❝𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺, 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦❝

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 1

What is the absolute meaning of beauty? Is it how a person presents oneself, perhaps, the garden people walk by on their summer stroll? Inhumane, or the very being of a human? Miss Charlotte Bates thought beauty was an extraordinary thing to be curious about, whereas she had the slightest knowledge of what beauty truly meant.

The curiosity she felt was immense, almost distraught. The moments when she wondered were the times she had the most insolvable time breathing with ease. The very question drove her mad, the type of insane feeling when a person questions life. 'What is the meaning of beauty?' That is–precisely what went through her head on the way to a birthday party in France on April 12, 1791. Possibly, Charlotte could be able to identify beauty in seeing people interact. If it was even there, that is. Her expectations were not as high as she'd like them to be if, anything, her expectations were barely even there. She had begun to question why her father, Sewell Bates, insisted she'd attend this event; she had never even met the girl.

Finding meaning is all Miss Bates wanted to do. She had no time for silly games of royalty play. Inside, she could not stand a second without knowledge of what she did not know. Thirst for knowledge, a curious thing. Miss Bates had forgotten when she began to wonder about the abstract things in life.

Away from her thoughts and into reality, Charlotte looked out the window of the bumpy carriage, warm hues of yellow surrounded the Manor, illuminating the solitary night, and giving it company.

Upon approaching the Grand Manor where the party was, faint, pleasant music filled Charlotte's ears. Those sweet melodies were enough to put a smile on the face of an angry man. Once she set her heeled foot down, the clack suddenly made her feel like she was not alone with an unknown company. It was just her thoughts, but to shake the feeling was quite difficult. Of course, she had not been alone. The coachman's cigarette could still be smelt, and the horse's hooves could be heard shuffling.

Just beyond the green and gold pattering, rococo grand doors, bright colors of white and yellow filled her sight. People were all around dancing, talking, and having a good time. Their gowns have exotic royal colors ranging from blues and reds to more rose pinks than anything else. Perhaps happiness could be considered a beauty. Charlotte was not so sure of that just yet. She met with a familiar face that could only be identified by the signature moustache and scarred-necked appearance.

"Ah, The Honorable Miss Bates! I am delighted you made it," the man presented a smile to little Lottie. It was a welcoming sight for anyone who felt out of place. "And where might your father be? I conversed with him last Sunday if I so recall." Lord Vasil Moreau. An acquaintance of Charlotte's father, she remembered faintly. "Lord Moreau, I am afraid he sent me here alone," Lottie spoke with– uncertainty. Surely, no hesitation in her words but in interacting with the friendly man. "Oh well, the party is doable without him. Go on, there are plenty, of wonderful men and women to converse with." He quickly sipped his champagne, the dry sparkling wine pleased his taste buds, before abruptly returning to the young girl who was already walking away before him. "Do send my salutations to Sewell! And enjoy the party. One does not show up to sulk."

His words were nothing short of a tiny push. Charlotte did not take that. They entered through one ear and out from the other. She instead treated herself to a table full of various types of sweets. Her stomach was not a fan of different meals, but she did enjoy the small delights pastries could offer.

Sweet like a cranberry and bitter like the aftertaste of a pomegranate, the fruit custard they served at the party was all Charlotte wanted to invest her time in. It made her wonder, whose birthday party was it? Her father was subtle about the invitation, and she forgot to ask Lord Moreau as well. Unfortunately, for her curiosity, she was anything but–willing to go back for the small price to pay. He was long gone in the crowd of noble people.

Charlotte's thoughts were–with an instant–cut off when she heard a feminine voice speak–in a language she did not communicate–behind her. The woman's voice was not as loud for a crowd to stop and stare, but for Charlotte, it was all she could hear, fogging her mind. It was a French woman speaking to Charlotte in that very language. She did not dare look behind her, that was, until–she felt the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder–when she decided to take a glance. Her porcelain skin and pearls, which scattered around her neck and wig made her look like a singer who'd just come out of an opera house. Little Miss Lottie was not a French woman, a Welsh woman, all she was. But all Miss Bates could do was keep quiet, confusion planted on her face as the French woman went on, and on.

What appeared to be a person scattering amongst the crowd, was a young man, with defining features, approaching the wigged woman from behind.

"Victoire," she almost instantly turned around from the familiar voice to her. The young man's eyebrows were ever so slightly furrowed, eyes on the almost-adorned older woman, he trailed them toward the young woman in front of him, who looked out of place. His face softened and let go of all the tension on his face.

"Greetings, and apologies for my aunt. She can be rather...candid." he shifted to his aunt and spoke to her in their native tongue. Charlotte couldn't make anything of it. All she wanted to do was enjoy some fruit custard. "I take full responsibility for her sayings," the man's aunt went on her way. "I have told her multiple times to refrain from being so straightforward." his eyes studied the younger woman's expressions. "Oh, I do not speak French." suddenly, he looked intrigued. For a moment, Lottie thought she wouldn't get out of this one soon. "Is that so? How strange, it is France, of course." the melodic chuckles were barely audible inside the Manor. It mixed with the instrumental music.

"How informal of me, apologies once again, my name is Lord Nathaniel Rose," his lips curving upwards, "And you might be?" "Lady Charlotte Bates, although I rather prefer 'Miss'." she clarified. "Very well, Miss Charlotte,"  "Lord 'Rose'? I have yet to hear your last name." Rose reached over to the table and treated himself to a fruit custard as there were far too many. "I would not be surprised, you do not speak French. And, just Nathaniel, then, if you will."

Charlotte did not question any further about Nathaniel. "Do you perhaps know whose birthday party it is?" "Well, of course, it is Lady Faustine's party. I would assume you had known that before you came?"

"Who is Lady Faustine?" her question struck Rose a bit. He sighed, "Fuastine is a marchioness she is more well-known than most dukes, due to her parents. That is why you see so many people here. If I may ask, why are you here?" 

Charlotte did wonder, "I have not but the idea-"

"Woah! –"

A sudden collision between two girls emerged, Charlotte quickly looked behind her, and there lay the familiar girl in her arms.

"Arlette?"  "Lottie!" her voice was comforting to hear after being surrounded by unknown nobles. "Arlette, what are you doing here? I thought your mother was going to take you to a medic?" Charlotte helped clean out the younger woman's gown from any wrinkles. "I thought so as well, it appears that the medic had more urgent matters to attend to, it is all fine, I am all fine."

Nathaniel unexpectedly joined in, "If you do not mind me asking, what is wrong with her?"

"She's blind," Lottie responded. "Hm, I'm surprised you did not end up as a beggar as most blind people do." Charlotte's mouth dropped, "Wh–" "He did not mean that, Arlette,"

"Who is he? –"

"No one Arlette, no one." Rose raised an eyebrow. Charlotte glared at Nathaniel who chuckled. He was clearly amused by the whole scene. "My apologies, Lady 'Arlette', and it now seems I need to take my leave." he stepped back with his custard at hand while studying the two women. "Have a wonderful rest of your night, and I will see you soon, Miss Charlotte."

She watched as Rose left, unable to grasp what he previously stated. At this time, Charlotte was not so sure she would have a peaceful night.

❦