Chapter 2

A pall of gloom hung over the Norman manor, but no matter how troubled one is, meals still have to be eaten and sleep still has to be had. Just so with the present-day nobility: however many raging storms lie hidden within, on the outside they must still keep up their splendor and dignity. Not one dish of the red wine and beef at the dinner table could be omitted.

After dinner, Audrey invited her sister to take a stroll through her room.

The vast castle was still as magnificent as it had been in the last century; only the mottled weathering on the spiral staircase and the roof beams had added the marks of passing time. This much-praised manor had once been a place many travelers longed to visit, and it had often filled the Norman family with the highest pride.

At this moment, though, Audrey was in no mood to appreciate it. She held her sister's arm absentmindedly, her water-blue eyes dull and lightless, even her golden curls drooping.

"Dear Otty, if you're feeling downcast over today's dreadful news, then I'd advise you not to be." Isabelle ruffled her sister's little curls — soft to the touch, like the golden-shaded chubby kitty she'd kept in her past life.

Audrey forced out a faint smile. "Sorry, Bella, my unhappiness has rubbed off on you too. I hope you won't trouble yourself thinking up pleasant words to comfort me — we both understand that no one can defy the Queen's decreed marriage."

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, staring into her sister's big eyes for a moment. "No, I wasn't going to comfort you."

Confusion flickered in Audrey's eyes: "?"

"I only meant to say — one piece of dreadful news is always followed by another, so don't be in such a hurry to fret." Isabelle said calmly.

Audrey pulled at the corner of her mouth. "...What wonderful comfort."

"You're welcome." Isabelle continued her prim, measured pacing.

After a moment's silence, the two sisters burst out laughing together.

Audrey wiped away the tears she'd laughed loose. "Dear Bella, you always know how to cheer me up."

Candlelight burned in the drawing room. Audrey looked toward Isabelle — blue eyes gazing into blue eyes.

The difference was that the elder sister's eyes were as deep as the ocean, while the younger sister was always smiling, like a sapphire glittering in the sun.

Ever since they were small, the two sisters had been like the two faces of a coin — utterly different in temperament, yet complementing one another.

Audrey often felt that Isabelle stood somehow apart from everyone else. She was clever and learned, sharp and wise, yet she never showed it off to outsiders. Only Audrey, who had grown up alongside her since childhood, could catch a glimpse of one corner of that deep sea — and, admittedly, it wasn't always a pretty sight.

As a little girl, Isabelle had been a self-taught prodigy, and her favorite thing in the world was sunning herself in the courtyard reading books. Audrey was the opposite — a thoroughgoing little dimwit who could never master the handicraft assignments left by the governess. Even their gentle mother would come away with a headache after tutoring her. At her wits' end, she could only fob this heavy burden off onto Isabelle.

If you imagined Isabelle was some gentle, dependable big sister, you'd be gravely mistaken. From that point on, the ten-year-old Bella acquired her "personal little house-servant" — the five-year-old little Otty.

The little tagalong's daily routine was: wake at six every morning, run to her sister's room and wait while she slept in for three more hours, then deliver a somewhat belated good-morning kiss; help carry her sister's breakfast, frequently knocking over the milk but persevering all the same; while her sister sunned herself and read, she would obediently build blocks off to the side, construct houses out of mud, and stand by at all times to be summoned to fetch tea and pour water for her sister. Sometimes, worn out from play, she'd fall asleep on the lawn, and wake to find herself lying beside her sister. And though her sister's face was full of distaste for the grubby child, she would use the book in her hand to shade little Otty from the sun. Every time this happened, little Otty would forget all her unhappiness and report for duty again the next day just the same.

As for the homework, Audrey forgot about it entirely — after all, whenever the teacher came to check, her sister would help her bluff her way through. When their mother asked about it, Isabelle would answer offhandedly: "Little Miss Audrey is evidently no expert at studying music and cooking. I'd say she has a real talent for building houses out of mud, though."

Mother Jane fretted: "If a noble girl doesn't master a few accomplishments, she'll be criticized in the future for having no breeding."

"Well then, splendid — you already have one daughter destined to have no breeding, so you shouldn't mind having one more." The ten-year-old Isabelle teased her mother without so much as a blink. "At the very least, I'll do everything in my power to cultivate Miss Audrey's talent for playing in the mud, so she can have a happy childhood."

Jane: "..."

Isabelle wasn't lying. In the years that followed, she taught Audrey a great deal of arithmetic and calculation, guiding her step by step from building houses to assembling machinery, and helping her discover her own interests. At the time, very few women worked in this field — let alone girls of noble birth. If you weren't skilled at accomplishments like playing the piano or painting, then even becoming a mathematical genius wouldn't earn you a second glance at a social ball.

Audrey, too, had once been troubled by this. Back then, Isabelle had simply pinched her little sister's cheek and said mildly: "If the piano and painting can make you happy, then it's not too late to learn just enough now to get by socially. But if you only treat them as tools to advertise your status and win gentlemen's favor, then I don't think you'll have the energy left to devote to the field you truly love."

That night, Audrey thought long and hard.

In the dead of night, she crept into her sister's room clutching a pillow, and whispered softly: "I understand now, dear Bella. I understand what it is that can make me happy."

— It was holding fast to what she loved; that would make her whole life full and rich.

In the darkness, Isabelle merely ruffled her little curls, seemingly unsurprised. "Congratulations, little Otty."

Audrey hugged Isabelle, nuzzling against her clingily. "Thank you, sister."

Had it not been for those deep blue eyes discovering little Otty's talent and leading her onto a path all her own, perhaps the Audrey of this moment would never have known what it was to truly love something.

In the course of gradually growing up, Audrey did in fact come to realize how unlike other people her sister was.

Her sister called herself, in words, one of the "ill-bred" sort — yet Audrey had seen with her own eyes how deft her piano-playing was, how consummate her painting.

And the knowledge her sister imparted — much of it went beyond this era, and could not possibly have come from a governess.

In Audrey's eyes, her sister was the true genius, and this genius would reveal only the faintest trace of herself in front of her younger sister — even their parents knew very little of it.

Whenever she thought of this, Audrey would feel a secret happiness — only she knew her sister's secret, and she would, with tacit understanding, keep that secret to the very end.

Outside the window, a full moon hung high, illuminating Audrey's lovely blue eyes — just as it did now.

"If you keep spacing out like that, I'll ask Aunt Anna to fetch that gypsy woman to take a look at you — to see whether Spencer's curse has taken effect ahead of schedule." Isabelle waved her fan before Audrey's eyes.

Pulling free of her memories, Audrey scratched her head bashfully — then, remembering something, hung her head dejectedly: "If the curse is going to descend sooner or later, then please, let me just die at home before the second week of next month. I don't want to leave the manor, don't want to leave Papa and Mama and you."

A flicker of amusement crossed Isabelle's eyes. "Good idea. If misfortune picks me too, I'll be able to borrow your method."