Chapter 2
Chapter 1. Annette
She hailed from the rural province of Showmenbeloff. Her father passed away before she was ten. Her mother, too busy working, barely spared a glance for her children. She had one sibling, a brother, with whom she had been competing since before they were born, a rivalry that continued into the present. She was twenty-two and still unmarried. She had been kidnapped three times—an experience most people would be lucky to avoid even once.
Just reading that, one might ask, “What kind of star-crossed life is this?”
But if you add the phrase, “However, she is a Bonnel,” all the preceding misfortunes magically fade into insignificance.
To be more precise, it should be phrased as “If you have as much money as a Bonnel.” But we don’t need to seriously dwell on that subtle difference. She is already a Bonnel. More strictly speaking, she is a member of the Bonnel Earl’s family.
When Annette R. Bonnel was born, along with her twin, Benedict Bonnel, the Bonnel family was nothing more than part of the local gentry in Chavin.
However, her grandfather, a middle-class man who owned a small mine, was succeeded by her father. When the gold rush began, and he started making a fortune, her father founded a confectionery company called Bonbon de Herisson (Hedgehog Candy), which became a huge national hit.
In exchange for making young children happy, the Bonnel family amassed a vast, seemingly endless fortune, and Annette and her twin, Benedict, fully benefited from it.
Just as the rumor started that the Bonnels had achieved great success even among the gentry, her father passed away.
Her mother had been her father’s partner in leading the family business, and after his death, she collaborated with her father’s younger brother, the children’s uncle. As a result, they achieved the title of ‘Earl Bonnel’, which had been her father’s unfulfilled wish and lingering regret. (Ah, the fact that this was possible was partly due to the current state of the world being quite chaotic.)
The start of a tear-jerking, impressive story—or perhaps, a legend?
In any case, having grown up in such a progressive and aspiring household, Annette was significantly more interested in social activities than the average women of Beloff—such as expanding the family business.
Perhaps it was a product of her mother’s parenting style. If Mr. Riebner, who had been with the Bonnells since Annette was five, was to be believed.
In short, Annette and Benedict’s mother, Carla, would never win the “Mother of Beloff” award. Not in a million years. Annette would bet on it.
It must have been when she and her brother Benedict were eleven. The siblings started to harbor subtle complaints about their mother’s laissez-faire approach to parenting. Benedict, who had flipped through a few books and mistakenly thought he possessed minimal intelligence, took the lead. He coaxed Annette to go with him to confront their mother.
‘Mother. It seems like my other friends’ mothers care about them a lot, paying attention to every detail. We feel left out. Why don’t you read us books or sing songs with us? What we need for our emotional development is warm stability and hugs.’
In response to Benedict’s firm demand, their mother pointed to a herd of wallabies crossing the garden outside the window.
‘What use in the world are those animals whose mothers carry their young in a pouch?’
‘They’re incredibly cute.’
‘Yes, Mother, they truly are cute.’
‘That is why their skins are stripped off to become your bags and the covers for the lanterns by the entrance.’
Destroying their childlike innocence was an everyday occurrence…
‘A mother whose only talents are jumping and a belly pouch will have limited options. She will either be forced to watch her children’s skins being peeled off in a moment of crisis, or she’ll already be dead, her belly slit open. Beni, Annette, remember this: you can have anything, but to do so, you must develop the eyes to distinguish what is important and what is less important. If you understand, you may leave. If you don’t understand, please leave anyway.’
Benedict remained disgruntled for about two more years, but Annette, after careful consideration, decided that the top-quality goose-down coat from the Bittencourt brand, bought by her mother who was raking in vast sums of money, was more valuable and reassuring than a wallaby’s warm belly pouch. She abandoned her resistance.
Ah, but she hoped no one would misunderstand.
Just because the Bonnel family owned several businesses that generated money like a bottomless well did not mean the siblings were raised delicately, like hothouse flowers.
Strictly speaking, that image is mostly prejudice; what was truly instilled in the siblings was self-reliance.
Their mother’s affection and praise could only be earned through competitive achievement and consequential victory.
It is said that at this point, people fall into two types.
The tragic, mentally challenged type who cry, “I grew up without my mother’s love, I’m so miserable!” and flail around until they throw themselves onto their bed. And the combat-type who realizes that it is far more effective to pretend to smash obstacles with a shovel in front of their mother than to actually flail around, and puts this into practice.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Annette and Benedict were of the combat-type, and competition suited them perfectly. As a result, the siblings sought to undermine each other, pulled each other’s hair, read books, absorbed culture, and enthusiastically learned their mother and uncle’s business.
Consequently, from the age of fifteen, Annette begged her mother and was allowed to sit behind a partition or eavesdrop during business meetings. At sixteen, she was allowed to offer one or two opinions. On her birthday the year she turned eighteen, her mother entrusted her with work as a gift. What a wonderful mother! What a beautiful world!
In a stuffy world where women were expected to stay home and support their husbands, the Bonnel family naturally made the business, quite literally, “the family’s,” and Annette was extremely proud of that fact.
Things were no different in Lenore, the city they had relocated to for a new purpose.
Her black hair was softly waved with a heated iron, and her makeup was a little heavier than usual. Facing the mirror, Annette R. Bonnel scrutinized her undeniably beautiful face as always, before calmly rising from the vanity.
“It’s acceptable.”
“Only acceptable? To me, you look too beautiful.”
Maeva seemed disappointed by Annette’s lukewarm reaction as she looked down at the iron placed in the hearth and the makeup tools.
But Annette felt that this level of subtle detail was enough. Today’s concept was, first and foremost, “unobtrusive.” Ah, today too, she was fighting for the family business.
“Are you really going to wear this dress? Isn’t it just a little, a very little bit dull?”
“I mustn’t stand out today.”
The chosen battle dress was a luxurious, pale blue satin dress with no lace or frills. The embroidery on the sleeves and the hem of the skirt, and the buttons, were the only decorations, making it perfectly “unobtrusive.”
“Good.”
Then, a lark brooch with a topaz—a topaz as small as a pinky fingernail. An opal-adorned earring, necklace, and ring set from the Odette brand were put on one after another. Only after stepping into the sparkling, blue-grey shoes studded with dozens of diamonds was her preparation complete.
After three hours of effort, standing before the mirror, she stated her conclusion.
“An unbeatable, perfect outfit. I’ll catch that man today, you just wait.”
Annette R. Bonnel came out to the drawing room at 4:30. Her fiancé, Gervais, was scheduled to arrive a little after 5:00.
She used the remaining spare time to read a magazine, keeping a bowl of ice nearby. It was a suitable gossip sheet for her, as she adapted to Lenore and kept an eye on the latest trends. It wasn’t very interesting.
It merely listed what patterns and designs were fashionable this month, which city’s makeup style was more beautiful, what literature was creating a sensation, and what the astrological horoscope predicted for the day.
As she dutifully flipped through the pages, a newspaper landed on her hand with a thud.
“Is this what you should be reading right now?”
It was The Lenore Post.
The top of the front page reported that His Royal Highness Prince Françoise, a member of the Coquelin Royal Family, would be touring the industrial factories in the West. Below that, it was written in a very regrettable tone that the Duke of Yorkshire’s family would be holding a small party for close acquaintances today, but Lionel Yorkshire, who was injured a few days ago in an accidental gunshot, might not be able to attend.
The tone was different from when the sharp article titled [Daughter of Bonnel Appears in Lenore, Ruins Soles Street!] was published recently.
She wasn’t offended. The Lenore Post had always published articles from the perspective of a typical traditionalist, or what you might call an honor-seeker.
The Bonnel family, though called an Earl’s family, was still called ‘those Bonnells,’ and was treated as nouveau riche. Was it an expression of their strong conviction that no matter how much money they had, they were “not the right class”?
“Why this?”
“Look at it.”
“I don’t know if you’re envious of the factories His Royal Highness is visiting, or if you want to laugh at the idiot who shot himself in the leg.”
Benedict, who had the same black hair and green eyes as her, looked down dismissively, crossing his arms in displeasure. The only person who understood the misery of being unable to truthfully say he wasn’t handsome, for fear of insulting her own face, was his twin sister, Annette R. Bonnel.
“Do you know the man you just called an idiot was the second-ranked graduate of the Niccolo Royal School?”
“My point stands.”
“What stands?”
“Second-ranked means he’s stupider than the first-ranked.”
“Is it polite to mock your host when you’re going to a party you weren’t even invited to?”
“If Lionel Yorkshire is offended, I’ll apologize.”
Annette R. Bonnel smiled sweetly, just enough to be aggravating, and pushed away the newspaper Benedict had thrown.
“Stop now. Magnusi DuJardin is a gift set of pettiness, a man whose soup-bowl-sized intellect is tightly packed with nothing but narrow-mindedness and childishness.”
Benedict said ‘again, annoyingly,’ his face showing his displeasure. Since he had said it yesterday and the day before, the expression ‘again, annoyingly’ was probably accurate.
“That’s terrible.”
“Listen to me seriously. We are alone, before Mother and Uncle finish cleaning up their business and come upstairs. It will be a problem if you act up and upset his stomach.”
Annette R. Bonnel curled a strand of hair around her finger and mumbled.
“Little lamb who fears his sister’s success, stop trying to rationalize DuJardin’s lack of cooperation by making excuses for me.”
“It’s not an excuse?”
“You’ve already lost anyway. Baron Cobain will be a rat in a trap today.”
“Let’s not turn this into a competition.”
“Why state the obvious? What competition? Aren’t we each other’s only soul predator?”
“Just forget about the bet for a minute. I have a bad feeling about this.”
