Chapter 38

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: The Queen Bee of San Carlo
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“Lady de Mare! You’ve arrived early.”

Ottavio de Contarini, who was already inside, greeted Isabella warmly. His response was quicker than that of Isabella’s friend, Camelia—quicker, even, than that of Leticia de Leonati, the hostess of today’s party. A radiant smile bloomed on Isabella’s pretty face as she accepted Ottavio de Contarini’s greeting.

“Isabella. Please, call me Isabella. Why stand on ceremony with surnames between us?”

“Shall I, beautiful Isabella?”

Seeing her fiancé flirting with Isabella, Camelia de Castiglione clenched the hand holding her fan, but there was no one there to help her.

“Oh my, Isabella!”

“Leticia.”

The lady of the house, Viscountess Leticia de Leonati, also greeted Isabella with great delight. Isabella beamed as she received her friends’ greetings.

*‘Did you see that, Giulia de Valdesal? No matter how high-ranking a margrave’s daughter you are, people like me more.’*

However, the young Margravine Giulia de Valdesal herself seemed rather unimpressed by Isabella’s little performance. She saw Camelia trembling as her fiancé’s attention was stolen by Isabella, but she paid it no mind, taking off her shawl and handing it to a handsome *Il Domestico*. Despite his high title, her father was a court noble in the capital with no provincial power base, so it was crucial for him to maintain a good relationship with the capital’s cardinal. Isabella’s foolish antics were plain to see, but Giulia had no intention of getting involved, and even less desire to help Camelia, who was cut from the same cloth as Isabella. As she idly scanned the guest list, Giulia de Valdesal’s eyes fell upon the same *Il Domestico* once more.

*‘He is remarkably handsome.’*

He was a strikingly handsome servant, far too refined for a viscount’s household to employ.

*‘He’s so good-looking he wouldn’t seem out of place in the royal palace. Why is he working in a place like this?’*

Giulia de Valdesal resolved to ask Leticia de Leonati about the servant’s background later.

***

That opportunity came much sooner than she had expected.

“He’s the new *Il Domestico* working for our family.”

The young Viscountess Leonati indicated the handsome male servant with the tip of her chin. One might expect her to at least use his name, even if he was a servant, but the gesture suggested that the Leonati household was not one to treat its employees with much humanity.

“He’s originally from the Kingdom of Gallico, but I was told he had to immigrate to Etruscan in a hurry.”

Ottavio feigned a frown.

“After the previous King of Gallico passed away two years ago, many people within the kingdom were purged for treason.”

Ottavio eyed the exceptionally handsome *Il Domestico* with disapproval.

“Could he be one of those traitors who fled to the Kingdom of Etruscan?”

“Oh my, does that mean a nobleman is working as an *Il Domestico* in Leticia’s house?”

Isabella giggled.

“Being served by a nobleman… it makes me feel like royalty.”

Ottavio had meant that they should keep their distance and drive the servant away, as he might be part of a traitorous faction. But Isabella had no interest in the ‘important political implications’ or ‘traitorous factions’ Ottavio spoke of. Her attention was solely fixed on the possibility that the handsome *Il Domestico* might also be a nobleman. The young Viscountess Leonati was just as superficial.

“That would explain a lot if he were a nobleman. He’s from Gallico, but he speaks both Etruscan and Latin. He’s also well-versed in etiquette and knowledgeable about poetry. For a servant, he’s handsome and smart, which I like. He’s quite refined, too.”

Unable to contain her curiosity, Giulia asked the viscountess.

“What is his name?”

“…François.”

“For a commoner, that’s an obnoxiously refined name.”

Ottavio, not bothering to hide his displeasure, interjected. Isabella smiled prettily, her eyes crinkling, and soothed his ruffled feathers.

“And for a commoner, he looks excessively like a pretty boy—”

Isabella turned to Camelia, who was seated beside her, and looked her up and down.

“Our dear Camelia, you’re wearing a lovely new dress today. Did Leticia give you a little hint about the handsome *Il Domestico*, prompting you to dress up so nicely?”

Camelia de Castiglione, startled, waved her hands dismissively.

“No, what are you suggesting? I truly had no idea there was such a handsome *Il Domestico* in the Leonati household.”

“Oh? So you do think he’s handsome, Camelia?”

Isabella’s skill at cornering someone was extraordinary. The young Viscountess Leonati backed her up flawlessly.

“What are you talking about, Camelia? In my last letter, I told you we had a very handsome new *Il Domestico* and that you should come visit and see him next time.”

At the viscountess’s words, the other young ladies and gentlemen at the table began to tease Camelia boisterously.

“Are you lying because you’re embarrassed?”

“Lady Castiglione, you shouldn’t act like that with your fiancé right beside you!”

Camelia’s face turned bright red. The young people teased her once more for being shy, and her fiancé Ottavio’s face turned a mottled shade of red and purple. He wasn’t angry that his fiancée was being teased by the group; he was angry at the thought that she was looking at another man right in front of him. Isabella smiled as sweetly as cotton candy and brushed Ottavio’s cheek with her white hand, as light as a feather.

“Look at you, all flushed.”

Isabella looked into Ottavio’s eyes, a pitiful light shining in her violet irises.

“My manly Ottavio, don’t pay any mind to a mere servant like him. Camelia is a very lucky woman to have a fiancé like you.”

Camelia, who had been blindsided, was thoroughly humiliated without having done a thing, and was forced to witness Isabella fawning over her fiancé. But there was nowhere she could turn to voice her grievances. Most of the young ladies present were very close to Isabella, and the young men, whether close to her or not, were unconditionally on her side. With Camelia fanning herself furiously beside her, Isabella announced to the surrounding ladies and gentlemen that her family would soon be hosting a ball.

“His Eminence, Cardinal de Mare, has decided to host a separate débutante ball at our home for my younger sister, Ariadne.”

At Isabella’s declaration, a murmur went through San Carlo’s next generation of high society.

“A débutante ball at home? The Cardinal must hold his second daughter in very high regard.”

Isabella felt as though her insides were twisting at the question, but she couldn’t show her displeasure in front of others. She managed her expression and smiled beautifully.

“Of course. Our Ariadne performed a great service and received the recognition and favor of Their Majesties, the King and Queen. It is only fitting that the family supports her accordingly.”

Having another successful child in the family isn’t a bad thing for me, either, Isabella told herself, taking a deep breath. She intended to scoop up every last crumb of benefit from this affair. Only then would the ache in her stomach subside.

“It’s a party at our house, after all.”

The hostess of a party always received special treatment.

“I’ll get my mother’s permission to set aside a drawing room as a powder room. We can chat there amongst ourselves.”

The young ladies’ faces brightened.

“I hate having to mingle with all the riffraff at balls.”

“It would be wonderful if we could have a cozy space just for us!”

“That’s our Isabella. Always so resourceful.”

Isabella sent a sweet glance not only to the ladies but to the gentlemen as well.

“You all must attend, you hear? You must.”

She needed an audience to see her dress, made with lavish fabrics from the Moorish Empire—or, more accurately, to see Isabella, who was so much more breathtakingly beautiful than her plain and gloomy younger sister. And if those young men attended, the chances of Count Cesare attending would also increase. She wanted the attention of the most sought-after man in San Carlo. All the best things in the world had to be hers. So far, her life had generally unfolded that way. It would surely continue to do so.

***

While Isabella was boasting in front of her friends and racking her brain for ways to outshine her sister, the star of the ball herself had little interest in her own adornment.

“Madame Marini of the Ragione Tailor Shop has arrived.”

Ignoring Sancha’s suggestion that they should patronize a better dressmaker now that they had so much money, she had summoned the Ragione Tailor Shop they always used.

“The budget is tight. What we can spend on the dress is… I think about five ducats?”

“My lady! His Eminence the Cardinal said he would give you more if you needed it!”

“We should at least try to manage with what he’s given us. Besides, I need to procure a full set of cosmetics this time, so it’s not as much as you think.”

Sancha, who had been full of complaints, nodded in reluctant agreement. In San Carlo, a girl who hadn’t had her débutante could not wear makeup. For that reason, Ariadne had been unable to wear any makeup at all, aside from basic skin ointments. Finally, with the upcoming débutante ball, Ariadne would be able to go out wearing colored cosmetics.

“My lady, your features are so well-proportioned. With just a little makeup, you’ll be quite the beauty.”

Sancha was full of enthusiasm, and her talent matched it. Her passion soared during the dress selection, earning high praise from Madame Marini.

“Let’s go with something simple and modest. I don’t want any fussy decorations, and I’d rather not show too much skin. The neckline should come up above the collarbone.”

In her past life, Ariadne had spent nearly a decade at the center of negative attention. If she wore something low-cut, they called her promiscuous; if she wore something flashy, they called her vulgar; if she wore something plain, they called her shabby. After enduring a decade of such criticism, her dress choices had become increasingly conservative. Instead of choosing what was beautiful or what suited her, she chose clothes based on what wouldn’t draw criticism, leading to countless comments that she had ‘no fashion sense.’ Hearing that for ten years would make anyone lose confidence. It eventually became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Ariadne truly had no eye for choosing clothes. At Ariadne’s request, Sancha and Madame Marini cried out in one voice.

“Absolutely not!”

“That won’t do!”

Madame Marini launched into her usual theory, which she had impressed upon Ariadne before.

“If you have a full bust, you can’t just cover it all up! A neckline that’s cut just enough will create a sense of space and make you look slimmer.”

“Exactly! Exactly! Besides, my lady, you have a lovely collarbone and a small face, but your neck isn’t particularly long! A high neckline will look incredibly stuffy.”

Madame Marini glanced at Sancha, impressed.

“Lady de Mare, your attendant has quite an eye. Very sharp.”

“Of course!”

Her confidence boosted by Madame Marini’s praise, Sancha persuaded Ariadne.

“My lady, we’ll lower the neckline, but on that day, I’ll wrap the linen cloth you usually wear even more tightly. That will flatten your chest, eliminate any hint of impropriety, and your neck will look long and elegant.”

Ariadne threw up her hands in surrender.

“When you two persuade me in unison like that, I have no choice. Please make the first dress simple and elegant, and the second one comfortable to move in. I’ll leave the details to the two of you.”

Sancha and Madame Marini high-fived each other.

***

Preparing for a débutante ball wasn’t all pleasant things like choosing dresses. During lunch at the de Mare residence, Lucrezia brought up the topic of Ariadne’s débutante partner.

“Your Eminence, Ariadne’s débutante partner should, by rights, be Ippolito.”

“Mm. That’s true.”

Ippolito was the eldest son of Cardinal de Mare and Lucrezia, and was currently studying abroad in Paloma, the city of universities.

“But Ippolito can’t possibly return to San Carlo just for this, can he?”

“It would be difficult, I suppose.”

“So, I’ve decided to bring in a distant relative to be Ariadne’s débutante partner.”

This was the first Ariadne was hearing of it. Cardinal de Mare’s brow furrowed as well.

“Surely not a boy from your family?”