“To be fair, if it’s a collaboration, it should be stated as a co-composition.”
Cesare De Como approached slowly, greeting Ottavio and his other close friends with a casual high-five.
“Beautiful Isabella, it’s been a while.”
He bowed with a sly grin, paying his respects to Isabella. Isabella stood up, inclined her head slightly, and extended her hand. Cesare made a loud, theatrical kissing sound in the air above her knuckles before releasing her.
“You remain as breathtaking as ever. Even today, your beauty is worthy of being called the greatest belle of San Carlo.”
Ignoring whether or not Lucrezia was watching, he stepped into Isabella’s personal space, leaning close enough to her ear that she could feel his breath. He whispered in a languid, conspiratorial tone.
“Your strength is your beauty. There is no need to struggle to wear clothes that don’t fit just because you’re swayed by others; it only makes you look ugly. Much like today.”
Isabella’s eyes widened as she stared at Cesare.
“Swayed by others, you say?”
“Is that not the case?”
“I am not even conscious of a brat like her!”
“I never mentioned who I was talking about, yet you seem to understand perfectly. With such beauty and intellect, my goodness.”
He raised both hands in an exaggerated gesture.
“Everyone! The Lady De Mare is so very clever!”
Ottavio and the other young aristocrats giggled in unison, as if they had rehearsed it. Isabella’s face flushed a deep, humiliated crimson. Beside her, Julia De Baldessar whispered to her companion, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Isabella was certain that Julia was mocking her. Camellia De Castiglione, not daring to laugh openly, lowered her head and desperately tried to school her expression.
Just as Lucrezia was about to intervene, Cesare took the initiative.
“I came to listen to the music, but I’ve seen something far more unexpected. I believe I’ve seen enough, so I shall take my leave.”
With an elegant bow to Lucrezia, he turned on his heel. Cesare’s entourage, including Ottavio, offered brief, perfunctory greetings to Lucrezia before following him out in a throng.
With her fiancé gone, Camellia De Castiglione, adrift in her sudden isolation, hurriedly greeted Isabella and Lucrezia before slipping away. Julia De Baldessar rose with a polite, distant smile and walked out as well. Sensing the shift in the room, the other young ladies stood up en masse and filed out behind her.
Left alone, Isabella looked around, her eyes wide and frantic. All that remained were the musicians from the Great Basilica, the nun in charge, and a few priests. They were all people under the absolute influence of her father, Cardinal Del Mare. The social mask Isabella had been wearing shattered, and she unleashed the rage she had suppressed before the influential young nobles.
“What are you all staring at! Get out, all of you!!!!”
* * *
Cesare led his circle of friends as they strolled out of the main gate of the Great Basilica of San Ercole. Just as he was about to mount his dark reddish horse, Ottavio, who was holding his own reins nearby, spoke up.
“Look here, Count Cesare. Why all the meddling?”
Cesare turned his head with an arrogant tilt.
“What do you mean, Ottavio?”
“You, weren’t you quite fond of Isabella De Mare?”
Ottavio shrugged.
“Isabella De Mare has quite the pride. Honestly, her face is lovely, so it’s understandable. It will take a great deal of effort to coax her back; are you confident you can win her over, or has your interest completely cooled?”
Cesare’s brow furrowed. He seemed genuinely offended.
“What is wrong is wrong. Since when has this Count Cesare ever curbed his tongue for a woman’s feelings? If she wants to be with me, she should learn to endure it. If she doesn’t want to hear unpleasant truths, she should have the intelligence to say wise things. Do you know me so little, Signor Ottavio?”
Cesare vaulted onto his horse.
“I am leaving first. Let’s meet at the salon. I’m in a foul mood and need a drink.”
Without waiting for a reply, he spurred his sleek, dark-red stallion. The beast let out a vigorous neigh, and they galloped away in a blur of movement.
* * *
Back at the mansion, Arabella was seized by the scruff of her neck the moment she crossed the threshold. Lucrezia dragged her into the parlor, her grip bruising. Behind them, Isabella sobbed—a performative, piteous sound—still wearing the dress she had painstakingly chosen for her social calls.
“Mother, Mother! How can I ever show my face again?”
Isabella’s tears flowed as though she might faint from the sheer exertion of her grief.
“Did you see Count Cesare’s face? He looked at me with such contempt! And Julia De Baldessar? She wouldn’t even look at me! What if I’m ostracized from society?”
“My poor, sweet girl, hush now. Don’t cry. Everything will be fine.”
Lucrezia soothed her eldest daughter, stroking her hair with practiced tenderness. Then, her demeanor shifted; she turned to the younger girl trembling in the corner, her expression hardening into a mask of vitriol.
“How could you be so reckless?”
Arabella kept her head bowed, eyes fixed on the floorboards.
“I… I didn’t mean to. I thought my sister had permitted it. The music was about to be presented with the wrong score—”
“What does the score matter!” Lucrezia spat. “A mere piece of music! Because of your interference, your sister’s name is being dragged through the mud!”
At the suggestion that a catastrophe had occurred, Isabella’s wails intensified.
Arabella struggled to anchor herself, focusing on the marble inlay at her feet, tracing the patterns that looked vaguely like a donkey and a puppy, anything to escape the suffocating air of the room.
“You should have just kept your mouth shut!”
Isabella chimed in from behind her mother’s protective bulk, eager to fan the flames.
“That’s right! You acted on impulse and started these wretched rumors about my music!”
Arabella finally snapped, her gaze lifting from the floor to clash with Isabella’s.
“Your music? That is my music!”
“What did you say?”
“I am the one who wrote it! You stole it from me!”
“How dare you!”
Arabella ignored Isabella’s indignant shriek and turned to Lucrezia, pleading.
“Mother, please. It is mine. She stole it from me. Even if the rest of the world is blind to it, you should know the truth.”
But Lucrezia’s focus remained twisted.
“Are you talking back to your sister?”
“Mother!”
“You will be polite to your sibling! Did I not warn you about such insolence?”
As indignation welled up in Arabella’s throat, forcing hot, angry tears from her eyes, Lucrezia’s scolding grew sharper.
“Does it matter whose it is? Sisters share! Are you going to take responsibility if your sister’s marriage prospects are ruined?”
With Isabella sobbing hysterically at the mere mention of her ruined future, Lucrezia’s wrath surged.
“Do you know what a high-ranking jewel our Isabella is? She is this family’s pride! I will not forgive anyone who tarnishes her image—not you, and certainly not that precious music of yours!”
Lucrezia snatched up a sturdy oak rod kept for corporal punishment. It was a tool never meant for Isabella, intended solely for Arabella and the other household scapegoats like Ariadne.
“How many strikes? Tell me how many you deserve for your sins!”
Arabella De Mare stared at Lucrezia De Rossi, her face a mask of tear-streaked defiance.
“I did nothing wrong! It is Isabella who is at fault for stealing it! If she hadn’t taken my work, none of this would have happened!”
“Talking back to your mother? You insolent, wretched girl! And stop pointing fingers! How can your character be so rot-filled that you continue to blame your sister even now?”
*Whish!*
Lucrezia swung the oak rod through the air, the sound slicing through the silence.
“Kneel! Give me your hands!”
Startled by her mother’s roar, Arabella awkwardly knelt down, yet her instinct to avoid the blow remained unchanged. She twisted her body, inching backward, but Lucrezia leaned forward, pouncing like a predator.
In the cramped space, Arabella tried to evade her mother without openly fleeing. Then, Isabella intervened with vile spite. While Arabella was still on her knees, Isabella forcefully jammed her knee into her younger sister’s back, pinning her down and delivering her to their mother. Arabella’s struggle ended instantly.
“Hold them out!”
Pinned and helpless, Arabella sobbed and extended her palms.
*Thwack!*
Lucrezia brought the oak cudgel down against Arabella’s palm.
*Thwack!*
With every blow, Arabella wept uncontrollably. Still, Lucrezia did not stop.
After ten strikes, Lucrezia delivered an eleventh, unable to bear the sound of Arabella’s whimpering. She threw the cudgel to the floor and barked, “Go to your room and reflect! For a month, you are forbidden from leaving except for High Mass. You will take your meals in your room, and don’t even dream of touching a piece of meat!”
Having received the callous order, Arabella scrambled out of the drawing room as if fleeing for her life.
*Bang!*
The heavy oak door slammed shut in her face. She had escaped, but the sting of being cast out clawed at her heart.
The warmth and bond between her mother and sister—a sanctuary Arabella could never enter—remained sealed behind the drawing room door.
Banished, Arabella ran toward the west wing. Maids whispered as they watched the young lady sprint past in tears, but no one offered comfort. They were paralyzed by the fear that their mistress’s temper might erupt at any moment.
Waiting in the west wing was Ariadne De Mare, who had emerged after hearing rumors of the commotion in the east. Seeing Arabella’s disheveled state, Ariadne said nothing, simply opening her arms. Arabella offered no excuses or apologies; she simply collapsed into the embrace.
Once inside the room, Arabella burrowed into her sister’s arms, sobbing until her tears and snot soaked through Ariadne’s dress. Ariadne remained silent, her steady hand rhythmically patting Arabella’s back. Arabella’s small frame pressed against her like a frightened mountain beast.
Skin pressed against skin, a silent apology and understanding passed between them. In the quiet of the room, no further words were necessary.