The Beauty Of Rose

W E D

I

   I SUPPOSE MY WEDDING DAY is a good place to start. It's where everything begun. I was sixteen when it happened. The ceremony was brief, and we retired quickly. I knew why he was marrying. Matthew Whitfield, one of the most eligible bachelors in our kingdom, would not marry purely for love. When we were in our bed chambers, Matthew looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite place.

He held the unearthly handsomeness of a god. His red beard and hair were his most outstanding features, standing brightly against his ocean-blue eyes. The rest of him was as if carved from stone. Muscles, all in the right places. His jaw tightened, and even that was attractive.

"I want you take it off Rose," he said gesturing to my veil. His voice wasn't quite soft. But it was low and steady. I already knew he considered me deplorable in every aspect, but to see me? See my scarred flesh, and how one side of mouth went limp, how my hair wasn't real at all. Under my wig I was bald and burned, everywhere on my face had been scorched by heat. How it had costed me everything that could've made me beautiful. All you could see were my eyes, which were not pretty.

They were merely dark and empty, staring out. Unlike his own. If he saw me, saw what was under my veil, he would be so heavily repulsed. He would regard as less than a woman, less than human. A creature. Like my father. So, I quietly shook my head. "Your veil Rose," he repeated. His voice was reaching a note of an impatience. I shook my head again. His eyes had filled with something, a measure of cold distance. He wasn't going to force me. Matthew silently left our bed chambers. He never returned.

We don't speak. Or touch. Or kiss. We are in every sense, "marriage in name only." He resides on the other side of the Whitfield mansion. Most recently, with his mistress. I glimpsed her once in the gardens. Her hair is long and curly, the color of oak. Her eyes are a wild green, her skin is fine porcelain. Her deer-like lashes sweep over her cheekbones and frame her eyes in such a way that would entice any man. But her eyes are so perfectly hard, like stone. She walks like she's on air, gliding effortlessly. They are both so handsome, especially together. If anyone should have wed, it should have been them. She looked at me that day. Eyes full of contempt and disgust. I suppose she thinks they were supposed to wed too. Everything in my life proceeded as regular for four years. I made little contact with my husband and his mistress, except on holiday, when she was proudly on his arm. My only companion, Elisabeth, called on me every day. Then one day my regular life came to a pause. Forever. I had finished breakfast in my bed chambers, and had come to the gardens to walk upon the roses. Suddenly she was at my side.

She was wearing a lovely blue gown, that fit her perfectly. It was flowing and airy, the ends translucent under the rays of the sun. "Good Morning," she said brightly. I turned to her. I said nothing. Whatever this woman wanted meant nothing good. Her hard green eyes glowed with ambition, and I knew exactly what it was for. My place. She put a hand on her stomach and smiled wildly. "God has blessed my womb," she continued. What an awful way to put it. The she was standing there with that smile, I was amazed. At her impudence.

If it had been anywhere on God's green earth, a mistress wouldn't have dared proudly exclaim she was brimming with a bastard child. At least, not to the wife of the husband she was with. But, it seemed given the circumstances, I wasn't one to be feared or respected. Besides, there was nothing more that woman love than to get a reaction from me. However, she wouldn't get one. I turned my head briskly from her, making as if I hadn't heard. She then proceeded to catch my arm in a tight grip.

"What are you doing, Victoria?" came a voice. Matthew. His eyes were flitting between me and...Victoria. Lingering on me. So that was her name.

"Extending the good news," she replied innocently. I could see how even he saw the act as purely disrespectful. But he made no move to apologize.

"Miss Axel, could I speak with you for a moment?" he inquired. The way he referred to me smarted. He called 'Miss', as if I was unwed, using my maiden name. And if he had referred to me as, "Mrs. Whitfield", the title was so impersonal it was ridiculous. I inclined my head and nodded. He gave Victoria a look. She gave a small huff before brushing past me.
"So now you know," he said.
"I suppose," I replied.
"I need an heir," Matthew stated.
"An illegitimate one?" I inquired, a brow raised. Matthew laughed humorlessly.

"I don't know how I would've brought a legitimate child into this world," he answered. I let the sting of his words sink into my skin.

"Perhaps, I said, but I know you don't expect me to live with them." It should have been out of the question. It was out of the question. Matthew knew that as much as I did. But he still lifted his eyes daringly to mine.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Oh Matthew, I started, are you really as dense as your mistress to not realize how horribly improper our situation is? As to even ask that question, well, it strikes me something serious. I thought you were a gentleman."

Matthew smiled ironically. "I'm only a gentleman to a lady," he said. Matthew then stepped close to me, so close, I could smell the scent that enveloped him. Victoria's sweet perfume was overpowering, but his own smell was distinct. Fresh soap and shaving foam.

"Tell me, Miss Axel, what do you really have under that veil of yours? Is your face as hideous as the rest of you? Is that why you hide it?" he sneered. He couldn't see the pain that ignited in my heart. The way my lips trembled under that sentence. I would have hid it anyway.
  

"I am Lady Rose Whitfield, my dear husband. And I refuse to disrespected by the likes of you and that woman. Keep your mistress and your child. Have as many bastards as you see fit. In fact, if it pleases you, you may live with them rather than here. It is of no concern to me. But do not make the mistake of thinking I will live under their same roof," I returned. With that, I walked away as fluidly as I could muster.

I went to the library. No one ever came there. The servants never bothered to dust it. It was on the far wing of the house where I resided, so neither Victoria or Matthew stepped foot in that place. I sat in dark, secluded corner and removed my veil.
  

I let tears roll down my charred flesh. I'd likely never feel the joy of carrying a child. Never know how it felt raise and love someone so dearly. I would never be looked upon or adored as a mother. And as the days passed, the hope that I would ever even be simply kissed waned. I let myself wallow in self pity and depression for a few moments.

Then I heard voices.