The Beauty Of Rose

F I R E

XVI

I DIDN'T DARE CRY.

Once I was ushered into my rooms and locked in, I sat in the center of my bed and I did not cry. It wasn't because I refused to cry in order to put on a brave front. It wasn't because I was being inwardly stubborn or because I cared out being strong. I didn't cry because if I started I would turn into an animal. The last thing I wanted to do was give Victoria the satisfaction of turning me feral. So, I did not cry.

I didn't even move to adjust myself into a comfortable position. If I could forfeit the ability to blink and breathe, I would've done that too. All I wanted to do was fight the urge to surrender to rage and sorrow. I had to think clearly, there was no other option. Matthew wanted to institutionalize me. I could not let that happen, I would not. I knew that if I committed to an asylum, it would be the end of me. My father had shown me as much when my mother died. I remembered when he took me There like it was yesterday. There was a soft knock on the door followed by the click the lock. Bert carried a plate of food.

"Food," I whispered. He set it on my nightstand.

"I am so sorry, ma'am. I'm sorry for everything."

I didn't look at him or the plate even though my stomach was starting to ache. "You have nothing to feel sorry for."

"But I am, ma'am. I'm so very sorry. You deserve so much more than to be sent to..." He paused here. People didn't like saying the word. It was a dirty, scary word. "You deserve more than being sent away."

"I'm not going anywhere," I replied quietly.

Bert didn't say anything. There was no point in contradicting me. "Do you require anything else?"

"Was there anything wrong with her child? Do you know?"

"Dr. Farmington said that it appeared the baby was healthy. He attributed the pains to stress."

"Right," I said blandly. Stress.

"I cannot be here for too long. It wasn't the one who was supposed to bring you your plate, I traded in a favor." In the corner of my eye, I saw Bert bow. "Ma'am." The door closed softly behind him.

🥀

"You decided to send me an urgent message in the middle of the night to summon me to your house," Frances began. Matthew and Frances were seated in the drawing room across from each other with whiskey glasses in hand. Matthew had already had his glass filled twice before Frances had arrived. He stood up to fill his glass again.

"I did summon you. And it was urgent."

"Why?" Frances asked incredulously. "What could we possibly have to say to each other?"

"Ms. Axel threatened to kill the parents of my betrothed. I'm going to take her to the asylum in the morning," Matthew said, matter-of-fact.

Frances didn't even question the use of her maiden name. He would've, under normal circumstances. These were not normal circumstances. The messenger he sent had practically taken him from his home under duress. "What the hell does that have to do with me?"

"Ms. Axel claims that it was Victoria who threw the first stone. Apparently, my mistress has been plotting to kill her." Matthew finished pouring the whiskey in his glass and sat back down. "I don't believe it for a second, of course. I—"

"Whitfield!" Frances bellowed. "I didn't let you drag me out of bed for a monologue. Why am I here?"

"She told me to call you down here before I believed Victoria's claim about threatening her parents. I dismissed it as nervous lies, at first. But, the longer I thought about it, the more it bothered me. Why would Ms. Axel reference you to support her story? You hate her."