She hesitated for a moment, but as always, Marie simply replied with a quiet “yes” and stepped out. From the sound of hurried footsteps outside, it seemed she was in a hurry.

There was plenty of time to prepare after Marie’s return, so Isabelle stayed by the window. She planned to sit there until it was time for dinner.

That was because she wasn’t sure if Arnaud would actually share the table with her. Isabelle buried her face in her arms.

‘If he refuses, I’ll have no choice but to go to him in the morning. He’s always at his most vulnerable when he’s half asleep…’

She recalled the image of Arnaud stumbling into a breakfast meeting with a dazed look on his face – where Elisabeth, her parents and the couple Phillip and his wife had all been present.

She remembered his golden curls, completely disheveled from the rush. She also remembered how, when she’d scolded him for the mess, he’d immediately bent his head toward her and told her to fix it if it bothered her so much.

Even after being asked if she really trusted her husband, Isabelle found herself smiling at the memory of him.

“Even I think… there’s no hope. None at all.”

It wasn’t like anyone had asked if she still loved him – so maybe it wasn’t so strange. That’s how she rationalized everything, over and over again.

Just then someone approached her.

“Madame.”

“Oh-oh. You’re back already.”

It was Marie. True to her reputation as a master of coming and going, her arrival was silent. Isabelle knew this, but it still surprised her every time. She turned her head with an audible gasp.

“They said he hasn’t eaten yet. But judging by how busy the kitchen staff is, he’ll be eating soon.”

“He usually eats by this time. He’s not one to skip meals.”

“Then shall we time it so that you arrive in the dining room together?”

Marie was a little uneasy because she had not heard a clear “yes” or “no,” but Isabelle was not like her mother-submissive and yielding. She had never agreed with the social notion that a woman was the property of her husband.

So Isabelle nodded.

She had already delayed for a week – there was no reason to hesitate now.

“Braid my hair for me, will you? I think this outfit will do.”

“Yes, Madame. You have a quiet air about you, so anything too elaborate would look out of place.”

“Like who, I wonder.”

Marie smiled softly at the off-topic remark. She was obviously referring to Camille, who walked around with all kinds of hair ornaments and even colored strands dangling from her head – but it wouldn’t have been wrong if she had meant Louise.

Camille and Louise were similar in many ways.

Both had brightly colored, tightly curled hair that refused to be tamed, so they covered it with flowers and jewels. They wore puffy panniers and had a taste in clothes that was the opposite of Isabelle’s, who preferred muted tones.

“If someone saw them, they’d think it was Chamfera.”

“At this rate, the finances should have hit rock bottom in three months. I don’t know how they did it.”

“Well, it’s possible if they’ve been quietly scraping together funds. There are madmen out there who hand over most of their wages…”

The last remark about the “madman who hands over his wages” probably referred to Mario. Isabelle remembered the day she had argued with Camille.

‘A mistress’s mistress…’

She also remembered how Mario had looked then – staring at her with all his might, his baby-faced features still soft with down. Far from intimidating, it had been almost adorable.

That was all Mario was.

“What a joke.”

To think she was wasting her time on a brat like that.

Isabelle let out a harsh word without meaning to. It lacked all decorum. She immediately put her hand over her mouth.

“S-Sorry. I spoke too casually.”

“You’re welcome to speak to me that way. Everyone needs at least one place to let things out.”

When Isabelle apologized with wide, apologetic eyes, Marie just shrugged and stepped behind her. She hadn’t forgotten to put a little mirror on the windowsill for her.

It felt strangely out of place to hear such words from someone who had once served Louise.

As Isabelle remained silent while Marie began to tie up her hair, the maid parted the strands with even more care than before and spoke softly.

“More than anything… I’m yours, Lady Isabelle.”

Once again, she couldn’t find a single word to answer.

The sincerity in those words only made it harder to say anything.

After the three hellish years in the Moerne, it was always difficult – no matter when or how – to face a moment in which someone trusted Isabelle and she in turn had to trust someone else.

Her lips moved silently for a long time.

Marie, as if she understood her silence, said nothing more.

Isabelle was grateful for her kindness.

After a long hesitation, she finally opened her mouth.

“How old are you this year?”

“I’m about four or five years older than you, Lady Isabelle. I think I’ll be twenty-seven this year.”

“No family of your own?”

“I have no children, but I have a husband.”

Isabelle turned her head. Her hair had already been quickly braided by the maid, so it wasn’t a problem.

What really bothered her now was how little she actually knew about her own maid.

“You’re married?”

“I got married about the same time as everyone else. But life was so hectic that we didn’t spend much time together.”

“So Idor must be your husband’s last name.”

“I almost never talk about it, so everyone just assumes that Idor is my maiden name. When I was unmarried, I was a Piénan.”

There were many things Isabelle was learning for the first time. She had assumed that Marie was about her age, or maybe older, but she really hadn’t expected her to have a family.

Isabelle looked at Marie with the same curious gaze she’d once had as Elisabeth-her eyes filled with bright, unmistakable interest.

“Then you must have married around eighteen, too?”

“Most girls have their marriages arranged by the time they are sixteen. That would have been the case for me, but I didn’t get married until the end of my nineteenth year.”

“Why?”

“I liked Jan even before that… but my father went and bet my hand for marriage during a game of cards. It was shortly after my sixteenth birthday.”

It was easy to overlook because Isabelle was such a striking beauty, but Marie, who was often by her side, was no less remarkable in appearance.

Though she didn’t dress up – her dark brown hair was always neatly tied up and covered by a simple headscarf – her delicate, well-balanced features were more than enough to make her look refined.

Even when they weren’t on the best of terms, Isabelle had often thought highly of Marie’s appearance.

Even when things were tense between them, Isabelle often found herself admiring Marie’s appearance.

Perhaps it was because she had always been surrounded by more flamboyant types like Camille and Louise-Marie, but Marie’s quiet elegance was almost refreshing.

“With a face like yours, it’s no wonder your hand came at a high price. But your father shouldn’t have done it. He’s your father.”

At that word, Isabelle felt her heart grow heavy.

Théodore was no different – wasn’t he the one who sold his daughter to Henri?

“When I refused, he told me I had to pay off all the gambling debts he’d staked instead of my hand. And my mother, as always, sided with him.”

“And did you pay him back?”

“I had no choice but to pay them back. So I worked in all kinds of estates, accepting absurd requests just to save money. Even then it wasn’t enough… but Jan helped me.

If it weren’t for him, I’d probably still be unmarried.

Missing the right time to get married because of her father’s mistakes – Isabelle found this painfully similar to her own story.

A wave of sympathy and shared pain washed over her, and before she realized it, she reached out and took Marie’s hand.

Marie was surprised, but she didn’t pull away. Her thumb gently brushed the back of Isabelle’s hand.

Marie looked down at her hands for a moment, then slowly released her fingers and helped Isabelle to her feet.

“It’s not too late, not even now. You can still be happy, Lady Isabelle.”

She spoke as she gently held Isabelle’s arms in place of her hand.

It was a look of seriousness she had never seen before.

A flash of light gathered in her brown irises – eyes Isabelle had thought could never shine.

***

Isabelle walked briskly down the corridor, occasionally reaching up to touch the forget-me-nots in her hair.

It was all thanks to Marie’s advice that since she was seeing her husband again after so long, she should at least wear something.

‘If she was willing to share her past with me, then I can trust her. She’s already kept some of my secrets, hasn’t she?’

Still, she couldn’t stop replaying their earlier conversation in her mind.

Multitasking – doing three or four things at once – was one of Isabelle’s talents. Elisabeth had never done it, nor had she ever needed to.

Just as her footsteps slowed outside the Murier room, she raised her head.

Marie, who had been following her, stopped as well.

“Monsieur is already inside. I told him you were coming, but… I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll manage.”

What happened after the door opened was entirely up to Isabelle.

She took a deep breath, then exhaled as she nodded toward the door handle.

All that remained was to open it.

But then- “Madame!”

Camille approached from a distance.

Only… it wasn’t that far. She had started running the moment she saw Isabelle.

Isabelle let out a sharp tsk, the sound laced with clear irritation.

“I came by because it’s dinnertime, but I didn’t expect you to be here! You usually avoid dining with Lord Arnaud. Why are you here now?”

” Do I have to tell you every move I make?

“The least I can do is help you avoid humiliation. If you have dinner with Lord Arnaud now, you’ll probably walk out without even touching your fork.”

The provocation was as sharp as ever.

Whether it was because she’d been caught and no longer cared, or because she still had powerful support, Isabelle didn’t know.

But today, of all days, she had no intention of dealing with Camille.

“It seems you’ve got the wrong topic. As long as you aren’t around, I can eat just fine.”

“Well, I’m saying that’s exactly what I don’t like.”

‘So it’s both,’ Isabelle thought.

As Camille tilted her pretty face and spoke sweetly, Isabelle let out a breathy, mocking laugh and looked down at her.

Wearing heeled mules today had been an excellent choice.

She didn’t wave a dismissive hand in irritation, nor did she wrinkle her nose as if wounded – so Camille’s expression slowly began to twist.

Sensing the tension, Mario approached from behind.

Isabelle looked once at her mistress, and once more at her mistress’s mistress.

Only then did she speak.

“There is no shortage of people keeping watch besides you. Whether it’s Mario or Murier, they’ll talk and report everything – so do us all a favor and stay out of the way.”