The mansion of de Mare was strangely quiet. It would be nice if this quietness were the epitome of tranquility, but from what she'd heard, it's quite the opposite.
Ariadne arrived at the mansion and ran as fast as she could to the second floor, to her own quarters.
“You’re here now!”
The one who greeted her was Baroness Giannelli, Princess Bianca's nanny. Baroness Giannelli's speech was sharp.
She looked like she could cut people with her tongue. But Ariadne didn't blame her. She had every right to be angry.
“Where is Her Highness?”
“Are you in a situation where you need to find the Princess right now?!”
Baroness Giannelli finally lost control of her anger and shouted.
“My Princess, who I raised with great care, has ruined her life!”
She demanded, her eyes blazing with blue anger.
“Shouldn’t you first find out where your handsome older brother ran off to?”
Ippolito was not particularly pleased with the debutante ball of the Duke of Taranto's daughter.
Rather than saying that he simply didn't like it, it would be more accurate to say that the ball gave him an objective view of his situation.
As the eldest brother of the Count de Mare, he received an invitation to the ball but had a hard time finding a partner to attend with him.
He expected that now that his family was a proper Count's family, he would be inundated with requests to be his ball partner, but he was mistaken.
The treatment of simple blood relatives who were neither the Count himself nor had any hope of succeeding to the countship was not greatly improved.
Moreover, although Ippolito did not know it, his reputation in high society was at rock bottom due to his debaucherous lifestyle.
Although some female families hung around hoping to get a piece of the cake through Cardinal de Mare and Countess de Mare, they were mostly merchants who wanted to open up new markets, scholars who wanted to get on board with the Holy Nation Court, or small nobles.
Ippolito, who had expected her to be the daughter of a splendid Count, was not satisfied.
So he ended up attending the ball of the Duchess of Taranto with Leticia de Leonati, arranged by his younger sister Isabella.
“Isn’t the ball tonight amazing?”
Leticia, holding Ippolito's arm, spoke with a blush on her face. She seemed anxious to have at least one more word with Ippolito.
“...I see.”
“The decorations are so pretty, and the people invited are all wonderful!”
“...”
“But why did Princess Bianca choose such an outfit? I couldn’t see a single strand of hair! Did she have a big scar on her face?”
Apart from the shallowness and predictability of Leticia's words—Ippolito didn't have the intelligence to discern the subtleties of speech anyway—this woman was not to his taste at all.
A head that was bigger than her own, a bumpy facial structure, a large nose and thin lips, shoulders that were broad enough to intimidate most men, and a chest that was, to put it bluntly, completely empty.
He didn't think he cared much about a woman's face, but Leticia was pale enough to remind him of Maleta, who had died a few years earlier.
If she was going to be this ugly, she should at least have a flashy family background or at least a lot of wealth, but Leticia was the daughter of a Viscount who had barely managed to settle down in the capital.
If she were an only daughter, the title would follow, so the story would be different, but Leticia had a younger brother.
The story is that she brought nothing except a small dowry.
“Phew...”
Ippolito felt depressed. He had lived his life with the spirit of 'I can do it!', but now he was twenty-seven years old. No matter how old a man is at marriageable age, he is still a bachelor.
Is it really true that the only thing he's allowed into his life is a petty woman like Leticia de Leonati?
He thought he would become a great nobleman who would rule San Carlo with his father's support, but was that just a pipe dream?
“Why are you sighing?”
Leticia asked cautiously at Ippolito's serious expression. However, Ippolito hated the fact that the woman was even watching him.
“...Let’s part ways here.”
"Yes?"
“Let’s go back home.”
“We just got here?”
Ippolito glared. Where would a woman talk back to such a heavenly man?
Leticia flinched at the sight of Ippolito's ominous demeanor. Ippolito clicked his tongue, kicked it, and turned around.
“You use the carriage.”
He wasn't even planning on taking her.
After dropping Leticia off like that and returning home early in his younger sister Isabella's carriage, Ippolito lay down on the bed with a heavy heart.
Feeling thirsty, he sneaked into his father's study, stole some grappa, and drank the entire bottle.
His head was spinning, and the sky was spinning. Ippolito found himself in a messy room and soon fell asleep.
“Ugh...”
When he opened his eyes with a groan, it was already late at night. He felt nauseous, and his throat was dry.
He fumbled with his hands on the nightstand, trying to find a water bottle, and then absentmindedly looked out the window.
"OMG."
He saw something that shouldn't be in his own home. Ippolito looked up at the bedroom ceiling, confirmed that it was his room, and then looked out the window again.
“Why is that woman here?”
In the backyard of the Palazzo de Mare, overlooking Ippolito's room, Princess Bianca of Taranto was taking a walk alone.
It was very late. There was no one else in the garden, not even the servants. Ippolito rubbed his eyes and looked down again.
Clearly, it was the Princess Bianca of Taranto that he had seen at the ball earlier.
Although she had taken off the peacock feather mask she had been wearing at the ball, the dark gray dress that puffed out her shoulders was unmistakable: Princess Bianca.
Ippolito swallowed hard.
'By any chance...'
In fact, before this ball, Ippolito had swallowed all his pride and urged Ariadne to let him meet Bianca.
But that damn girl just stared at him for a while with the corners of her lips unclear whether she was smiling or laughing, and then just walked away without answering.
Bianca was a woman he could never meet, no matter how hard he tried.
But he doesn't know, but that woman, no, that human title, that human treasure chest is walking around in his backyard right now.
'It's a godsend.'
She's young and has no experience with men. If he approaches her and treats her well, Bianca might fall head over heels for him.
'Even if not...'
Bad thoughts began to creep into Ippolito's mind.
Even if Bianca doesn't like him, what can he do if he forces her into getting drunk? In the end, wouldn't she have no choice but to marry him?
Ippolito still vividly remembered the defeat he felt as he entered the ballroom holding Leticia de Leonati's arm.
It was a chance to turn that petty life around in one fell swoop.
He jumped up, picked up his jacket, and ran downstairs.
Bianca was sitting on Ariadne's bed with her head bowed and her knees wrapped around her arms.
The noise made by Baroness Giannelli made Ariadne feel like she was getting a headache.
“Oh my, what should I do with our Princess! Why did this incompetent nanny have to go to the bathroom at that moment of all times?”
Bianca's nanny kept lamenting, her voice loud and resonating.
“That bastard messed with our Princess, so what will happen to our Princess’s marriage? Oh my! Oh my!”
According to Baroness Giannelli's account, Ippolito de Mare had done something terrible to Princess Bianca in the patronage of the de Mare mansion and had run away.
But Ariadne couldn't help but feel that there were a few missing buttons in Baroness Giannelli's account of the events.
“Your brother attacked our Princess!”
Baroness Giannelli was so arrogant, and the things she was describing sounded so much like something Ippolito would do that Ariadne returned home in deep thought.
It was also due to Baroness Giannelli's strong request that she could not come with Alfonso.
The voice was so loud that Sancha thought this was Princess Bianca's own opinion, but in fact, Princess Bianca didn't even have a chance to speak.
Baroness Giannelli wanted the fact that Princess Bianca had been raped by another man to be known to only a few people. But...
'There isn't a single stain on Princess Bianca's clothes?'
The buttons on the top and the pleats on the bottom were just as they had been when she had sent her out just before the ball.
'And why on earth did that old Ippolito run away?'
If Princess Bianca had been crying and whining, he might have run away since he hated comforting women, but right now, Bianca had her mouth shut and was very quiet.
If that's the case, then instead of running away, wouldn't Ippolito, in his crazy mind, have taken Princess Bianca and gone straight to the Cardinal and shouted, "I've brought you a wife for me, so give me a hand in marriage right away"?
Baroness Giannelli's fuss continued behind her.
“Oh my, look at the blood on our Princess’s clothes! What should I do, what should I do, our Princess’s first time is like this...”
Ariadne also saw the blood, and she understood what Baroness Giannelli was thinking, but the spot where the blood was was also strange.
The bright red blood was not concentrated on the back or lower hem of the dress, but rather only on the right side, closer to the front.
Ariadne followed the blood to see how far it went.
The bloodstain was not extending into the dress but rather from Bianca's right hand.
“Your Highness, please don’t be afraid and tell me.”
Ariadne spoke to Bianca, who was still, her head buried in her knees, in a calm, low voice.
“If it’s difficult to tell the whole picture, you can just answer my questions.”
Ariadne asked, carefully pointing to the hem of the Princess's dress.
“How did this blood get on you?”
Princess Bianca was so shocked and embarrassed that she didn't even realize that there was blood on her dress.
She looked down at the hem of her dress and answered, trembling.
“A man I didn’t know suddenly spoke to me and put his hand on my shoulder...”
Baroness Giannelli tried to make a fuss again, but Ariadne stopped her with a gesture.
Princess Bianca seemed reassured by Ariadne's determination.
“...When I threw my fist, he fell backwards.”
Ariadne doubted her ears.
"Yes?"
Bianca asked back with a face full of fear.
“That guy, his nose was bleeding profusely. What punishment do I get for killing someone?”
Ariadne arrived at the mansion and ran as fast as she could to the second floor, to her own quarters.
“You’re here now!”
The one who greeted her was Baroness Giannelli, Princess Bianca's nanny. Baroness Giannelli's speech was sharp.
She looked like she could cut people with her tongue. But Ariadne didn't blame her. She had every right to be angry.
“Where is Her Highness?”
“Are you in a situation where you need to find the Princess right now?!”
Baroness Giannelli finally lost control of her anger and shouted.
“My Princess, who I raised with great care, has ruined her life!”
She demanded, her eyes blazing with blue anger.
“Shouldn’t you first find out where your handsome older brother ran off to?”
***
Ippolito was not particularly pleased with the debutante ball of the Duke of Taranto's daughter.
Rather than saying that he simply didn't like it, it would be more accurate to say that the ball gave him an objective view of his situation.
As the eldest brother of the Count de Mare, he received an invitation to the ball but had a hard time finding a partner to attend with him.
He expected that now that his family was a proper Count's family, he would be inundated with requests to be his ball partner, but he was mistaken.
The treatment of simple blood relatives who were neither the Count himself nor had any hope of succeeding to the countship was not greatly improved.
Moreover, although Ippolito did not know it, his reputation in high society was at rock bottom due to his debaucherous lifestyle.
Although some female families hung around hoping to get a piece of the cake through Cardinal de Mare and Countess de Mare, they were mostly merchants who wanted to open up new markets, scholars who wanted to get on board with the Holy Nation Court, or small nobles.
Ippolito, who had expected her to be the daughter of a splendid Count, was not satisfied.
So he ended up attending the ball of the Duchess of Taranto with Leticia de Leonati, arranged by his younger sister Isabella.
“Isn’t the ball tonight amazing?”
Leticia, holding Ippolito's arm, spoke with a blush on her face. She seemed anxious to have at least one more word with Ippolito.
“...I see.”
“The decorations are so pretty, and the people invited are all wonderful!”
“...”
“But why did Princess Bianca choose such an outfit? I couldn’t see a single strand of hair! Did she have a big scar on her face?”
Apart from the shallowness and predictability of Leticia's words—Ippolito didn't have the intelligence to discern the subtleties of speech anyway—this woman was not to his taste at all.
A head that was bigger than her own, a bumpy facial structure, a large nose and thin lips, shoulders that were broad enough to intimidate most men, and a chest that was, to put it bluntly, completely empty.
He didn't think he cared much about a woman's face, but Leticia was pale enough to remind him of Maleta, who had died a few years earlier.
If she was going to be this ugly, she should at least have a flashy family background or at least a lot of wealth, but Leticia was the daughter of a Viscount who had barely managed to settle down in the capital.
If she were an only daughter, the title would follow, so the story would be different, but Leticia had a younger brother.
The story is that she brought nothing except a small dowry.
“Phew...”
Ippolito felt depressed. He had lived his life with the spirit of 'I can do it!', but now he was twenty-seven years old. No matter how old a man is at marriageable age, he is still a bachelor.
Is it really true that the only thing he's allowed into his life is a petty woman like Leticia de Leonati?
He thought he would become a great nobleman who would rule San Carlo with his father's support, but was that just a pipe dream?
“Why are you sighing?”
Leticia asked cautiously at Ippolito's serious expression. However, Ippolito hated the fact that the woman was even watching him.
“...Let’s part ways here.”
"Yes?"
“Let’s go back home.”
“We just got here?”
Ippolito glared. Where would a woman talk back to such a heavenly man?
Leticia flinched at the sight of Ippolito's ominous demeanor. Ippolito clicked his tongue, kicked it, and turned around.
“You use the carriage.”
He wasn't even planning on taking her.
***
After dropping Leticia off like that and returning home early in his younger sister Isabella's carriage, Ippolito lay down on the bed with a heavy heart.
Feeling thirsty, he sneaked into his father's study, stole some grappa, and drank the entire bottle.
His head was spinning, and the sky was spinning. Ippolito found himself in a messy room and soon fell asleep.
“Ugh...”
When he opened his eyes with a groan, it was already late at night. He felt nauseous, and his throat was dry.
He fumbled with his hands on the nightstand, trying to find a water bottle, and then absentmindedly looked out the window.
"OMG."
He saw something that shouldn't be in his own home. Ippolito looked up at the bedroom ceiling, confirmed that it was his room, and then looked out the window again.
“Why is that woman here?”
In the backyard of the Palazzo de Mare, overlooking Ippolito's room, Princess Bianca of Taranto was taking a walk alone.
It was very late. There was no one else in the garden, not even the servants. Ippolito rubbed his eyes and looked down again.
Clearly, it was the Princess Bianca of Taranto that he had seen at the ball earlier.
Although she had taken off the peacock feather mask she had been wearing at the ball, the dark gray dress that puffed out her shoulders was unmistakable: Princess Bianca.
Ippolito swallowed hard.
'By any chance...'
In fact, before this ball, Ippolito had swallowed all his pride and urged Ariadne to let him meet Bianca.
But that damn girl just stared at him for a while with the corners of her lips unclear whether she was smiling or laughing, and then just walked away without answering.
Bianca was a woman he could never meet, no matter how hard he tried.
But he doesn't know, but that woman, no, that human title, that human treasure chest is walking around in his backyard right now.
'It's a godsend.'
She's young and has no experience with men. If he approaches her and treats her well, Bianca might fall head over heels for him.
'Even if not...'
Bad thoughts began to creep into Ippolito's mind.
Even if Bianca doesn't like him, what can he do if he forces her into getting drunk? In the end, wouldn't she have no choice but to marry him?
Ippolito still vividly remembered the defeat he felt as he entered the ballroom holding Leticia de Leonati's arm.
It was a chance to turn that petty life around in one fell swoop.
He jumped up, picked up his jacket, and ran downstairs.
***
Bianca was sitting on Ariadne's bed with her head bowed and her knees wrapped around her arms.
The noise made by Baroness Giannelli made Ariadne feel like she was getting a headache.
“Oh my, what should I do with our Princess! Why did this incompetent nanny have to go to the bathroom at that moment of all times?”
Bianca's nanny kept lamenting, her voice loud and resonating.
“That bastard messed with our Princess, so what will happen to our Princess’s marriage? Oh my! Oh my!”
According to Baroness Giannelli's account, Ippolito de Mare had done something terrible to Princess Bianca in the patronage of the de Mare mansion and had run away.
But Ariadne couldn't help but feel that there were a few missing buttons in Baroness Giannelli's account of the events.
“Your brother attacked our Princess!”
Baroness Giannelli was so arrogant, and the things she was describing sounded so much like something Ippolito would do that Ariadne returned home in deep thought.
It was also due to Baroness Giannelli's strong request that she could not come with Alfonso.
The voice was so loud that Sancha thought this was Princess Bianca's own opinion, but in fact, Princess Bianca didn't even have a chance to speak.
Baroness Giannelli wanted the fact that Princess Bianca had been raped by another man to be known to only a few people. But...
'There isn't a single stain on Princess Bianca's clothes?'
The buttons on the top and the pleats on the bottom were just as they had been when she had sent her out just before the ball.
'And why on earth did that old Ippolito run away?'
If Princess Bianca had been crying and whining, he might have run away since he hated comforting women, but right now, Bianca had her mouth shut and was very quiet.
If that's the case, then instead of running away, wouldn't Ippolito, in his crazy mind, have taken Princess Bianca and gone straight to the Cardinal and shouted, "I've brought you a wife for me, so give me a hand in marriage right away"?
Baroness Giannelli's fuss continued behind her.
“Oh my, look at the blood on our Princess’s clothes! What should I do, what should I do, our Princess’s first time is like this...”
Ariadne also saw the blood, and she understood what Baroness Giannelli was thinking, but the spot where the blood was was also strange.
The bright red blood was not concentrated on the back or lower hem of the dress, but rather only on the right side, closer to the front.
Ariadne followed the blood to see how far it went.
The bloodstain was not extending into the dress but rather from Bianca's right hand.
“Your Highness, please don’t be afraid and tell me.”
Ariadne spoke to Bianca, who was still, her head buried in her knees, in a calm, low voice.
“If it’s difficult to tell the whole picture, you can just answer my questions.”
Ariadne asked, carefully pointing to the hem of the Princess's dress.
“How did this blood get on you?”
Princess Bianca was so shocked and embarrassed that she didn't even realize that there was blood on her dress.
She looked down at the hem of her dress and answered, trembling.
“A man I didn’t know suddenly spoke to me and put his hand on my shoulder...”
Baroness Giannelli tried to make a fuss again, but Ariadne stopped her with a gesture.
Princess Bianca seemed reassured by Ariadne's determination.
“...When I threw my fist, he fell backwards.”
Ariadne doubted her ears.
"Yes?"
Bianca asked back with a face full of fear.
“That guy, his nose was bleeding profusely. What punishment do I get for killing someone?”
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