The Blue Dress Sisters

CHAPTER 23: THE ORPHAN

Deep down, Delilah had hoped to be welcomed with open arms, that her family had been waiting all this time, eager to meet her, just as she had been eager to meet them.

However, the reality was different. No one seemed interested in her presence. No one even seemed to notice her. They certainly hadn't been waiting for her.

An elderly man with a cane appeared, walking slowly down the hall, guided by the servants. As soon as he lifted his head to see the young lady, he looked surprised.

"Scarlatta?" he murmured, his voice rough with age.

Delilah smiled, feeling an inner warmth at the thought that she resembled her mother.

"I'm her daughter," she explained, shaking her head.

The tall, thin old man looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"My daughter Scarlatta didn't have children; she passed away many years ago," he said, sounding confused.

Unlike Alda, her grandfather's mind and memory seemed faded by the years.

From another hallway, a young girl with bouncy golden curls falling over her face appeared. She was short and looked to be around twelve. Her dress was a vibrant pink, full of ornamentation.

"So, this is my cousin," the girl stated with suspicion, looking Delilah up and down. "I'm Caterina Francomagaro, daughter of your mother's paternal cousin." Though she was apparently younger than Delilah, she carried herself as if she were older. "My great-aunt Alda says you're an orphan."

Despite the sting she felt at hearing the word "orphan," Delilah smiled, set her trunk down, and offered her hand in greeting.

"I'm Delilah, daughter of Scarlatta."

"My great-aunt says you're not a Francomagaro, but a Nontigiova, like your father."

"I think that's fine." She shrugged. "We should feel proud of our parents and their names, right?"

"My great-aunt says the Francomagaros are more important."

The brown-haired girl looked down at the floor.

"Importance is an abstract and subjective concept."

"What does that mean?" the blonde girl replied, irritated at not understanding.

"Each person assigns value to things according to their own judgment. What matters to you might not matter to me, or to anyone else."

The answer seemed to irritate her cousin, who crossed her arms with an air of superiority.

"Are wealth and renown abstract and subjective concepts too?"

Before Delilah could respond, the sound of firm footsteps filled the room.

"So, the little orphan has arrived, huh?" A young man with slightly long, blond hair intervened in the conversation, approaching the girls.

He walked slowly, leaning on a golden cane he used purely for style. He wore a long, elegant brown coat and a suit with intricate gold buttons and chains decorating the waist of his vest.

He was clearly older than the two girls, yet likely younger than Spaghetti, Delilah thought, studying him intently.

He looked pretentious, rich.

"He's my brother, Giacomo," Caterina explained.

"Mr. Francomagaro, to you."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Phantasmagoric," Delilah mocked the grandiose surname, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.