The Young Count

The boat floated on the mirrorlike water like a feather levitating in the air, leaving no trace but miniature waves on the smooth surface. Friendly branches reached over the blue-green, a cascade of nature. A calm took over her as she got lost in the scarlet orange of the sunset. She took a breath, now sure that her life would be balanced after all. A fortnight ago, she had thought she would not survive another day, scared, scarred by love, not one inch of her body escaping the horrible ache.

She had mentioned her new, wonderful suitor to her most trusted friend, a daughter of a count from lands far, far away. The countess, her father and her brother had arrived some days prior for their annual visit to their friends. The lord had been mentioning how hard it had become to find a wife for his son, for he denied every last of his father’s choices.

“Well, whom do you desire?” had asked the count.

No response came, however, the son looked yearningly at the lady sitting beside her sister. Both ladies had noticed, though they had not expressed any concern or welcome for the gesture.

“Father, excuse my stubborn demeanour, for my only true wife had been chosen by my heart in the first ten years of its life.”

The young count had risen from his seat in order to escape from the unwanted conversation. The two ladies had followed his action, opting for the marvellous gardens of the villa. Though there had been no aspiration for a meeting with any man from the province or beyond, the suitor of the fine lady had found the two sisterly friends under a rose bush. He had joined them, not grasping the signals given by them to leave them be, he had picked a flower from above to offer the blossom to his wife-to-be.

“Excuse me, fine gentleman”, had come the sound from around the other side of the bush. “For you shall be the man my wonderful lady talked about.”

The man had acknowledged the statement with a nod. The young count had left with no other word spoken to any of the ones sitting under the roses.

The lady had lain sleepless, staring at a sky with no stars. The candle had still been illuminating the room with its deathless presence. The flame had shaken as her world had turned upside down, changing her life for the best or the worst.

The following day, the baron, accompanied by his beloved friend, the count, had made an announcement. The son of the latter had wished to duel with the suitor for the hand of the lady. She had been devastated, fully comprehending the possibility of losing both men in the swordfight.

She had not considered her feelings for the young count to be love, though she could had been the most wrong. During the competition, she had found herself cheering on the young count instead of the gentleman she had thought of as the perfect husband. Both men, bloody from head to toe, had swung their swords relentlessly.

But all that had happened far too long ago. She entered the small cabin of the boat, rereading the letter a hundredth time that day. By the candle light, the ink glowed like millions of stars captured on parchment.

“I shall welcome you when you arrive, my lady.” The last line made her heart full again and again, now realising the utter mistake she could have made. For the battle was won and she would be the lady of lands far, far away.

Fülöp Csenge-Anna XII. H