Fosca sat in her quarters anxiously awaiting the mail, wringing her hands nervously as she stared out the window at the streets.
Surely the mail must arrive soon! It is nearly dinner! It must arrive. she thought. Giorgio had left the day before so his letter was due to arrive with the day's mail.
She heard footsteps and knew it would be the doctor wanting to discuss what had happened but she couldn't tear her eyes from the window.
"Signora?" he asked, knocking on the door as he entered.
"Yes?" Still Fosca didn't look away from the window.
"Signora, I have something urgent to discuss with you. Signora?" The doctor stepped closer, standing behind her as he spoke. "Signora, are you quite alright?"
"No, I-I don't feel well. I must rest, doctor," she muttered, standing as she continued looking out the window.
She felt the doctor's arm encircle her small waist as he guided her away from her perch at the window and to her bed. "Signora Fosca… Yesterday, when you had screamed, do you remember what you had been doing beforehand?"
"When? I'm afraid I can't-can't recall," she swallowed past the growing lump in her throat as her doctor pulled the blankets from their neatly made setting so that she could climb into the bed. She sat on the bed, pulling her feet under her as she leaned against her many pillows. "Why do you ask?"
He pulled her blankets up around her, avoiding meeting her gaze. "Your screams didn't… They didn't sound the way they usually do. I wanted to see if there was a connection to be made if you remembered what you were doing."
Fosca could feel how awkward he felt, she could sense it. She almost felt bad. Almost. She wasn't going to make this easy on him. Her dreams and visions of Giorgio were private, she didn't want to share them with this man who worked for her cousin. "I don't remember."
"Do you remember when I came in to check on you?" he pressed on. "When I tried to wake you, you-Your body…"
"Doctor, I don't remember. What are you speaking of? You are making me feel even more in need of rest," she huffed, her eyes flicking to the window. One of her cousin's men was approaching the house with the post! "I need to sleep."
"Yes, Signora. I'm sorry. I will leave you to your rest," he nodded, turning from her and looking as relieved as she felt.
When the door clicked closed, Fosca threw the covers from herself and hurried to her chair by the window. She was seated comfortably when she heard an uncertain knocking on her door.
"Enter," she called. She recognized this one though she was unsure of his name. He was often at dinner. If she wasn't mistaken, he was one of the men that she often heard gossiping below, though they thought she couldn't hear them. She smiled as she saw the letters in his hand. The man nodded as he handed her a letter before leaving.
Hungrily, she tore open the letter, her eyes taking in the name at the end of it.
"Giorgio," Fosca breathed, her eyes closing as she held the letter to her breast. He had kept his promise! And his writing was so beautiful, each swirl and line so exquisite!
She read quietly to herself, her smile quickly fading, "I am writing to you, Signora, just as soon as I've arrived with a most unhappy heart. I do not wish to cause you pain so please consider what I say with calm. My heart-My heart belongs-" She stumbled over the sentence as tears swam in her eyes. Taking a deep breath as she wiped her eyes, she continued, "My heart belongs to someone else. I am in love, hopelessly in love-Hopelessly in love, and am loved hopelessly in turn, Signora.
"You and I, we're not meant for each other. If I seemed to imply something more I apologize. But since we're forced to be together, let us try to face the fact. Let us both behave with tact. If this letter seems cold-hearted it conceals my own distress. Nonetheless, we must end what never started. You must recognize there is nothing between us."
Tears were flowing freely from her eyes now despite how she'd tried to stop them. She could feel her heart breaking as she reread his last line, one word sticking out Her voice broke as she began crying quietly, "Nothing ... Nothing, nothing…"
Giorgio's letter fell from her shaking hands as she covered her mouth, fighting back a sob. She stumbled back to her bed, curling under her sheets as she buried her face in a pillow.
She knew, her doctors had always told her, that if she stayed calm, she would avoid more attacks. And so she fought against the sobs that wracked through her body, biting her pillow and holding her breath.
A scream broke through her lips, muffled into the pillow she was biting so desperately. Each of her following gasping breaths released in screams into her pillow as well as she trembled, her limbs clenching tightly against her form.
When she awoke, her cousin was by her bedside, having a heated conversation with the doctor.
"Colonel, it has been over a day. You know as well as I that she never blacks out this long. I believe, sir, that she has taken a turn for the worse. With her condition as it is, I am not sure that she'll even wake."
"I refuse to accept that! You will do your best and keep me notified of any change. I wish to be alerted the second she wakes up. Do you understand?" her cousin demanded. She noticed that he had her hand clasped tightly with both of his and she sensed in him a great fear.
Fosca squeezed her cousin's hand weakly and his eyes immediately darted to her face. She attempted a smile for him, her only family, "Am I dying again?"
"Of course not, my dear! Of course not! Are you hungry?" he motioned for her maid to bring her food before she shook her head.
"No, no. Cousin, what is today?"
"You have been… Asleep for over twenty-four hours. You've already missed lunch. Are you sure you don't want anything?"
She ignored him, "And how many of those hours have you been at my side, dear cousin? Go! Go to your troops. How will your men get along if you are not there to guide them? You and I both know they are not the brightest of men, they need your guidance!" She smiled again, teasing this time as she tried to calm her cousin's worried state.
"Very well, my dear. You will let me know if you need me?" She nodded as he rose, the doctor following close behind.
When the door closed, she motioned for her attendant.
"Yes, Signora? What may I do for you?" the man asked nervously, fidgeting.
"I want to know the moment Captain Bachetti returns. I wish to speak with him. Please bring him here when he arrives. That is all, thank you," she ordered.
"Of course, Signora. But, you don't want lunch?"
"No. Just alert me when Captain Bachetti is here," she repeated.
When she was left alone, she crawled out of bed and retrieved her letter from Giorgio. She placed it in a book and brought it to her bed.
She felt terrible, her head hurt, her chest ached, and she longed to close her eyes and surrender to the exhaustion she fought every time she closed her eyes. But she knew it was only a matter of time until Giorgio would return and she wanted to speak to him straightaway, wanted to ensure that she would at least be permitted to see him even if he would never return her feelings of such deep affection and adoration.
"Signora? Captain Bachetti is here."
Fosca nodded and motioned for his arm. Her attendant helped her from bed and escorted her to her chair before taking a step back to await instructions. "You may escort him in and then that will be all. You are dismissed. Thank you."
"Signora Ricci will see you now," the man said, opening the door and stepping out of the way so he could enter.
Giorgio nodded briskly to her attendant as he passed him. He stood at attention before her and her heart skipped a beat as her stomach flipped. He was so beautiful! Her attendent closed the door behind him, leaving the pair alone.
She forced a smile, cold despite the warmth the warmth that flooded her body. "I received your letter and I thank you. I hope we can still take hands," she reached out for him, her fingers aching to touch his as her body's desires took hold.
"Of course. We can certainly be friendly," Giorgio sighed, relieved. He took her hand in his, squeezing it lightly.
He released her hand all too soon and she folded it in her lap, fidgeting. "You have no idea how mortified I am." She looked away, unable to look at his beautiful features any longer.
"Mortified?" he questioned, confused. She could hear the confusion in his voice and wondered, despite herself, if it had made it to his eyes. She chanced a look. He was staring at her intently, his exquisite eyes bearing into her own.
Fosca blinked several times, looking away. She swallowed, staring at her hands as she wrung them nervously, "About everything that has happened. My emotions sometimes overpower my judgment."
"I found your affection very flattering," he told her.
She looked up to see if he meant what he was saying and she saw a patronizing smile spread across his handsome features. She scoffed, "How indulgent you are with me!"
They fell silent as her gaze fell back to her lap.
"Did you amuse yourself in Milan?" she finally asked, still unable to meet his eyes.
"Yes. Very much," he answered, a genuine smile gracing his features now when she glanced up.
He was remembering her, no doubt. This woman he was hopelessly in love with. Jealousy burned within her.
She wanted him to say it, to admit why he had left her all alone for three days. "Admit that you only took leave to visit my rival."
"Your rival?" he looked to her, pulled from his daydreams, to see her staring at him expectantly. "Yes, of course that was the purpose of my visit."
She bit her lip, fighting tears. "Excuse me. I can be so naive in respect to you. I should have understood what you meant by the 'urgent need that required your leave.'" She forced out an uneven breath, "And will you go back soon?"
"Whenever I can. As soon as possible," he answered, his response cutting through her.
"If you get another leave?" she managed, again unable to meet his eye. She focused, instead, on the dully painted wall and she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was doing the same.
"Naturally."
"Perhaps I should put in a word with my cousin. Help from me might serve you well," she smiled at him and saw him turn to look at her again, his interest piqued. She looked away from him, back to her stretch of empty wall, "Of course, a negative word …"
She let it dangle, sure he would understand what she was getting at. Painful as it might be for her, she would convince her cousin to let him take these leaves often. All she wanted from him now was the original promise she had extracted from him. She wanted him as a friend, if nothing else. After finally having someone to talk to, she couldn't bare being left to her own devices again.
Giorgio snapped irritably at her, "Place more value on your dignity. Don't offend your pride, Signora."
"We each deal with our pride as best we can," Fosca ground out.
They fell silent again and she could sense his irritation and desire to leave.
"You love this woman very much?" she asked, her voice sounding stronger than she felt.
"I wrote to you," he responded, his referring to the letter paining her further.
There is nothing between us.
She swallowed, forcing back tears but her voice broke anyway, betraying her pain, "Is she- beautiful?"
Back in his daydreams of this woman, he didn't notice, "An angel."
"Then why don't you marry her?" she asked, trying to bring his attention back to her as she swallowed again.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable, "She is already married."
Fosca couldn't repress the disapproval in her voice, "Oh. And you respect her?" She was liking this woman less and less with each passing moment, adulterous woman!
"Respect has everything to do with love!" Giorgio answered, defensive.
"That's not true, but it hardly matters." She couldn't believe that a man as virtuous and good as he would embark in an adulterous relationship, would prefer such a disloyal wretch to herself when she tried to live her life in a pure, just manner.
"And is your angel also a mother?" she asked after a brief silence.
"Let's stop torturing each other!" he changed the subject somewhat angrily. "It's humiliating and unworthy of us. I find your sarcasm most distasteful."
She exhaled slowly, looking away once more. "I have many flaws, Captain," she responded dryly.
"Our situation has been well-defined. Let's not discuss the subject further," he ignored her comment.
"That is what I would like."
"Good. I hope we have no further occasion to speak of ourselves," he said, disapproving.
"You may also hope that we do not see each other again," she threatened. And it hurt more because she knew the thought of that killed her and didn't bother him in the least.
"That might be the best course of action," he nodded.
She took a deep breath, composing herself. "You may go now, Captain. I have more important things to do," she instructed coldly. She heard him click his heels as he turned and she looked up to watch him leave. He hadn't even given her a second glance as she watched him tearfully.
With a pained sigh, she forced herself from the chair and stumbled back to her bed. Witch much effort, she climbed between the sheets and cocooned herself as she cried herself into an exhausted sleep.
For three weeks, she didn't leave her rooms, instead choosing to eat all of her meals in the silence of her rooms. Her cousin visited her everyday, growing more and more concerned. Her heart went out to him and she felt guilty. But, at the same time, she didn't care.
She heard the doctors conversing, she was dying. She heard them comment: she was terribly pale and refused to eat. Her skin burned to the touch as her fever climbed; Her hysteric convulsions were increasing in frequency and she was unconscious for longer and longer periods of time after each one. But she didn't care.
Giorgio didn't care, didn't love her, wouldn't even be her friend. Why should she care? Why should she make an effort not to let her diseases win when she had nothing to live for? Living, seeing her Giorgio--no, not her Giorgio. That woman's Giorgio--everyday through the window and seeing that he was happier now? Why put herself through that pain? Why not just let herself die?