Chapter 44

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 44
Chapter Title: A Torn Dress and the Prince's Gaze
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After sharing the first waltz of the ball with the prince, Isabella felt as if she could fly. It was vexing not to be at the center of the stage, but while Ariadne had her first official waltz with a mere Count Cesare, Isabella herself had danced with none other than Prince Alfonso! Isabella’s friends flocked to her in small groups, eager to hear all about it.

“Isabella! It’s incredible that you danced with the prince!”

It was the daughter of Viscount Leonetti, who, though a bit rough around the edges, was always a sincere admirer of Isabella. Isabella proudly tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Baroness Camelia de Castiglione, as if forgetting how she had just been praising Ariadne and belittling Isabella, subtly joined in the adulation.

“Your dress is so beautiful, too. Is this from Collezione?”

Isabella’s nose tilted higher. Of course it was from Collezione! It was a new organza dress she had managed to acquire just in time, even after offering a premium of fifty ducats because appointments were impossible to get. The layered, rounded skirt looked like a precious piece of candy.

“I heard it’s hard to get an appointment. How did you manage it?”

Swelling with pride, Isabella lied without so much as a second thought.

“Well, I was a bit late in making my reservation, so I thought I wouldn’t be able to get a dress made. But then, Madame Clemenza herself proposed it, saying, ‘We would be honored if Lady Isabella de Mare would wear one of our creations, so would you allow us to make you a dress?’”

In truth, Isabella had contacted Collezione the moment Ariadne’s debutante ball date was announced. But the response she received was that they were fully booked and it would be difficult. Yet Isabella didn’t give up. She contacted them again separately and asked if they would make her a dress if she commissioned one from their high-end line for fifty ducats, instead of the usual twenty to thirty ducats. They had agreed, and she had barely managed to secure a slot. But she kept her lips sealed about that part. The girls, none the wiser, let out a collective, high-pitched squeal, expressing their envy for Isabella.

“Anyone would think Lady Isabella is the star of this ball!”

The Viscount’s daughter who said this meant it as a compliment, but Isabella, keenly aware that it could draw criticism, responded with feigned humility.

“Oh, no, not at all. My sister Ariadne is so beautiful. I can’t even hold a candle to her!”

“Too much modesty is a vice, you know!”

“Come now, if you say that, what does that make the younger Lady de Mare?”

The praise was intoxicating. It was like nourishment for her soul. Isabella reveled in the emphasis placed on being ‘superior to Ariadne’ and feigned a kind demeanor toward her friends. Just then, Lady Giulia de Valdesar, the Marquis’s daughter, posed a sharp question.

“But Lady de Mare, is it acceptable to wear white to your sister’s debutante ball?”

Isabella didn’t care for quick-witted people, but she had a perfect alibi. She smiled a smile as sweet as cotton candy and recited the answer like a parrot.

“My sister and I are so close that she was the one who asked me to wear a white dress so we could match.”

What could a third party say when the person in question had supposedly approved? Isabella added with a gentle smile:

“Our Ariadne is just so sweet, isn’t she?”

On the surface, it sounded like a compliment for Ariadne, but it was actually a statement that elevated Isabella herself. *The great Isabella, so beloved by her amazing sister that she would yield her own spotlight.* Giulia couldn’t retort and fell silent. She couldn’t very well ask Ariadne directly, as they were not acquainted. To be able to silence even the haughty daughter of Marquis Valdesar… ah, it was truly a wonderful day. * * * Everything has an end. Ariadne’s seemingly endless first waltz finally concluded as the orchestra’s bows came to a rest. Ariadne curtsied to Cesare, showing her respect, and hastily escaped from her partner. She disliked being with Cesare, and besides, the front of her dress had been feeling uncomfortable for some time.

‘Should I find the powder room…?’

As Ariadne debated whether to go there or return to the comfort of her own room on the second floor, her eyes fell on Prince Alfonso. At the same moment, Alfonso spotted Ariadne and approached her with a bright expression.

“Ariadne!”

“Alfonso!”

Seeing the prince, Ariadne smiled brightly with genuine gratitude.

“I thought you might have gone home.”

Cesare’s appearance had indeed put the prince in an awkward position. Strictly speaking, one could even say he had been humiliated. A more temperamental nobleman would have stormed off in a huff. But Alfonso had quietly remained at the party. It was a gesture of consideration for the hosts.

“I couldn’t possibly leave without at least one waltz with today’s guest of honor.”

Alfonso smiled brilliantly and extended his right hand.

“What do you say, my lady? Would you grant me the honor of a waltz?”

Alfonso’s attire was also pure white, the proper dress for a debutante’s partner. Faced with that, Ariadne found herself unable to say, ‘I need to go to the washroom, let’s dance later,’ and took his hand. Just then, the orchestra began the second waltz. They glided to the center of the main hall and began to dance.

“Did Count Cesare give you any trouble?”

He seemed to recall the time Cesare had intimidated Ariadne in the garden of the Cibo Marquisate. Following Alfonso’s lead, Ariadne glided through the steps and shook her head.

“No, he was unusually chivalrous today.”

Sensing something suspicious, Prince Alfonso frowned. Ariadne then posed a question of her own.

“By the way, what did you do for the first dance?”

“Me? I danced with your sister.”

A shadow fell over Ariadne’s face. The beautiful Isabella. The enchantress from whom no man could keep his wits.

“What do you think? Isn’t my sister pretty?”

She hated herself for prying, but the words tumbled out on their own. The composure she had honed over nine years reigning over high society as the Prince Regent’s fiancée vanished whenever Isabella was involved. As Ariadne chided herself for her own insecurity, which she knew was unattractive, Alfonso’s reply came.

“Is she? She doesn’t look like you.”

It was a much drier response than Ariadne had expected. Unable to stop herself, she added another comment.

“Everyone says my sister is incredibly beautiful.”

“Do they? Ah, she did look a little different from most people.”

Isabella had a uniquely slender frame, large, puppy-like eyes, and delicate features. She would stand out even in a chapel filled with ten thousand people. But it seemed to have made little impression on Alfonso.

“I can’t really say.”

Living in the royal palace, Alfonso had seen countless beautiful things. Beautiful faces, beautiful wardrobes, beautiful fans, and beautiful jewels. While he could appreciate them for the pleasure they gave his eyes, to Alfonso, physical beauty was ultimately replaceable. A beauty would eventually age, and a more beautiful, younger one would appear. Just as it was foolish to stake one’s life on a wardrobe or a fan, the same was true for a beautiful woman. Alfonso preferred something higher. Noble spirit, lofty pride, chivalry that did not compromise its principles, and the self-sacrificing spirit of noblesse oblige. Only values that did not erode with time could captivate him. The bottomless wit of the black-haired girl before him was one of those things. But was that all? In time with the music, Ariadne executed a wide turn. Alfonso raised his hand to give her space, and Ariadne raised their joined hands high as well. - *Rrrrip!* Ariadne felt something was wrong. The moment the hook on her back took the strain, it gave way as if it were made of taffy, offering no resistance. She then felt the linen fabric unravel with a soft tearing sound. At the same time, unable to withstand the pressure from within, she felt the central seam of her V-neck dress rip open. - *CRACK!* With a loud noise, the front of her dress burst open, revealing the full curve of her bosom.

Ariadne was so stunned she froze like a statue amidst the waltz. Standing stock-still among dozens of spinning couples, she stood out even more. People soon began to notice.

- “Gasp!”

- “Did her dress just tear?!”

- “My goodness, you can see her cleavage all the way down.”

“Whew, quite a sight!”

Amidst the chaos, someone had the audacity to whistle. It was Zanobi de Rossi. Zanobi’s behavior was considered uncivilized not only in San Carlo society but by the standards of the entire Kingdom of Etruscan. Not only the noblewomen but also the gentlemen shot glares at the country bumpkin who had whistled.

- “Who is that rude man?”

- “His manners are utterly boorish.”

Zanobi finally seemed to realize his grave mistake. He shrank back like a turtle pulling its head into its shell and hastily fled the ballroom. The hall was in an uproar. It was then that Alfonso unfastened his own ceremonial cape and wrapped it around the frozen Ariadne. The snow-white cape blossomed across the ballroom floor like a petal before folding in on itself like a bud, enveloping Ariadne completely.

“Excuse me. Coming through.”

With Ariadne in one arm, Alfonso pushed through the crowd, intending to head to the powder room at the back of the ballroom. But seeing it was bustling with other young ladies, he asked for Ariadne’s preference.

“The powder room is crowded. Should we still go there?”

The moment she heard the word ‘crowded,’ Ariadne, still wrapped in the white cape, shook her head vehemently. Isabella’s friends were already gathered in the first-floor powder room, creating a noisy stir.

“To my room… on the second floor.”

Alfonso immediately took Ariadne upstairs to her room at the end of the west wing. As he opened the door to her sitting room, Sancha and Ariadne’s other personal maids rushed forward to take her from his arms.

“My lady, I’ll get you a robe!”

As soon as she helped Ariadne to the sofa in the sitting room, Sancha dashed into the inner dressing room. Seeing Ariadne’s face, a mess of tears, Anna rushed to get cosmetics, while Maria ran to fetch tea to calm her lady. Left alone in the sitting room, Alfonso finally realized that Ariadne was crying so hard she could barely breathe.

“Ariadne, are you okay?”

Alfonso looked around for a cloth but, finding none, used his own sleeve to wipe the tears streaming down her face. Sobbing uncontrollably, Ariadne managed to choke out a single word.

“Humiliating…!”

Isabella’s words echoed in her mind.

- *“They said your breasts are too big and saggy, like a cow’s.”*

She had exposed a private part of herself that any proper lady should conceal, and in front of everyone. Moreover, it was a part of her that she truly believed was ugly and flawed. Ariadne’s mind automatically played a loop of insults she hadn’t even actually heard.

- *‘How ugly.’*

- *‘She’s so plain, that’s why she’s so desperate for a man.’*

- *‘The shameless daughter of a lowly maid!’*

- *‘Did you think you could seduce Duke Cesare by baring your chest like that?’*

As Ariadne wept, lost in her despair, Alfonso pulled her, cape and all, into his arms. It was how Queen Marguerite had always held him when he cried as a child. Sharing his warmth was the best way Alfonso knew to comfort someone.

“Don’t cry, Ariadne. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

As Alfonso rhythmically patted her back, Ariadne’s sobs gradually subsided. When she seemed to have calmed down somewhat, he gazed gently at her tear-stained face.

“Are you feeling better now?”

Ariadne nodded, sniffling. But she couldn’t stop the wave of worry washing over her.

“Everyone must have seen, right? It must have been hideous…!”

Alfonso’s answer to both questions was ‘no.’

“It was over in an instant. Not many people saw. And hideous? What was?”

Ariadne couldn’t bring herself to utter the words ‘saggy breasts.’ Alfonso continued to console her.

“Older ladies often wear such low-cut dresses these days! They probably just thought it was a new fashion.”

From within the cape, Ariadne lowered her head to check the damage to her dress. Alfonso’s face reddened, and he turned away, pretending not to see. The neckline was ripped straight down to just above her navel. Through the torn seam, her full bosom was visible above her slender ribs. Ariadne’s face fell again. Without thinking, Alfonso blurted out the truth.

“It was… beautiful.”

*That’s why I covered you with my cape. So no one else could see. I want to be the only one who sees you. I don’t want to show your beauty to anyone else.* Ariadne’s head shot up to look at him. Alfonso’s face turned crimson all the way to his earlobes, and Ariadne, too, was at a loss for words.