The contentious Eucharist mass concluded without issue, using the version of the *Missa Brevis* that Arabella had revised. The composer’s credit was corrected to “Isabella & Ariadne De Mare,” and the minor scandal from the initial collaborative rehearsals seemed to have dissolved before it could spread.
On the day of the mass, the public showered the De Mare sisters with praise for their extraordinary talents. Lucrezia basked in the spotlight, graciously accepting commendations on her daughters’ behalf.
Isabella, however, could not bring herself to face her peers. Straying from her usual thirst for attention, she skipped the Great Basilica on the day of the mass and remained in seclusion at home for weeks.
Baroness Camellia De Castiglione fueled the fires of high society with tantalizing rumors. While Lady Julia De Baldessar did not go so far as to fully sever ties, she began to keep her distance; catching sight of Lucrezia posturing in the front row that day, she had merely smirked and whispered a dry remark to her mother, the Marchioness.
That summer, Arabella was confined by Lucrezia, denied the freedom to step outside. Ariadne, who had spent her time in San Carlo networking with noblewomen of her mother’s generation—including Queen Marguerite—but lacked friends of her own age, found herself similarly holed up in the library. Consequently, the family spent a remarkably quiet summer.
In the midst of this stillness, a letter of invitation arrived—the first in quite some time. It had been sent by Marchioness Alejandra De Cibo, a close confidante of Queen Marguerite.
「To Lady Ariadne De Mare,
I intend to host a salon for young people to appreciate works of art on the final Friday of August. Through the arrangements of merchants from the Republic Of Porto, we have secured a showcase of many exquisite pieces.
As Prince Alfonso and many other noble scions have promised to grace us with their presence, I trust this will serve as a welcome opportunity to broaden your circle of acquaintances. I hope you will attend so that we may share in pleasant conversation.
– From Marchioness Alejandra De Cibo.」
The invitation made no mention of Isabella. Struck with horror, Isabella hurriedly summoned Maletta.
“Maletta! Is this the only invitation that arrived?”
“Yes, my lady…”
No matter how relentlessly she interrogated the terrified maid, no separate invitation for Isabella surfaced.
In truth, as Marchioness Cibo was the Queen’s closest aide, it was expected that she would exclude Isabella. Lucrezia had never been welcomed into the Queen’s inner circle, and the recent incident at the royal palace, where the Queen had effectively dismissed Lucrezia, only solidified that divide.
Isabella, however, fixated on the composer impersonation scandal, convinced it was the sole cause of her exclusion. The humiliation burned.
‘Everyone must be laughing at me. I have to rectify this…!’
Missing a salon attended by Prince Alfonso was a devastating blow to her pride. Consumed by the possessive malice that if she could not have the spotlight, no one should, Isabella resolved to prevent Ariadne from going as well.
“Are you truly planning to attend Marchioness Cibo’s salon?”
Isabella broached the subject at the dinner table, feigning sisterly concern. The rest of the family—excluding Arabella, who remained confined to her room with only dry bread—turned to look at her in unison.
Isabella lowered her voice, layering her tone with saccharine artifice.
“It isn’t that I’m telling you not to go. How could I? But the situation is… delicate.
You haven’t even had your debutante ball yet, Ariadne. It is hardly appropriate for you to appear in such company without a chaperone.”
It was one of those rare moments when Isabella was actually right. In San Carlo, a noble lady’s life shifted on its axis the moment she held her debutante ball. Before it, she was little more than a child, tethered to a chaperone whenever she stepped outdoors. Only after that milestone was she recognized as a lady, granted the freedom to visit “decorous” venues—churches, picnics, or the homes of friends—without a shadow hovering at her side.
“Because of you, Mother suffered such humiliation at the Queen’s mass last time. Surely you wouldn’t dream of asking her to chaperone you for this, would you?”
Lucrezia’s expression hardened instantly. It seemed she hadn’t thought that far ahead when Ariadne first received the invitation from Marchioness Cibo.
Isabella pressed the advantage, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
“You wouldn’t do that, would you? You’re such a good daughter, after all.”
Ariadne didn’t answer immediately. Her silence made Lucrezia’s temper flare.
*That girl…!*
Just as Lucrezia was about to lash out, her refusal poised on her tongue, Cardinal De Mare set his cutlery down with a sharp clatter.
“Yes, the time has come.”
“Pardon?”
“What time, Father?”
Cardinal De Mare looked directly at Ariadne. “It is time for our second daughter to hold her debutante ball.”
Ariadne stared at him, stunned.
In her past life, she had skipped the debutante ball entirely, moving straight into her engagement ceremony with Cesare De Como. From that point on, she had been treated as a married woman; she had never experienced the social whirl of a girl who had just come of age. Her memories were confined to attending charity events as the Countess De Como.
But a private debutante ball…!
The prospect felt like a physical manifestation of her changed status, a stark contrast to the life she had once known. A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
Opposite her, Isabella’s face twisted in fury.
“Father? How can she hold a debutante ball? This year’s season is already over!”
She was correct. Traditionally, the debutante ball was held every April, in the heart of spring, when the nobility gathered to pay their respects to the royal family. It was August now; the gardens were heavy with the deep, lush green of late summer.
“The second daughter has already paid her respects to the King and Queen.”
He was referring to the audience where Ariadne had been bestowed with the ‘Heart Of The Blue Deep.’
While the debutante ball traditionally involved a party with fruit wine and a series of waltzes, its primary purpose was a formal confirmation that the young nobility were fit to appear at court.
“That means she possesses the necessary qualifications to appear at court; all that remains is her formal introduction to society. Holding a private ball for that purpose is hardly without precedent.”
When an individual with obvious standing—a member of the royal branch, or a noble who had grown up as a companion to the royals—missed the official season due to illness or travel, they often held a separate event to announce their debut. It was a privilege reserved for the most favored. Isabella’s expression contorted further.
“Father, are you really going to do that for her?”
Isabella’s voice held a desperate, grasping quality.
He was a father who had doted on her her entire life. There was no way he would grant an interloper a privilege that even she had been denied. It had to be a mistake.
But Cardinal De Mare’s answer shattered her delusions.
“You must maintain good sisterly relations, Isabella.”
He gazed at his eldest daughter from a distance, his expression curdling into something pathetic.
“The second daughter is also a De Mare who will elevate our name. Once she holds her debutante ball, her influence will expand. She will be capable of much more.”
He turned back to look at Ariadne. “You are doing very well lately, Ariadne. I haven’t been able to provide much for you, but it is commendable.”
“Not at all, Your Eminence. I am always grateful for your grace.”
Ariadne’s stomach churned. She could no longer bring herself to swallow another bite. Although she had always faced Cardinal De Mare with two layers of pretense, today’s expression of gratitude was, in a small way, sincere.
“Let us speak privately before the debutante ball. I have instructions for you. Lucrezia, you will accompany us for a moment as well.”
“Understood, Your Eminence.”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
Lucrezia glared at Ariadne, her features twisted. Isabella and her mother exchanged a look.
Isabella spoke up, her tone sharp with spite. “If you are hosting a separate debutante ball, you will need time for preparations; early autumn at the earliest, then. Oh my, what will you do? This salon is in the last week of August, and you need a chaperone to venture outside until then, don’t you?”
Lucrezia seized the opening her eldest daughter had created.
“Your Eminence, it is simply impossible for me to go to Marchioness Cibo’s salon right now.”
She shifted her stance, pivoting to play the victim before Cardinal De Mare.
“Perhaps it is the heat, but I am feeling quite unwell… I still cannot forget the look on Marchioness Cibo’s face when she glared at me at the Queen’s mass. You know how my headaches linger, don’t you? In this state, oh, really…”
Cardinal De Mare felt a headache of his own blooming at his wife’s whining. If he insisted she endure it and accompany Ariadne—who absolutely had to attend—his wife would surely never leave him in peace.
Since he had decided to hold a special debutante ball for his second daughter, wouldn’t it be acceptable for her to miss a salon hosted by one of the Queen’s confidantes just this once?
If Lucrezia went, she would only stand there like a wooden doll anyway. And it was true: there was no one else to take on the role of chaperone.
“As a daughter, how could I think only of myself and insist that Mother take me to a place that makes her uncomfortable?”
Ariadne spoke up readily before Cardinal De Mare could find a way to broach the subject. Isabella and Lucrezia exchanged glances that clearly asked, *‘What has gotten into her?’* Isabella pre-empted her.
“Theeen, it’s a pity, but you can’t go, can you? The Prince is coming, too—what a shame.”
“That is not necessarily true.”
Just as expected, Ariadne never let an opportunity slip through her fingers.
“Madam Romani, my tutor for Galico, is a distant relative of Marchioness Cibo. I happen to know that since Madam Romani’s house is undergoing repairs, she is staying at the Marchioness’s home for the month. May I ask her if she could accompany me to the salon that day as my chaperone?”
Lucrezia’s jaw dropped. Madam Romani was a tutor she had hired, hoping it might help Isabella build connections with the noblewomen in the Queen’s circle. She had intended to use the woman as a bridge to Marchioness Cibo.
However, Madam Romani was neither the type to step forward nor the sort to actively arrange favors, so they had reaped no benefits. Because her wages were low and she worked diligently, Lucrezia hadn’t bothered to fire her, eventually forgetting about her existence entirely.
*‘To think she would snatch that up like this!’*
Oblivious to Lucrezia’s boiling rage, Cardinal De Mare was delighted that the troublesome matter had been resolved and readily gave his permission.
“Yes, that’s right. I recall hearing that Madam Romani is a distant relative of Marchioness Cibo. It is a good arrangement for both sides. Do try asking her. And make sure to show your appreciation, as well.”
“Yes, Father.”
Ariadne bowed her head demurely.
“You should set aside some funds for the child to show her appreciation.”
Having already been sickened by the thought of Ariadne going, Lucrezia was dealt another blow now that she had to provide the money as well.
“…Yes, Your Eminence.”
“Do I have to look after even such trivial matters myself? Ah, never mind, just never mind!”