“Mr. Carlo, let us step out for a moment.”
Father-in-law or not, he was still an earl, and Carlo was still a commoner—there was no taking back violence. Carlo apologized to Sofia for having forced her to be the considerate one, and they exited the parlor. Teresa’s mother had been waiting in the hall, and she took him and Sofia to another room. He folded his hands together tightly and put them to his forehead for a while, praying for deliverance from this nightmare.
“We understand that this must be very hard to take. For the past couple months, neither the physicians nor priests could return her memories nor improve her condition.” Teresa’s mother, at the other side of the table, glued her gaze to the ground.
“Condition? I had heard that Teresa was healed by the priest. Has she not recovered?”
“I suppose my husband has not told you of this. Even Teresa herself isn’t aware of it, but her disease is inside her head and can never be fully cured. Her headaches and symptoms are intermittent, but they plague her to this day. She requires someone capable of healing magic by her side in order to survive, and that person is, well, her groom-to-be.” The message between the lines was “You can do nothing to help,” and Carlo had no response. “We are incapable of helping our daughter. I beg that you save her life.” His mother-in-law bowed and remained bowing.
“Please, no need for this.” Carlo’s dumbfoundedness eventually gave way to that single sentence. Despite his confusion, he understood that neither he nor they had the power to help Teresa. And, more than that, he keenly felt his powerlessness. Carlo prayed for a miracle to descend upon them. “I ask that you allow me to see Teresa one more time—one last time, as a magical toolmaker she has never met before.”
After some time, Sofia led Carlo to a room at the back of the manor. Inside was his wife, countenance pallid, wearing a dress and resting on a sofa. “Lady Teresa, this here is Mr. Carlo Rossetti, a magical toolmaker who has come from the capital. Master has instructed him to pay his respects.”
“I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Rossetti. Welcome to the Lamberti home. I am the eldest daughter, and my name is Teresa Lamberti. Please forgive my wretched state during my convalescence.” Teresa stood to deliver a well-practiced introduction, smiling a perfectly executed smile. Her hair was glossy red, her eyes were crimson, and she was adorned in a wine-colored dress that contrasted with her wan skin. She exuded the essence of a noblewoman—she was Teresa of Earldom Lamberti, an aristocrat who did not know Carlo.
“It is my privilege to meet you, my lady. My name is Carlo Rossetti.” An unfamiliar voice, even to himself.
“May I know what kind of magical tools you are currently crafting?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Summer is just around the corner, and now is the perfect time for the vent—”
Icy brine filled his chest as he answered Teresa, who addressed him as nothing but a visitor. True love could maybe, just maybe, overcome memory and illness—so Carlo prayed with every fiber of his being, but the gods were deaf to his pleas. Teresa had promised him that she’d never forget that day, yet he was nothing but a stranger to her now.
Their inoffensive introductions came to a quick conclusion, and Carlo studied Teresa. She had soft hair, warm cheeks, and delicate shoulders. Her words had always tumbled out quickly when she spoke of her interests, her humming had often been slightly out of tune, and she had always stumbled and blushed when she tenderly whispered words of love. No amount of conversation with her had ever been enough for him, and they had laughed at silly jokes together and talked about their modest dreams of the future.
But if his Teresa was to turn cold and lifeless just as suddenly as he had lost his parents, he wished to bear with the pain of witnessing her decline; he did not want to ever forget her or be separated from her. He wanted so badly to plead with her to remember him—but he stifled his affections; the rending memories were all his to endure. Live, Teresa—I’ll be okay as long as you live.
Carlo looked Teresa in the eye and smiled, saying softly, “Lady Teresa, I thank the gods above for the joy of meeting you.”
“My, the honor is all mine.” Her beautiful smile, so like a doll’s, was as perfect now as ever.
Carlo and Sofia returned to the parlor, where Earl Lamberti was still seated. He heard their silence and guessed what had transpired—the guilt and pity in his expression said it all. “Sir Carlo, you are still young. Forget about my daughter and marry someone new. We shall raise the child.”
“And who is this ‘we’ to whom you are referring?”
“We shall have her adopted by our kin who are commoners, and we shall financially support them. She will never live a life of want.”
“There’s no way—” The rage that burned inside him made him spew fire, but he cut himself off when he saw the earl’s fist clenched white.
Until a few months ago, this man had simply been Dahlia’s grandfather. He had held his granddaughter in his arms with a grin on his face. He had even pestered Carlo before he’d left last time, asking him if he’d move from the Green Tower to somewhere closer to the manor and promising to construct a magical toolmaking workshop in the Lamberti home. Now, however, Carlo realized that although he was Dahlia’s grandfather and Teresa’s father, he was nevertheless Earl Lamberti as well—an aristocrat who had his subjects to protect; such was what nobility entailed.
“Dahlia is my daughter—I will raise her,” Carlo declared.
“Raising a newborn as a single man is no easy task. It will surely hinder your work too, and considering your future—”
“Even if I have to hire help, even if I have to take a break from my work, even if I have to borrow money, I will raise Dahlia!”
No sooner had he vented his agitation than Sofia took a step forward. “Mr. Carlo, please take me with you. I should be of great assistance to you, as I was Lady Teresa’s wet nurse. Ah, but it would be very difficult to do this alone, so I would also like to bring my daughter for the first two years. May I please have your permission, Master Lamberti? There are also some other things that we would need, like—” She directed a list of requests toward the earl: her daughter, who was also a maid; two goats; diapers; newborn clothes; letters of introduction for the capital; and many other things.
With that, Carlo, Dahlia, and the two maids left to return to the Green Tower. Seeing them off was Lady Lamberti, eyes puffy and red.