Episode 3
870 Words
There's only so much a woman could do.
Angelica sat at the dining table as she waited for him to come home.
She was wearing her favorite evening gown.
A maroon colored gown with loose frills,the neckline was cut low.
Low enough to see,
Enough to be noticed.
But not enough to be considered scandalous.
Her blonde hair in a loose bun.
She waited.
Her hands tapped the edge of the table slightly.
She has gotten used to waiting.
It was the norm in their relationship.
He arrived shortly after,
He apologized for being late.
Then sat to eat.
The little talks were always awkward,they ate quietly in the dining halls.
Angelica tried to pretend she wasn't nervous.
The sound of cutlery louder than it should be as it touched the plates while they ate.
Frederic broke the silence first.
He asked how her day was as he chewed in between bites.
“ Fine”, Angelica replied.
Frederic didn't ask further.
“ There's a soiree, the Prince is rumored to be in attendance” he said
“ The party is hosted by the Rocheforts “ he continued
“ You know them right?”
She looked at him as she smiled.
She nodded.
She doesn't know them.
He rambled on about how he needed to make a connection at the soiree.
“This is the most she has heard him say in weeks”, Angelica thought to herself.
She speaks up,
“ I'll book a visit to the modiste for a gown to the party”
“ I've already gotten you a dress” he says without looking up from his food.
In another timeline,this could have been the sweetest thing a husband could do for his wife.
But this was her life, Angelica thought.
It means,
they must attend the party together.
Another party.
When does it end?
He had paid for the modiste to make her a gown of his choice,
“ It would be delivered tomorrow” Frederic said
Angelica only nodded .
_ _ _
Angelica wore a turquoise colored gown.
The bodice is sculpted and elegant, fitted closely to the torso.
It's fabric catching light with silver threading tracing floral patterns.
Her blonde hair is packed perfectly to fit the standard of a married woman.
The perfect symbol of womanhood.
At gatherings, Frederic became another man.
He placed his hand at her back and spoke of her beauty with pride.
He introduced her with love in his eyes.
He whispered gently into her ears as people watched.
Guests admired her soft voice and gentle ways.
They said she was lucky,they said she was cherished,an envy to behold,
The duke and duchess of Bellingham.
Angelica felt choked.
The continued praises on a marriage so empty.
The swarm of people talking at the top of their voice.
She watched as the women talked behind their fans.
As the men drank and talked at the top of their voices.
The too loud music.
The musky smell of alcohol mixed with perfume and sweat was torture.
She needs to breathe.
Angelica excuses herself from the party.
He hadn't noticed when she left.
She was able to find an empty room, far away from the noise of everything.She needed space to collect herself before returning.
As she stood in front of a cracked mirror she had found in the room.
Angelica couldn't recognize the woman that stared back at her in the mirror.
She hated the color turquoise.
It didn't compliment her pale skin tone.
It makes her look faded.
She hates bright colors but yet most of the gowns in her closet shined liked the sun.
The once outgoing and happy girl has become a shadow of herself.
She hated what she had become.
The thought of it all breaks her.
Angelica tries to control it but tears start to form in her eyes.
She starts to cry.
Angelica sits in a chair,head in her hands as she weeps
She doesn't realize when the door opens and another woman enters the room.
She sits across from Angelica and hands her a handkerchief.
She says nothing.
The silence between them quiet but understanding.
_ _ _
Madame Corinne Deroy was everything Angelica was not allowed to be.
Everything she couldn't even dare to dream of.
Draped in mourning silks that clung like shadow to her form,she wore the deepest shade of blue, making it look like black.
She moves with deliberate confidence.
Her laughter low and intimate.
She is a widow, and society treated her like a curiosity;dangerous, fascinating, untethered.
She did not scold Angelica for her tears.
She did not offer platitudes.
Instead, she listened as Angelica poured her heart out to this stranger.
Eyes gleaming with something between sympathy and hunger.
Corinne spoke of her own marriage as a prison disguised as comfort, of how widowhood had delivered her into sovereignty.
Her husband’s death, she said softly, had been tragic,mysterious, even—but liberating.
“A shame” she called it, describing her husband's death.
But as she talked, Angelica noticed how her lips curved into a smile as she
describes his death.
She describes freedom as though it were a lover: intoxicating, dangerous, worth any cost.
- Writer
