AUD CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

Leila said she would call the designer to Isolette’s room. When Isolette said it was unthinkable for a noble lady of the house to have the designer come to her room instead, Leila just said she wanted to relive old memories. But could what they had back then be called memories? It was simply a matter of circumstance.

“After you left, I started fitting clothes alone. Sometimes Mother would be there, but most of the time, I did it myself.”

“That was an unavoidable situation.”

Having lost her birth mother, Leila had grown up close only to her nanny until meeting her second mother. Maybe because the atmosphere in the household had grown so closed off, she had no real playmates. After Isolette entered the mansion, Leila had become especially attached to her.

She even once insisted that Isolette’s clothes be fitted alongside hers, putting the Duke and Duchess in an awkward position. Typically, only sisters would have their clothes made together.

How could Isolette forget the expressions on their faces back then? Or the Duke’s gentle hand stroking her hair as she stood there, not knowing what to do.

He had been a kind man, even to someone of her ambiguous status.

Helen would check Julian’s outfit first before coming to this room. Leila, saying it had been a while since she was last in this room, looked around curiously.

“Oh.”

Isolette turned her head toward the sound, already knowing what had caught Leila’s attention.

On the nightstand beside the bed sat a bouquet of lilacs, full and carefully arranged—large enough to show the care that had gone into it. The fact that it was here, during preparations for a funeral, could only mean one thing.

“Did my brother give you that?”

“I asked him before the funeral if I could take a few stems home with me… I didn’t expect this, though.”

The bouquet had been there since the day after she made the request. When she woke up a bit late, she’d been shocked to see the soft purple color in front of her eyes.

When she asked Anne—who was tidying up around the vase—what it was, the answer had been so simple.

“Hmm. So he did give it to you.”

Leila playfully ruffled the lilacs with her fingers. They were always kept fresh and well-maintained. Though they didn’t compare to those in the garden, they held a certain ticklish sentiment not found there.

“You’ve gotten a lot of flower gifts, haven’t you?”

“Well, I do perform on stage.”

The number of bouquets an actor received backstage was a kind of unspoken scoreboard. Fellow actors sometimes gave them as a sign of respect, but mostly they were a measure of popularity—a subtle form of competition.

Isolette had received a decent number. Though she wasn’t sure if the subtle advances that sometimes came with them were something to be flattered about.

“Was there one you liked best?”

“Of course.”

“How does it compare to that one?”

Leila’s voice was teasing. She was clearly fishing for a reaction—but Isolette had an answer ready.

The lilacs from Julian had an unexplainable flutter to them, but that wasn’t the point.

“You already know which one made me happiest.”

“You’re not allowed to say Mother!”

But to Isolette, no one held greater meaning.

It must have been hard enough for her to care for herself during exile, yet she still brought a child with her, protected her, and continued to care for her even after arriving in the Empire. How could anything compare?

Leila pouted, the same expression she had made as a child.

“I was going to tease Julian, but now I can’t.”

“He’s just being kind as always.”

Leila laughed. Julian had an excellent reputation in high society, and Isolette wasn’t wrong—but no one in the Empire knew him better than Leila.

“A lot of girls would be devastated to hear this.”

She looked genuinely entertained.

Then, in a slightly quieter voice, Leila changed the subject.

“After spending some years in society, I realized… Mother must’ve been so lonely.”

High society was complicated. Though it appeared that status ruled everything, there were subtle hierarchies.

It came down to whether you were part of the inner circle or not, and in that sense, the late Duchess had many disadvantages.

Though she was technically a princess, she came from a war-torn kingdom. She married a widowed Duke, and her background didn’t blend—it stood out.

“Society may seem open to everyone, but it doesn’t welcome just anyone. The fact that I can host parties and get invited without question—it’s not just my doing. It’s thanks to Father, Mother… so many others.”

Sunlight from the window lit up the side of Leila’s face as she reclined on the couch.

It was a beautiful sight.

Holy, almost—as if she were receiving a blessing. Or like someone was gently brushing her face.

“I hope Helen brings something truly beautiful.”

Leila murmured sleepily.

“Something worthy of sending Mother off.”

That was her way of mourning. Thriving in society meant she had earned respect.

And if, during the funeral, no one thought her dress looked shabby—then that meant her mother had been someone of worth.

Isolette had never given much thought to clothing before, but now she understood. Everyone had their own way of preparing for the funeral.

A knock came at the door. A maid announced Helen had arrived.

The morning of the funeral began early at the Ducal estate. Even Isolette, who usually woke on her own, needed Anne’s help today.

Anne and two maids helped dress her. If not for the Duke’s family, she would never have received such lavish treatment.

“As Helen said, no other dress could compare.”

Anne said while brushing her hair.

Isolette looked at the dress in front of her. The maids were busy dusting it carefully.

Even ignoring the short time it took to make, the dress Helen had left was exquisite. The reputation of the top designer of the Ducal family’s atelier was clearly well earned.

Dressmakers get all sorts of requests, each for a different occasion. But when is a designer’s skill most truly revealed? It must be at a funeral.

Because it’s about expressing beauty within the most restrained standards.

“Do you not like it?”

Isolette shook her head. When else would she get to wear something like this?

“On stage, I wear a lot of elaborate clothes. But most of them are uncomfortable or poorly lined since the focus is just on appearances. This one isn’t like that.”

“Even for stage outfits, are they made in such a rush?”

“Not rushed exactly, but when making for many actors, especially those not in the lead roles, the quality can really drop.”

That’s why actors tried to impress patrons—for better costumes or private tailoring.

At Anne’s prompting, Isolette stood. If it were a party, the dress would have more volume and a fuller lining for dramatic movement.

But this was a funeral dress—crafted with restraint as its virtue. It almost felt excessive to receive this much help getting into it.

“When I return to the troupe, they’ll say I’ve become arrogant.”

Isolette said wryly as the maids helped her dress. A commoner growing used to such service only bred vanity.

“Why not enjoy it? Who’s going to stop you?”

Anne smiled faintly. Isolette’s fame wasn’t only due to the Duchess, but her presence had undeniably helped. Why else would so many of the staff now subtly wish for duties near her room?

“That might not be true anymore.”

Isolette said quietly, eyes closed.

She hadn’t been pushed out of the mansion, but the fear had come from knowing she was now truly alone.

But maybe… maybe this was the first time she’d ever been completely alone.

A strange emptiness filled her, and she pressed her lips together.

“Let me place the veil.”

The sheer black veil was said to keep the god of death from mistakenly taking the wrong person. The three maids carefully draped it over Isolette’s head.

The temple on the outskirts of the capital felt oddly disconnected from reality—perhaps because there were no residents nearby.

Isolette looked out the window. Only attendants unloading the carriages were in sight. The ones in white robes must have been from the temple.

The carriage stopped. Before long, the coachman opened the door. The one who had not said a word during the entire ride stepped down first and offered her a hand—Julian’s aide.

“I know you’ll conduct yourself well…”

His voice was emotionless. As they walked toward the temple entrance, he spoke for the first time.

“But please don’t act emotionally, if you can avoid it.”

A polished warning. They stopped walking at the same time.

“That won’t happen.”

“You never know.”

He said firmly. Isolette knew why he was being so cautious. She looked up at the sky. What kind of weather suits a funeral?

But malice could bloom at any time. She knew that well—so she was ready.

“I might not be as skilled as you, but I’ve met many people.”

Being the center of gossip was something she had long prepared for. Isolette smiled faintly—the kind of smile born from quiet sadness and firm resolve.

“I might be better at surviving.”

Isolette was forever an outsider. Though she had grown used to life in the Empire, she never truly felt it was her place.

And she couldn’t return to her homeland either. It held no memories for her—nothing to miss.

With the veil on, her expression couldn’t be seen. But the man knew her words were sincere.

“…I suppose so.”

“The one best at it was someone else, though.”

Someone who had shown her what it meant to fight to survive.

Isolette stepped forward. Their eyes naturally turned ahead.

Julian and Leila had already arrived, speaking with a priest.

“Should we introduce ourselves?”

They’d be seeing each other a lot now, so it made sense.

“I’m Isolette. Isolette Harper.”