Note to herself: I shall have to consult an archaic dictionary one day, because I feel that the words I've used are still pretty actual, but since English is not my language, I'm pretty much content with what I've achieved. I hope I'm making progresses.
And another thing: This chapter is rated 16+ for a reason: to be on the safe side. It does not contain any explicit scene, so don't worry, but it does have a painting that features nudity. As you might or might not have noticed, I've added images to the first chapter, and from now on I'll add to every chapter, to make your read more interesting, because I know that reading a 5,000 words chapter can become boring sometimes. And to sparkle your imagination.
And becuase I love the paintings! Now go, read!________________________________________________________________________________
THE RED ROSE
CHAPTER TWO: "The Thorns Of A Rose"
***
Rose
Rose
I woke up in the morning, half-dizzy, half-tired. My head hurt a bit, but it was a bearable, mild pain. The count's demands had been much beyond what I could give him last night. With no pretence of love, because I knew that there was not, nor would there be any love between us, I extended my left arm, hoping that mine would meet his.
There were times when I believed that love lifts the soul, that it is able to surmount any physical boundary and become that noble, immortal feeling that so many poets praise in their works. And I assumed that I had not met love yet. I did not expect that our feelings would ever develop into such an unbreakable bond between us. But, even so, could we not share at least some ephemeral moments of tenderness?
It seemed to me, however, that I was requesting too much of him, my expectations being too high. When I opened my eyes, I noticed the count had already thrown his garments on, and was now buttoning his shirt, prepared to flee at any time, showing no consideration upon my feelings whatsoever. Hearing the rustle of the bed sheets as I began to move, he turned his head around and stood up as a coward that he was when I pulled him back in the bed.
"You never spend your mornings with me," I spoke in a dull tone, propping myself in a hand while I arose from the bed.
"You realise, I hope, that I am a busy man," he replied flatly, avoiding my gaze.
I let out a silent sigh, and then immersed myself into the bed sheets again. "I assume that asking you to accompany me to the theatre this evening would not be even worth mentioning."
"I must leave the town today." A refusal was exactly what I had anticipated. "A relative of mine… a cousin, more precisely… has asked for my help." A falsehood, on the other hand, I had not. His eyes were lying, I knew, because they continued to ignore mine. I could not find an explanation as to how he still had the nerve to shamelessly make up excuses.
"Help? What for?" I asked, growing curious of what insipid reason he would come up with next.
"I'm afraid these are some personal matters. I would rather keep them to myself."
"You are so secretive… that I sometimes can not help but wonder if your mysterious nature is an asset or rather a drawback for the future of our relationship." Silence. Ralph did not provide me with an answer, the least that I deserved. He just kept on getting dressed, making me feel… used. "Can you not stay a while longer?" I finally demanded, controlling my irritation, although inside I was already ready to hurt him at any moment. And I could have done that, for it was because of my condition that I could cheat on any man, and the count did not make an exception.
"It is already late. You sleep too much." I did not let him guess how much I hated him for his coldness towards me. Or so I thought. However, when he dared to request a kiss from my lips, I turned away from him, disgusted by the insolent courage that he still had. "Am I sensing a hint of complaint?"
"No," I lied, smiling seductively at him. "Not at all." "For how long will you be gone?"
"Two or three weeks. Or maybe more," he emphasised. And with that, we said goodbye. I detested that selfishness that I guess is in the nature of every man. I hated how they pretended to want me, then walked away without having the dignity to be honest. I had learned from previous disappointments not to cry over any man.
What truly saddened me, though, was that I would never find love. Or at least that was what I believed.
***
I spent the evening at the theatre with Scarlet. I did not speak a word to her, since I was in no mood for conversation. As we were waiting for the play to begin, Scarlet decided to ask me if I was all right, and I assured her that I was perfectly fine. "Nevertheless, you are surprisingly quiet," she remarked. "Have you had a fight with –"
"He does not even deserve his name to be mentioned," I cut her off. "He is out of my life, and I plan on taking revenge for what he had done to me." Scarlet was somehow confused on what I meant by "revenge". "I'll cheat on him," followed my explanation. "After all, it is the only thing I am good at, am I not?"
"Well, in this case, you might have the perfect partner in crime. That man," she said while pointing to the left, "has been constantly staring at you. You do remember him, do you not?"
I searched the crowd until I identified a familiar face. "Well, well, if it's not William, am I correct? He is that friend of your acquaintance, is he not?"
"Indeed," Scarlet approved. "He is Henry's friend… and I am positive that he is interested in you."
"I suspect that he is already thinking of what he could do to me right here, on this seat," I uttered with no refrain. My comment made my friend feel embarrassed, and I could tell that she did not agree with what I had said.
"Is that what you think?" she asked, quite disturbed by my nonchalance.
"What world are you living in, Scarlet? Don't tell me you have never had any indecent fantasy with a man."
"No, I have not," Scarlet replied on a serious tone, somehow disgusted by my question. No matter how much I had been forced to believe that the world was a place full of desire, with no room for morality, I trusted that her answer was honest. Scarlet was one of the few persons I had met that was entirely dedicated to her career. "You have a superficial view of this world. Honestly, I doubt that he even knows that you are a courtesan."
"How so, did your friend fail to inform him? I thought that rumours travel fast."
"Why would Henry even know that? I did not tell him about you."
"I see. Well then, I have no intention of breaking his heart." I whirled my head with curiosity, just to find out if Scarlet's observation was true. Nobody was glancing in my direction. "He is not even looking at me. It must have been your imagination," I uttered, almost to myself.
I must confess that the thought of somebody being interested in my person only flattered me. And for a moment, I felt emptiness in my soul. Nobody had ever been attached to myself. Men had come and gone, but in the end no one had stayed.
William
Henry's friend did not lie; she had been right. Rose had come to the theatre, accompanied by Scarlet. I, on the other hand, went there by myself.
Her seat this time was to the right, one row behind me. It made it harder to focus my attention on her, since twisting my head so much would have been obvious. Even so, from time to time, I took the risk of being seen.
As soon as the play ended, her friend exited the theatre first, but she remained on her seat for a while. I stood up while she prepared to leave and discreetly followed her outside.
"Excuse me… Rose?" I spoke from behind her at the entrance. The reaction was the one that I predicted. She whirled around to behold me – the one that dared to call her precious name – and looked up at me in return as if she wished that I could have disappeared from her sight in that very moment. Unapproachable, just as before.
"I see you remembered my name. William, right?" she said in a very impersonal tone.
"Yes. May I –"
"Go on," she cut me off before I had the chance to finish my sentence. "I am listening," she then carried on, raising her left eyebrow, maintaining the distance that had been set. Little by little, I was losing my calm. With every bold gesture of her I was beginning to grow impatient, and more and more nervous.
"May I invite you to dinner? You must be hungry," I blurted out. Not quite a wise manner of approaching her… but the only one I could come up with in that moment.
"I believe that this is impossible. I am dining with somebody else tonight."
"The count," my mind spoke. "I see," I replied, not letting any trace of disappointment to be read upon my face.
"Please excuse me, I have to go," she spoke, and suddenly faced me with her back, preparing to leave. I honestly did not know why I was insisting anyway. Perhaps it was true what they said, that we only claim those things that we cannot have.
"May I see you again then, one day?" I immediately added when she turned away from me.
"Do you know what I am? Have we met before? Are you a noble? A count, viscount, or perhaps even a duke?" I shook my head with every noble rank that mentioned. I wondered why did she insist. "Then what is it that you want from me?"
"Nothing. I only wish to make conversation."
"I am afraid such conversation is not worth my time… if what you said is true. Please do excuse me, I have to go now." I was left speechless. Such nerve! But I would not give in so easily.
"Are you always that bold? Or is it that you only talk to nobility?" My remark carried a note of irony that she did not taste.
She startled and glanced at me in the most contemptible way. I could read irritation on her face, and I could predict from that moment that my attempts at winning her heart would be a true challenge for me.
"How dare you say such things?" She turned to face me again. "It is my private life, those things are of no concern to you. Mister, I shall pretend that this conversation between the two of us has never existed." And with those words, she brushed the hem of her skirt against the ceiling and disappeared from my sight.
Rose
For the past days I had been meeting several acquaintances. I urged myself to find their company pleasant and enjoyable, but it did not work. Most of them were too young and so willing to gratify my wishes, that my appetite for conquests had been gone as soon as we'd exchanged names. My passion couldn't have been extinguished faster than that. What is more, I wasn't the same woman I had used to be in the past. I craved for something. Scarlet told me that it was love that I needed. I, on the contrary, was sure that love was the one thing that I could've dispensed of. A few days spent by myself, that was the sole thing I wished for.
And exactly when I thought I could finally have some rest, Ralph came back into my life, all of a sudden, and all too soon. He brought some expensive gifts with him, and most of them were for me. The count was probably thinking that their price would buy me back and bring me in his arms again. Unfortunately, that was precisely what happened.
"Oh, Ralph, these are beautiful!" I exclaimed while I tried on different gowns, dressing up and undressing before his eyes, and than dressing again with another dress. All of them were of the finest silk materials, featuring delicate embroideries and patterns that I had never seen. I loved them all! But there was one that I adored. It was of the most deep burgundy colour, trimmed with golden lace around the V-shaped neckline that extended generously to my shoulders. The skirt was full, and the corset had small beads sewn on it, connected one another with golden thread. It was royal, expensive, unique – enough to awake vanity in my self.
"I knew you would like them," Ralph said, flashing a large smile under his dark moustache. He did not refrain from throwing me furtive glances while I changed my garments. "I am confident that you will like these as well," he added then showed me three sets of jewellery. Pearls, diamonds, gold! It was too much at the moment. I was entirely bewitched by the attention he had given to me.
Short after, we went to a restaurant and had dinner. We danced, laughed, kissed. I could not believe how nicely he was treating me. Surprisingly, I was willing to forgive him for what had happened before his leave.
Before sunset, we returned to my manor. The count wished to have a bath and I retired in my bedchamber, waiting for him. Surely he would have expected that I joined him, but strangely, I felt too tired for that. When I attempted at taking a seat on the edge of my bed I felt an unfamiliar dizziness, as if the whole room was moving around me. I lay down and closed my eyes, hoping that the headache that was beginning to be noticeable would go away, together with the dizziness.
I was still feeling unwell when Ralph entered, but I did not whisper a word to him about it. I let myself be seduced by him, for it was the first thing he claimed when he entered my chamber. Much to his surprise, I gave in to his advances from the start.
The following day, however, the headache seemed to have grown in intensity. Although the count had stayed with me, I wished he had left. I failed to recall what had happened between us, but considering the clothes that were untidily spread on the floor, it looked like I had not been able to resist him.
"Good morning," he said upon watching me rise. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"Why? Is it visible?" I asked.
"So you are," Ralph concluded. I brought my hand to my forehead. It was burning. My whole body was burning. "It is quite chilly here. You should pull that blanket over you." I must have had a great fever, since I did not feel that coldness at all. The count shut the windows and then approached me, and covered me with the bed sheets.
"Would it displease you if I asked you to leave me alone for one day? I would like to be by myself today."
"Not before I summon a doctor."
"I do not need a doctor, Ralph. They can't cure my soul," I muttered and let my head fall to one side. It was true what they said, that it is only when somebody feels pain that he looks back on his past. For there I was, soaked with perspiration from fever, but feeling guilty for my behaviour, for everything that I had become.
"My dear, you are beginning to worry me. What is the meaning of this nonsense?"
"None, I was merely talking to myself." I did not bother explaining him what was in my heart, knowing that he wouldn't have understood anyway. He never had. I had searched for love and understanding in the wrong place.
Spoiler! :
William
I started to spend most of my time at The Royal Opera House and Theatre. It was the only place that somehow connected me to her. I knew that she was going there on a daily basis. Sometimes she was alone, but most of the time Scarlet was also with her… or some other men. Every time I saw her being so close to them I felt a pang of jealousy overcoming me. She never looked me in the eyes, and if she did, she never smiled, and she always shot me a despised glare. I cursed my luck that night at the theatre. I shouldn't have been so impolite myself. But as a new challenged that had just been thrown to me, I could not give up.
I befriended Scarlet. She was the only acquaintance we had in common. Scarlet told me everything about Rose: that she was indeed an actress, but she had given up her dream some time ago. Now that the relationship with that count was going well, he was supporting her materially. He had even bought her the manor she was living in, which I had been told that was a truly impressive building. At the hearing of these, I immediately assumed that their relationship was a façade. I told myself that, should she ever fall in love with me, her feelings towards me would be genuine, because I was not a wealthy man. This simple reminder encouraged me to keep on persuading her.
I kept on coming to the theatre every night for almost two weeks until, one day, Rose did not come. Scarlet informed me that she was ill. "I am going to visit her tomorrow. Do you want me to deliver any message from you to her?"
"Only tell her that I apologize for our last conversation and that I hope she gets well soon."
"Alright, I will," Scarlet promised to me.
Days were flowing and I was beginning to worry. Was her sickness something serious? I bought a bouquet of red roses and asked Scarlet to send them to her. She then informed me the next day that she was feeling better and that she thanked me for the flowers. I could not help but smile at the hearing of the news.
I continued to go to the theatre every day, each time searching for her through the crowd until one day I finally saw her at The Royal Opera House and Theatre again. She was more beautiful than ever to my eyes and, much to my disappointment, accompanied by a man older than her. I was already on my seat when she passed just by my side and threw me a furtive glance, and then unexpectedly dropped a folded piece of paper just at my feet.
I unwrapped it with eagerness. Inside there was an address, written almost unintelligibly. Below I could read the words: "Meet me at this address this evening, after the play is finished. Please do not talk to me until then."
I searched her through the crowd and when our eyes met, I bowed my head in approval, so as to let her know that I agree. She smiled to me for a second, and then pretended to ignore me. From what I could deduce from what Scarlet had been telling me, he had to be that count that had been mentioned when I had met her. Judging by their behaviour, they seemed to be at least very close acquaintances, if not even partners. From time to time, he whispered something into her ears, and she smiled somehow fake – or at least that is how it seemed to me right then. I forced myself to believe that a pretty young girl like her was too elegant, too graceful for such a man that was old enough to be her father.
I rubbed my hands nervously all of the time, playing with that paper until I almost crumpled it. I could not wait until the end of the play. I had been continuously questioning her intentions during the play.
When the show finally ended, I noticed that the count did not lead her home. They climbed in two different carriages. I took a post chaise* myself and hurried to the destination, but not before I bought her another bouquet of red roses.
***
I breathed deeply before I knocked at the door. The mansion was huge; it almost looked like a palace from the outside. For a moment I wondered what did a penniless writer like me think he was doing. She was surrounded by wealth, while I – by empty pages. Compared to what I saw before my eyes, I was indeed poor… and mayhap not worthy of her. I did not have enough time, however, to think about it. Within seconds, familiar auburn hair and red lips came into sight. Blue eyes met mine.
Spoiler! :
"So you arrived," she spoke when she saw me. "Please, come in." I greeted her politely while handing her the bouquet of flowers, then kissed her hand.
After she thanked me, Rose led me to the living room – a huge chamber. The curtains, the tapestry – all of them were of a dark, royal green. The framings of the mirror and of the paintings that hung on the wall were made of gold. I have never before seen such a luxurious place. The style was extravagant, but at the same time elegant. There wasn't a single colour that did not match the rest, every piece of furniture being in perfect harmony with the others. Every little corner of the room proved that she must've had a fine, cultivated taste.
Drawing the heavy curtains, she opened the window. "Much better now, isn't it? My maid always closes the windows. She says that cold air is not good for my health, but fresh air always makes me feel better," she commented. "Please, be seated."
I did what she invited me to do, taking a seat on an armchair, then studied the room carefully and noticed a vase with red roses. "I see you like the flowers I gave you."
"I do. They are my favourite flowers," she added while placing the bouquet I had just bought for her that day into the same vase. "And it has nothing to do with my name, I assure you of this," she laughed softly.
"I am glad that you like them," I said with a smile. Then she sat down on a chair next to me.
"Do you wish some tea?" I politely refused. "Please, I insist, my cook makes some delicious tea! She must have a secret ingredient," she said while pouring some into a porcelain teacup and handed it to me. Indeed, it had a pleasant taste. It was sweet at first, but after a while it tasted spicy and fresh as mint, and that aroma lingered in my mouth for a long time. "What do you do, William?" she asked me after I took the last sip.. "How do you make money? I apologize for being impolite, but there is one thing we should clarify."
"I am a writer. One that is starving, but nevertheless… still a writer," I said, on a light note, even though I knew it might have ruined my chances to be with her right from the start.
"A writer?" she asked with surprise, a hint of disappointment in her voice, as I predicted. "So you did not lie when you told me that you are not a noble."
"No, I did not."
"Your turn," she added while studying me carefully. I, confused, looked at her curiously, not quite grasping what she meant by your turn. "Ask me anything you wish," followed her explanation.
"Since you asked about what I do, I suppose it is only fair that I ask you the same. Are you only an actress?"
"I was an actress. Now I am a courtesan," she bluntly confessed. I was shocked, to the point that I could not say anything. "What, has your interest in me dropped?" She laughed to herself at this. "All of a sudden, has it not? I am not surprised."
I did not answer. Instead, I watched her pouring herself some tea in a cup and sipping it. "All the things you see in this place have been bought especially for me by dukes, counts, viscounts, barons…" She paused for a moment, smiled to herself, and then added, "I am certain that right now you must be thinking that I am an immoral woman."
"Not quite what I was thinking of," I contradicted her, "but I must admit I am shocked." This woman in front of me was not a fragile, delicate young girl as I had previously hoped she would be. She was a practiced devourer of men. I had no reason to act with gentleness in her presence, so I decided to be straight to the point with her. "Rose, I am positive that you have already figured out my interest in you. If I am not too blunt, I would like to see you again."
"That is next to impossible. I do not fall in love. We, courtesans, never fall in love. Our feelings would interfere with business. And I assume that it is love that you seek for, not some other desires and –"
"Absolutely not. But what if I were a duke? A noble?"
"Then I would pretend to share the same feelings. My life is an entire play; I did not act only on stage. I am not proud of what I do, but I have dignity, plus a life that I want to live. I am not the kind of woman who can starve herself just for the sake of morality. You do notice that I can only live in luxury." Very pretentious, I thought. I must admit that I could not comprehend how could somebody choose money over love, how could she pretend all of the time. It was beyond my understanding and my life experiences.
"I see. Then you must only pretend to love that old man…"
"The count. Of course," she shamelessly admitted to me. The way she said it, as if it were something natural, bewildered me.
"So while he is gone you bring other lovers of yours in this place," I immediately concluded.
"Yes, you understood it very well."
One question was still haunting me, and I feared the answer could have been one that I did not wish to hear. "Did you hope that I would be a noble too?" I asked. In that moment I wished to know what her intention truly was.
"Do you prefer the truth, William?"
"Always," I firmly replied.
"The truth might hurt." She paused, and then carried on, "I did not intend to make money tonight, but I shall not lie to you. I hoped that you would be my client. It is awfully tiresome to spend the night with old men, I must admit. It bores me to death." I was practically left without any words, shocked to disgust. I did not know whether I should have taken it as a compliment, or an offence.
"Madame," because I did not know how else to address to her, "I believe you have just delivered me an insult by revealing your true intentions."
"I know, I hurt your ego, did I not? All men are the same, you do not make an exception; I assume your pride is so important to you, that you would rather admit to yourselves that you have never loved, than having loved a woman that has previously had other affairs," she pointed out ironically. "But you said you wanted to hear the truth, did you not?"
"I believe I have heard enough. You do not know a thing about me."
"Neither do you about my person. I have built an image of you by what you have said, as you did with me just before."
"Let us end this conversation here. I feel not sorry for coming, though. Otherwise, I would have lived an illusion of how you truly are."
I stood up right away, preparing to leave. "Let me show you the way." Her reply surprised me. I confess that I expected her to stop me. In my mind I imagined her begging me to stay. However this was nothing but my imagination, I realised that the image of her I had in my mind was unreal; I had fallen in love with an illusion. It was time to face the truth. It was unlikely that she had any interest in me, even less probable, since I was nothing more than an unemployed writer. There wasn't anything I could possibly offer to this extravagant, pretentious woman, nothing we had in common.
I left her manor somehow disgusted, but mostly disappointed by her character. I should have learned by then not to have high hopes. The more modest the expectations, the lesser the disappointment that comes afterwards.
________________________________________________________________________________
* post chaise: a closed four-wheeled horse-drawn coach used as a rapid means for transporting mail and passengers in the 18th and 19th centuries.
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