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Her room was cold.
Susanna had opened her windows before she’d left, and the early evening breeze was rushing through them now, billowing the lacy curtains like leaves in a forest. She watched them idly, her hands neatly clasped in her lap. As ever, the picture of sophisticated grace, the image she’d been trained to embody perfectly since she was a young girl. Another breeze brushed over her, sending a spike of worry down her spine. Her eyes glanced away from the idyllic landscape to the white wooden door, its gold handle in the same position it had been three minutes ago.
A clock chimed, and she fretted at her lower lip. She still hadn’t come back !
Heart aflutter, she couldn’t stop herself from rising to her feet, the soft fabric of them gently padding across the marble floor as she moved to the window. She could almost picture the stand off - Susanna placing a warm hand to Almaviva’s chest, and her husband slowly but surely thinking he’d been successful, slowly but surely knowing he’d won.
Rosina had to cast those thoughts aside, blinking rapidly in an effort to hide her tears. She wondered how he’d reacted when Susanna had begun her seduction, if he’d attempted to resist before he relinquished to his baser desires. She could almost picture his face; the sculpted facade so handsome, so bright, his eyes glittering with wanton need even as his lips spoke a refusal. She wondered if he’d made Susanna beg for him.
Revulsion, at herself, at their plan, shuddered along her spine. Why had she agreed to this? It was too…too daring, too far. What if this was the moment that he decided, once and for all, to cast her aside? He was, by far, the most jealous and prideful man she had ever known; he would never allow her to get away with this slight to his honour.
She gripped the windowsill, feeling the familiar wood veins beneath her fingers. She allowed it to ground her. The pain in her chest only mounted with each second that ticked by.
By the heavens, she and Susanna would change clothing to ensure that Almaviva wouldn’t suspect anything! The darkness that was falling would only further enable their plot. But it didn’t stop the fear coiling in her gut.
Look at her, La Contessa Rosina Almaviva; look at how far she had fallen, to be plotting behind her dearest husbands back to prove his intention of infidelity. Humbled by his actions, he was threatening to reduce her to a laughing stock, with this unprecedented mix of infidelity, jealousy and indignity. Had she not once been his lover? Only that hadn’t been enough for him, somehow, for he had offended her honour by beginning his pursuit of her own maid! And now…
Now, if he agreed to Susanna’s wiles, he will have betrayed her.
Her eyes cast another glance to the still firmly shut door, and she longed for Susanna to rush through it, the Count to follow, to beg her forgiveness, to kneel before her and look at her the way he had in their youth.
And he had knelt before her in her youth. Her mind threw forward bittersweet memories of his pursuit of her , how he had sung of his love for her as Lindoro and how Figaro had helped him to trick her guardian. How fervently he had fought for her, how absolute his love had been for her.
Where did those moments of sweetness, of pleasure and joy, go?
Moments where his lips, his beautiful, lying lips, had sworn vows of fidelity to her, and then had worshipped her until she was panting his name above him.
There was such pain in her chest, and yet, despite her grief and tears for how everything had changed, she could not forget those moments that had made her fall in love with him. If only she could banish those memories, cast them from her mind, she would not feel so torn about Almaviva’s betrayal.
He’d promised to love her for the rest of time, to care for her and love her as long as they lived, even into the next life. Her nails dug into the windowsill as she tried to cast out the image of him in that clearing, but the memory would not go.
He had promised to love her for their whole lives.
She nearly crumpled at the memory, but her own pride and the windowsill kept her standing, staring at the gardens where he’d loved her so.
Part of her remained optimistic. Perhaps, if she could still love him, despite all this pain and desperation, then she could find a way to change his ungrateful heart. What if there was a way to convince him that she was enough, to show him that their love was eternal, in the same way they’d promised each other on their wedding night?
She had to take it.
This plan, it had to work.