Seven | h.s

epilogue

In the shade of the oak tree that was positioned on a hill which overlooked a meadow of blooming flowers, Beth dipped a thin brush into a pot of paint and created the image of the meadow below on a canvas. The singing of birds in the distance and the occasional buzz of bees bumbling by caused an overwhelming feeling of contentment to wash over her. She hadn't realized how much she missed springtime in England.

The galloping of a horse, however, broke the serenity. The mare whinnied as William pulled back on the reins, causing her to skid to a stop as they came to the top of the hill. William threw his legs over the horse and jumped to the ground with a thud, tying the reins of the horse to the trunk of the tree before walking over to Beth.

She had not even glanced at him despite hearing him rustling about behind her. Instead, she waited for her husband to wrap his arms around her waist from behind, as he usually did when disturbing her painting, and place a kiss on her cheek. However, he did not, and she was forced to put down her paint and brush and turn around.

"May I help you?" she asked.

When he did not smile at her teasing, she frowned. "A letter arrived for you," he said, outstretching his hand.

She narrowed her eyes at it before taking it from him and flipping it over. Her heart dropped at the sight of the seal, the red wax stamped with a design belonging to the Spanish crown. She quickly snapped it and unfolded the parchment, her eyes scanning the words quicker than she could comprehend.

My dear Beth,

      Although I wish this goodbye could have been done in person, a letter was the best I could manage from my brother, as he did not think it fitting for you to travel back to bid farewell to a murderess, especially as you have obtained the title of countess. I hope this reaches you, my lady, because the contents of this letter are more than a simple goodbye.

      I am not guilty for the crimes of which I have been accused, but I am not completely innocent either. It is true that I led the Duke to his death, but I did not kill him. It is true that I intended on killing my brother, but I did not. That alone is crime enough to warrant death—it is not that which I argue, for I know I will die for my sins. I argue that the true murderer is a man with whom I fell in love. You are the only person to know of my encounter with the mysterious English gentleman called Harry, and I tell you that he is responsible for the murders.

      I beseech you to explain this to the King, my brother. It will not change my sentence, but it will clear my name. If you do not vouch for my sincerity in this, I will always be known as the Murderess Princess. History will despise me forever and Harry will go on to his next victims, as he had always planned on doing. You see, he never loved me. It was his plan all along to entrance me with his mysterious decorum and my desperateness for romance. He said that he was completing God's work, clearing palaces of sinfulness, and that we would run away together after it was finished.

      My dear friend, if you will even consider me as such, I am sorry for deceiving you and for casting you aside when you tried to warn me of the dangers that were near. If you cannot do as I have asked, I understand. I pray that your husband is a kind man of true gentility, that you find love and happiness in your marriage, and that you do not suffer a fate such as mine. You never had to fear of Harry's murderous wrath, as you truly bear all seven virtues.

With love,
Magdalena

"Elizabeth, darling?" William asked. Beth raised her eyes to meet her husband's. "What news from Spain?"