A Beautiful Sadness 5/?

[braceface_freak]

Name: A Beautiful Sadness (5/?)
Author: Braceface_freak
Rating: PG-13
Paring: Carlisle/Esme...duh. Other canon characters too.
Summary: How can a beauty be so sad? How can grace survive amidst devastation? How do you break a heart of gold? And how does one piece it back together?


Chapter 5-Courter

Esme huffed, her eyes focused on her feet rather than the happily dancing couples spinning and twirling around the brightly light hall.

“Miss Platt,” a low, smooth voice awoke her from her bored stupor and begrudgingly she raised her eyes to look upon the face of the fellow who had rudely roused her from her thoughts. He looked to be about twenty five or six, with short dark hair that was a muddy shade of brown, his face was wide with a set, square jaw and broad forehead and his skin was a slightly tanned. He was clean shaven and smartly dressed in a smart blue shirt, black bow tie, blazer and black trousers. But it was his eyes that startled her. They were ice blue and pale, cold by any stretch of the imagination and utterly spell-binding, completely at odds with his attractive but otherwise ordinary appearance. But even with those insipid orbs he was in no way as stunning as the man of her dreams. He bowed his head, those frosty orbs never leaving her face as he spoke, “I am Charles Evenson.”
Of course he was she had already guessed that. She stood up in front of him, the top of her head just reaching his nose, she could see her own reflection in those shallow eyes and her expression was unreadable. Good, she thought happily, no point giving him hope before they had even begun.
“Please call me Esme.” Picking up her hand, he bowed again and pressed his lips to her skin making her blush. She drew in a sharp, labored breath; she had not been on enough dates to be sure whether such behavior was usual or not, and she had no clue how she was supposed to react.
“Would you like to dance?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil. Before she had a chance to nod and without saying a word he took her hand just a little roughly, and pulled her firmly into the centre of the spinning crowd. Her pink skirt fanned out around her legs as he led her across the dance floor, weaving in and out of the other partners and holding her a little closer than she would have liked. Still she said nothing, unable to tear her eyes from those inhuman eyes. “What are you staring at?” He laughed forcibly, skin pulled tight over his clenched jaw; he pushed her a little nearer so that she caught a whiff of his strong aftershave.
“Y-you have beautiful eyes,” she stuttered nervously, grateful when a smile formed on his lips and he laughed a little more freely this time.
“Thank you. You are rather stunning as well, if you don’t mind me saying.” This time she chuckled, letting herself relax more in his grip. Perhaps the evening would not be as bad as she had first expected. He really was very charming. “So tell me about yourself.”
“What would you like to know?” she asked as meekly as possible, recalling her mothers words from the previous weeks.
“Everything. From the very beginning,” he said, those eyes shining in the yellow light from the gas lamps set in the plain walls and his face open.
“Well,” she began. “I’m Esme Anne Platt. My mother is Julia Platt and my father is Christian Platt. I’m twenty one…..ummmmmm….I like the outdoors and reading. I walk a lot and enjoy drawing in my spare time. My favourite time of day is twilight and I am a very bad dancer,” she said just as her feet managed to collide with his, “Told you so,” she giggled light-heartedly before she looked back into his face. Charles’s face was slightly red and there was some emotion flaming in his eyes that vanished much too quickly for Esme to name it. “I’m sorry,” she apologized sincerely, but he shrugged his broad shoulders as if it had been nothing.
“No harm done,” he reassured her with a taut smile, spinning her round for the last time as the song came to its climax. For the third time that evening he bowed, she replied with a wobbly curtsy, it was not a move she practiced often. “Anything more you would like to tell me?” He joked, one side of his mouth pulled up into a smile that did not make him look very attractive.
“Not really,” Esme shrugged unhelpfully, “I fear I am not a very interesting subject.”
“On the contrary,” Charles started, “I find you most remarkable.” Shivering Esme watched as his eyes scanned her up and down again and again as the next piece of music began and they returned to dancing. A few minutes of silence passed between them and Esme tried to keep her eyes from his face.
“Now are you going to tell me about yourself?”
“If you would really like to know?” Charles quipped playfully, giving her a cheeky wink which made her flush pink again, “I’m Charles Evenson,” he copied her words with a smirk, “I am twenty seven and I work in my father’s shop in the town. I don’t have much free time but I like to spend it outside. And my favourite time of day is twilight too,” Esme smiled at him.
“Anything else?” The girl enquired with interest and the man eyes leapt up with an almost suspicious expression, in response Esme fluttered her eye-lashes innocently. There was another swift change in Charles’s face and he was grinning again.

The night worn steadily on and Esme slowly began to warm to Charles’s infectious charm. She did not exactly like him but she was beginning to believe that she could grow to do so. He had described his life and he seemed genuinely taken by her. Maybe married life would not be as bad as she originally believed. And it would make her mother happy, surely that was important too. Others joy was just as crucial as her own. Their feet moved beneath them as their mouths worked above. They kept their subjects light, never going deeper than childhood memories and favourite things, which was the best thing during a first date. The words felt strange and alien in Esme’s head, because although she had not really thought about this meeting as such, that was what it was in all honesty.

When the final piece of music ended just as the clock tolled with eleven booming rings Charles bowed low, kissing her knuckles again like a true gentleman, after Esme curtsied and was pleased to note that this awkward movement had become much smoother since the evenings commencement.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening Charles,” she spoke softly with tender eyes, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she did so. Those arctic eyes flew over her body again, admiring the sweet blush in her cheeks, the round shape of her heart shaped face and petite figure. It made her slightly uncomfortable but she gathered that it was quite a normal feeling, especially to one so unaccustomed to male attention.
“The pleasure’s all mine Esme.” And then he was leaning towards her, his thick, pink lips puckered and looming threateningly towards her and his eyes boring into her head. Her reaction was instinctive; quickly she leaned away from the approaching danger, her eyes hard and fixed unwaveringly with his. When his lips met thin air and not soft, welcoming flesh Charles pulled back, his hands balled into fists by his side and the muscles taunt in his neck. “Not tonight then,” he said with a shaking voice that seemed calculated, as if he was hiding some strong emotion. Had she upset him? She hoped not, but she really was not ready to take it to that stage in the space of an evening. “Maybe soon.”
“Maybe,” Esme teased as playfully as she could, giving him her warmest, purest smile in an attempt to ease his sorrow. He returned the gesture, but it did not seem entirely real. He was however planning on seeing her again, her parents would be thrilled, she was unsure whether she was or not. Her head and her heart were still hopelessly muddled.
“I will be round to see you soon,” he said, his eyes still hard and his voice still tight despite the pleasant words he was trying to say, “Goodnight Esme Platt, I hope you sleep well.”
“You too Charles,” she said with a smile, planting a chaste kiss upon his cheek that seemed to warm him and thaw out his icy body a little. He smiled. She smiled.

And then she spun round, noticing the ever passing time and getting worried that her father’s hand might just find a way back to her face if she was late. Charles Evenson was left watching the pretty, young girl in the embroidered, pink gown practically sprint over to the door and disappear. A little, half smirk lit his face and it was not pretty. His blue eyes sparkled with an emotion that was not love and shoving one of his still curled-up fists into his trouser pockets, he picked up a glass of drink from a nearby table, chuckled and then downed the alcoholic beverage in one fluid gulp.

“Esme!” Came the firm, familiar tones of her father’s voice, it immediately caught her attention and sent her running from her bedroom and down the twisting flight of stairs towards the source of the sound. Ever since that fateful, eye-opening evening she had made absolutely sure she gave her father no reason to get angry with her, she hoped to never experience the hot pain of his strike again.

“Yes father,” she panted eyes wide and face red as she skidded to an elegant halt right at her father’s side. Her father smiled at her, something which instantly got her guard up, he never smiled. She realized the cause of his unusual expression when he took a side step and revealed a smartly attired Charles Evenson, clutching a sizeable bouquet in his right hand. “Charles?” Esme gasped, startled by the appearance of her supposed courter.
“Hello Esme,” he crooned, holding out the flowers with a crooked smile.
“Charles has come to take you out for the day,” her papa spoke for the young man when her daughter just stood their gaping wordlessly, “Well then girl, are you going to leave Mr. Evenson stood there?” He gave his daughter a rough poke in the back; she shook her head and grinned broadly at the man as she took the bunch of colourful blooms with a gentle thank you.
“I thought we would go out for a picnic,” Charles told her, his eyes flicking to the window through which bright sunlight was flooding.
“Lovely,” Esme replied, knowing that the fact her father had been moaning about her helping him in the stable would not stop him from forcing her out of the door with Evenson, “I will just go and get my jacket, then I’ll be back right away.” Christian engaged Charles in pleasant conversation as Esme left the hallway and headed back upstairs with slower, more elegant movements than before. She fumbled about hurriedly, pulling on her little cotton coat with the tiny, bronze buttons and dumping the flowers on the duvet with little care. Then again she rushed downstairs, smoothing out her skirt and scrunching her loose curls as she did so.
“You look beautiful,” Charles said, as he beckoned her to his side and carefully placed an arm around her shoulder, gauging her reaction all the while. Just as her father had told him, Esme was the prettiest girl for miles. “Are you ready?”
“I think so,” she said, her shoulders rigid beneath his arm and her eyes upon his face.
“Goodbye Mr. Platt, I will have her back before sunset.” Esme’s father merely nodded, a smile still spread across his lips, he did not seem to care if Charles ever bought his daughter home as long as she was with the wealthy Mr. Evenson.

Outside, in the middle of a large, grassy field Charles had laid out a yellow and white checkered blanket and a range of food including thick slices of crusty, white bread, golden-yellow butter and juicy, red strawberries. Esme set herself down on one edge of the sheet, spreading her dress out about her legs and leaning back to look up at the blue sky above. Meanwhile Charles stared at her, his eyes a few shades paler than the heavens above and Esme felt her cheeks flush with colour. She felt immensely awkward there beneath his piercing gaze, it was as if she were completely stripped of everything she was wearing. Loudly, she cleared her throat,
“Maybe we should begin,” she motioned to the dishes; Charles just continued to watch for a few seconds until he nodded and picked up a plate and passed it under her nose. Daintily she took the smallest slice of bread she could and spread it lightly with some butter, taking tiny, mousy bits as he began to wolf down his own serving. Esme did not really feel like eating at present.

As the day wore on and the hours passed by, the couple studied each other with a distant, studious manner. They chattered, their subjects once more never getting onto anything remotely serious. A couple of times he took her chin in hand, forcing small pieces of bread laden with thick, sweet honey and bloody jam between her lips and into her mouth. After a few hours she felt body was laden with heavy food, her mind was sluggish and she only wished to sleep in the warm light of the afternoon. She only noticed that Charles was leaning down over her, practically pinning her to the ground with his larger form until it was too late to push him off. His lips found hers easily and she could barely breathe as he moved his mouth expertly over her own. There was no way he was a first-time kisser, she thought to herself as she tried to enjoy the feel of his body close to hers. But it did not change the force or carelessness at which he pressed on. When the dark haired man finally withdrew his face from hers Esme was breathless and flushed from the unexpected assault.
“C-C-Charles,” she gasped when she able to inhale again. Those haunting eyes peered down at her, an unattractive half smile on his lips, his hands were on either side of her head and she could not move. He was making her look at him.
“Did you like that Esme?” He asked playfully, with a jerky eyebrow lift, challenging her to disagree. Smiling at her bemused expression, Charles spoke again, his tone jolly, “Don’t worry about your parents. I am sure they would not disagree.”
Esme stared at him wide-eyed, her mind mulling over what her parents would think. They would probably be thrilled that her first kiss had been with charming, respected Charles Evenson. Although it was not really her first kiss, not if you counted the one at the hospital. It was Charles voice that splintered the image of the memory and bought her back to the real world, which was his broad face bending down. His cologne filled her nostrils,
“Did you enjoy that Esme?” The girl nodded silently without thought, it was not a complete lie, it had not been an entirely unpleasant experience.
“Good,” he concluded simply and moved, helping her to sit up and beginning to natter again as if nothing at all had occurred. Esme tried her best to reply in longer than one-word answers, but she was still rather shocked by the unexpected action of her courting man, but he was apparently oblivious to her uneasy demeanor, he continued to talk. She thought about her mother, her father’s biting palm and wondered how they would react if she broke off her relationship with Charles, imaging her mother’s tearful, disappointed face, her father seething and red and her future life on that lonely path. No man had been interested in her before Charles, she was too independent and too solitary, so what was the chance of anyone being intrigued afterwards? Was Charles her only hope of escape as her mother had implied? Perhaps this kiss had been due to Charles overpowering attraction towards her, not a reflection on the type of woman he thought her to be? Maybe she should be flattered. Then pulling her lips into a grin and placing her hand over his she too started to chatter.
“I was thinking,” he began thoughtfully, tapping his wide finger stained with tobacco against his wide chin, “Of visiting the town in a few weeks time. I am certain you would love the theatre dear.” His voice was almost patronizing………but not quite. And Esme failed to notice, too excited by the prospect of going to see a real show in the town. No one had cared enough to take her before, and had he really juts called her dear? If things continued like this she thought married life may not be too terrible. After all his more earthly desires were sure to calm once they were wed. She glanced up at the sky in thought, her lips stretched into a smile and watched as the sun slowly completed its daily arc. Charles was still talking. She ummed and nodded where appropriate, just like the perfect woman. Hopes of teaching had never been further from her mind.
“I should be getting you home,” Charles groaned tiredly and stood helping her up as he did so, she contemplated whether he felt guilty for his rough frankness early. She muttered a gentle thank you as he escorted her back through the field, holding her arm as a guide.

When they returned home Esme waved to him fondly and blew him a little kiss, knowing that her parents, at least her father, would be watching. He waved back, albeit a little lamely and faded away back down the dusty lane. Within a few seconds he was gone. Esme let out a breath of air and then she too disappeared into her home. Christian Platt met her just inside the door, that awkward smile still smeared across his firm, creased face.
“Did you and Charles enjoy your day out?” He interrogated interestedly. Typical, he was only interested in his daughter when get action could benefit him. Still she maintained her beam, answering him with a joyous yes, and then skipping upstairs to place her bouquet in a vase before they turned brown and wilted.

She barely touched her dinner that evening, her mother’s thick, meat stew looked unappetising, her stomach still bloated from her large lunch. Charles had over-fed her. Yet surprisingly her mother and father did not scold her small portions and smaller mouthfuls. She assumed Charles had told them about his plans, and she muttered an inaudible thanks beneath her breath. Anyway even if she had been starving her papa’s eager gaze and the ever increasing hope in her mother’s eyes would have put her off her food. Could they not keep their opinion to themselves? It did not make keeping a clear, unbiased mind any easier. So as soon as was polite she fled from the kitchen table and headed back to her room, the only place it seemed she could receive peace in the household.

Four months later and Esme was strolling down the high street in town her hand clutching her purse tightly and Charles walking about half a step in front. They were just heading off to the promised performance now after a day of tedious business transactions and window shopping. Mr., Evenson had been careful to introduce her to every friend and associate he met, the bright-eyed, leering stares were not lost on her and Charles offered no protection. Beneath the darkening heavens the pair seemed content. Weaving their way though the streets, they were quiet, although the male did occasionally point out a few landmarks. It was silent as they ambled leisurely past the gates leading to the large facade of the city hospital. Esme’s eyes could not help but be drawn to that palace of memories, where both the happiest and worst times of her life had occurred so far. His radiant, heavenly face swam before her eyes, perfectly recalled in every minute detail, beautiful as it had been in life. She looked at the man besides her and thought him a poor substitute, equally matched however to herself, she had never been worthy of that golden doctor.
“What are you thinking up dear?” Drawing her eyes unenthusiastically from the red-brick institution she looked at Charles. He stared at her hard despite his soft tone. She shrugged unhelpfully, not wishing to share those personal moments with her man, they belonged to her and she wanted to keep it that way.
“Oh,” she whispered gently, “Nothing darling.” Yet Charles seemed unconvinced. A few long seconds passed by, his eyes fixed upon her dropped face as they walked along. Eventually he flicked his eyes away, sighing angrily his hands plunged in tight balls into his pockets. Down the street the illuminated front of the theatre appeared and Esme felt excited again, the simple pleasure eliminating the tension within her.

Esme entered the kitchen with that smile plastered on her face; she had worn it for so long now she couldn’t tell if it was all a show or not. She was no longer surprised to find Chares stood watching the doorway, waiting for her. Father was babbling satisfied with the occasional nods and murmurs of agreement he received. Her mother was there too, silently stirring strew on the stove. A scene almost quaint enough to be a postcard.

“Esme,” Charles breathed as she walked past him, and edge of impatience in his tone. He caught her hand, bruising her fingers as he pulled her towards him. “I have something I need to ask you.” Straight after he dropped heavily onto one knee, cold orbs staring her out. Mind in overdrive Esme hardly heard the man’s proposal over the many shrieking voices in her head: warning, encouraging, threatening, wishing, begging. As always Charles had no time for fine words or fancy feelings. He was blunt.
“Will you marry me?”
Three pairs of eyes homed in one her: one pair of pale blue, one of muddy brown and another of cool grey. Emotions bombarded her, not just her own but her parents as well, feelings flying from their eyes and smashing into her making her mind reel. They wanted her to say yes of course, their expectant silence and the bright light of hope and pride emanating from every pore was not easy to ignore. Charles seemed strangely distant; she could detect no strong longings from him.

“Yes.” What else could she say? No would mean certain disownment, homelessness and eternal solitude. And almost worse than that was the disappointment. She had no other option if she wanted at least a half-full life. Her mother clapped her hands together, mouth opening in a move to offer the newly engaged couple a blissful congratulation, but her husband’s glare stopped her instantly. Meanwhile Charles stood, pulling a ring from his pocket and shoving it rather roughly onto her ring finger. Esme glanced down at the jewellery, a thick silver band decorated with a large, finely cut stone that sparkled conspicuously in the daylight. No one would be able to miss the fact that she was betrothed with that rock of a ring on her hand and she imagined that that was the reason for it. But the piece really was not her. It felt over-heavy on her finger, weighing her down more like a chain around a prisoner’s ankle than a symbol of promised love. Surely this wasn’t how she was supposed to feel at such a time. Her friends had always seemed so happy, but maybe the bittersweet emotion was just one you had to push down to the end of your toes and forget about, holding a smile until the anxiety faded and happiness took over. Maybe it just took time. Or perhaps it was the fault of her too immature mind, still hanging onto an unrealistic dream of being the smiling wife of a blonde haired, pale skinned professional; she did not understand why, when she was getting engaged, her mind still managed to focus on that one man. Over-eagerly Charles put an arm on the small of her back; she tensed slightly under his palm, already he was crossing the boundaries she had so carefully erected. Esme met her parents’ eyes awkwardly, not holding their gaze for long and smiled in response to their exulted beams. At least a few of them were happy.