Again, San Carlo.
The eventful winter was passing and spring was approaching.
As March approached, in the warm climate of San Carlo, daffodils and other flowers began to bud and pop their heads out, and birds and small animals that had been out of sight began to appear in the alleys.
People, plants and animals alike, cautiously resumed their activities.
People who had been confined to their homes all winter for fear of the plague gathered in small groups at the market to trade goods, worship at the Holy See, and once again host social gatherings.
Among them, the ones who were the most excited were the girls of marriageable age.
“Isabella! Happy 19th birthday!”
Isabella's friend, Viscountess Letizia de Leonati, who had visited the de Mare mansion for the first time in a long time, celebrated Isabella's birthday with much fanfare.
Isabella frowned at the pretty lady. Why did she insist on bringing up age?
Perhaps sensing Isabella's discomfort, Lady Leonati immediately took out a rich gift package.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of it on the day!”
It was a small brass can, enclosed in a pretty wrapper.
Now that the merchants' business was gradually returning to normal, luxury goods were also flowing through the streets of San Carlo.
People who had been living in confinement all winter were buying pretty and novel things in revenge.
Leticia said proudly.
“What is this?”
Isabella answered calmly.
“Isn’t it black tea?”
Leticia shook her head and answered cheerfully.
“It’s a love potion!”
"Yes?"
That... That love potion that you see in books, that if you feed it to a man, his eyes will roll back and he will run towards you?
Isabella stared at Leticia with a suspicious look in her eyes.
“It’s not like it was written by a witch or anything.”
Leticia added with a smile.
“It’s just a deal that helps with dating by making you feel a little more relaxed and comfortable.”
If she were Isabella of old, she would have said something along the lines of, "I don't need any elixirs to seduce men, so you, ugly ass, should use those."
But Isabella stopped herself from embarrassing Leticia.
'Is it because my beauty has faded, or is it because I'm getting older...'
The old Isabella, who would make men turn their heads just by going to church, was nowhere to be found.
No, the men's heads still turned.
It's hard to tell if that's a look of admiration or contempt, just like before.
People would look at Isabella these days, then whisper among themselves and giggle.
How dare you, you guys who couldn't even make eye contact before.
All the men who wooed her to meet up, all the men who confessed their love, all the men who sent her gifts until she was on the verge of suffocation - they all disappeared.
Perhaps it was because the Black Death had made it impossible to meet people, and Isabella's charm was something that could only be felt when meeting face to face, but the person concerned was too anxious and hurried to make any such calculations.
“Hmm... It’s a love potion.”
Isabella was nineteen years old this year and was about to change seats. By San Carlo standards, she was really old, and just a few inches away from becoming a spinster.
Even if the wedding itself was to take place a year or two later, if you had a fiancé at least now, you could have gotten married on time.
But now Isabella didn't even have a fiancé, let alone a man she saw regularly.
Engagements should be arranged at home, but after her mother passed away, her father didn't seem to have any intention of doing so and didn't seem to make any effort.
Finally, Isabella, who was becoming anxious, accepted the tea that Leticia gave her.
"...Thank you. I don’t think I’ll ever need it, but it’s a birthday present anyway.”
Isabella thanked Leticia for the birthday present, giving her a hint about bringing up her age.
“I’ll drink well.”
I'm not going to feed it to others. I'm going to drink it. Just so you know.
Isabella de Mare wasn't the only one feeling pressured to marry. There was someone else who was more desperate.
“Ottavio!”
Camellia de Castiglione, three years older than Isabella de Mare, cast glares at her fiancé.
“It’s time to tell our story. When exactly are we going to have the wedding?”
Camellia was twenty-two years old this year, and even if she had a fiancé, it was a really late marriage by San Carlo standards.
“People are gossiping! The Contarini family has no intention of forming a relationship with the Castiglion family!”
The new social season was a huge stress for Camellia.
As the new year dawned, the advice everyone gave Camellia was, "So, are you getting married this year?"
Occasionally, the grumpy ones would add a word or two under the pretense of worry.
'My family invested in the Contarini family as an engagement present. It seems like the business of the Contarini family is doing well these days... You won't pay the money back and pretend the engagement never happened, will you? You really are bad people, my dear!'
Ottavio snapped at Camellia as if he was in disbelief.
“Camellia. Why are you so impatient?”
Why are you so sensitive?
“Because of the Black Death, we weren’t in a position to have a wedding before, right?”
“It’s over now!”
Her raspy voice echoed through the drawing room of the Castiglione family.
“I’m sick of waiting!”
“No, don’t rush like that. Take your time...”
“We’ve been engaged for four years!”
Camellia screamed from the depths of her stomach. It was a scream that perfectly demonstrated what a tantrum was.
“Ottavio.”
Camellia suddenly changed and called out to Ottavio in a low voice.
It was twice as scary as when she screamed.
“Uh, yeah? Why, Camellia.”
“I want to move on to the next stage of my life before the weather gets cold again.”
She glared at Ottavio with determined eyes.
“Go home and discuss the schedule with Count Contarini. If there is no concrete schedule by next month...”
“Oh, if not...?”
Camellia threw down the gauntlet.
“I will tell my father and have him collect the business funds he lent to the Contarini family.”
Ottavio opened his mouth in surprise.
“Your Excellency Duke Cesare! Why is it so hard to see you?”
Ottavio sat down on the sofa in the drawing room of Villa Sortone, which he had barely managed to enter after only a few months, grumbling.
“Hey, do you have anything to drink?”
Cesare, standing next to the cabinet, answered calmly.
“Are you a drunkard? It’s broad daylight.”
Ottavio opened his eyes wide and looked at Cesare.
“Why, since when has His Highness the Great Lord Cesare been wasting his time on drinking?”
It's not that Cesare wasn't picky about the time he drank. He was very precise about it.
However, daytime drinking was Cesare's specialty, and he only drank in the morning when he had to, although he did not like drinking in the evening, he generously allowed it for the sake of social life.
When Cesare did not even respond, Ottavio turned to a strategy of appeasement.
“Oh, come on, just give me one. I really need a drink today.”
“Stop talking nonsense...”
“If I don’t marry Mis Camellia by this fall, she’ll take back the money she lent us.”
“!”
Cesare quietly took out a glass, filled it with grappa, and handed it to Ottavio.
Ottavio took a big sip of grappa as if it were sparkling wine.
“Wow!”
He wiped his mouth and said to himself in a self-deprecating tone.
“Am I going to become a married man like this?”
“Although the method is a bit coercive.”
Cesare sat opposite Ottavio, holding a glass of water.
“Isn’t it time for you to get married, Miss Camellia? It seems like you’ve been engaged for a long time. Miss Camellia is a mature woman, and you’re old enough.”
“You say the same thing as my father.”
Ottavio picked up the glass of grappa and drank it in gulps. In an instant, more than half of the liquor in the glass was empty.
“Damn, look at this, Cesare. I feel like I’m being sold right now.”
Ottavio complained about the way Camellia gave him the ultimatum.
“Isn’t that a threat? She's going to recover the assets. If she recovers them, how will I be able to show my face in front of my father?”
It was Ottavio's last shred of pride not to mention that the Contarini family might not be able to afford to pay it.
“Camellia is too strong! As a woman, she never gives in!”
Cesare thought, 'If I were a woman, I would go after him for four years without any sign of marriage,' but he didn't say anything.
Unaware of Cesare's speed, Ottavio continued his confession.
“She talks back to me all the time, gets angry a lot, and has no taste...”
“Ottavio.”
Cesare cut Ottavio off.
“It’s not a personality problem. It’s just that it doesn’t suit you.”
Cesare was sure of this because Ottavio was the type of man who would meet even the nastiest of women and flatter them if they pleased him.
“...”
Ottavio became quiet.
“Am I wrong?”
To Cesare's question, he answered slowly.
“...You’re right.”
Ottavio shook his head and answered.
“I don’t want to marry a merchant’s daughter.”
That was his honest truth.
“Camellia is pretty. She has a lot of money. She’s good. She’s good. But the Baron? Not only is her title not appropriate, but Baron Castiglione doesn’t have a proper estate. She’s just a family that made money through business.”
Ottavio was a little drunk and started talking nonsense.
“If he's not an old noble, he should at least have a lot of power. Like you.”
Cesare raised his eyebrows at the story that even though he was an illegitimate child and had no roots, he was doing well and was a good match, but he didn't say much.
Because it was so blatantly obvious that Ottavio was drunk.
'Ah, I became human. I am so great.'
While Cesare was praising himself, Ottavio muttered.
“I feel sorry for myself. I feel sorry for my life. I feel sorry for the marriage that was sold away and the youth that I couldn’t enjoy.”
Leaving Ottavio alone to babble on and on, Cesare began to have new questions.
“But why do women want to get married so much?”
Not only Camellia, who was threatening Ottavio to marry her immediately but also the countless women Cesare had met, all disarmed and collapsed as soon as the nuance of 'marriage' came out of his mouth. Is marriage really that good?
“Wouldn’t it be better to be single and freely move around in society? If you become a married woman, you’ll be tied down to one man.”
“Tsk tsk, Cesare. Don’t you know how a woman feels?”
Ottavio, who was finally able to say that to Duke Cesare, shouted in triumph.
“Women, you know! They’re born wanting to get married!”
Ottavio, who was drunk, shook his glass and shouted.
“It’s just engraved in their instincts! No woman hates marriage!”
Cesare decided to turn a deaf ear to Ottavio's babbling. The bastard was out of his mind.
And to begin with, he's not the type of guy who often says things worth listening to, even when he's sane.
“Drink all that and then get out.”
“Cesare!”
Ottavio kept whining so much that he almost felt like drinking.
Or maybe it's just because Cesare hasn't seen that guy drinking in front of him in a long time and he's craving a drink.
But because he had promised to become a new man, Cesare was determined to resist the tangy taste of alcohol on the tip of his tongue.
'Yeah. Marriage.'
It's been about three months since they got engaged. It's been more than enough time to get married.
Well, some people might say that I'm a bit hasty, but I already got engaged in a flash, so why on earth was there a need to drag on marriage for years?
He glanced at Ottavio, who was rolling around on the sofa, saying he didn't want to get married.
'You're like a guy who shits in his room because he's so full of luck.'
I will get married before that guy does, Duke Cesare decided.
The eventful winter was passing and spring was approaching.
As March approached, in the warm climate of San Carlo, daffodils and other flowers began to bud and pop their heads out, and birds and small animals that had been out of sight began to appear in the alleys.
People, plants and animals alike, cautiously resumed their activities.
People who had been confined to their homes all winter for fear of the plague gathered in small groups at the market to trade goods, worship at the Holy See, and once again host social gatherings.
Among them, the ones who were the most excited were the girls of marriageable age.
“Isabella! Happy 19th birthday!”
Isabella's friend, Viscountess Letizia de Leonati, who had visited the de Mare mansion for the first time in a long time, celebrated Isabella's birthday with much fanfare.
Isabella frowned at the pretty lady. Why did she insist on bringing up age?
Perhaps sensing Isabella's discomfort, Lady Leonati immediately took out a rich gift package.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of it on the day!”
It was a small brass can, enclosed in a pretty wrapper.
Now that the merchants' business was gradually returning to normal, luxury goods were also flowing through the streets of San Carlo.
People who had been living in confinement all winter were buying pretty and novel things in revenge.
Leticia said proudly.
“What is this?”
Isabella answered calmly.
“Isn’t it black tea?”
Leticia shook her head and answered cheerfully.
“It’s a love potion!”
"Yes?"
That... That love potion that you see in books, that if you feed it to a man, his eyes will roll back and he will run towards you?
Isabella stared at Leticia with a suspicious look in her eyes.
“It’s not like it was written by a witch or anything.”
Leticia added with a smile.
“It’s just a deal that helps with dating by making you feel a little more relaxed and comfortable.”
If she were Isabella of old, she would have said something along the lines of, "I don't need any elixirs to seduce men, so you, ugly ass, should use those."
But Isabella stopped herself from embarrassing Leticia.
'Is it because my beauty has faded, or is it because I'm getting older...'
The old Isabella, who would make men turn their heads just by going to church, was nowhere to be found.
No, the men's heads still turned.
It's hard to tell if that's a look of admiration or contempt, just like before.
People would look at Isabella these days, then whisper among themselves and giggle.
How dare you, you guys who couldn't even make eye contact before.
All the men who wooed her to meet up, all the men who confessed their love, all the men who sent her gifts until she was on the verge of suffocation - they all disappeared.
Perhaps it was because the Black Death had made it impossible to meet people, and Isabella's charm was something that could only be felt when meeting face to face, but the person concerned was too anxious and hurried to make any such calculations.
“Hmm... It’s a love potion.”
Isabella was nineteen years old this year and was about to change seats. By San Carlo standards, she was really old, and just a few inches away from becoming a spinster.
Even if the wedding itself was to take place a year or two later, if you had a fiancé at least now, you could have gotten married on time.
But now Isabella didn't even have a fiancé, let alone a man she saw regularly.
Engagements should be arranged at home, but after her mother passed away, her father didn't seem to have any intention of doing so and didn't seem to make any effort.
Finally, Isabella, who was becoming anxious, accepted the tea that Leticia gave her.
"...Thank you. I don’t think I’ll ever need it, but it’s a birthday present anyway.”
Isabella thanked Leticia for the birthday present, giving her a hint about bringing up her age.
“I’ll drink well.”
I'm not going to feed it to others. I'm going to drink it. Just so you know.
***
Isabella de Mare wasn't the only one feeling pressured to marry. There was someone else who was more desperate.
“Ottavio!”
Camellia de Castiglione, three years older than Isabella de Mare, cast glares at her fiancé.
“It’s time to tell our story. When exactly are we going to have the wedding?”
Camellia was twenty-two years old this year, and even if she had a fiancé, it was a really late marriage by San Carlo standards.
“People are gossiping! The Contarini family has no intention of forming a relationship with the Castiglion family!”
The new social season was a huge stress for Camellia.
As the new year dawned, the advice everyone gave Camellia was, "So, are you getting married this year?"
Occasionally, the grumpy ones would add a word or two under the pretense of worry.
'My family invested in the Contarini family as an engagement present. It seems like the business of the Contarini family is doing well these days... You won't pay the money back and pretend the engagement never happened, will you? You really are bad people, my dear!'
Ottavio snapped at Camellia as if he was in disbelief.
“Camellia. Why are you so impatient?”
Why are you so sensitive?
“Because of the Black Death, we weren’t in a position to have a wedding before, right?”
“It’s over now!”
Her raspy voice echoed through the drawing room of the Castiglione family.
“I’m sick of waiting!”
“No, don’t rush like that. Take your time...”
“We’ve been engaged for four years!”
Camellia screamed from the depths of her stomach. It was a scream that perfectly demonstrated what a tantrum was.
“Ottavio.”
Camellia suddenly changed and called out to Ottavio in a low voice.
It was twice as scary as when she screamed.
“Uh, yeah? Why, Camellia.”
“I want to move on to the next stage of my life before the weather gets cold again.”
She glared at Ottavio with determined eyes.
“Go home and discuss the schedule with Count Contarini. If there is no concrete schedule by next month...”
“Oh, if not...?”
Camellia threw down the gauntlet.
“I will tell my father and have him collect the business funds he lent to the Contarini family.”
Ottavio opened his mouth in surprise.
***
“Your Excellency Duke Cesare! Why is it so hard to see you?”
Ottavio sat down on the sofa in the drawing room of Villa Sortone, which he had barely managed to enter after only a few months, grumbling.
“Hey, do you have anything to drink?”
Cesare, standing next to the cabinet, answered calmly.
“Are you a drunkard? It’s broad daylight.”
Ottavio opened his eyes wide and looked at Cesare.
“Why, since when has His Highness the Great Lord Cesare been wasting his time on drinking?”
It's not that Cesare wasn't picky about the time he drank. He was very precise about it.
However, daytime drinking was Cesare's specialty, and he only drank in the morning when he had to, although he did not like drinking in the evening, he generously allowed it for the sake of social life.
When Cesare did not even respond, Ottavio turned to a strategy of appeasement.
“Oh, come on, just give me one. I really need a drink today.”
“Stop talking nonsense...”
“If I don’t marry Mis Camellia by this fall, she’ll take back the money she lent us.”
“!”
Cesare quietly took out a glass, filled it with grappa, and handed it to Ottavio.
Ottavio took a big sip of grappa as if it were sparkling wine.
“Wow!”
He wiped his mouth and said to himself in a self-deprecating tone.
“Am I going to become a married man like this?”
“Although the method is a bit coercive.”
Cesare sat opposite Ottavio, holding a glass of water.
“Isn’t it time for you to get married, Miss Camellia? It seems like you’ve been engaged for a long time. Miss Camellia is a mature woman, and you’re old enough.”
“You say the same thing as my father.”
Ottavio picked up the glass of grappa and drank it in gulps. In an instant, more than half of the liquor in the glass was empty.
“Damn, look at this, Cesare. I feel like I’m being sold right now.”
Ottavio complained about the way Camellia gave him the ultimatum.
“Isn’t that a threat? She's going to recover the assets. If she recovers them, how will I be able to show my face in front of my father?”
It was Ottavio's last shred of pride not to mention that the Contarini family might not be able to afford to pay it.
“Camellia is too strong! As a woman, she never gives in!”
Cesare thought, 'If I were a woman, I would go after him for four years without any sign of marriage,' but he didn't say anything.
Unaware of Cesare's speed, Ottavio continued his confession.
“She talks back to me all the time, gets angry a lot, and has no taste...”
“Ottavio.”
Cesare cut Ottavio off.
“It’s not a personality problem. It’s just that it doesn’t suit you.”
Cesare was sure of this because Ottavio was the type of man who would meet even the nastiest of women and flatter them if they pleased him.
“...”
Ottavio became quiet.
“Am I wrong?”
To Cesare's question, he answered slowly.
“...You’re right.”
Ottavio shook his head and answered.
“I don’t want to marry a merchant’s daughter.”
That was his honest truth.
“Camellia is pretty. She has a lot of money. She’s good. She’s good. But the Baron? Not only is her title not appropriate, but Baron Castiglione doesn’t have a proper estate. She’s just a family that made money through business.”
Ottavio was a little drunk and started talking nonsense.
“If he's not an old noble, he should at least have a lot of power. Like you.”
Cesare raised his eyebrows at the story that even though he was an illegitimate child and had no roots, he was doing well and was a good match, but he didn't say much.
Because it was so blatantly obvious that Ottavio was drunk.
'Ah, I became human. I am so great.'
While Cesare was praising himself, Ottavio muttered.
“I feel sorry for myself. I feel sorry for my life. I feel sorry for the marriage that was sold away and the youth that I couldn’t enjoy.”
Leaving Ottavio alone to babble on and on, Cesare began to have new questions.
“But why do women want to get married so much?”
Not only Camellia, who was threatening Ottavio to marry her immediately but also the countless women Cesare had met, all disarmed and collapsed as soon as the nuance of 'marriage' came out of his mouth. Is marriage really that good?
“Wouldn’t it be better to be single and freely move around in society? If you become a married woman, you’ll be tied down to one man.”
“Tsk tsk, Cesare. Don’t you know how a woman feels?”
Ottavio, who was finally able to say that to Duke Cesare, shouted in triumph.
“Women, you know! They’re born wanting to get married!”
Ottavio, who was drunk, shook his glass and shouted.
“It’s just engraved in their instincts! No woman hates marriage!”
Cesare decided to turn a deaf ear to Ottavio's babbling. The bastard was out of his mind.
And to begin with, he's not the type of guy who often says things worth listening to, even when he's sane.
“Drink all that and then get out.”
“Cesare!”
Ottavio kept whining so much that he almost felt like drinking.
Or maybe it's just because Cesare hasn't seen that guy drinking in front of him in a long time and he's craving a drink.
But because he had promised to become a new man, Cesare was determined to resist the tangy taste of alcohol on the tip of his tongue.
'Yeah. Marriage.'
It's been about three months since they got engaged. It's been more than enough time to get married.
Well, some people might say that I'm a bit hasty, but I already got engaged in a flash, so why on earth was there a need to drag on marriage for years?
He glanced at Ottavio, who was rolling around on the sofa, saying he didn't want to get married.
'You're like a guy who shits in his room because he's so full of luck.'
I will get married before that guy does, Duke Cesare decided.
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