The Downside Of To Whom Was Married To His Obligation

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Ignore the title heh =)
This story was actually title-less.

This story which you are about to read was written by me with the help of Jane Austen and cheers to those who recognise her famous quotes! Couldn't sustain the urge to insert her quotes =)

Originally, this was actually an assignment given by my respected teacher ( end your story with "... I'll never trust you again." ) but another teacher asked me to do a few changes to this story to publish it in the school magazine.
So the one you're about to read is the latter.

If you're smart, I guess by noting those tags you could pretty much sum up what the whole story is about and of course with a few twist and turns =) do enjoy!

Submitted: November 14, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 14, 2012




Dear diary,

I have sunk deeply in sin for his eyes were sensuous and radiant like pure emerald. The very presence of his being had empowered everyone else around him. He is undeniably a true gentleman with a pleasant and respectable persona and I dare say so; for I have developed a benevolent concern towards him.

Mother had once told me that a lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, and from love to matrimony in a moment. I understood it the second my eyes lay on his. Fortunately, I am but a single woman and it is a truth, universally acknowledge, that a man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

Father had already arranged a dinner for tomorrow night. The gentleman’s family will be dining with us and I only hope for him to offer a marriage proposal if all ends well. Fingers crossed.

June 1865.




“That’s it. It just ends like that. Just like Richard’s story in Step by Wicked Step.” I said after reading my mother’s diary to Leo, Tesla and Nikolas; my pets—a cat, a puppy and a chrysalis.

Let me assure you, when a person converses with animals is not because they are mentally ill but it is because they feel lonely. That was precisely how I felt, so I decided to read her diary to humour myself.




I am a lonely person. I had not experienced someone’s love and care ever since my parents’ untimely demise when I was just two years old. There was nothing the welfare department could do, but to place me into a miserable orphanage. I grew up to be the responsible lady-like person everyone wanted me to be. Alas, in my heart of hearts, I was nothing but a delinquent. I was moved from orphanage to orphanage until a mysterious relative came to pick me up.

He was my godfather. A kind but a busy man took me under his care. Although he treated me well, he was often abroad; working. I was not sure what he did for a living, but I knew he owned immense wealth.




It had been five years since the day he took me in. During those years, I had managed to meet him twice. Quite depressing really, but I did not mind it. Trusting people was not my speciality though I did feel indebted towards him somehow. He did take care of me better than those rather boorish and meretricious women from the orphanages. That was precisely why; I decided to put on my brightest smile for our forthcoming meeting.


Oddly enough, that day arrived too quickly. My godfather was sitting on an antique chesterfield while sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea when I found him. He was quite fond of its distinctive bergamot fragrance and aroma. We greeted each other as he enquired randomly about what was going on in my lonely yet posh life. For no reason; somehow, I began to sob and he listens patiently to my blubbering like all good godfathers would do. Ever since then, both of us spent time together like father and daughter. I was truly glad and grateful to have met a benign godfather like him.




With my dearest godfather’s blessing, I got married few months later. Soon, my husband; hopelessly left me and our son for a [harlot] girl who was old enough to be his own daughter. I grieved all night but my godfather—as old as he can be—promised to stay with me and my son.

Oh, how I thought my life was perfect!

A callow person like me would not have understood it until it was too late.




On Friday the 13th, several Eurasian men clad in black entered our country house to speak to my godfather. A few minutes later, they were gone. I had not suspected anything was amiss. I headed straight to his room to ask him to join me and my son for high tea. I knocked on his door—no answer—so, I turned the doorknob and push the door open.


There he was—a sorrowful smile plastered on his livid visage—lying on his bed with a wound as the size of a ring on his chest. Both he and the bed were soaked with blood. An old-fashioned gun dropped from his lifeless palm to the floor. The smell of gunpowder filled the room; suffocating me. I stood silently, my mouth agape. All I knew was that I had been dealt another crushing blow in life.


I closed my eyes; shutting myself from reality. Waves of pain rushed to my head but I wondered whether my eyes were playing tricks on me. Slowly, I opened my eyes—hoping to see him, alive and well, that it was nothing but a lucid nightmare—sadly, it was not to be. He indeed had committed suicide. My knees buckled and I collapsed to the floor. Somewhere outside the country house, I heard a distant sound of sirens.




Years passed, I grew old and wrinkled but I remember it perfectly like it had just happened yesterday. I blamed him for killing himself and I loved him for being the perfect godfather to me and my son. Till now; the moments of my own death, I never knew the reasons he did what he did.


My son, he grew up (a gentleman just like how my mother describe my father in her diary) to be a wise attorney. Unfortunately, he mirrored his father’s visage so perfectly, it saddens me.

One day, he said to me, “Mother, I solved grandfather’s mystery. I know all his secrets, now.”

And I told him that it was not a mystery but a suicide, that there was no behind-the-scene strings attached to it.

He proved me otherwise. My son showed a letter written by my dearest godfather and he told me that it was kept in the hands of my godfather’s most trusted consigliere. I wondered why he needed an advisor, and so I began reading his letter...




I felt relief washed over me after reading his letter—his confession. I was so relieved and light-hearted that all the burden, frustrations, blame and guilt dissipated as if they were never there. I closed my eyes, breathing in everything, cherishing all those great moments. Unexpected tears rolled down my cheeks as I held my precious son’s hand. My time was coming to an end. I kissed my son’s trembling hands and whispered to his ears.

“Thank you.”

“I will always love y—”



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