The Unwanted Wedding

Chapter 32- White Noise

 Reyna 

I left Vincent and Toby at the house hours ago, yet it only felt like time had past in minutes. After breakfast I had barely spoken a word, merely mumbled that I was going for a walk and that I'll be at the public gardens if I was needed. I pulled on a lightweight pastel floral coat that trailed behind me to cover my exposed arms and fastened the three buttons close it off.  My white skirts pooled and danced at my feet as I walked. There was no chatting, no signs of life except the silence of visitors strolling and birds and bees humming. 

It was so peaceful outside but in my head I rambled. I couldn't stop thinking about Abilia.  Former Duke Duarte Ambrosio-Crispin Vincens- whoever he was or would like to be courted her. He was courting her.  He showed her interest, he wrote her love letters, sent her dresses and jewels, came to her home, met her family. But it was all fake, he had promised her marriage the night he seduced her. The words of that poor young girl, she was barely turned sixteen! I had cried when my eyes followed such words of hope, joy, and love. She had been so devastated, heartbroken, ruined. She had changed herself to be the woman that that girl should have never been. He had made it her fault, her blame. Her burden. On those pages there were dents and smudges were tears fell.

When I found out I was pregnant, truly pregnant, I didn't know what to think. I felt so many emotions. I was scared, I was unbelievably happy, I felt slight disappointment because I didn't picture carrying Vincent's child, I was even angry that Vincent had put a baby in me, that I'll just turn into a fat useless thing as he went around lifting up skirts. So many things, so many emotions. But the one thing I felt above all others was love. I felt such a deep love and protection of my child. But I don't think Abilia ever felt the same way. She didn't see the child, she saw a chance to have that bond she thought was so undeniably strong never to be broken again. In that feeblish short entry were words of 'second chances', 'new-found hope', and 'opportunity'.  

She wrote her Book of Encounters with such separation it made her feel like a used woman, she was so bitter, so angry, and vengeful. She felt stupid that she allowed herself to be a married man's whore, it haunted her. First it was the Former Duke, and then it was indisputably Cedric. Whenever I ask Vincent about him the man seems to take an odd role to be like a father figure, he wasn't a servant or staff, he was a man who was constantly at the house and with Vincent's mother. She found out that she was carrying her lover's child and waited months until there was no denying that it was his. She started buying more wealthy things, started preparing for the duke to be so shocked and filled with masculine duty that he would no doubt marry her. She had planned it so pristinely, thought it all out. But she didn't really did she. I wonder how hard it had hit when she walked into that room, swelled with child and a sweet, excited smile. She walked into the room at her lover's home to find his wife sitting there playing with their toddler son; Crisanto. The man that would ruin me.

I could pity her, even feel sad for her. But she was given a chance. She could have taken the opportunity to make her life something more than a married man's cast off. She could have been a great mother, loved her child. I feel that there has to be somewhere, sometime that she might have. But I cannot respect a woman, a mother, when I see the effects of what her selfishness has caused. I lay next to a man that can barely sleep at night. I have to wake up to the panicked screams of a tormented child rising from the sweaty body of a twenty- three year old man.  Vincent may be incredibly frustrating, hell-riddenly annoying, and completely mischievous, even needy, but I love him enough to know that he never deserved any of that.  

I remember so clearly seeing her for the first time, when Vincent had walked over to our house because he wanted to play. It was my 7th birthday; our house was overwhelmed with excited children. I remember seeing him stop and look so fearful of seeing so many children. I rushed over and grasped his hand to invite him to play hind and seek in the hedges behind our house. He was there for almost an hour, we had played and he was staying close to me because he didn't know anyone else, he was halfway into eating the loaded plate of food my grandmother had handed him. My grandmother had always liked Vincent, always fed him, cared for him whenever she saw him. Then she came, just stormed right into the party, wearing such a vibrant green gown with tall feathers rising from her small hat. She grasped Vincent by the arm causing him to shatter the plate on the ground. I remember how everyone looked at her, and now I understand those looks; judgment. We could still hear her yelling even when she slammed the door shut. I didn't see him for a fortnight after that. On the day I recall the sound of thumping, it's only now I recognize that she had caned Vincent when they got home. I closed my eyes and felt them cover in tears. That thumping noise had gone on for hours. Oh, my poor, poor boy. I didn't want her in the house when I bring my child into the world. I don't want her to ever see her grandchild.