CHAPTER 8
Even long after the funeral service had ended, Isolette could not bring herself to leave the temple. A few steps behind Daniel, she stood watching Juliane, Leila, and Linton as they received guests’ condolences.
“Weren’t we supposed to greet them before the ceremony?”
“It’s customary that when it’s rare to see someone again, people linger until they truly depart.”
In a great house, the lines between public and private blur. Some visitors may have regarded this funeral as a social event.
Isolette cleared her throat. “Was I too dreadful to be introduced to?”
“Hardly,” Daniel replied. By now the casket—blessed by the archbishop—was under careful care, soon to be transported to the estate.
Despite all the tears she shed, the Duchess’s death still felt unreal. She might not fully feel it until after the encoffining. She lowered her veil carefully to stop it from fluttering in the wind.
“Goodbye, Isolette.”
The voice was seductive. Though there seemed no one to greet on that side, her guardians straightened up. What drew attention first was the black-flower-shaped corsage securing the veil.
“It’s your first time outside the troupe, right?”
“Good afternoon, Madame.”
Part of the reason the funeral felt so much like a gathering was this lady: the wife of Baron Bovar, a salon host of great renown in the capital—a familiar face to Isolette.
“I had been waiting to see you perform again.”
“I don’t know when the show will resume.”
“It’s not about the schedule. I meant your acting.”
True to her salon’s ethos—gathering artists she admired—the baroness offered kindness only to those she favored. Isolettesensed subtle hostility toward Maya and forced a small smile.
Madame Bovar stepped closer and whispered:
“It might be inappropriate to say this at a memorial, but if you ever need a patron, don’t hesitate to write me a letter.”
Her words were slow, each weighted, clinging in the air.
Perhaps aware of Daniel beside her, the baroness stepped back and waved a light fan, saying, “Let’s meet again soon.”
“…That was the Baroness Bovar, yes?”
“She’s attended almost every salon in the capital—you two surely met there.”
Isollet thought it was the late Duchess’s last effort—braving many wounds to make allies socially.
“She seemed to take an interest in you.”
“It wasn’t just me. She engages with painters, musicians, novelists—she’s interested in many fields. In reverse, her salon draws many admirers.”
The baroness’s salon carried considerable influence throughout the Empire. Even in middle age, she maintained frequent exchanges with younger creators.
“A sponsorship, then?”
“Well… something like that.”
Isolette had never been introduced anywhere for such reasons. Perhaps because the Duchess was still alive, even after leaving the estate, she was still “the child brought in by the Duchess.” Approaching her would have felt burdening.
This subtle offer—perhaps more like a courtesy. Such situations might arise more frequently. On the day of the Duchess’s memorial, everyone struggled to be noticed by Juliane, while Isolette received an offer to be matched with a patron.
Life doesn’t wait for people who take their time.
Outside the temple
“Finally over. Linton, are you okay? Ever stood this long?”
Exhausted but smiling, Leila checked on Linton, her fiancé.
“I sit at a desk all day—but I’m not this tired, Leila…”
“Lauding them took longer than I expected.”
Juliane decided to go back from the temple once guests departed.
Leila and Linton headed toward the carriage quickly. Daniel stayed behind to finish tidying up before following back to the estate. Juliane quietly nodded in acknowledgment.
“Shall we go as well?”
They were now the only two left. Isolette walked beside him slowly.
Was I the only one who cried?
Even in daylight, melancholy lingered—not because I was the only one grieving, but because it felt wrong to have been lost in emotion alone.
—
“Baroness Bovar—you mentioned her earlier. The one who spoke to you.”
“You noticed her?”
“There’s no missing that dress.”
The corsage holding her veil was striking—black satin and obsidian, lavishly decorated.
“You were quiet—I thought that would be possible, but it wasn’t.”
“That… is…”
“I know her. She devotes herself fully to what she loves.”
They arrived at the temple entrance without breaking pace. Three carriages waited. Leila and Linton boarded the first together.
Juliane looked at the remaining two horses. He removed his hat and ordered the coachmen to stay behind for Daniel.
That meant he himself would share a carriage with Isolette
Before stepping aboard, Juliane reached out. Having experienced it before, it no longer felt awkward. Isolette took his hand and ascended the makeshift steps. His grip was firm.
“Isolette.”
He called her as she climbed, and Isolette looked up—her gaze slightly above his.
Will there ever be another opportunity to look down on him from above?
Awkwardly, yet curiously, she regarded his composed face.
He gently pulled her hand closer, enough to steady herself—and the veil drifted against his cheek.
At such close range, the veil obscured her face—but he leaned in, perhaps curious whether to draw it aside.
Then he looked clearly into her soft, lucid eyes.
“You cried.”
If one could trace the path of his gaze, they’d see her tear-stained cheeks, still glossy-eyed.
When she resided at the estate, Isolette’s gaze always followed the Duchess—like imprinting the first thing seen after breaking free from a shell. How could she not cling to the one who gave her breath?
“Did it hurt you deeply?”
“Yes.”
Yet the Duchess never cared for her that way. She wasn’t born to bring a child into aristocratic duty, and she dedicated her life to supporting Leila and Juliane.
It occurs to Juliane: Isolette’s tears may have been born from mourning the love she never fully had.
He watched her expression closely.
As she relaxed her grip where his hand held hers, he released the pull—a polite escort, as if nothing had happened.
Once inside the carriage, he first adjusted the curtains to shield them from view. He tapped the seat behind him, the signal causing a coachman to pull on reins.
“I think reporters are hiding around.”
“In the vicinity?”
“With knights stationed at the temple entrance, they couldn’t get closer.”
Inside the carriage were copies of major newspapers—already prepared.Isolette reached for the most visible paper.
Even if not front-page, there were sizable reports concerning the ducal family: speculations on the family’s future if Juliane succeeded the dukedom, Leila’s and Linton’s marriage as betrothed, and rumors surrounding the vacant Duchess’s title.
“Isolette, don’t think about anything.”
She looked up: Juliane leaning on one hand, studying the paper.
“Why are there no articles about mourning or loss? At what point does life become politics? …That’s the expression you had—anyone would’ve seen it.”
Perhaps born and raised unshakeable, his words were steady.
“You don’t have to bear more than that.”
As she wasn’t part of the family, rising to the level of responsibility he describes would be impossible. Yet Juliane’s tone carried more concern than rebuke.
“Why not?”
Why did she ask? Juliane softly curled one corner of his mouth and replied easily:
“Because I want it that way.”
Only someone born to privilege could make such arrogant words sound gentle.Isolette blinked slowly.
It was true—what powerful person could deny his own will?
Yet… now she understood the source of her discomfort since first facing him.
Juliane had changed over the past seven years.
Not only did the fair boy become a man of authority—but something beyond appearance shifted. A gaze that seemed gentle yet penetrating—what did he see reflected in her?
A man accustomed to getting everything he wants.
He told her not to think too much—but Isolette could not ignore his words.
