“Miss Isabella!”
Isabella and Ottavio, who met in the dining room of Count Bartolini's house, were almost ready to embrace. Anyone who saw them might have thought they were lovers who had not seen each other for three months.
“No, it’s been a really long time! I never thought we’d meet here like this!”
“Ottavio’s older sister invited me. I had been on bad terms with Clemente, but I got in touch with her... She’s a true friend who takes care of me when I'm having a hard time.”
Isabella glanced at Clemente and smiled. She had come to a realization of her own as she watched her 'friends' betray her in large numbers recently. If she didn't share even a single bean, she wouldn't have a friend of the same sex who would stick by her side.
In the past, girls would flock to her like clouds to be the friend of the most talented person in San Carlo, the beautiful Isabella de Mare. Now... It was time to praise, acknowledge, and praise her efforts, even if it was dirty and fatal, with her own mouth. Clemente, who had heard the unexpected compliment, said to Ottavio with a slightly better mood.
“Ottavio, come sit down. Why did you come alone? Where is the friend who said he was coming with you?”
“Oh, that guy. He’s not always on time. If we eat first, he’ll be slow.”
Isabella's purple eyes sparkled at those words. Perhaps... But Isabella decided not to show her impatience. In the old days, it was okay to show emotions. Now...
“Ottavio, come sit down. Why did you come alone? Where is the friend who said he was coming with you?”
“Oh, that guy. He’s not always on time. If we eat first, he’ll be slow.”
Isabella's purple eyes sparkled at those words. Perhaps... But Isabella decided not to show her impatience. In the old days, it was okay to show emotions. Now...
She was tightrope walking on thin ice. Dignity and elegance came only from attitude. As she dipped her fingertips into the bowl she was washing her hands with a silent smile on her lips, there was a knock on the dining room door.
Knock.
“The guests have arrived.”
The Countess of the Bartolini family brought a guest into the dining room. The guest was none other than Count Cesare, in his velvet hat decorated with a crocodile's tail, and in his splendid latest fashion, with deerskin gloves. He took off his hat, bent his knees, and held it to his chest in a graceful bow.
“Countess Bartolini. I am honored to have me as my guest.”
“The guests have arrived.”
The Countess of the Bartolini family brought a guest into the dining room. The guest was none other than Count Cesare, in his velvet hat decorated with a crocodile's tail, and in his splendid latest fashion, with deerskin gloves. He took off his hat, bent his knees, and held it to his chest in a graceful bow.
“Countess Bartolini. I am honored to have me as my guest.”
***
Although no one sitting here knew it, the meeting that day was in fact the first step in what would later develop into a love affair between Count Cesare and Countess Bartolini.
“Nice to meet you. I am Count Cesare.”
Cesare bowed politely to his mistress, and Clemente de Bartolini bowed her head in greeting like a frightened minpin.
“I heard you’re close with my younger brother... It’s nice to meet you.”
It had been less than three years since Cesare and Ottavio had become so close that they were like best friends, and Clemente de Contarini had been living in Count Bartolini's estate ever since he had married her four years earlier. It was only recently that she had been summoned to San Carlo by Leo III's summons.
“It’s a bit late to greet you now, I guess. You’re even more beautiful than I’ve heard.”
“Oh my, you are too complimentary...”
“Hahaha, Cesare, don’t show off like that. My sister will think she’s really pretty if you do that.”
“Ottavio...!”
It was a rare experience for Isabella to become invisible. No one took the initiative to include her in the conversation. Clemente did it out of selfishness, and Ottavio didn’t have the presence of mind to take care of it. Count Cesare’s attitude was ambiguous. It seemed like he was deliberately ignoring her, and at the same time, he seemed to be being polite to the hostess of the house he had invited. If she had been a tempered person, she would have dragged Countess Bartolini to the back room and torn her to pieces, but Isabella took a deep breath and held it in.
'I am the new Isabella. Poor, pitiful, motherless Isabella.'
Isabella smiled and took Clemente's hand.
“Ottavio! Don’t say that. Sister Clemente is really pretty.”
Isabella lowered her long flaxen eyelashes and smiled at Clemente. Isabella’s porcelain-doll-like features shone brilliantly in the sunlight streaming in from the window. She was wearing her formal attire today. The white veil on her head, the white lace adorning her collar, and the lily on her wrist were decorations reserved for those in formal attire. Beneath it all, she wore a dress of shining black satin.
“Nice to meet you. I am Count Cesare.”
Cesare bowed politely to his mistress, and Clemente de Bartolini bowed her head in greeting like a frightened minpin.
“I heard you’re close with my younger brother... It’s nice to meet you.”
It had been less than three years since Cesare and Ottavio had become so close that they were like best friends, and Clemente de Contarini had been living in Count Bartolini's estate ever since he had married her four years earlier. It was only recently that she had been summoned to San Carlo by Leo III's summons.
“It’s a bit late to greet you now, I guess. You’re even more beautiful than I’ve heard.”
“Oh my, you are too complimentary...”
“Hahaha, Cesare, don’t show off like that. My sister will think she’s really pretty if you do that.”
“Ottavio...!”
It was a rare experience for Isabella to become invisible. No one took the initiative to include her in the conversation. Clemente did it out of selfishness, and Ottavio didn’t have the presence of mind to take care of it. Count Cesare’s attitude was ambiguous. It seemed like he was deliberately ignoring her, and at the same time, he seemed to be being polite to the hostess of the house he had invited. If she had been a tempered person, she would have dragged Countess Bartolini to the back room and torn her to pieces, but Isabella took a deep breath and held it in.
'I am the new Isabella. Poor, pitiful, motherless Isabella.'
Isabella smiled and took Clemente's hand.
“Ottavio! Don’t say that. Sister Clemente is really pretty.”
Isabella lowered her long flaxen eyelashes and smiled at Clemente. Isabella’s porcelain-doll-like features shone brilliantly in the sunlight streaming in from the window. She was wearing her formal attire today. The white veil on her head, the white lace adorning her collar, and the lily on her wrist were decorations reserved for those in formal attire. Beneath it all, she wore a dress of shining black satin.
Isabella, adorned in black and white, looked pure and elegant beyond compare, and it was strange to see Isabella complimenting Clemente’s beauty, which was clearly inferior to her own. Clemente was the first to realize this. She felt offended, but Isabella had her leash on. She smiled kindly and answered, ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth.
“...Don’t say things like that... How ridiculous I would look...”
“Oh my, are you serious?”
Count Cesare interrupted the conversation between the two to save Countess Bartolini from being sucked into an inescapable swamp.
“Young Lady de Mare. It’s been a while.”
It was the reaction Isabella had been waiting for. In San Carlo society, a lady cannot initiate a conversation unless a person of higher status, or if they are of the same status, the gentleman, speaks first. She smiled brightly like a rose and answered Cesare. But the hidden thorn could not be removed.
“Count Cesare! I thought you had forgotten me.”
“...Don’t say things like that... How ridiculous I would look...”
“Oh my, are you serious?”
Count Cesare interrupted the conversation between the two to save Countess Bartolini from being sucked into an inescapable swamp.
“Young Lady de Mare. It’s been a while.”
It was the reaction Isabella had been waiting for. In San Carlo society, a lady cannot initiate a conversation unless a person of higher status, or if they are of the same status, the gentleman, speaks first. She smiled brightly like a rose and answered Cesare. But the hidden thorn could not be removed.
“Count Cesare! I thought you had forgotten me.”
Cesare took her words in smooth, flat words.
“How could I forget such beauty?”
From then on, it was Isabella's turn. She had taken Ottavio's soul away with her refined speech and had crushed Clemente. But whether Count Cesare was impressed by this feast of flirtation was another matter. He observed the luncheon with a contemplative gaze, with nothing but a slight interest in his aquamarine eyes.
Isabella was now starting to get impatient. The luncheon was drawing to a close. Isabella was even feeling despair at the thought that after today's meeting, there would be no chance of seeing Cesare or Ottavio again.
“Ottavio, excuse me for a moment.”
Count Cesare left the table for a moment during the meal. He was going to the bathroom. It was a chance for a private conversation. Isabella cried out, forgetting her shame, as soon as Count Cesare stood up and left the dining room.
“Sister! I need to borrow your powder room for a bit!”
Isabella left the dining room and ran without any care, catching up with Count Cesare halfway through the hallway.
“Count Cesare!”
Cesare looked back slowly.
“Young Last de Mare. Where are you going?”
“Where are I going? I’m going to the bathroom too.”
“Ottavio, excuse me for a moment.”
Count Cesare left the table for a moment during the meal. He was going to the bathroom. It was a chance for a private conversation. Isabella cried out, forgetting her shame, as soon as Count Cesare stood up and left the dining room.
“Sister! I need to borrow your powder room for a bit!”
Isabella left the dining room and ran without any care, catching up with Count Cesare halfway through the hallway.
“Count Cesare!”
Cesare looked back slowly.
“Young Last de Mare. Where are you going?”
“Where are I going? I’m going to the bathroom too.”
Cesare smiled brightly.
“I’m not familiar with the layout of this house either.”
He glanced at the opposite end of the hallway from which Isabella had run.
“The servant said the ladies’ bathroom was at the other end of the hallway.”
Count Cesare expected the girl's face to turn bright red. He smiled broadly and looked down at Isabella. But Isabella de Mare answered without changing her expression.
“I see. Let’s throw away the excuses. Let’s talk alone for a moment.”
The smile on Count Cesare's lips deepened even more at Isabella's bold request. This was interesting.
“What is it, Young Lady de Mare?”
He pretended to look at the time.
“Unlike everyone else, I was really on my way to the bathroom, so the conversation could only be brief.”
This time, even the strong-willed Isabella couldn’t hold out and blushed. If she had been a little more experienced, she would have told him to go to the bathroom first, but Isabella de Mare was still just a 17-year-old child. In her previous life, she had risen to power in the San Carlo society like a phoenix, after her husband died and she had become a widow and had gone through many hardships as a mature woman in her mid-twenties. Isabella, still clumsy, got right to the point.
“I won’t make a long story short. I heard from my sister that your application to be her partner for this year’s royal ball was rejected.”
Count Cesare's eyes furrowed slightly.
“But?”
“Vincitore Jeremiah, a writer who left his mark on history, preached ‘the perfect method to seduce women’ in his book ‘Diary of a Seducer’.”
“Huh? I thought that was my area of expertise, but Lady de Mare is very knowledgeable about the history of love between men and women.”
Although it was said to be embarrassing, Isabella did not waver and immediately accepted it.
“It’s just dead knowledge learned from books. But it seems that Count Cesare’s practical knowledge needs to be supplemented with evidence from the Academy.”
Cesare smiled to himself, thinking that his sisters had the same gift for gab.
“What can I do for you?”
Isabella looked at Cesare defiantly. She spoke with her perfect lower lip slightly protruding.
“Vincitore Jeremiah said, ‘If you want to seduce an impregnable woman, seduce her sister.’”
“Huh?”
It was getting more and more interesting. Cesare was truly enjoying arguing with the sisters, who kept saying lines he never expected.
“Come with me to the palace ball, Count Cesare.”
Isabella looked at him triumphantly and held out her hand, indicating that he should kiss the back of her hand in agreement.
When Cesare did not immediately kiss the back of Isabella's hand, she shook her left hand in annoyance.
“Count Cesare, I’ll just be blunt. The moment you take my hand and walk into the palace ball, my sister will turn in your direction, even if she doesn’t care.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“The quickest and surest way to increase the value of something is to create competition. And if someone you don’t like gets it, that’s even better.”
“If I take Miss Isabella to the ball, such a situation is bound to arise.”
“Don’t you want to see those green eyes scanning you with envy and greed?”
He wanted to see it. And honestly, given the nature of Ariadne that he knew—she was competitive—Isabella’s story would unfold exactly as she said. Cesare obediently agreed.
“I want to see that scene.”
"Then."
Isabella de Mare smiled broadly. It was a sinister smile that did not seem typical of a seventeen-year-old girl.
“Kiss the back of my hand.”
It was a scene that should have been painted in oil. In the warm and mild weather of San Carlo, dazzling sunlight filled the marble hallway of Count Bartolini’s palace. A blond, fairy-like beauty held out her left hand for a man to kiss, while a handsome young man with auburn hair stared blankly down at the back of her hand. It was a perfect moment if only he could bend down and kiss the back of her hand. But Cesare held out his right hand and pushed Isabella’s left hand aside.
“Who would like it?”
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