Chapter 51

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: The Marchioness's Daughter's Tea Party
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Ottavio was an eight-out-of-ten kind of man. He was tall, handsome, and the heir to a respectable family with a fairly wide network of connections. At first glance, he seemed a better catch than the eldest son of the Marquis of Montefeltro, who had the fatal flaws of a former wife and children. But all that came from Camelia’s lips was a lament.

“But will he really marry me?”

“Pardon?”

Felicitè, who wasn’t up to date on recent events, placed a hand over her mouth.

“Did I misspeak? Did something happen?”

Felicitè glanced around, and Camelia let out a deep sigh. Camelia wasn’t the type to have the backbone to be the first to speak ill of Isabella. Instead, it was Giulia who broke the ice.

“It’s Isabella again.”

“Ah.”

Even Felicitè, who was out of the loop, immediately understood the situation upon hearing Isabella’s name.

“Is she still at it?”

“Still at it? No, it’s worse!”

As soon as Giulia opened the floodgates, a torrent of complaints poured out. It was no exaggeration to say they had all been waiting for someone to take the lead, their grievances long-held. Ariadne inwardly shook her head. It seemed Isabella had been steadily losing favor among the young ladies. These girls weren’t burning with a sense of justice for Ariadne, nor were they meddlesome. They were people who had been consistently tormented by Isabella until they reached a breaking point and exploded.

“Do you have any idea what happened?”

Camelia, filled with resentment, recounted the time Isabella had publicly humiliated her. Now that this denunciation of Isabella had begun, there was no stopping it. Everyone present at this gathering had now become implicit allies. Those who had attended that tea party chimed in with their own remarks, saying they had seen it too, sympathizing with Camelia’s anger.

“How could she pin it on me like that?”

“She claimed Camelia was interested in the *il domestico* from Viscount Leonati’s family, and then she herself touched Signor Ottavio’s face. I saw the whole thing!”

Cornelia, the daughter of Count Rinaldi, added indignantly.

“But Ottavio! Instead of taking my side, he was too busy paying attention to Isabella!”

Camelia finally burst into tears. The gentle Felicitè handed her a handkerchief.

“Signor Ottavio was in the wrong.”

Gabriele was about to suggest Camelia break off the engagement with the ill-mannered Ottavio but bit her tongue. The moment she pointed out Ottavio’s fault, Camelia began to sob uncontrollably. In truth, for Camelia, Ottavio was not just an objectively excellent match, but one beyond her station. If the barony of Castiglione were to break the engagement, there was no guarantee they would find a man as good as Ottavio again. So, rather than criticize the indispensable Ottavio, Gabriele decided to badmouth Isabella to lift Camelia’s spirits.

“That Isabella, she’s flaunting her pretty face now, but she’ll get what’s coming to her one day.”

But Camelia was too overwhelmed with emotion at the moment to enjoy even such comforting words.

“I… I need to use the restroom for a moment.”

“Of course. Do you need someone to go with you?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Camelia, whose greatest asset was her beautiful appearance, hated for others to see her composure crumble. It seemed she was planning to have a good cry in the restroom. After Camelia left the Valdesal drawing room, suspicions about Isabella hung in the air.

“But is Isabella really interested in Signor Ottavio?”

Ariadne could answer that question.

“Not a chance.”

She dispelled the misunderstanding that Isabella was interested in Ottavio, but it wasn't for her sister’s sake.

“My sister is the type to aim much higher.”

She clicked her tongue in self-deprecation.

“She’s just toying with him. If Signor Ottavio were to seriously try to break off his engagement and switch to her, she would surely turn tail and run. So don’t worry.”

Just as she had with Cesare in her past life. She craved the attention, so she flirted, but when he actually fell for it, she would back out as if nothing had happened, unwilling to deal with the messy aftermath. Unless Ottavio suddenly inherited the throne of some country, Isabella would never set her sights on him.

“This must be a bit uncomfortable for you, Ariadne. She is your sister, after all.”

Cornelia, a devotee of etiquette, added with a slightly embarrassed look. But Ariadne simply smiled and shook her head.

“In any case, siblings in the same house are also rivals competing for limited resources. It’s quite all right.”

The straightforward Giulia laughed heartily and said.

“Competition? You call it competition, but in this game of finding a husband, it seems you’re leagues ahead, Ariadne.”

Felicitè’s eyes sparkled as she added.

“That’s right! I heard you entered the débutante ball with Prince Alfonso himself!”

Of all the people present, only Felicitè had been unable to attend Ariadne’s débutante ball. Having only heard the stories secondhand, she felt like squealing like a dolphin now that she had met the main character.

“What was the prince like? How did you end up attending with him?”

“But your actual partner for the débutante ball was Count Cesare, wasn’t it!”

Gabriele, who had a genuine appreciation for handsome men, interjected.

“Count Cesare, he’s truly handsome up close!”

“Ariadne, which of the two do you like more?”

“Yes, the prince or Count Cesare!”

“It-it’s not like that. It just so happened that…”

“Ariadne, you can’t back out now! Tell us!”

“I choose the prince!”

Cornelia, who lived by the book, chose Alfonso.

“I choose Count Cesare!”

Gabriele, who valued a man’s face above all else, picked Cesare.

“Don’t you think you could live on his face alone? If he looked at me with those blue eyes, I feel like all my anger would just melt away!”

“Eek!”

“He really is incredibly handsome.”

“A delicate sort of beauty. Sometimes he looks more slender and prettier than a woman.”

“Wouldn’t you hate to stand next to him, though?”

The thought of standing next to Cesare and having their faces compared made all the girls shrink back. Some shook their heads, while others shrieked.

“I still think I prefer the prince. A classic, refined kind of handsome!”

“Me too, me too, the prince! He’s well-built, big, his physique! I love how broad he is!”

“My, Felicitè, were you paying that much attention to the prince’s physique?”

“As if you weren’t! Let she who has not looked cast the first stone!”

The drawing room felt as if it would burst with their boisterous chatter. The fierce debate between Team Alfonso and Team Cesare was narrowly won by Team Alfonso, thanks to a scandal that had plagued Cesare’s fandom.

“The prince is better in every way. They say Count Cesare even dallies with married women. I heard he was recently involved with a widow, a Lady Ragusa!”

“Heavens, a widow? A married woman? How could you be with a man like that?”

“Why does Count Cesare do such things when he’s so handsome?”

Gabriele’s sole remaining supporter was Giulia, who was also a true connoisseur of faces.

“But he is really, really handsome. He’s just living up to his looks. I wouldn’t want to marry him, but I’d love to have a little fling.”

“Hey! You’ll end up like Lady Ragusa!”

“I was just saying!”

The girls burst into peals of laughter. *Creeak.* Just then, the drawing room door opened quietly, and Camelia, who had gone for a good cry, returned. Giulia, startled, looked at the door and then breathed a sigh of relief. The girls, who had all turned to see who had arrived, now included Camelia in their boisterous conversation.

“Hahaha!”

“Oh, no way!”

“I’m on the left! The left!”

Ariadne couldn’t even remember the last time she had laughed and played so freely with her peers. It might have been the first time ever. When Camelia returned from the restroom, she chose the seat next to Ariadne. With a face cleared of tear stains, she spoke to Ariadne as if in apology.

“Isabella said some rather unpleasant things at your débutante ball, didn’t she.”

“Pardon? What sort of…”

“Things like you tore your dress on purpose because the prince was there, and so on…”

Ariadne felt the blood rush to her head.

*Isabella, you dreadful human!*

Beside her, Camelia was rambling on with meaningless words like ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her then,’ but it all sounded like a dull buzz. Ariadne was furious with Isabella, but she didn’t have particularly warm feelings for the girl in front of her either. A person who relays gossip to the subject is just as bad as the one who said it in the first place. But every situation could be used to one’s advantage, and Ariadne was not the type to let an opportunity slip by.

“Lady Castiglione.”

“Please, call me Camelia.”

To the gently smiling Camelia, Ariadne replied with a smile of her own.

“Very well, Camelia. But my sister Isabella said that you were the one who first said those things.”

“What?!”

Camelia was utterly astonished. *That wicked girl, Isabella! First, she accuses me of liking some il domestico, and now she’s been using my name for this too!*

“When my father questioned her, she told him that Camelia had been spreading those rumors first. She claimed her only fault was not stopping you…”

The other young ladies noticed Camelia’s face turning beet red and asked what was wrong. Camelia, looking on the verge of tears again, recounted everything she had just heard from Ariadne.

“Oh, my heavens!”

“Isabella was definitely the first one to say it.”

“That’s right, something about a linen cloth on her chest…”

“How would Camelia even know which dressmaker… no, which tailor shop Ariadne’s débutante dress came from?”

The other young ladies who had been there stepped forward to confirm that it was Isabella, not Camelia, who had started those rumors. The consensus among the ladies today was unanimous.

—*‘Isabella de Mare is a truly terrible person!’*

The reason such a conversation could take place today was half due to the perfect composition of the attendees. If Camelia hadn’t been invited on the grounds that she hadn’t completely cut ties with Isabella, they wouldn’t have heard these stories. But if other friends of Isabella had been present, they wouldn’t have been able to speak of such things at all. In truth, when the drawing room door had opened and Camelia entered, Giulia had been half relieved and half disappointed. One of the people she had sent an invitation to for today’s tea party had declined. That was Letizia, the daughter of Viscount Leonati. As Isabella’s best friend, it was right that she didn’t come. And strictly speaking, it was right not to have invited her. But Giulia had wanted to create an excuse to visit the home of Letizia, whom she didn’t even particularly like, just one more time.

*‘…François.’*

The face of the *il domestico*, whom she had seen only once, would not leave her mind.

The roses sent by Count Cesare, having been banished from Ariadne’s room, found their new home in the young ladies’ drawing room. It was a space shared by the three sisters, but since Ariadne had moved to the suite in the west wing and gained her own private drawing room, she rarely used it anymore.

“Wow!”

Arabella excitedly admired the splendid red roses arranged in the vase. Life had been good for Arabella lately. A younger sister’s hobby, throughout all ages and places, is to rummage through her older sister’s belongings. But Isabella was a strict guard and a merciless tattletale. She would raise hell if she found any trace of her things being touched, not to mention running straight to their mother, Lucrezia. But her new older sister was generous, shared a lot, and didn’t scold her too harshly even when she was caught. The only drawback was that she didn’t have many interesting things, but that flaw was rapidly being remedied.

“I’ve never seen a rose this big!”

Isabella snapped at her youngest sister, who was marveling at the crimson rose blossoms as large as small teacups.

“Will you be quiet! You’re making my head throb!”

Even after Arabella flinched and shrank back, Isabella’s anger did not subside.

“I’m sick of everything!”

Thanks to Letizia’s tattling, Isabella already knew that Giulia de Valdesal had held a tea party and deliberately excluded her. Seeing Ariadne dressed to go out today, she was certain her sister had attended that very party. Lately, she had been treating a breast growth enhancement cream from the Moorish Empire, bought for a hefty sum from a peddler, like holy water, but instead of her chest getting bigger, it seemed her body hair was only getting darker. It was too expensive to throw away, but she was hesitant to use it, leaving Isabella in a state of limbo.

“Aargh! This is so frustrating!”

Isabella stormed outside and paced around the garden. Ever since that eyesore of a bastard sister had appeared, nothing had gone right. What stung most was being branded by Countess Marquez as a girl who gossiped about her sister behind her back in high society.

*‘I was the beautiful and lovely Isabella de Mare, the finest young lady in San Carlo!’*

Her ugly half-sister was rapidly encroaching on her position.

“She’s not even pretty!”

“Hm? Who’s not pretty?”

It was her cousin, Zanobi, who had overheard Isabella’s muttering. Isabella flinched, remembering how the other young ladies had been horrified when she used harsh words at their gathering. But Zanobi was from the less-refined south, and he had been a squire among knights where such language was commonplace.

“Cousin Zanobi.”

“Why is my pretty Isabella so upset?”

Zanobi was thrilled just to be striking up a conversation with the beautiful lady of San Carlo. This would be a story to boast about for a month when he returned home. The thought that Isabella was his cousin and that trying to impress her was pointless, or the moral notion that one shouldn't view a cousin in such a way, never crossed Zanobi’s mind. The most important thing at that moment was to pursue his base pleasures. Isabella, who had been dejected, latched onto Zanobi’s seemingly receptive words and began to pour out her heart like a fish returned to water.

“Cousin! I’m so upset!”

As they walked around the garden of Cardinal de Mare’s residence, Isabella told Zanobi everything: how Ariadne had cursed at her, how Ariadne had pretended to be nice in front of others and slandered her with lies, how Ariadne had clung to the prince and flattered him. Of course, these were all stories embellished and adapted from Isabella’s point of view.

“That girl is really out of line!”

“Right, right?”

For Isabella, who had been trembling with an indignation that not even her own mother would believe, Zanobi’s companionship was a welcome and joyous relief. Zanobi listened to everything Isabella said without a single objection. He was just as pleased with this opportunity. In his position, having an intimate conversation with such a beautiful and noble young lady was something he could normally only dream of. He would have sold his own mother if it meant this dreamlike situation could continue. Believing a story about his usually tight-lipped and solemn cousin cursing was, by comparison, a piece of cake.

“Isabella, trust your cousin! I’ll teach that girl a good lesson!”

“Yes! Yes!”

*I have to do something, anything, to get into Isabella’s good graces. Then maybe she’ll notice me.* As if in response to Zanobi’s scheming, the King’s regular autumn hunting festival was approaching. The sky was high, and it was the perfect weather to frighten a frail young girl.