In his lifetime, he lived only for his wife. He walked in a gentlemanly ambiance to the lake to cheer in the evening breeze by the lakeside. It was mainly one of his routines in the evening.
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Aside from respecting his wife's reading periods, Lord Osborne enjoyed watching the water and seeing the wonders of nature.
The evening rest of the flowers and how the birds recede for the day to their nest despite some Turdidae still wandering for prey to pick for feeding were all extraordinary to him.
His wife had told him she wanted to spend some time in the library as she used to where she had always spent most of her evening time with no turmoil at all.
This time was when Lord Osborne allowed his wife to have the time to study whenever he was not doing so himself. Even though they both lack the same senses in books, he still enjoys talking to her about politics and other books he reads and she never ceases to listen.
She had always taken her time in studying about le bon ton just anything about the societal high class and feminine standard.
She was known to be an advocate of masculine farce with a shilling of femininity within her. Lady Anya had panned out of reading tons of books, beginning with Donne, Burns, and Blake.
Poetry was one of her mastery and she admires Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
That evening was no different from other days and in this accord, Lord Osborne always leaves her, Lady Anya be while he takes a stroll at the lakeside.
He sought a chilled evening with an evening dress for an elite which he never defaults on conveying.
Lord Osborne’s hands were folded behind him in a mayor style with a subtle smile plastered on his bright face as he walked gently.
He had a void mind but he was enjoying his peaceful moment as he awaited his wife.
Just when he was about to retreat for the day to check on his wife, he heard a soft scream at first, he had thought it was a sound from the thrush, picking insects on the lawns of blossoms around him but the sound persisted causing his sixth instinct to run back to his wife who was in the library.
"What do you need me to do, my lady?" he asked. Fear was not so evident on his face, at least, that he thought but it was apparent in his countenance and through his voice.
She raised her hand to his face, rubbing his cheeks gently as a form of comfort. She found solace in his arms and that alone was a good reason for her to rest well.
Lord Osborne adjusted her head in his arms as he rested his face in her palm.
“Who did this?” he asked as she was lying in her own stream of blood.
“No one, my darling. This was all my doing.”
Lord Osborne had no idea what hurt the most, the fact that his wife would think of committing suicide and leaving him back in this world or the fact that she was actually dying.
Lady Anya could see the anguish on his face so she spoke. "A dandy. You would have been a good father and with no use of cants, you are a good husband. I’m sorry, my Lord that I could not give you children,"
Her words rolled out as bitter and to Lord Osborne, they sounded like a Canterbury tale, more like claptrap.
A slight frown formed on his face pronouncing his strict manner in such a way that it became so evident to the dying lady in his arms.
"Speak with some euphemism, my lady. Your words sound more like a bane than to be melodramatic. I was happy with you not having my children. We were peaceful," he awarded some act that took away the lady's heart but Lady Anya could not bear the reality of being barren. It was better to go.
"What more can a dying lady say?"
"Say not that. You are not dying nor will I let you leave," his bob of faith made her smile.
She felt a sudden pain in her chest again, causing her to shut her eyes to simmer the pain in a way she could. She dropped the book in her hand as she held her chest when the pain became unbearable causing an excess panic in Lord Osborne.
She coughed a few times and a spill of blood splashed on her dress, staining the embroideries on it.
Her face grew paler over time and so was Lord Osborne's face. A frail act but a solemn effect.
"I want you to make me a promise, my beloved," her tone was sounding lower than when she had begun to speak earlier.
"What will that be, my lady?"
"You will remain happy without me,"
"Your words sound like thorns to my ears and not only do they pierce my heart, they hurt my soul,"
“Just do me the honor, my Lord.”
“I cannot be joyous while you’re gone, Anya. I’m a no-man. A nobody without you!”
She knew there was no way to convince him and now, she was close to the brim of death.
Her eyes were shut but still with a tinge of stalled tears falling from her closed eyes as her heart stopped beating and she succumbed to the hands of a lonely world. Death.
He shut his eyes as the reality of his lost love hit him hard in the face. He threw his head backward, trying his best as a man to push his tears back. A thing he thought he could do but failed.
A few drops of tears escaped his eyes as he picked his wife up, placing her well in his arms, trodding the long hallway from the library.
Her cold body with dried tears still evident on her face lay petitely but lifeless in his arms. Her embroidered dress flowed like a river beneath her despite the flowery print on it which might seem like a saviour.
He walked outside the manor and as he walked, the governess came out with a shocked yet devastating look appearing on her old face.
The melancholy zoomed in on everyone's countenance and the dismay was floating upon the surface of the manor. Even the living things around were appalled but her epitaph remained; a true life lived well.
This is my submission to the Inleo prompt suggestion for the month of April. The topic is "Epitaph of a prominent figure: A fictional character". You can join here. This is the calendar
