Charles the Dreamer [Currently On Hold]

Charles Kingsleigh

Charles Kingsleigh was neither an upright nor an honest man. He was thought to be cheating at cards, but never seemed to get caught. At twenty-one, he had grown tall and lean (thanks to years of fencing). His jaw curved ever so handsomely; his blonde hair grew thick atop his tanned head; his face adorned with gentle features and blue eyes that could melt anyone’s heart. With these weapons, he had learned to charm women’s skirts off, and to run as fast and as far away as possible once they’d caught interest. Not that he was afraid of women, mind you, he was simply too preoccupied with his other adventures to give a woman the attention she so desired. The older Charles got, the more childish he seemed to become. 

On the day in question, in fact, he and George Havisham preoccupied themselves with idling about Mr and Mrs Havisham’s pond since the couple had gone to the city for the weekend. 

“Hoooow duuuuull,” George said, dragging the two words from the back of his throat as if honey had stuck them there for centuries. 

Charles twisted his thin lips into a smile. 

The two boys had first decided to go swimming in the pond that morning, but the high sun seemed to chuck the very idea of doing anything out of their already half-empty heads. Mischief pranced about them, hoping to force them from their stupor. 

“Shall we go into town?” Charles suggested, propping himself up on the grass with his long, slender arms. 

George shook his head, sending red curls flying in the wind. “Old Crawley is still in town at this hour. Unless you’re thinking of shaking him up.”

“Nah,” Charles sighed, unable to hide his disappointment. “I doubt we’ll get away with it if we do. Besides, he works for Father now.”

“Mr Kingsleigh giving you a hard time? Couldn’t imagine why he’d do that,” George said sarcastically. 

Charles gave George’s head a good smack. “Wait another month, let’s see what your father will be making you do.” 

“My father likes the business more than he likes me, so I doubt he’d give me the chance to singlehandedly sink his dear empire.”

Charles glanced at George’s half-amused, half-sulking face. George had a square jawline Charles often envied, as well as the benefit of a burly build. Charles thought his friend could have had the world at his feet with his sharp devilish looks, but instead George was daydreaming of owning his father’s boring little empire.

“Do you want to get the chance to singlehandedly sink his dear empire?”

George shrugged. “Perhaps I do. What of it?”

“My friend, you don’t seem to understand. What you’re asking for is a life devoid of joy, that’s what it is. Imagine toiling daily from dusk ’til dawn—you’d never be able to just sit idly by the pond if you were to inherit the business.”

George gazed at the pond’s rippling surface and said nothing. It was times like these when Charles wondered how he and George got along so well. George loved playing into society’s games—he bore all the expectations of greatness on his shoulders with dignity—but Charles couldn’t stand the idea. How could he be expected to waste his life away for someone else’s dream? It made no sense to him. He had a younger sister who was more than happy to work the company. Though, granted, she was a woman, she was more than capable of handling the business. Why did Charles have to take it over? 

With a final sigh, he sat up next to George. The Havisham boy had given him much to think about. 

“I’d best be on my way,” he mumbled.