgment—she just threw herself into Ariadne’s open embrace.

Inside Ariadne’s room, Arabella buried herself in her sister’s arms and sobbed her heart out, tears and snot running down her face. Ariadne said nothing, only patting Arabella’s small back. Arabella’s tiny body burrowed into Ariadne’s embrace like a small forest creature. Warmth met warmth, a silent apology and understanding passed between them, and no more words were needed.