The Perils of Unrequited Love

CHAPTER V: GAIETY AND MELANCHOLY

Patroclus—the man I loved beyond all other comrades, loved as my own life—I've lost him

—-Achilles, Iliad 18 ( Homer, 762 B.C.) 

Cold. She stared at the last burning lodge in the old fireplace, her own body burning up despite the cold. She coughed a few thick mucus out. The effort left her breathless and gasping for air. Her brain was so addled with fever. She knew she should call for help, but who would come for her? This big ancient mansion only had 2 servants, a maid who was sent to the village to fetch a doctor and a footman who rode to London to inform her husband.

Her heart throbbed painfully when she thought of her husband. She looked at the wall of her living room. There, a portrait of a golden haired, golden eyed man leaned against the crumbling wall. She couldn't hang the frame on the wall since the house wasn't equipped with any nails or hammers. In the portrait, his mouth was straight-lined, but his eyes seemed to be smiling.

Smiling like he had never done since he discovered her betrayal.

" A faithless woman like you, my poisonous rose, should rot in hell." He had said that to her before leaving her in this hell on earth. His back, which turned to her, trembled like a wounded animal. He slammed the front door; the impact shattered the crumbling structure and also her hope. She had thought he was someone who would never hurt her, but then she was too puffed up with her own importance.

His honor. His pride. His ambition. Those ranked above an estranged wife in her husband's mind.

Strange. She ought to resent him, curse him to death; However, at the moment of death, she felt nothing but numbness. The lungs were not getting enough air. Her head spun and her chest hurt.

" Bella," a faint voice called from afar. " Bella," Who was bella? Rosaline didn't understand. " Rosabelle, Lady Rosabelle! Rosie!" Rosie? Right, she wasn't Rosaline Farrington, the marchioness of Langton anymore. That woman died. Now, she was Rosie, Lady Rosabelle Godfrey.

A cool hand pressed against her forehead and her frail body was lifted up.

" Matthew?" A part of her brain that still remembered that she was Rosaline asked confusedly before the other part that remembered who she was rightnow could react.

The arms that carried her stiffened for a moment.

She pushed the muscular chest weakly, but enough to make the man put her down.

" Your grace, You came? Why?" Rosaline needed to know. Matthew didn't come for her. He confessed to Rosita that he only came 3 days after his first wife died. He didn't love Rosaline enough to forgive her; He loved Rosita, but he also killed Rosita whom he loved. Maybe, he never loved both women. Her head was spinning again. Why was everything so complicated with him?

She needed to sleep now.

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" Non lo dirò col labbro               I will not say it with my lips

Che tanto ardir non ha;               Which have not the courage;

Forse con le faville                         Perhaps the sparks

Dell'avide pupille,                         Of my burning eyes,

Per dir come tutt'ardo,                Revealing my passion,

Lo sguardo parlerà."                      My glance will speak.

The song was in her head when she caught him spying on her from the master bedroom's door. When he gazed at her with those burning amber eyes, it was as if the clock had turned back to the time before he married her. The golden boy of the tons. She couldn't hold her hatred for too long.