Charles

Initially, I’d met her on the first of December in the The Great Theater of Beckham. Her pale skin— an eye-piercing tint, almost like a flower near bloom, which had not only drawn my attraction but left me in an unfamiliar state as I had never seen such beauty in my life. Her appearance—elegant and bold. The rouge dress which trickled down the subtle curves of her body lay out of the question. She looked far better than the dress alone—even the most inexpensive of garments never failed to reveal her beauty to the world. Her silky dark hair—seemingly endless—shaped one of the more striking features she possessed, pulling her body together like a thread—my eyes never strayed once. The moment she approached me, an aroma gently crawled along with her, caressing my skin— leaving me thoughtless. She was engulfed by a smell, that of something sweet—but not too sweet. A faint smell—more than enough for the average person to suffocate; however, it was enough for me to swoon. Time never changed when I stood beside her—I've seemed to be trapped in almost a paradox of events. Thoughts of her would engulf my mind whenever I passed the distinctive fragrance lingering on the tall curtains. Anytime I paid a visit, a bouquet within my grasp would be gently placed into her soft hands. Not too long after, we would exchange small words of appreciation for both her performance and my generous contributions—soon it was our tradition. Soft spoken as she was, every word came out almost like a whisper. Perhaps calls from one dove to another—or even from one lover to the next. Nonetheless, it was ever so pleasing to the ear—I’d hoped to hear it once again. With both a lack of knowledge as to who she was, and a lack of entertainment in my life, the world wouldn’t be dulI for much longer. Fascinated with this new discovery, I decided not to rush into things while still keeping this bit of hope in sight.

The next time we met, she seemed bewitched by the man who lurked beside her— I had every right to be envious as I had surely given her more recognition; yet, I was patient and waited for the right moment. Mr. Graham— Benedict Graham. He had dirty money—not many knew of this fact but I wasn’t feeble-minded like the rest. All the women in town believed him to be “charming.” He was wearing the same frock coat he usually wears which is of a fern green shade—I'd never even dream of wearing it in my life. The embroidery along the sleeves was nothing more than some lousy, old, stitches—a horrendous sight to those who properly learned the trade. There was nothing special about him. I was unable to comprehend the attraction these women felt. Stupidity was something I’d never been met with—I’d almost lost my mind trying to figure it out. When I interacted with him he was quite awkward—like a child without friends. He made my blood boil in ways I knew not possible. Maybe this was the fact that made him..... charming? He was like any other man in town without his small-scale inheritance. Call me dull but there was truly nothing worth noting. Being the major share-holder I was only made me better than Graham—he had been a small insignificant little nothing with the pitiful amount he invested. She still thanked him with a small giggle that bled into their following conversation. Never once did I not admire her kindness. I wanted to learn more about her since she constantly piqued my curiosity. She was always tenderly interacting with me—as if I was some force simply not to be reckoned with. Prideful as I was, I didn’t mind how she treated me—I had hoped we would develop a closer friendship with this woman I met only a short while ago. I was always forbearing when it came to Mr. Graham—even saying his name was like sipping hot tea before letting it cool. If not for the people surrounding me I’d have lost my composure and gotten rid of him myself.

Her name was Caroline Hadley.

Miss Hadley was an alluring woman who triggered the largest amounts of admiration within my heart. She reminded me of a graceful bird in full flight above the horizon whenever she spun or leaped into the air above the grand theater's stage. She was talented and stood out within her troupe—she always ensured her dancing was flamboyant. After every performance I attended, her warm greetings were met with a small but meaningful smile on my face along with a large gift awaiting her claim. A treasure of mine—I’d grown and wrapped them myself. My heart would melt out of my chest onto the floors which lay beneath my very feet every time I handed her flowers. She knew not of my affections—for I was afraid of the rejection I might be faced with, but this time was different. I wasn’t the only one who had my gaze upon this little bird. Mr. Graham seemed to have taken my role upon himself. How? You ask, he had brought her flowers wrapped in the same fashion—not of the same quality. Poorly done—yet she still accepted them in a warm manner. Mr. Graham was rich in comparison to the poor townsfolk but more lowly when compared to myself.

This left me in utmost confusion as I was questioning whether she had only been kind to me with a bright smile—capable of casting light upon even the largest of rooms to stray from being rude. Surely her smile was brighter than the sun and even enough to pierce the clouds sitting cozily beneath it. Regrettably I had doubted Miss Caroline—I reassured myself that her intentions were true. This would mean I’d have to accept the possibility she had enjoyed Benedict Graham's gift as well. I stopped thinking and made my way towards Miss Caroline—it left me on the bitter end just pondering the idea. I greeted Benedict first with a simpering tone, then Miss Caroline with utmost importance—a sly grin slipped onto my face while glancing back at him. The moment our eyes met I could almost see the flame grow—a burning rage, fueled purely by powerlessness. It was surely one of the more sizable infernos I’d ever seen—quite amusing considering I was only holding the hands of his perfect little bird. His jealousy couldn’t have been more obvious as I’d just stolen her attention from him.

I pulled her close enough so that she was on the very tips of her toes. With only a small nudge, she lost her balance and fell into my arms. As she fell towards my chest I held her gently and she gasped— he frowned upon my actions while Miss Caroline blushed harder than ever before. Looking deep into her green eyes, I let out a whisper of a chuckle which I’m sure made Miss Caroline’s heart skip a beat since she’d been the only one close enough to hear it. I then asked Miss Caroline if I could have the satisfaction of walking her home—she shyly agreed and seemed delighted. I placed my extra coat on her shoulders while reaching my arm out for her to latch onto—even the dumbest of animals could tell when it would rain since it had been cloudy all day. Knowing this, I prepared ahead of time—allowing Miss Caroline comfort in my large coat which draped over her shoulders. My plan worked—I couldn’t be more overjoyed. We walked off laughing with each other as the wind howled while Mr. Graham’s expression drifted further from any bit of happiness he ever had— it became a newly treasured memory of mine. He was left alone, in the rain, on the dark street—consequently causing the smell of manure produced by passing carriages to become everso potent. It stung my nose—but for the first time, I was glad Graham would be there. Cigarette smoke lingered— left by the old men dressed in velvet attire by their wives.

Caroline’s beauty was nowhere near that of my beloved Charlotte’s. The affectionate words I mentioned before were just about the most outrageous words I ever dared to speak—I never meant any of it for Caroline as I was thinking of my wife the whole time. Saying such words for a woman of Caroline’s class was truly slander. Words were never able to describe how I felt about Caroline. I wanted to see Mr. Graham experience the pain and loss which I had. He needed to lose the one woman who was competent enough—perhaps someone who could get him to venture out of his way just to please her. He truly was boring and plain but if you consider his personality along with his social status, I’m sure he was a prize to all the peasant women. Rejection which I’d described earlier wasn’t for what might become of Caroline had she known my true intent— it was simply the panic of my dearest Charlotte’s heart crumbling to pieces. Had she known what I did, surely she would have called me a monster or a wicked being who has only ever been surrounded by undeserved kindness, possibly even continuing to say such corrupt behavior from someone my age couldn’t be fixed with even medication. My mother loved to say the dishonorable actions I’ve committed were unforgivable and wrongful. Getting rid of a nuisance such as the handmaiden was something so simple yet, it easily led my mother to her expiry. I was disappointed by this fact but that only meant my mother would no longer be pained. After thinking about it thoroughly my Charlotte Netherfield was far too kind to say any of what she meant—that’s probably why she lived so long by my side.

Mr. Graham was known for lacking attention to detail. One woman at a time could never please him and I knew he would break Charlotte’s heart—of course I wasn’t wrong. He was inadequate. His existence—purely a poison to the world. It worked out for me in the end— Charlotte’s heart belongs to me now but he needed to pay the price for his actions. The lovely aroma mentioned earlier—sweet enough for me to swoon was the smell of death. I do so adore that scent—It's by far the greatest scent I’d ever had the pleasure of inhaling. After coming such a long way, I’ve nearly forgotten about the flowers I had given to the late Miss Hadley. They were given to her in hopes of giving her happiness one last time, for I knew she wouldn’t live much longer. Although she was nothing more than a piece of my revenge—I felt sorry for her. She chose two men that wouldn’t love her. Not simply because she was incapable of being loved but because we were incapable of giving love. Together both her and benedict represented the rejection I’d been met with when my wife Charlotte Hadley told me she fancied another man by the name of Benedict Graham— from that day forward I’d planned my revenge. He was to suffer agony as I had. Miss Caroline Hadley was only a sacrifice that was necessary—of course I couldn’t stop there, that would be no fun. She lay there, a dead bird, freshly slain by a fox—not a pretty sight but a refreshing one to someone capable of appreciating art like myself. Benedict, swinging above her—the moon dripping intense red stars down from the sky above a field of rotting flowers. The thrill of it was all I wanted. I knew Benedict Graham had his sights set on this woman so I took from him what he took from me—it was only fair.

One lingering thought of mine—which I truly do mean, she deserved all the flowers I’d given her.

I may have misled you previously when I seemed to have said otherwise but, she truly was beautiful—more beautiful than my wife. I could only have Charlotte because Graham found someone more elegant. I had no interest in another man’s leftovers so I rid myself of such a nuisance and let him have her like he wanted. You must be confused by now as I have been quite vague. I hadn’t mixed up Charlotte’s last name with Caroline’s. Originally that was Charlotte’s last name too—she was adopted into one of the more fortunate families and renamed a Netherfield. Speaking of Hadley, when I said the late Miss Hadley wouldn’t live much longer, I meant the name Hadley would simply be replaced just as Charlotte’s had.

Caroline was to be mine by the end of the week. She would no longer be a Hadley but a Du Pont—engaged to be married. The charm was mine—irresistible to anyone in need, not limited to just women. As greedy as I may seem, Benedict was no match from the start—child‘s play. Of course she was unaware I even had a wife—everyone was. Not a surprise as it is a common mistake—we were never officially married anyway. Charlotte acted as if she did not know my dearest angel who lived in poverty. Her younger sister, Caroline—a gift from the Hadley family surely. I may be incapable of giving love but that doesn’t mean I can’t pretend. Receiving love is everything a woman has ever wished upon herself—if not for riches. After all, beauty remains a poison in this world where man is but a pawn and greed is stronger than love. Words never better said than my own, the owner of these words—Charles Du Pont.