Chapter 53
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 53
The scripture quoted on the poster was nothing short of exquisite: “I wash away your sins, and you shall be saved.”
Passersby gawked at the sign and the storefront, caught between amusement and genuine astonishment.
“Soap that washes away sins? Hahaha!”
“I suppose having poor skin is a sin for a lady these days.”
“Is that so? Perhaps I should buy a few bars for my wife, then.”
Even middle-aged men, who usually possessed zero interest in beauty products, bought several, claiming they were gifts for their spouses.
Of course, the primary demographic was women.
“They say this soap is miraculous. Even Grand Duchess Kailas uses it, you know.”
“Those who’ve tried it before sent their servants out at dawn the moment they heard about the grand opening. We need to hurry before they run out!”
“I heard a portion of the proceeds goes toward helping the orphans at the convent.”
Dressing the shop assistants in uniforms that mimicked nun’s habits was a stroke of genius. Harriet’s prediction had been spot on: paying for the soap felt less like a transaction and more like a pious donation to the temple.
Thanks to the fervor, the entire stock was depleted long before the sun began to set.
“Sold out? But it’s only three o’clock!”
“Our sincerest apologies, everyone. We didn’t anticipate such an overwhelming response… Additional stock will arrive this evening, so please visit us again tomorrow.”
Scarcity only fueled the fire of desire.
Just how good is it that everyone is hoarding it like that? Curiosity regarding the soap exploded. By the end of the day, the entire capital was talking about <Saint Clarissa Soap & Herb>, the products they sold, and the face of their brand: Harriet Listerwell.
*
The Cheslow family’s banquet hall was a vision of opulence.
Glass-shaded electric lamps bathed the room in a warm glow, highlighting the abundance of fresh flowers and exotic fruits. Fine champagne flowed into delicate crystal glassware, and the air was filled with the melodies of an indoor orchestra—one that commanded a staggering invitation fee.
It was a perfect autumn night, a banquet designed to lift the spirits of the elite.
The most radiant person in the room was Bella Listerwell, standing hand-in-hand with James Cheslow.
Though acting as the hostess of a party before the wedding had even taken place might have invited wagging tongues, not a single guest dared to frown upon seeing her goddess-like beauty.
“What a truly splendid party, Lady Bella.”
“Thank you for coming. I hope you have a delightful evening.”
Bella smiled brightly, greeting the guests alongside James.
‘There aren’t many parties of this scale that cater exclusively to the younger generation. Soon, no one will even remember Harriet’s little tea party.’
In truth, Harriet’s tea party had been a modest affair—just a few acquaintances gathered for a small social beat common throughout the Empire. There was no logical reason to throw a grand gala just to counter it.
But Bella couldn’t tolerate the idea of Harriet reclaiming even an inch of her former status.
‘You should have stayed cooped up in that convent. I’ll make sure you realize that.’
Bella was determined to demonstrate the vast gulf between herself and Harriet. Though an official engagement date with James hadn’t been set, the Cheslows already treated her like a daughter-in-law, and James remained utterly captivated by her.
The dress she wore tonight was a gift from him, undoubtedly the most expensive piece in her wardrobe.
Her plan was simple: bask in the collective admiration of the nobility, and then, as the party drew to a close, distribute gifts far more lavish than anything Harriet could afford. While buying favor with gifts was a somewhat low-brow tactic, Bella wasn’t looking for favor—she was looking to make Harriet’s offerings look pathetic.
‘A cream from <Labonaz> will certainly leave a deeper impression than some nameless soap.’
She had spent a fortune on the gifts, but she considered it a necessary investment.
However, something Bella hadn’t anticipated was unfolding within the very walls of her banquet hall.
“Did you manage to get the soap?”
“Barely. My maid was turned away when there were only two people left in front of her in line.”
“You were lucky. I bought ten bars this time, and now I’m wondering if I should have bought more.”
“Ten? How? From one o’clock onward, they limited the number of purchases per person. My servant could only bring back three.”
The guests weren’t discussing the decor or the music; they were engrossed in talking about <Saint Clarissa Soap & Herb>, which had opened that morning.
And the conversation didn’t stop at the soap.
“Did you see the poster? Lady Harriet looks breathtaking, doesn’t she?”
“The company that signed the exclusive contract with the convent recruited Lady Harriet the moment they heard she’d been giving the soap out as gifts.”
“It was a brilliant choice. Lady Harriet used to struggle with her complexion, but it cleared up beautifully after she started using that soap. Who better to model the results?”
Heads nodded in unison. Many were seeing Harriet in an entirely new light.
“Thanks to the soap Lady Harriet gave me, my acne has improved significantly,” one young woman noted.
“Oh? Now that you mention it, Lady Viviana, your skin really does look radiant!”
“It’s not just me. Many who attended Lady Harriet’s tea party have seen great results. And honestly, I think we might have misunderstood her. After speaking with her directly, I found her to be quite kind and easy to talk to.”
Viviana’s praise was genuine. Not only had Harriet given her extra soap, but she had also sent a follow-up letter with dietary tips. That letter—which showed a deep understanding of the pain of skin troubles and recommended a low-fat, vegetable-rich diet and light exercise—had deeply moved Viviana, who had suffered in silence for years.
Viviana had braced herself for criticism, but her words only evoked empathy.
“I felt the same way,” another added. “I met her at Lady Annabelle’s tea party, and she was polite and engaging. I don’t know what she was like before, but she has clearly changed.”
“Who doesn’t make mistakes when they’re young? Lady Harriet must have been lost after losing her parents in that accident. But now, she is every bit the mature, thoughtful lady.”
“Now that you mention it, I can’t quite recall what she used to look like. Is it because I only saw her a few times?”
The memory of the ‘Ugly Harriet Listerwell’ was beginning to dissolve. It was an image Bella had painstakingly crafted over years, yet it was being erased by a single year’s absence and a few strategic changes.
It took about an hour for Bella to realize that the only thing being discussed in her own ballroom was convent soap and Harriet.
“Lady Bella, did you hear? Your cousin has become a model.”
“Pardon? A model? I’m not sure I follow…”
“You must have been too busy with party preparations to hear the news. A soap shop called <Saint Clarissa Soap & Herb> opened on Seviol Street today, and your cousin, Lady Harriet, is the face of the brand.”
“What?” Bella’s eyes widened.
As she stood there, stunned, the guests eagerly filled in the blanks: the lines stretching down the street, the stock selling out before mid-afternoon, and the sheer beauty of the posters featuring Harriet.
‘That shop opened today? Of all days, today?’
It felt like a physical blow to the back of her head. Only now did the fragments of conversation she’d overheard finally click into place: soap, Harriet, Seviol, skin, tea party, gifts, convent…
Then, someone spoke up, offering what they thought was comfort.
“If Lady Bella had been the model, I’m sure the soap would have sold even better.”
Bella barely suppressed the urge to scream. She forced a strained, awkward expression.
“But being a model… that involves selling one’s face, doesn’t it? No respectable family would want a daughter-in-law who does such a thing. I worry if Harriet will ever be able to marry properly now.”
“That is a valid point, I suppose.”
“Even without the modeling, wouldn’t it be difficult for her to marry into a high-ranking family? It’s hard to say this about Lady Bella’s cousin, but her past conduct was… well…”
That was the reaction Bella had been fishing for. She let out a soft, performative sigh and frowned.
“Harriet is a kind, pure-hearted girl. Her tendency to fall in love too easily is proof of that. Of course, she used some improper methods in the past, but I believe she was simply afraid of being alone.”
She waited for the usual chorus of, ‘To defend her after all she’s done! What a saintly heart you have, Bella!’
But the reaction was different this time.
“Then perhaps she was deeply hurt back then? They say she doesn’t accept advances from men at all these days.”
“Ah, you mean Julian Faith, don’t you?”
“He looked so pathetic, trailing after her like a lost puppy.”
At the mention of Julian’s name, Bella’s brow twitched. The memory of him holding Harriet’s parasol at the bazaar—a memory she had tried desperately to bury—resurfaced, souring her mood instantly.
But the guests weren’t finished.
“It wasn’t just Julian Faith. She hasn’t attended many parties, but word is she’s refused every man who’s asked her to dance. She supposedly told them that being associated with her would only bring them scorn.”