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Alistair Charles Alexander Ashford,
1 Wellington Gardens,
Belgravia,
London,
SW1X 7RB.
14/03/1943
Dear Sol,
It is my greatest pleasure to inform you that, as of now, I have become the man of virtue and success just like how you wanted me to be. I always wish that you had never had to face that devastating accident. It would be lovely if you were here next to me, giving me boundless love and support as you had always done. It has been two years since your agonizing passing and a year since my rather dull marriage to Miss Lavinia Rose Ashworth, the sister of the eleventh Earl of Dengby. I never agreed to this union, as my heart and soul will belong to you always. She is not aware of this, as she often questions my refusal to consummate our marriage constantly. I do not blame her, since both our families have been persistently pressuring her to produce a child, an heir. I wish I could explain everything to her. But I know if I do our love and the lovely memories we shared will be called a blasphemy, a curse, or a sodomy.
In actuality, I didn't decide to write to you to complain about my life. I've been appointed as the 9th Duke of Wellington in England since last week. Now I have become ever so busy with the war against the Nazis. I've been continuing our favorite hobby alone for the last two years. Every time I put on the mask you made specially for it, I'm reminded of the time you melt my loneliness with your presence, accompanying me every single time. And my heart wrenches in pain every time, all over again, as the fact that you are no longer here resurfaces in my mind. Even though my life is bitter as it gets, I plan to continue this hobby, although my hands are tied by my duties as the Duke of Wellington. I promise to write to you at every opportunity to do so.
I am hopeful that you are in a better place in heaven. I wish to come into your embrace the moment my breath leaves my body. I know you will be standing with open arms near the gates of heaven when I do.
Yours Always,
Alistair Charles Alexander Ashford.
(Your Lionheart)
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As I was done writing my letter to my love of my life, Sol, the door of my study flung open with a bang. Lady Lavinia strode in and slammed her hands on my mahogany study table so hard that my ink bottle toppled over, drenching my clothes and the letter I just finished writing. She stared at me, fuming with anger. I didn't dare to look her in the eye as I continued to stare at the letter, as the ink bled across the paper like a wound, each looping cursive letter dissolving into ghosts of what I held as a secret in my heart.
"Alistair! Look at me! Look at me damn you!" She shouts.
The maids who were working peeked inside, definitely thinking that they were well hidden, which they were not.
I calmly folded the ink-drenched letter and kept it on the left corner of the table to dry as the ink dripped from it continuously. I calmly took the empty ink bottle and closed it, placing it where it was before it spilled.
"Alistair Charles Alexander Ashford!" she screamed as I slowly reached for my handkerchief and wiped the ink off my body.
I sighed painfully before looking at her blazing eyes.
According to many other men, she is the epitome of a goddess with her piercing emerald green eyes and wavy, long locks of black hair. She had the blood red lips that any man would love to kiss, except me.
She was still wearing her golden silk nightdress slightly askew.
I stared into her eyes for a moment before saying anything.
"Yes, my lady. Is there something I could help you with?" I asked.
"Alistair! Why didn't you come to my chambers last night?" she questions me, furious.
I sighed again as I got up.
"I was called to the royal palace to discuss the situation with the Germans," I said as I recall my meeting with the MI6 agents.
I looked away for a moment before studying her face. Her eyes were red tear streaks still visible. I feel a sense of guilt as I know that I'm the reason for her tears.
She lets out a shaky breath.
I ignore her and stride to the coat hanger, grabbing my coat, because I know being indifferent and not leaving any room for any intimate relationship is the best, as I have no interest in her.
"Your mother asked me for an heir the last time she visited. Servants talk, Alistair. What needs to be done must be done," she said. (Servants talk = His duty to produce an heir is public knowledge)
I looked at her for a while as the clock ticked, and the tension in the room remained palpable.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
Her anger goes up in flames again.
"Charles!!!," she shouted.
I flinched as I knew her using one of my middle names would not end well.
I looked away, pained.
"Look at me, Charles. Look at me. At least have the damned decency to look at you wife when you discard her away," she said now sobbing.
I looked at her eyes glistening with tears. I feel the urge to console her, but I hold my ground.
"Is it me?" she asked, voice cracking.
She came closer and grabbed my wrist hard, her nails digging into my skin.
I didn't pull away as I couldn't bear to hurt her further.
"Charles, I'm your wife. Not a portrait to ignore. Not a chair to step around," she said.
I closed my eyes as I slowly grabbed her hand and loosened her grip. I walked out of the room, taking long strides. The servants who were watching the whole ordeal scattered, seeing my monstrous glare.
Suddenly, I was pulled in to hug from the back.
"Touch me," She whispered,
"Or tell me why you won't, so I can hate you properly." Her voice cracked as she forced the words out of her quivering lips.
I gently loosened her grip and turned around, facing her.
"I wish I could, my lady, but I can't, you won't under-," She cut me off.
"What!? I will decide whether I would understand it or not!" She shouted at the top of her lungs as sobs wracked her body.
New tears formed as she stared intently into my eyes, not wiping the uncontrollable trail of tears.
I sighed painfully and looked away, breaking eye contact.
"I'm sorry. I can't. And I'm not able to fulfill your request," I said.
The moment those words left my mouth. She trembles, eyes widened in pain, lips quivering weakly.
She took my hand, keeping it on her waist, holding her slender waist. She stood on her tiptoes, slowly and clumsily kissed my lips, just her soft lips touching mine.
I didn't move or pull away, shocked. The kiss didn't feel right to me at all, as the person whom I had allowed to claim all of my kisses before always had parched and chapped lips. His kisses were always rough, passionate, and tasted of salt rust.
I felt her pressing her body against me, leaning closer.
I snapped back from my shocked state as I gently pushed her away and walked out of the hall.
I heard her slumping on the ground, bawling her eyes out as I left the hall with a heavy heart.
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(1235 words)
A/N
Wow, did I write this much? Anyway, how's the first chapter? Tell me your thoughts. I won't be able to update regularly, have to do my studies. Please bear with me. I'm not sure abt this, sorry, succeeding, but I hope you'll like it. And I hope that you enjoyed it so far. And do not forget......
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BAI SAYORAN