The Ornaments of Love

by G A Dazio

  Rios became concerned to hear his first call to order, that which this young lady had already managed to formulate for him.

  “You will understand the enormous amount of attention the house has received in the last few days, and will no doubt receive for several weeks to come, I fear it is more than I can bear. I would appreciate it you would direct any calls of sympathy upon yourself, as my representative. It would all be too unbearable to deal with this outpouring while I am so very much still in mourning.”

  “But of course, my lady,” he assured her. “I will take on all of that for you. It is not a problem.”

  “And when we are done with the transference, I would also appreciate it if you would book passage for me to Rome. The thought of being here for the coming weeks is really quite terrifying and I would very much like it if you would make all the necessary arrangements for me to stay in Rome during this time. I wish to leave as soon as possible. I have already prayed with my aunt and said my goodbyes. I will not attend her funeral at the end of next week. For myself, it would be quite unnecessary, and I don’t wish to face the mobs of people who will likely be there. I will, of course, need a chaperone, as I am now on my own. If one of your associates would be so very kind to escort me and help me on my journey and during my stay?”

  “Oh, surely, my lady, that would be of no difficulty whatsoever. Señor Borges would, I’m sure, be honored to escort you on your trip.”

  Veronica noticed the young Señor Borges sit up immediately and nod his endorsement. “It would be my honor, Marquesa.” He could not help but to appear confused by the prospect.

  Chapter Thirty

  The next afternoon, the house had been overwhelmed by its responsibilities. For a task that might seem simple, the staff had managed to make a pageant of it. They had been ordered to prepare for their new mistress to set sail for Rome by the next morning. Though they hadn’t been informed of the length of Veronica’s stay in Italy, they had gathered from her orders that they were to prepare baggage for an indefinite leave. She would take the castle’s under-butler and two maids with her, leaving the remainder of the staff to maintain the castle in her absence.

  Señor Rios and Señor Borges had both assured her that there were frequent voyages made between the port of Barcelona and the Italian Coast, and that she could return when she wanted to with no more than a three-day notice. She had continuously thanked them for all their help and praised them for their expediency. They had made this terrible ordeal so much lighter to bear, she told them.

  And in truth, she was more than a little frightened by how easy it all was, how willing everyone was to please her now. It was a strange sensation to play this role that her aunt had excelled at for so long. It seemed to bring them all a special joy to be of service to her.

  By her butler, she was informed that someone had chosen to arrive at the house unannounced to call on Veronica and pay her condolences. With much trepidation, the man quietly informed his lady that it was Doña Ferrero who waited on the main floor to be received.

  This was unimaginable to Veronica, that this woman, of all people, would even think to visit her at a time like this. After all that had happened to ensure they should never see each other privately or socially again. Veronica had suffered over the loss of this woman in the past days, as she had suffered for her aunt. She had loved the woman who would have been her mother-in-law, and it was no mere loss to Veronica that the woman’s warmth and loving affection would need come to an end. But Veronica did not hesitate to know that it was a chance she would gladly indulge in, this woman’s love, before she would escape from the city.

  Arriving at the door of the main salon, Veronica was greeted by Francesca with a pained face and opened arms meant to receive the girl. Veronica felt her entire body fall when she witnessed this woman’s expression of pained love. She ran unashamedly into the woman’s arms.

  “My child, this is a catastrophe. Oh, my sweet girl, no you mustn’t cry, you mustn't. I promise you it will be all right.”

  The woman’s words came with a loving rich sound, and in those few moments, Veronica felt that the woman’s words might somehow be true. But her delusion soon fell apart, returning Veronica to the task at hand: to announce that she was leaving the city for as long as she could.

  “He has gone too far, I have told him. To behave like this to a girl such as you is an outrage! To think that he would be so horrible as to renounce his engagement, to go against what has been settled by his father... I cannot even bear to think on it!”

  The woman moved them both to a sofa, never releasing the girl’s hand, relieved to finally have the sweet child near her. She had suffered the entire affair alone, it seemed.

  “My God, you should have seen him when he told us. So terrified, so offensive. Joaquim leapt to his feet like an animal to strike him. I had to physically put myself between them to stop Joaquim. But then Dídac said to him that he had done this specifically to hurt his father, that he would not marry you and would renounce his legal studies for no other reason than to spite his father, because... It was too much, even I could not stop Joaquim. He went as far as to push me to the floor to get at him! And then what he did...oh, God. They fought each other like wild animals. Joaquim tried to murder him but found that Dídac would not let him.

  “The boy thrashed my husband within an inch of his life. His physicians say he will be in bed for a month, if he lives. Oh God, what has befallen us?”

  The woman had begun to cry, weeping with frustration at it all. She could not understand any of this, as it seemed to have no reason.

  “Why, Veronica? What was it that brought him to this state? I cannot believe a word he says. Do you know what has led him to become a criminal? He has gone mad, I tell you! He will not even speak to me. To me! His own mother!”

  “I do not know, Doña. It was a great pain to me to be cast out of his life,” she whispered slowly. “And then to lose my aunt…”

  “But no, dear, this must be some tragic mistake. He would not ever think of such a thing if he were not suffering from some terrible mental illness. Some vicious evil must be at the heart of this all. You mustn't believe that he does not wish to marry you, dear, it simply cannot be true. We must weather this storm together and see him through it.

  “His father! His father has ordered me to have the boy thrown in prison, cast out of the city itself! To prevent just that, I was forced to have him locked inside his father’s study. He has tried to escape repeatedly in the last two days and we cannot even open the door to bring him food. Oh, but you must come to our house to help resolve this terrible ordeal. You must come to tell him that you will stand by him through this terrible time in his life and that you forgive him.”

  Veronica stared without flinching at this woman’s pleading eyes. So, it had come to this, had it? This would be her last chance to have her dream resurrected from the ashes.

  “I will not,” she said plainly. “I will do no such thing.”

  Francesca stared at the girl, dumbfounded. This was as incredible as it was unexpected. She did not believe that she had heard correctly.

  “What do you mean, child? Surely you do not believe that this is truly what Dídac wants?”

  “That is of no consequence now. And I do not wish to injure you more than you have been. You must believe me when I say that I love you so deeply. But I have decided that it is best that I not marry your son.”

  “But you cannot believe this!” Francesca screamed.

  “Doña, I do love your son, and I love you, but we have passed the point of repair in this matter. He did not break off our engagement in a rash of screaming, as you have said he did with you. He stated quite calmly and plainly that he would not marry me because he did not love me, and that he never had. As plainly as that, he said this. And more, he said he would not marry me because he refused to live the life that both his family and mine demanded of him, and in this he told me with irrevocable and painful words that we are finished.�
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  Francesca convulsed at the girl’s words, feeling the final blow that crumbled the disbelief that she had allowed for herself during the past days. She sobbed uncontrollably, and Veronica felt such empathy, modulating her words to make the moment as short as possible.

  “I do not mean to harm you by saying these things, Doña, but simply to help you understand that there is nothing that can be done to rectify this. He has injured me beyond reason. And, though I forgive him for what he cannot be, I will not attempt some idle last hope of gaining his love again. Doña, I will not live the rest of my life with some small part of me that is unable to trust that he will not injure me in this fashion again. There is really nothing else to say on it. I will not even go with you to assist you in helping him. I cannot imagine such a thing, and furthermore, I have not the time for it. You should know that I am leaving the city tomorrow, possibly forever. I set sail for Rome in the morning.”

  Veronica had said everything she had wanted to, just enough to make her point clear and only enough so as not to destroy the poor woman irreparably.

  The tears had continued until her final words, and then Francesca at last understood that this ordeal was as terrible as she had feared. With the young lady’s final word, fell all the woman’s hopes for her dream.

  Veronica rose to take her leave. She felt she should leave the woman now and allow her to find her way back to the challenge that awaited her at home. Slowly, and as quietly as possible, Veronica whispered goodbye and bent down to kiss Francesca’s wet cheek. She turned and walked out of the room, fearing that this would be the last moment she would ever share with this beloved woman.

  As she returned to her room, Veronica felt an exhaustion for the end of this pain. And in the final moments before her last dreams of Barcelona came, she felt the end of the suffering and cried. Whatever would come in the morning would not be a part of her memories. For Veronica, the end of Barcelona happened on this night.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  What took place from then on was the greatest release she had ever known. Veronica stood on the deck of the ship thinking of the multitude of difficult journeys she had undertaken to make her way to Barcelona in the past, laughing at how happy they had always made her. She mused at how those moments had paled against this journey now.

  The pain of her aunt’s death was no longer a threat to her, for in leaving the city, she had somehow escaped the agony all together. The sorrow she harbored now was only an exquisite expression of love, a memory of the ecstasy she had known for almost a year while living with her aunt. There was no pain involved now. The final tears that escaped her eyes last night carried only a great happiness for the warmth shared between them. Their love had not died with Marcelina’s body, and in those few days, this had been her greatest fear. She had believed that their love had come to an end, and that nothing could ever return her to the joy she had felt in the woman’s arms.

  But on this mighty ship, steaming through the Mediterranean, Veronica at last knew that the joy of Marcelina’s love carried on with her. It had followed her from Barcelona and embraced her now, as a mother would. Her aunt’s memory was now the most tangible object of love that she would ever need, and she witnessed the morning light fall upon the last glimpses of Spanish land as it departed the horizon without regret or mourning.

  * * *

  In Rome, Veronica had surrendered herself to the experience without hesitation. It had proven itself from the very first minute to be everything she had dreamt of. A city so indescribably beautiful, even in its ancient decay, that she was left to marvel over every single wall and sidewalk that she came across. And once settled, she resolved to henceforth never allow herself to cry for anything. There were enough statues of crying women there already.

  At the end of the week, Veronica had settled into a sparkling glow of contentment with her new life in the Eternal City. She ventured to all the sights that tourists flocked to, quite satisfied to hear her tour guide describe the Trevi Fountain or the Pantheon in his broken Spanish. And upon confronting the Colosseum, resplendent even millennia later, with only her massive bones to shield her from the scars of time, Veronica could still hear Marcelina describe its beauty when she closed her eyes.

  In all, she had only ventured to the boulevard where her hotel rose above the rooftops but a couple times to see the Romans bustling through the shops and restaurants. Still, she was already one of these people at heart. A lifetime spent here would not be necessary to change Veronica. She had already taken on the bold, aggressive walk of its citizens.

  From her suite atop the six-story Palazzo Lozano, she marveled at the city’s burned glory as the sun began to set behind the silhouettes of its many towers and massive palaces. In the far distance, the dome of St. Peter’s stood directly west to mark the sun’s completion of this glorious day.

  Dolça asked from off somewhere behind her if Señor Borges might have a moment to deliver a correspondence from her attorneys, to which Veronica simply nodded.

  He strolled quietly in and began delivering his complements on his accommodations and her generosity, which, now at the end of the week, had become a custom for the man. But she was only too happy to find him reliable in his praise.

  Señor Borges did not have anything new to say this evening, but produced a letter from Señor Rios in Barcelona, which she took from him. After quietly dismissing him, she turned away, returning to her balcony.

  A warm spring breeze drifted through the small potted trees in the courtyard of her balcony when she broke the wax seal of the letter, as if heralding its arrival. It was a single sheet of paper with only three lines written in Señor Rios’ own hand, which she was now very familiar with.

  2 May, 1849

  To the Marquesa de Amontoní,

  It is with much regret that I must write to inform you that I have received word from Doña Francesca Martell de Ferrero, who wishes you to be told that her son, Dídac, has died for unspecified reasons. As you are not here to do so, I have sent the proper condolences in your place.

  In this time, when so much has befallen you, I am left only to continue with my most heartfelt sympathies for you during this terrible season.

  Respectfully,

  Señor Vincente de Rios

  It was perhaps the last breath of sorrow she could bring herself to exhale, and she released it softly like a prayer. In time, she said a single word, over and over. It became a mantra for Veronica as she turned her eyes to the fire blazing in the scattered clouds over the horizon.

  “Dídac,” she repeated under her breath. She had not dared say his name since the morning Marcelina had left her.

  With the death of the sun’s light under the Roman horizon, the fifth Marquesa de Amontoní abandoned the agony of the past year, allowing herself to be reborn under the infant Roman stars as they broke through the canopy of the twilight sky.

  THE END

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  About the Author

  Joseph Stone is a paranormal and historical novelist who lives in San Diego, California. He holds a Bachelor of Science in Psychology from San Diego State University and a Master of Arts in Industrial and Organizational Psychology from The Chicago School of Professional Psychology.

  To learn of upcoming releases, visit:

  www.AuthorJosephStone.com

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  Also by Joseph Stone

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  The Ghost of Cambria Trilogy

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  Slave

  Valon

  The Palace of Geminon Trilogy

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  Heretic Run

  Harbinger

  Writing As G. A. Dazio

  The Ornaments of Love

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by G. A. Dazio

  All rights reserved.

  This boo
k or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Karolyn Herrera