I think I've kept you waiting long enough for this. ^_^ Enjoy!
“Well…?” Celine askes impatiently. She comes over to the table to join both our best friend, Giselle, and myself, “What did you tell him?”
Giselle pours the tea into each of our cups, but we add our own sugar and milk, “Please tell me you said ‘yes’! It would have been foolish not to.”
“Very,” replies Celine.
I take a soothing sip and enjoy its warmth as it slides down my throat, “Well, then I am a very foolish woman. I declined-”
“Charlotte!” shrieks Celine with wide eyes.
“-until I had some time to think it over.”
“Oh,” Giselle exhales, “Well that’s a relief.”
“Yes, and quite the shock too.”
At that, I stare squarely at her from across the table, “What do you mean by that, Celine?” she darts her eyes to Giselle almost immediately and takes a few small sips, as if she’s trying to avoid my question.
After a glare or two from me, though, she finally sets her cup down and confesses, “Alright. I’ll be honest with you,” she sighs heavily, “Charlotte, you aren’t exactly the best when it comes to going after what you want.”
“Not at all,” Giselle echoes with a shake of her head.
I can’t help but roll my eyes at her as I listen to Celine carry on, “Like the time when you saw David for the first time, sitting alone at the park. You always had some type of minor feelings for him, but did you ever take the initiative to even try to speak to him? I had to force you to sit with him that day!”
“You act like you’ve never been nervous before!” I toss back.
“Nervous?” she cries, “You are not exactly the first person who comes to mind when talking about cold feet! I do apologize," she continues to dramatize, "but who was the one girl who thought that it would be fun to boldly go up to her cousin and pour a glass of water on her head while she slept?”
“By my recollection, that was indeed you, Charlotte,” retorts Giselle.
“That was one tiny encountering,” I try to defend, “It doesn’t exactly mean I am made of steel. Besides, she is family and deserved every bit of it.”
“If you say so,” Celine laughs into her cup.
“What did you want to think about, by the way, before accepting that man’s offer?” asks Giselle.
“Well,” I gaze off into the distance, thinking over my many reasons, “I grew up here and I’ve always wanted to get married and start my own family in this same place, this same city.” I turn to Giselle, “It is my home, after all, and I didn’t like the idea of leaving you two behind.”
At this, Celine chokes on her tea a little and slams her cup down. Giselle gently pats her on the back while Celine stares at me, perplexed. Between coughs, she cries, “You mean… you were going to… leave us? I want to go to England!”
“So do I!” Giselle exclaims. She stops patting Celine’s back long enough to bug her eyes at me, looking hopeful, “It would be exciting, beautiful, and I’m sure the people there are just as wonderful. Oh please, Charlotte, bring us along! I’ve always wanted to go there.”
Beneath the table, Celine lightly nudges her with the toe of her shoe, and Giselle continues on, “Oh! Besides, we wouldn’t want you to be lonely there. Friend support is the best support, you know.”
“I‘m sure,” I roll my eyes, “But, as I said, I am going to wait a while. There is no room for hasty decisions-”
“-or hasty mistakes,” they chorus with a tinge of annoyance in their voices, “We know, we know.”
I smile at them and take one last drink before placing my cup back down, “It’s been lovely, but I must get home. It’s getting late and it looks like it is to rain soon.”
“I didn’t even notice,” Celine stands, as does Giselle, who also snatches a crumpet off of its dinner plate, “We should probably go, as well.”
Hugs are passed around before we go our separate ways. We leave our unfolded napkins lay sprawled across the table, colored with lipstick, for the maids to dispose of and as a marking of our recent presence.
~*~*~
The long walk home is anything but pleasant. I’m cold, hungry, and, just as I predicted, it’s begun to rain. The slick dirt path that I am traveling on, now drenched in mud, threatens to throw me down on my face and the frosty wind seems to freeze my bones every time it blows. I can barely see ahead of me, with the rain blurring my vision, but I notice the faintest glimmer of light further down the road. But, what should I do? I could just wait a while, in one of the inns, for the storm to calm. But, then again, I am expected to be home within the next hour to prepare dinner or else my mother will worry herself to death, trying to figure out where I am and why I’m not yet home.
I had persuaded her earlier, rather easily I must say, to believe that my uncle, Claude, was the one who was taking me down to meet Celine and Giselle at Amore’s for lunch. Had I not told her such a lie, she would have made sure that my father escorted me. He has this little problem where he just cannot control his tongue. If he sees, hears, or even smells anything that isn’t to his liking, he will call out on it and talk about it all night. So, knowing from experience, my afternoon would have been completely ruined had he came along.
But, now that I am in this little predicament, where it’s dark, damp and freezing, it probably would have been best if he were here.
Lightning begins to crack in the clouds and the wind is becoming fiercer. It would save me from hours of scolding if I just go home, but I have a better chance of not getting struck down by lightning if I just find somewhere to stay. Both the lightning and my mother could kill me, though. Nevertheless, I choose the latter, as well as the wiser, and head back into the direction from which I came to find one of the inns that I saw.
But, as soon as I turn around, the distant sound of beating horse hooves comes to my attention and halts my step. Someone is coming this way, I think, But who would dare to take a ride out on an evening like this? The beating hooves, clip-clopping against the cobblestone, rises, as do the voices of approaching men. Men who must be in the carriage.
“Stop whipping it!” one man shouts, “You’re only making it go faster!”
“Pull the reins, you idiot!” cries another.
“I can’t see anything ahead,” comes the third, a voice that is all too familiar, “What road are we on? We aren’t about to hit anything, are we?” At that, it clicks in my head. Perhaps I shouldn’t pay as much attention to who’s coming, but rather on getting out of the way? The familiar voice screams into the dark, “If anyone is out there! Move! Now!”
And I do, but not too successfully.
I leap to my right, as the horse is charging to my left, and try to land at least in the nearby puddle, seeing as that’s the only place I can move to. The mud trips me up as I leap, and I therefore miss my aim. Instead of landing straight in the puddle with both feet ahead, I turn at an angle to where my body is facing forward but my feet are turned outward a bit. Little to my knowing, the puddle is actually more than just a puddle: It is a huge pothole. I scream as I descend, but when I finally land, my heel catches and my ankle twists painfully in the wrong direction. I try to flip over so that I can cradle the wounded ankle, but I miss and turn too quickly. My head hits against the jagged edge of the hole and knocks to a state of near unconsciousness.
The horse finally makes it to me and… stops. No more galloping and loud whinnies; it’s surprisingly calm. Everything around me is hazy, but I make out three figures, three men, coming towards me. I moan in pain, slowly turning my head this way and that. They kneel beside me and try to keep me from moving, as a way to not further injure myself, I’m guessing. They talk over the rain, trying to hear each other. I can’t make out much of what their talking about as one man, with arms strong enough to break a ship in half, gently lifts me up, but I do make out one voice: that familiar voice that I can’t quite put a name to at the moment.
I can barely make out the waves in his damp auburn hair or the green emeralds dazzling in his eyes as he speaks calmly to the others, “Take her to my room. I know this woman.”
“You do?” questions the one who holds me.
Faintly, I see the dark-haird man nod, “Yes. This is the very woman whom I was talking to you about, gentlemen. This… is Charlotte Delancy.”
And my world goes black.
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Someone please tell me, because I always get this wrong, but did I use "whom" correctly?
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