Chapter 50

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: The Owner of the Red Roses
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A magnificent bouquet of red roses was delivered to Cardinal de Mare's residence.

It came along with a dress. The dress was from the Collezioni dress shop, arriving before its final fitting. A note explained it needed to be tailored to the recipient's measurements to be completed.

Upon discovering the hundred red roses, Isabella naturally assumed they were a gift for her. Isabella often received gifts from both anonymous and named gentlemen. Today was no different, and any gentleman's gift arriving at the Cardinal's residence was usually for Isabella, making her assumption a reasonable one. Isabella fanned herself gently as she gazed at the roses.

“Oh, how lovely! Such exquisite taste! Which gentleman sent these?”

Sensing a bad premonition, the servant in charge of mail answered her nonchalant question cautiously.

“They are a gift from Count Cesare de Como.”

Isabella's eyes widened.

“Count Cesare? My, why would he send me a gift? We've barely had any interaction.”

“Well…”

“Take the roses to my room. I must try on the dress right away. Could you schedule a fitting for me at Collezioni?”

In high spirits, Isabella gave her instructions in the form of a request rather than a command for a change. But her good mood was about to be shattered. The mail servant squeezed his eyes shut and blurted out.

“Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but this gift is for the younger lady.”

“What?!”

*Snap!* Isabella broke the fan in her hand.

***

Meanwhile, the actual recipient of the roses that had shattered Isabella's pleasant morning was not at all pleased with the gift.

“He sent this to me?”

“Yes, my lady.”

The mail servant had barely escaped Isabella's wrath to safely deliver the items to Ariadne. Despite his efforts, however, the hard-won gift brought Ariadne no joy at all.

“Red roses, for Ariadne, is that right?”

“Yes, my lady. There is a letter from the sender here.”

It was on Count Cesare's stationery, decorated with silver foil. She broke the red wax seal and opened the envelope to find a note written in elegant cursive.

“From your débutante partner. It was an honor to share your first waltz with you. Enclosed is something befitting a beauty who resembles a red rose. - Count Cesare.”

A scornful laugh escaped her.

“Lilies of the valley resemble you. Obedient and known only to me, just like you.”

Those were the words Cesare had spoken as he picked a lily of the valley from the forest outside San Carlo and tucked it behind her ear. A small, white flower. A flower with a bowed head. A flower that grew in a field, picked for free. His treating her like that felt as vivid as yesterday. Did a change in her circumstances warrant such a drastic change in his treatment?

Ariadne was furious. It was an anger that disregarded the fact that this life's Cesare had done nothing yet. The red roses were of the finest quality, meticulously cultivated in a garden. A hundred of them had been gathered into a bouquet so heavy a woman could barely lift it on her own. The bouquet alone must have cost well over 50 florins.

*‘If you had shown me even half this much consideration in my past life, I would have served you devotedly for the rest of my days.’*

In truth, it was hard to blame Cesare for investing so little. The Cesare of her past life had given her nothing but a field-grown lily of the valley, yet the Ariadne of that life had served him faithfully to the very end. *Was it an investment perfectly suited to my worth?* she muttered, turning to the other gift Count Cesare had sent.

“What's that?”

“It's a dress, my lady. I was told it's from the Collezioni dress shop.”

The mail servant removed the cloth covering a mannequin dressed in the garment. A ball gown of blood-red silk was revealed. True to the renowned reputation of Collezioni, not a single stitch was out of place. It was a masterpiece, meticulously and delicately crafted with every lace pattern thoughtfully placed to be seen at its best with each movement.

The bodice of the crimson silk dress was made of three layers. An outer layer of thick silk, a thinner layer of silk beneath it folded like a tulip bud, and a final layer of translucent organza arranged to cover the skin. With this design, even if the seams were to burst, the other two layers would provide cover. It was a design carefully considered to prevent any sort of wardrobe malfunction.

“He was thoughtful.”

But that was that, and this was this.

“Send it back.”

“Pardon?”

The mail servant stared at Ariadne, dumbfounded. But Ariadne was firm.

“He and I are nothing to each other. I cannot accept such an expensive gift. Besides, I have an agreement with the Raggione tailor shop and cannot wear dresses made elsewhere for the time being. Explain this clearly to Count Cesare and return the flowers and the dress.”

“But my lady! The roses are fresh flowers. They will all wither if you send them back.”

The servant hastily added.

“It would be the same as sending him garbage.”

The servant launched into a lengthy explanation of why it would be a discourtesy. Outwardly, it was a lesson in etiquette, but inwardly, it was a plea: 'Please don't make me return the flowers to the de Como estate.' Having one's flowers rejected was a public humiliation for a gentleman, and Count de Como was known for his foul temper and his rough servants. When people couldn't take their anger out on the master, they would often vent it on the messenger. Ariadne considered the servant's unspoken, practical concerns for a moment but still shook her head.

“Alright, then just return the dress. It can be sent directly to the Collezioni dress shop, which should be less of a burden for you, yes? As for the roses, put them outside.”

“Not in your room, my lady?”

“Yes. Just put them somewhere out of my sight.”

Besides, Ariadne had more important business to attend to today. She was in no position to be bothered by a gift from Cesare.

“Is the carriage ready?”

“Yes, my lady. Shall I inform the coachman you are on your way down?”

“Good.”

Today was the day of the tea party hosted by Giulia de Valdesal for the young ladies. She was as nervous as she had been on the day she went to the Basilica of San Ercole to meet the Apostle of Acereto. Ariadne secretly wiped her sweaty palms on her dress.

***

“It is an honor to welcome you to the Valdesal estate, Lady de Mare.”

The majordomo of the marquis's household bowed deeply to her. Ariadne received his greeting with a smile she tried to make look elegant.

“Please, come inside, Lady de Mare. Signora Giulia is waiting in the drawing room.”

Today, Ariadne's title was not 'the younger Lady de Mare.' Since Isabella had not been invited, there was only one Lady de Mare present. Ariadne wore a modest, light green day dress, her hair covered by a net adorned with green topazes, each half the size of a pinky nail. It was a neat look, carefully chosen to ensure the sole representative of the de Mare family would not be called unfashionable.

As Ariadne, in her green dress, entered the Valdesal drawing room, the gazes of the girls already gathered there turned to her in unison. Some looks were friendly, some filled with curiosity, and some were appraising, scanning her from head to toe. As if to shield her from their stares, today's hostess, Giulia de Valdesal, sprang up from her seat and approached Ariadne.

“Lady de Mare!”

Giulia took Ariadne's hands in hers.

“I'm so glad you could come. We were waiting for you.”

Ariadne responded to Giulia's kindness with a bright smile.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“There might be a few faces you don't recognize, Lady de Mare. Allow me to introduce you.”

Four or five young ladies were gathered at Giulia de Valdesal's tea party today. The brown-haired Lady Rinaldi, full of righteous spirit; Lady Della Torre, whose family had prosperous lands in northern Etruscan; and Lady Elba, whose father was a renowned jurist, were relatively unfamiliar faces.

“That's alright, Signora Giulia.”

Ariadne replied to Giulia's kind offer with a bright smile.

“Signora Cornelia…”

First, Ariadne looked to Lady Rinaldi and offered a handshake.

“And Signora Gabriele, we met at the débutante ball, did we not?”

The second person she greeted was Lady Gabriele Della Torre. The two ladies looked pleased that Ariadne, the biggest topic of conversation in San Carlo lately whom they had only met once, remembered their names. The last one, Lady Elba, was indeed a new acquaintance, so with Giulia's help, they exchanged introductions.

There was also a familiar, though somewhat surprising, face among them. It was Camelia de Castiglione.

“It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady de Mare.”

Camelia was, strictly speaking, Isabella's friend, but she was agreeable and sociable, with a wide circle of acquaintances. Above all, she was well-informed about rumors, which made her a regular guest at other girls' parties. It seemed Giulia, despite her falling out with Isabella, had no intention of cutting off everyone who was friendly with her. Ariadne suppressed a flicker of disappointment. *Of course, it makes sense. This is my first time being invited here.*

“A pleasure, Lady Castiglione.”

Ariadne showed no hint of displeasure, greeting Camelia with a smile. The girls' social circle was just beginning.

***

At a gathering of teenage girls, talk of men was an unavoidable topic.

“I heard Gabriele received a marriage proposal!”

Lady Della Torre smiled and spoke with modesty.

“A proposal is too strong a word. It's more of an offer. We'll have to see if anything comes of it.”

“But the gentleman is the eldest son of the Marquis of Montefeltro, isn't he?”

The House of Montefeltro was an ancient, distinguished family of the old nobility, possessing vast lands in central Etruscan. In Etruscan, where primogeniture was the rule, marrying the eldest son of the Marquis of Montefeltro meant becoming the Marchioness of Montefeltro, barring any unforeseen issues.

“Gabriele's family, the Della Torres, are also great nobles of the north, so it would be a blessed union between two families of the old nobility.”

Giulia, who possessed the sharpest political acumen among the girls aside from Ariadne, assessed the likelihood of it happening. When the families' status and interests aligned, marriage proposals usually led smoothly to marriage.

“I'm so envious.”

Lady Elba, Felicité, expressed her naive envy toward Gabriele. Her father had inherited unremarkable lands but had risen to prominence in the capital through his own talent, making him more of a court noble than a feudal lord. Naturally, she held the old nobility in high regard. Marrying into the old nobility with their vast estates and becoming the mistress at the apex of the established order was a fantasy shared by most daughters of the new aristocracy. But Gabriele Della Torre smiled bitterly.

“Well… ruling over a grand estate is a kind of happiness, I suppose, but can one be happy forever with that alone?”

Petruccio, the eldest son of the Marquis of Montefeltro, was a widower. Already in his thirties, he had an eldest son just under ten and a young second daughter. Petruccio de Montefeltro, known to be a serious and considerate man, was an impeccable match for marriage, but it was a stretch to say he was the perfect choice for the happiness a girl in her late teens dreamed of.

Giulia de Valdesal could fully sympathize. Must a man's status be so high? Couldn't one just be happy with a handsome and kind partner? But she soon sighed and said something to brace both herself and Gabriele.

“Love is nothing but a fleeting, transient joy.”

It was an un-teenage sentiment delivered with teenage certainty. But Giulia trailed off, at a loss for what to say next. Her mother often spoke of the happiness found in the tranquility of daily life and a harmonious family, rather than the fever of a burning love, but such placid talk held no appeal for Giulia, whose blood still ran hot. Fortunately, Felicité finished the thought for her.

“Still, once you become a marchioness and enter the balls in San Carlo, it will feel real, won't it? Everyone will have their eyes only on you. I'm so jealous, Gabriele!”

“Indeed. It's all going so smoothly, I'm quite envious.”

This time, it was Camelia who sighed deeply.

“Why, Camelia? You have your fiancé, Signor Ottavio. What is there to worry about?”

“Well…”