Dear Husband,
My thoughts are filled with you.
Your hatred for me, for I have taken the one thing you did want the most.
Your handsome visage,
Your sturdy hands,
Your wicked smile,
And your soft eyes.
I want to believe you were made for me and our souls are one.
But how can I bethink so…
When you still envisage her while you bed me.
- A
And so, I got lost in a love story that wasn’t my own, yet it called me.
Lured me with the promise of tragedy.
Dragged me into the depths of despair.
And tempted me with its beautiful sorrow.
CHAPTER SIX
Julianna
Six months later
We are lost,
in the madness of love.
Like the morrow frost,
during the winter days.
Thy love is cold,
if only,
Our story could hast been foretold.
The pain would not hast been threefold.
- A
I folded the half-torn letter and placed it next to my hip, on the window seat. I spent a week reading through every single letter and poem written by Arabella, and with every faded word I read, they dragged me deeper into her life and her heartbreak.
I sifted through the brown papers, choosing the poems that I loved the most. Some days, because I was so gluttonous for pain, I’d reread her poems. Like today.
Marchioness of Wingintam lived a life of misery. She fell in love with the man who couldn’t bear her touch. She loved a man who mourned for another woman.
Arabella’s life was a lonely one and with every child she lost, she grew desperate for her husband’s affection, only to end up with his cold eyes and loveless hands. She offered him her body, day and night, because it was the only moment she felt close to her husband.
Yet, his passion was reserved for his lover and never for his wife.
Arabella died alone.
She took her last breath under the gazebo Elias had built for his lover.
How cruel fate could be, but I understood better than anyone else.
I looked out the window, where the stables were. Over the last four months, I had found myself in Arabella’s private library more than my own. The view here was beautiful as I watched the stableman work with the horses.
One horse in particular caught my eye last week – the white one. It was a newly arrived horse on the Isle.
She was so beautiful, my fingers itched to touch her. The wind wisped her long, white mane into the air as the mare galloped in circles. She was a playful one and I guessed she had to be young. I watched as the stableman groomed her, brushing through her beautiful pelt of hair.
The older man looked up and caught my eye through the window. I waved at him, as I always did. He smiled and his attention went back to the mare.
If only I had the courage to go down there…
With my cheek against the window, I watched the mare and stableman together. Emptiness clawed at my chest and the back of my eyes prickled.
A day passed by and I found myself here again, looking out from the window.
The day after that, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the white mare.
Another day went by.
A week…
Until…
I wanted a closer look at this gorgeous creature. I wanted it so badly that I felt it down to my bones, felt it in my veins, and so without any consideration, without thinking twice about it, my feet propelled me forward.
I left the letters on the window seat and walked out of Arabella’s private library. I found myself walking down the corridor and down the stairs. Blindly, I walked past Emily and followed the path to the stables.
To feel her soft skin under my fingertips.
To ride her.
To feel the wind against my face.
I wanted that.
I missed it…
I paused outside of the stable, watching the mare carefully. The stableman was currently running his fingers through her beautiful mane.
He must have noticed my presence because he looked over his shoulder and smiled.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “Come closer. She’s friendly.”
I chewed on my lip. “Waiting for me?”
“You’ve been watching her for two weeks now, looking so lost and scared.” He let out a small laugh. “It took you long enough to come here.”
“What’s her name?”
“She doesn’t have one yet. I’ve been waiting for you.”
I blinked in surprise. “I don’t understand….”
“This is a late wedding gift from your father-in-law. She’s yours.”
I was taken aback by his response but now it all made sense. William Spencer called me a month ago to try and convince me, once again, to come back to Spencer Manor. I simply refused and then wished him well. Before hanging up, he told me that he was preparing a wedding gift for me. But I hadn’t thought much of it.
Since his illness had been made public, my father-in-law has tried multiple times to convince me to leave the Isle behind and to come back to the mainland.