My Charlotte

My Charlotte

 

Liverpool, England; November 13, 1804

            My Charlotte sent me to cage I have been placed in. Some called it a hospital others called it a prison. However, to me it was a cage- keeping me at bay from my Charlotte. I thought about her every day- the friendship, we had while we were kids, and I remembered when I started to court her. It was in secret though. I wanted to escape the darkness of the room that inhibited my heart, so it could be set free and reach for the desires I cherished.

When I kissed her at the ball for our King George the Third, I watched her wild stare gaze back at me and I wished that she would have spoken out. I put myself out there, for our city to watch our sinful act. Roman Catholics scorned my lustful behaviors- actions that will send me to the deepest layers of Hell. You have an illness, the guests told me as they dragged me away from Charlotte. She sent me to a seat of passion, a thirst of desire, and a need of her within my existence.

We first became friends when our mothers bonded over our father’s both being lost in the Seven Year War. Both were shipped to different colonies to fight against the French. Our fathers were close to the King, some of his brightest soldiers. They led troops to victory before their heroic death. After their death, our mothers were held to high regard to the King, and we were always welcomed to the balls he presented after the war. Our mothers were both widows, and the King was more than willing to lend a hand for them and their precious children- in hope that they can serve later for him.

My mother cried a couple years after his death; she stopped crying when death took her away from England. She could not keep a job, she died from the depression and lack of support from the community. No one would marry a woman who was already tainted by a man. I felt as though she cried because she could never feel the touch of passion again- since my father was dead. I felt a pang of sympathy for her. I don’t know what I would do without my Charlotte to touch me.

            The morning before we were separated, we slept together, and were both attending the balls with the rest of the nobles for the King’s celebration of his nephew’s emergence into adulthood. I still remember the tender touches that trapped me in my room that early morning. My longer brown hair was tied in the back of my head, curled, with a snippet of ribbon that she tied around the bun before kissing my neck. I wanted her to kiss me there again- repeatedly until we were both clinging to one another. Whenever we were alone, I wanted to spend as much time as I could kissing her, since I was unable to do so in public. Charlotte sends my heart flying and my brain gets drained of everything but her.

            My green eyes loved to stare at her beautiful body, as I placed a red robe over a chair in my sitting area near the powder room. She helped me tie my bodice in place- her delicate hands touching the sensitive curve of my spine always gave me the feeling of love and tenderness. Charlotte kissed my shoulder blade, before turning away to take care of her own hygienic needs.

While she was in the powder room, I leaned against the wall, watching her apply some powder. I looked over at her, watching her youthful expression through the mirror on her flawless face. It reminded me of my mother. My mother had blue eyes, just like her, and we all have the same long, flowing brown hair. After our father’s deaths, and our mother’s countless cups of tea, we would play with each other’s hair, and play with dolls. Our friendship before we got together intimately consisted of quite time around the house, and occasionally find time to take walks with the other children of the manor to play backyard games. Mostly, the girls stayed along the side line and watched the boys wrestle and show their dominance. Some of the boys we spent a lot of time with, where William and Jonathan. They were the handsomest boys when Charlotte and I were friends, and now they are grown up looking just as handsome. At the last ball, William had shared a dance with Charlotte, against my better wishes. I was angry- not at her, never her, but at him. I just wanted to tell him to back off my woman- but I could not.