It was a beautiful day like all other beautiful days with bright blue cloudless skies. The sunlight flowed through polished windows and reflected colorfully through finely cut crystal sconces with a display of color on unsuspecting walls. A plaintive melody wove its way through the great halls of the finely appointed home. Servants moved stealthily, floors were scrubbed, dust eradicated, silver gleamed.
The rapidity of her fingers could not erase the memories. Her eyes haunted but dry, there were no tears left to shed. What was one to do when all hope for happiness gave way to the reality of lover's vows broken.
Forsaking all others…
She laughed bitterly aloud at the thought. She would consider how odd the servants would consider it that their mistress laughed to herself while playing the pianoforte. Maybe she would be sent to Bedlam, maybe she was already there. How her young heart broke when he gave up all pretence and simply stop returning home. Not that the strong odor of perfume and brandy late into the night prior to his obvious defection was any better.
The titter and swish of fans with barely concealed murmurs filled her senses.
"Did she really imagine, SHE would be able to keep such a man as he?" sniffed the first, a Lady Bracknell.
"It will teach those like her to remain in the sphere to which they are accustomed. I hear he is now entertaining an actress on Drury Lane," added her companion.
"Oh look, she crumples… do you believe she can hear us. How improper of us," fully entertained the ladies departed.
The melody filled her soul with something her marriage no longer held. A parcel of her dreams still lived on in her son. His heir. Her purpose. Only thoughts of her son could pierce her damaged heart enough for her to respond. She could no longer afford the deficit of affection her heart felt for her unrepentant spouse. His behavior prior to their marriage had a reason. It was not prudent for him to show his preference to her, but now his behavior had no external justifications.
Now in the third movement of the melody she poured her frustrations. The time for visiting was upon them. They were coming, the women who smiled falsely to her face, while planning assignations with her husband. He adored it; he loved the attention, dressed for the part and attended simply to see his choices parade before her face. It was a game, and she knew how he loved a game. She had believed the games would end when their marriage began.
Her song ended, she simply stared at her hands.
"Your guests are in the morning room Mrs. Churchill," announced the servant. She wore her blue dress. Frank always adored her in blue.