Clemente de Bartolini caught the reproachful expression on Isabella's face. Tears quickly welled up in her innocent features. If her brother Ottavio de Contarini resembled a Rottweiler, Clemente de Bartolini resembled a Minpin. The siblings clearly had similarities, but Clemente, unlike Ottavio, looked as harmless and fragile as a small puppy.
“Isabella...”
Isabella opened her eyes wide and said to Clemente, who was on the verge of tears.
“Why are you crying, Sister?”
That was Clemente de Bartolini's tear bell. As soon as she heard it, she began to cry loudly.
“That’s... That’s not what I meant..."
Isabella folded her arms and leaned against the sofa, watching her cry. She came here to collect a debt, but how did she end up a counselor?
Clemente cried and confessed her circumstances. Count Bartolini was a really good man. He let Clemente do whatever she wanted because he felt sorry for his young wife. Clemente was timid and indecisive, but she was the type of person who wanted to constantly reaffirm his love. When his husband let her do anything, she only focused on things that he couldn’t allow. It was a twisted, self-destructive desire that made her think, ‘Do you think you can still love me like this?’
Her first love was a young priest from the church who heard her confession. They only became a little intimate, but at some point, they crossed the line and it was uncontrollable. Then a young fallen nobleman, and then a coachman. It was a silent cry to her husband, 'Do you still love me?'
The last on the list of men her husband would never tolerate was the Marquis de Campa. She had met him in the shop after stopping by the art dealer, and the rich and well-mannered Marquis de Campa had captivated her. It was partly out of pure curiosity about the Marquis de Campa, who was known as human garbage, partly out of the arrogance of being able to rehabilitate that man, and partly out of a desire to wallow in such a man and degenerate to the bottom.
“I don’t know why I’m like this either!”
'I really don't understand why you do that.'
Isabella clicked her tongue inwardly. Even if Isabella had caught her having an affair with the Marquis of Campa, there was no need to tell her about the priest, the coachman, and the young nobleman one after another! This was a suicidal act that put the other person in the middle of her leash.
“I was so lonely... I wonder what I’ve been possessed by...! The priest was bad too... As a priest, he had a duty to guide the believers well, but he shamelessly satisfied only his own greed... The coachman was bad too... I was his master's wife, so how could he dare to touch me...?”
Clemente's tongue was long. She had been hurling accusations against her cheating partners. It was obvious that she was talking nonsense, even bringing up her own shortcomings that she would have been better off keeping quiet.
“I don’t know why I’m like this either!”
'I really don't understand why you do that.'
Isabella clicked her tongue inwardly. Even if Isabella had caught her having an affair with the Marquis of Campa, there was no need to tell her about the priest, the coachman, and the young nobleman one after another! This was a suicidal act that put the other person in the middle of her leash.
“I was so lonely... I wonder what I’ve been possessed by...! The priest was bad too... As a priest, he had a duty to guide the believers well, but he shamelessly satisfied only his own greed... The coachman was bad too... I was his master's wife, so how could he dare to touch me...?”
Clemente's tongue was long. She had been hurling accusations against her cheating partners. It was obvious that she was talking nonsense, even bringing up her own shortcomings that she would have been better off keeping quiet.
Isabella sighed inwardly. And then she said what Clemente really wanted to hear.
“...It’s not your fault, sister.”
“I see, isn’t that so?”
Clemente's face brightened up immediately. She answered so quickly that Isabella felt embarrassed.
“A priest must set an example for his followers. Even if the followers show weaknesses...”
Clemente's facial muscles flinched again at the choice of the sentence, 'The followers showed his weakness.' Isabella raised one eyebrow and quickly chose her words again.
“No, it is absolutely unacceptable to have lustful feelings toward a devout believer. This is entirely the fault of the clergy.”
Clemente de Bartolini's expression softened again. Isabella went on to criticize the coachman, the Marquis of Campa, and even Count Bartolini, one after another, emphasizing that Clemente was not responsible. After listening to Isabella's passionate defense of herself for nearly half an hour, Clemente was finally able to smile bashfully and drink her tea.
“Isabella, it’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to talk to you like this since I was a little girl... I’m glad you let me know... I really was lonely and had a hard time by myself...”
Clemente's words were interrupted by Isabella, who was satisfied.
“But, sister.”
Isabella got to the point with a bright smile on her beautiful face.
“There is only one thing you did wrong, sister.”
“What, what is it...?”
Clemente asked Isabella reluctantly, looking as if she was going to back away from the sofa. It was truly the most unpleasant answer in the world. Her pinpoint eyes shook anxiously.
“When rumors spread in high society that the Marquis of Campa’s mistress was Isabella de Mare, you should have spoken out about it.”
Once again, tears welled up in Clemente's puppy-dog eyes.
“That, that’s...! At that time... My husband’s eyes were also watching...”
Of course, it took a very noble person and a great deal of courage for the person involved to come forward and declare, "I am the mistress," while other victims were being torn to pieces in the scandal that had taken the social world by storm. Isabella did not expect such fairytale-like courage. Not only when the other person was as weak and evasive as Clemente, but anyone else would do that.
'I don't think the country will come out either.'
But she said something different with her mouth.
“Sister, poor Isabella did nothing wrong, didn’t she??”
Clemente just lowered her head and said nothing. Isabella had a gut feeling that if she applied more pressure here, her target might escape. Clemente was truly a fragile woman.
“Sister Clemente, I’m not asking you to step forward now. You have a family, so how can I ask you to make such a big sacrifice? I’m not that kind of a cruel person.”
Isabella shifted into soothing mode, her voice dripping with honey. It was only once or twice a year that Isabella would put this much effort into a woman.
'As I live, I realize that I do all sorts of things.'
“Well, then...?”
Clemente lifted her head slightly in the warm warmth.
“Do you know Isabella’s situation these days?”
Isabella lowered her head and pretended to feel sorry. No, she really felt sorry. What kind of a state is this, Isabelle de Mare, who made the world cry!
“No one in society invites me, and I have no friends anymore. This royal ball too...”
As they talked, Isabella became so emotional that she burst into tears.
“No one... will go to the ball with me...”
People who ignored her passed Isabella's eyes. Empty mailboxes, people who turned their heads when they encountered her at the Great Mass. When things were going well, they would follow her around wagging their tails, but when things got tough, not a single person reached out.
'Men... are untrustworthy!'
Isabella had never trusted women in the first place. So now she was declaring that she would never trust humans at all. She looked at Clemente with a sullen look in her eyes.
“I don’t ask much of you. Just hang out with me in social circles. I’m sure you can take care of that much.”
Clemente nodded, a little surprised by Isabella's request, which was more moderate than she had expected.
“It’s about that much...”
“...It’s not your fault, sister.”
“I see, isn’t that so?”
Clemente's face brightened up immediately. She answered so quickly that Isabella felt embarrassed.
“A priest must set an example for his followers. Even if the followers show weaknesses...”
Clemente's facial muscles flinched again at the choice of the sentence, 'The followers showed his weakness.' Isabella raised one eyebrow and quickly chose her words again.
“No, it is absolutely unacceptable to have lustful feelings toward a devout believer. This is entirely the fault of the clergy.”
Clemente de Bartolini's expression softened again. Isabella went on to criticize the coachman, the Marquis of Campa, and even Count Bartolini, one after another, emphasizing that Clemente was not responsible. After listening to Isabella's passionate defense of herself for nearly half an hour, Clemente was finally able to smile bashfully and drink her tea.
“Isabella, it’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to talk to you like this since I was a little girl... I’m glad you let me know... I really was lonely and had a hard time by myself...”
Clemente's words were interrupted by Isabella, who was satisfied.
“But, sister.”
Isabella got to the point with a bright smile on her beautiful face.
“There is only one thing you did wrong, sister.”
“What, what is it...?”
Clemente asked Isabella reluctantly, looking as if she was going to back away from the sofa. It was truly the most unpleasant answer in the world. Her pinpoint eyes shook anxiously.
“When rumors spread in high society that the Marquis of Campa’s mistress was Isabella de Mare, you should have spoken out about it.”
Once again, tears welled up in Clemente's puppy-dog eyes.
“That, that’s...! At that time... My husband’s eyes were also watching...”
Of course, it took a very noble person and a great deal of courage for the person involved to come forward and declare, "I am the mistress," while other victims were being torn to pieces in the scandal that had taken the social world by storm. Isabella did not expect such fairytale-like courage. Not only when the other person was as weak and evasive as Clemente, but anyone else would do that.
'I don't think the country will come out either.'
But she said something different with her mouth.
“Sister, poor Isabella did nothing wrong, didn’t she??”
Clemente just lowered her head and said nothing. Isabella had a gut feeling that if she applied more pressure here, her target might escape. Clemente was truly a fragile woman.
“Sister Clemente, I’m not asking you to step forward now. You have a family, so how can I ask you to make such a big sacrifice? I’m not that kind of a cruel person.”
Isabella shifted into soothing mode, her voice dripping with honey. It was only once or twice a year that Isabella would put this much effort into a woman.
'As I live, I realize that I do all sorts of things.'
“Well, then...?”
Clemente lifted her head slightly in the warm warmth.
“Do you know Isabella’s situation these days?”
Isabella lowered her head and pretended to feel sorry. No, she really felt sorry. What kind of a state is this, Isabelle de Mare, who made the world cry!
“No one in society invites me, and I have no friends anymore. This royal ball too...”
As they talked, Isabella became so emotional that she burst into tears.
“No one... will go to the ball with me...”
People who ignored her passed Isabella's eyes. Empty mailboxes, people who turned their heads when they encountered her at the Great Mass. When things were going well, they would follow her around wagging their tails, but when things got tough, not a single person reached out.
'Men... are untrustworthy!'
Isabella had never trusted women in the first place. So now she was declaring that she would never trust humans at all. She looked at Clemente with a sullen look in her eyes.
“I don’t ask much of you. Just hang out with me in social circles. I’m sure you can take care of that much.”
Clemente nodded, a little surprised by Isabella's request, which was more moderate than she had expected.
“It’s about that much...”
“I’m being ostracized for something that wasn’t my fault in the first place.”
Clemente flinched when Isabella seemed to blame herself.
“So, please take me with you and help me restore my good reputation. Volunteer work, prayer meetings, anywhere is fine.”
Countess Clemente de Bartolini was famous for her regular service at the church and the relief home. She and her group of friends, the 'Silver Cross Ladies', would often do volunteer work for the elderly, such as washing bedding, preparing food, and cleaning the lodgings. It was a bit funny that women who did not lift a finger for housework at home would do chores at the church, but their work was different, just as large-scale wheat farming on a farm was different from gardening for flowers.
“Well, if that’s the case...”
Isabella's eyes quickly lit up at Clemente's approval.
“Let’s start right now. Sister, do you have plans this afternoon?”
The best time to cultivate small friendships was lunchtime and the afternoon that followed. The big party was held in the evening, but luncheons and afternoon teas were the main gathering times for the ladies. Clemente must have called Isabella at such an odd hour as eleven in the morning because luncheons and afternoon teas were occupied. Isabella's guess was correct, and Clemente answered with a halting voice.
“Well, that exists, but...”
“Who is your appointment with? Countess Baljo? Marchioness Salvati? No, Baroness Loredan would be fine!”
Isabella went on to list Clemente's connections to other Noble ladies. Clemente, feeling a little uncomfortable with Isabella's knowledge of her, denied it, hoping that Isabella would have no interest in her afternoon gatherings.
“No... No... Not the female guests... I’m meeting with my family.”
Countess Bartolini had an outside engagement for the first time in a while, so on a day when her lunch plans were free, her family came and had lunch together.
“Ottavio... said he brought a friend...”
Clemente thought Isabella would lose interest and go home if she told her that the ladies of high society were not coming. But Isabella laughed and clapped her hands like May peonies at those words. Isabella's laughter was like that of a carnivorous plant that grew deep in the Moorish Empire.
“Oh my, Master Ottavio is coming? Sister! Please invite me too!”
A glint of joy danced in Isabella's purple eyes. She pushed Clemente again with a determined look.
“We used to play together when we were kids, right?”
Isabella smiled deeply and looked at Clemente. Clemente flinched at the sight. It was a sweet expression, but Clemente couldn't resist Isabella at the moment. In that case, it would be better to please her. Clemente asked meekly.
“Isabella, would you rather have meat or fish for the main course? We have lamb and grilled mackerel.”
Isabella smiled, revealing her teeth.
“I don’t like either of them. I’d like the young beef.”
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