"I'll find you, Giselle!"
The man muttered in a low tone. His tall hat dutifully hid his abrupt displeasure. But it could not mask the turmoils in his heart. He needed to see her again. Not just for raw romantic reasons but because he wanted to make things right.
He had missed her.
It was true that his affections had burned too hot that night when he had accosted her in that black satin night dress while he was completely intoxicated from downing too many bottles. It was not his fault for falling for the temptation. Neither was it his fault for wanting to have her by all means under the faded shimmers of the moonlight. He could never resist the fire in her gaze, that unfathomable boldness with which she had rejected his advances many times before. But not that night — she had rejected him, yet again— but he had fought against it. Or tried to.
Just when he had thought that she was succumbing to his touch and smothering kisses, her moans which had assured him thus, she reached behind her and pulled out a weapon, a knife. On the brink of his helplessness, he had no other choice but to call for a truce. A truce, it was.
But things were never the same after that or should he say, their situation had gotten worse after that.
It wasn't that it had been any better, to begin with, but if things were worse off before, his actions that night had gotten them to an irreconcilable place. She would never forgive him. She had even runoff from Aegremonth to get away from him. He wasn't a perfect man.
"Boss… "
Rochester stuck to his stillness, expectant of the fellow to speak up about his concerns. But this man, seated beside him, was his Butler. And he would not mutter another phrase except he first encouraged it.
Rochester took in a deep breath before setting apart his lips to talk.
"What do you wish to say to me, Simon?"
"Uh— Sir, don't you — I don't think," Rochester saw him fondle his knuckles, brushing them against his knee in a somewhat tense manner. "Um… if you think back on all the times Giselle has denied you her love, even I cannot count how much it has been."
"Am I complaining?" said Rochester.
"No," said his Butler. "But if you consider it, she is not worth the risk of us— of you travelling all the way just to be here."
"Well, I didn't come for nothing. I am here to make her my bride. Also, Giselle, my Giselle is worth any risk."
"Sorry, sir."
"No, Simon. I'm not angry but I do have a problem with you." Rochester growled. "You do not know what love is."
"Love? I only know that I can never be this adamant about someone who at every chance she gets, rejects my affection."
"Again, Simon. You do not know what love is. Love is being foolish and taking pride in your lack of sense. You can never be that smart. Though you are right in that I have my pride to protect.
"I, Rochester, am the most affluent merchant after all. Not just in Aegremonth but all over the world. Yet…
"Yet, Simon. I am foolish for this girl. This Giselle. I am so spellbound by her that when she declares, 'jump Rochester' I can only say, 'how high?'"
In that instant, Rochester's thoughts wandered off to Aegremonth, some six-hour distance from where he was. It was his hometown and where he had first seen her after a long time apart. A couple of hours, in truth.
He had first been to her aunt's house with a truckload of enticing gifts. Just for her!
That afternoon, together with the company of Elsa, one of her Aunt Gertrude's maids, he'd seen her. And asked his coach to stop. The sun was at his peak that day when he had pulled closer to the bewitching damsel. Her clear blond skin under the day's shine was too blinding for him back then, and her mildly orange lips gave her face a look of warmth.
Yet again, she had rejected him in the presence of the maid! And challenged him. But he did not care for her childish behaviour. She did not yet know what she wanted. As such, he still wanted to buy her so much and give her all such luxury; gold, frankincense, and myrrh!
Yesterday, in the evening, he had invited this maid out for some talk where she told him about Giselle's departure for Griffinwald.
Since he was a desperate man, he had set out by eight o'clock this morning.
They were presently in Griffinwald.
Unexpectedly, the situation of the outside weather started to get intense as an outrageous wind forced its way inside the chaise. The breeze bullied Rochester's hat off him, flailing it outside the window and into the storm. Forever lost.
"Simon, what is this?" Rochester asked.
"Sir, I think the rains are about to come."
"Right now?"
Rochester felt it was too disturbing to be true. But it was true. The winds had howled ferociously, beating the sides of the carriage as though it was about to disassemble.
Simon panicked, "This is not a simple rain, I'm afraid. It is a bloody thunderstorm!"
"Be still!" cried Rochester.
Suddenly, lightning struck. Rochester heard the horses neighing and figured they had been hit. The vehicle toppled off balance.
But in a split minute, the ride got stable again.
"How can we know that we are taking the right track to Giselle's home," asked Rochester. "Can you tell?"
"I'm sorry, Sir. But the dust has hazed my vision. Unless we can find someone eager to tell us which way, we're lost."
"No, we are not," Rochester said, fiercely.
Abruptly, the rains began to beat like bullets on the roof of the expensive coach. So great were the torrents that it brought a whirlwind with it.
Rochester cursed because the cold would be setting in soon. Simon already shut the windows but that wouldn't be good enough to keep the frost out.
"I guess we'll have to sit this one for another hour," said Simon.
"I guess so…" Rochester, on impulse, darted his eyes towards the window. "Who is that beauty outside in the vicious storm? I wonder if she will not catch a Flu in a few minutes."
"What girl, boss?"
"That blonde," said Rochester as he picked up his nose in her direction. "She is just outside from here. I am afraid her sunny marshmallow dress is all but ruined by the rain."