Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHARLOTTE Branwell stands frozen. In front of the old-book-lined shelf and behind her heavy oak desk, the woman's lips are parted and yet no words are coming out. Her body, although small in frame, usually shows signs of fierceness and power. Now, it lacks its signature posture. In fact, several drops of cold sweat glide down Charlotte's spine, staining her dark-gray dress.
"I beg your pardon? I must have understood you wrongly, Beatrice," Charlotte's eyes are focused on her little sister.
"No. No, you didn't," the Fairchild girl keeps her head high, never once breaking eye contact with her older sister.
"You wish to marry James Carstairs?" Small woman runs her hand through her messy dark-brown curls. "You wish to propose to him?"
"Yes, Charlotte."
"Raziel," the brunette lets out a sigh. "You are far too young! Besides, a man is supposed to ask for a woman's hand in marriage - not the other way around."
"But, were you not sixteen as well when Henry asked you to be his wife?" Beatrice's voice is firm. "I love Jem! That should be the only thing that matters!"
"You love him?"
"Yes!"
"How did I not notice this?" Charlotte asks, stepping from her place. "I am the one who is supposed to be taking care of you and yet - I was too blind to notice my little sister being in love."
"Charlotte," Beatrice speaks, gently and with kindness. "You couldn't have. You were far too busy with worrying about the Institute. And Henry, let's not forget about the poor man and his latest attempts of inventions."
"Beatrice," Charlotte's resolution to scare her sister with harsh voice and cutting looks has disappeared by now, her gaze softening when met Beatrice's. "I don't know what to say."
"May I speak then?"
The older Fairchild sister gives a barely visible nod.
"I understand that you are furious with me. This confession came as a bolt from the blue, but I beg you to at least try to process what I am feeling for him. I love him with all my heart, sister. But this kind of love is not a love you give to a friend, or a family member. I love him in a way that you love a dark thing, in secret, with all his shadows and cracks. I love him as a flower that has not yet bloomed, but deep inside - you know that once it does - it is going to be stunning. I love him, without knowing how, or when, or from where. Without complexities or pride. I love him because there is no other for me, in this life. Loving Jem Carstairs was the easiest thing I have ever done. Every touch, every word, every look and note... Charlotte, words are failing me terribly in this. It is not something that can be described, it requires you to feel it in order to understand it."
