That’s Not What I Was Told

Maurice paced irritably around the dining hall of House Clavel.

Dishes had already been laid out before Isabella, who was seated at the table, but she only frowned and made no move to eat.

An acrid mood hung over the dining hall.

“When are we supposed to get Marguerite back?”

Maurice pointed at his own seat.

“What is this soup? It’s nothing but beans! And the bread is hard—there’s even dirt on the table!”

Even though the master of the house raised his voice in anger, no maid came running to wipe away the grime.

After Marguerite had married out, Maurice had handed the materials she left behind to Isabella, fully believing his daughter when she said, “This is easy.”

As a result, within just a few months the tax revenue from the Clavel territory had dropped by thirty percent, and it was only when he was forced to dismiss servants that Maurice finally realized his upbringing had been mistaken.

Isabella could not manage the territory. Even with the household finances so strained, she still had the sensibility to host evening parties surrounded by her entourage.

Worse still, even Maurice alone could not handle the management of the entire territory.

There was no choice but to bring Marguerite back, Maurice had decided.

Isabella agreed and even promised to do everything she could. If they appealed to the royal family about the cruelty of House de Broy, they could bring about the fall of that ducal house and reclaim Marguerite.

Father and daughter clasped hands over that rose-colored future.

But the plan did not proceed as hoped.

“You told me to leave it to you, and I did—yet nothing has changed. On top of that, you spent money on a party.”

“I planned to obtain evidence at that party!”

Whether Lucien committed infidelity, or flew into a rage at being confronted and raised a hand against Isabella or her guests—either way, he would be defying the royal order to act “for the sake of cordial relations between the two houses” and to be “on good terms.”

Instead, Lucien had deftly brushed it all aside, and had even won the envy of those around him.

“That’s not what I was told. To think my sister is being cherished like that…!”

That fact gnawed unbearably at Isabella.

Maurice, who knew nothing of how Marguerite lived in House de Broy or what had happened at the party, let out an exaggerated, weary sigh.

“Honestly, I should have married you into House de Broy instead of Marguerite.”

To Isabella, that was the greatest insult.

At the same time, it was the very thing she envied.

“I wanted to live like my sister too!!”

In a fit of temper, Isabella overturned a plate of food and screamed.

If Marguerite had been there, Isabella could have cursed her to her face, blamed everything on her, and made her clean up the fallen dishes and spilled soup. But Marguerite was not there.

Everything was Marguerite’s fault.

In Isabella’s mind, what she herself had forced upon her sister had conveniently ceased to exist.

‘Because of my sister, I can’t be happy…!! I should have been the one in that place… surrounded by beautiful dresses and jewels…’

Hatred filled Isabella’s expression.

She looked so ferocious that Maurice instinctively stepped back.

“This isn’t your fault, Father!! It’s because you married my sister into House de Broy!! The meager meals and the lack of money—it’s all because of your thoughtlessness and my sister!!”

“I-Isabella…”

The knock that sounded from outside the room was, perhaps, a saving grace for Maurice.

“Enter!”

Hoping Isabella’s anger would be diverted, he answered. The one who bowed and entered was a maid.

Held reverently in her outstretched hands was a tray bearing a letter.

Stamped on the envelope was a phoenix with wings spread—the royal crest.

Isabella blinked, as if coming back to herself.

Then the lips that had been shrieking curled into a broad smile.

‘That’s right. I have Lord Noel, don’t I?’

Circling the table, Isabella approached Maurice. Ignoring his flinch, she took his hand and put on a beautiful smile.

“I’m sorry for losing my composure, Father. My plan is going smoothly. This house will soon be restored to how it was.”

Maurice did not respond, but Isabella did not care.

In her mind, winning her father’s favor was no longer worth consideration, and even House Clavel itself no longer held any interest for her.