Chapter 47

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Shifting Power Dynamics
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Ariadne wasn't the only one who returned to the ballroom victorious. Isabella, who had been utterly defeated in their battle of wills, also shamelessly crawled back into the ballroom. But unlike Ariadne, who stood in the center of the ballroom like a triumphant general, engaged in conversation with venerable, important nobles under Prince Alfonso's close escort, Isabella was huddled in a corner of the powder room, shrinking amidst a group of girls her age.

“That wretched girl!”

Isabella vented her fury to her personal entourage. It was a group of just over ten, but not quite fifteen, girls. They were the core peer group of San Carlo's high society. The clothes they wore became the trend for the young ladies who couldn't join their circle, and by the following year, that trend would spread as 'San Carlo's latest fashion' to the various regions of the Kingdom of Etruscan, and even beyond the Prinoiac Mountains to the Montpellier Palace in the Kingdom of Gallico, where culture was less developed. To think she had uttered such a vulgar word in front of such a refined group of young ladies. The other young ladies, startled by the harsh word Isabella had spat out, stared at her, and Isabella cleared her throat, tapping her lips with her fan. She desperately wanted to tell them about the incredibly insane, terribly insubordinate incident that had just happened to her, but these young ladies had been raised too delicately. If she confessed what had happened, they would surely just make her out to be the strange one, saying things like, 'Perhaps you were dreaming, Lady de Mare?' or 'Your own sister said such frightening things and tried to push you down the stairs?' Besides, she couldn't possibly tell her peer group that she had been viciously cursed out by someone she had always looked down on. It was far too humiliating. But the anger was too much to bear in silence. So, leaving out the part where she had been cursed at, Isabella began to slander Ariadne, picking at every fault she could find.

“I'm telling you, I only wore the white dress because Ariadne said it was fine! I don't understand why she would twist things like that!”

Since all the young ladies gathered there were Isabella's friends, they had no choice but to take her words at face value. A few of them secretly suspected Isabella was talking nonsense or outright lying, but with Isabella's 'ladies-in-waiting' clinging to her and validating her every word, they didn't dare voice their suspicions for fear of being branded as traitors. Among the rest, a couple of them were truly fervent believers and followers of Isabella.

“The younger Lady de Mare is truly despicable.”

“How could she do that to her own sister?”

Isabella dabbed at her tears.

“I've been so good to Ariadne all this time! I lent her clothes, helped her adjust to San Carlo, helped with her studies... But look at how ungrateful she is, changing her tune the moment the prince appeared!”

And besides her followers, there were those burning with jealousy. There were certainly young ladies—not Isabella's 'ladies-in-waiting'—who were intensely jealous that the newly debuted daughter of a farm maid had entered on the prince's arm and then shared the first waltz with Count Cesare. If another, more established young lady had taken the prince's hand, they would have accepted it. They might even have admired her for it. But the Cardinal's illegitimate child who'd been rolling around on some country farm? And she wasn't even that pretty? To resolve their cognitive dissonance, they spewed slander, suggesting there must have been conspiracies, backroom deals, and unsavory arrangements. Beyond them were the largest group: the young ladies who simply wanted to follow the crowd. Isabella carved a channel, and the jealousy of the other ladies, combined with their desire to fit in, became a flood that filled it to overflowing.

“Who wears a dress with such a plunging neckline if they're self-conscious about their chest? It must be a complete lie.”

“I don't believe for a second she didn't do it herself. Do dresses just rip that easily?”

“Why is the prince defending that girl so much? Did she seduce him with her body?”

Isabella genuinely enjoyed the young ladies' denunciation. It felt like a painkiller for her soul. Slandering Ariadne seemed to mend Isabella's wounded pride. Isabella was just tossing out small details to use as kindling, like 'Ariadne uses muslin' and 'Her dress shop is the cheap Ragione Tailors'. Giulia de Valdesal, who had been sitting with her lips tightly sealed, stood up.

“This is just getting ridiculous.”

Giulia de Valdesal was one of the two young ladies Isabella treated as her 'best friends'. Isabella had singled out Camelia and Giulia as her closest friends. Camelia, because she had a handsome, wealthy boyfriend and was good at humoring Isabella, and Giulia, because the House of Marquis Valdesal was a prestigious noble family of considerable wealth and high standing. Standing, Giulia de Valdesal tossed a single sentence at Isabella.

“Lady de Mare, your shoulder strap is showing.”

Hearing this, Isabella looked down to check her dress. Sure enough, a bright pink shoulder strap was peeking out from beside the shoulder line of her deeply cut, pure white organza dress. It was the securing strap for Isabella's 'bosom pouch'.

“Oh my!”

Isabella's face flushed crimson. Isabella, treating Giulia as a best friend, had confided several secrets to her. Among them was the story of the 'bosom pouch'. She had recommended it, saying an amazing new item had arrived from the Moorish Empire and that she should try it. Giulia had paid it no mind, but Camelia had cheered and promised she would definitely buy one. Though she never actually bought it. Isabella had thought at the time that she and Giulia had grown closer.

'I trusted her and this is... She stabs me in the back like this?!'

Leaving the blushing Isabella behind, Giulia de Valdesal strode out of the powder room where the girls had gathered without a backward glance. At this, a few of the other girls exchanged glances, then rose and followed Giulia out of the powder room. Four or five girls left—not quite half the group, but a good third of them.

“Y-you, you traitors...!”

Isabella's fury pierced the heavens. Lady Camelia de Castiglione, a baron's daughter, glanced around nervously, while the remaining girls, to suppress their own anxiety, began to slander Ariadne and those who had left even more loudly. Having left the group, Giulia de Valdesal headed for the main ballroom. There, she found Ariadne surrounded by middle-aged ladies, deep in conversation. Giulia approached Ariadne and introduced herself directly.

“I am Giulia, the eldest daughter of the House of Marquis Valdesal.”

“Signora Giulia...!”

Ariadne, surprised by the sudden greeting from such an unexpected person, accepted it with astonishment.

“I've heard a great deal about you.”

Giulia glanced toward the powder room where Isabella's group was gathered and muttered to herself.

'Though none of it was of any substance.'

Lady Valdesal stated her purpose plainly.

“I hope we can become friends. I look forward to getting to know you.”

In her past life, Ariadne hadn't had many female friends. Because she had risen to too high a station too quickly, and because, in truth, she hadn't always conducted herself well, she had been surrounded only by those who were jealous of her or sought to use her for their own gain. So, when a girl her age like Giulia approached her first, despite having nothing to gain, Ariadne was truly, inwardly delighted.

“I, too, have heard much of your reputation, Lady Valdesal. It is an honor to meet you.”

Ariadne gladly took Giulia de Valdesal's hand in greeting, then hesitated for a moment before adding another word.

“Thank you for your kindness.”

It could have been mistaken for an absurdly humble 'thank you for greeting me,' but Ariadne knew what it meant for one of Isabella's friends to be introducing herself to her now. The three or four young ladies who had followed Giulia from the powder room surrounded Ariadne and finished their own introductions. After the greetings, Giulia, as if it were nothing, casually tossed out an invitation.

“Oh, it's not set in stone yet, but I was thinking of hosting a tea party at my home sometime next week. Nothing grand, just a few close friends. Would you perhaps be able to grace us with your presence?”

A look of delight brighter than when she had received her father's approval, perhaps even brighter than when she received the advances of men, appeared on Ariadne's face. To be invited to a young ladies' tea party—it was truly a first in her life! Moreover, she wasn't just receiving an invitation to a confirmed party, but was being asked to join from the planning stage. Didn't this feel like she had truly made a friend? Ariadne beamed.

“Of course, Lady Valdesal. I will await it with pleasure.”

From that point on, Ariadne's débutante ball proceeded as smoothly as could be. Count Cesare, who had danced the first waltz with Ariadne as the King's envoy, expressed his deep regret as he departed immediately after the dance, citing a prior important engagement. Prince Alfonso, however, remained long after Count Cesare had left, seeing through the entire schedule until late in the afternoon before bidding Ariadne farewell. Alfonso seemed to have a premonition. He held onto Ariadne and earnestly implored her to take care of herself, saying they might not be able to meet for a while and that he would write her letters. After sending off a reluctant Alfonso, who lingered as if he couldn't bear to leave, the long day finally came to an end. And then it was time to settle the accounts for the débutante ball. Ariadne returned 12 ducats to her father, left over from the 150-ducat budget set by Cardinal de Mare.

“You really have money left over?”

Cardinal de Mare couldn't hide his surprise. In the 22 years since 1100, when he had first started giving living expenses to his official wife, Lucrezia, this was the first time anyone had ever returned leftover funds to him.

“It must have been a tight budget.”

Cardinal de Mare had estimated the cost to be around 300 ducats if done frugally, and 500 if done lavishly, so he had given Ariadne only 150 ducats in advance—half of what he considered a desirable budget. And yet she had returned with money to spare! For a man who had long supported a lavish wife and children, it was nothing short of astonishing. The secret lay in bold omissions. The 'storytelling tapestries' were not the only thing Ariadne omitted while preparing for her débutante ball. Ariadne, who had worried Sancha by not deciding on a menu until just before the ball, finally gave her a list of several farms a week before the event. She instructed Sancha to check which of them had overproduced due to poor yield management and to purchase ingredients from that one.

“What? You want me to check on ingredients before we've even set a menu?”

Sancha questioned her lady's unconventional order, but she nevertheless faithfully checked all the locations as instructed and returned. As Sancha visited the farms, she found that most of them refused, saying they had no capacity for a large, last-minute delivery outside of their existing clients. But just as expected, one black pig farm offered to sell its stock at a remarkably low price, explaining that their original buyer had canceled the contract at the last minute.

“My lady, did you know this would happen?”

When Sancha, her eyes wide with amazement, asked Ariadne after finalizing the contract at the farm, Ariadne answered nonchalantly.

“Even if I were from the future, how could I possibly know in advance whether a pig farm's contract would be canceled or not?”

It was simply something that happened quite often. Having managed the domestic affairs of the Etruscan royal palace for nine years, Ariadne had mastered this type of procurement method. It wasn't applicable to massive, state-level events that required sweeping up the entire produce of a region, but it was quite useful for mid-sized functions. Ariadne's methods for controlling event expenditures were endless. Having neatly organized the account book, Ariadne presented the double-entry ledger to Cardinal de Mare.

“Yes, Father. It was possible because I was frugal. The detailed ledger is here.”

When his young daughter—who had been raised exclusively within the house, or more accurately, left to grow up on a farm in the Bergamo territory—presented him with a ledger kept in the double-entry style currently in vogue among the merchants of the Porto Republic, Cardinal de Mare's eyes widened once more. It was a method he himself had only recently learned to read for his work at the grand cathedral.

“And where did you learn this?”

“From a book I found in your library, Father—”

His daughter was undoubtedly a genius. Flipping through the ledger, Cardinal de Mare confirmed that the calculations were perfect. The ledger even accounted for the potential loss incurred from cutting down the white crape myrtle shrubs in the Bergamo territory. He shook his head and called for a nearby maid.

“Bring Lady Lucrezia to this room at once.”