Chapter Text
<p>They had worn each other out. Raged against each other, going toe to toe, and blow for blow. And now? Now Charlotte was standing in the middle of the pleasure gardens with a familiar rose in hand, hoping the other would be delivered as requested. She twirled it with her fingers, the action belying the anxiety she felt as she scanned the crowd looking for familiar blue eyes, craving to get lost in them once more.
But how did they get here? Roles reversed and nerves aflutter?
Six months ago the first letter arrived a month after Charlotte had watched with pained anguish the silhouette of Isabella disappear into the crowd on Greek Street. She was furious and the letter burned in her hand as she traced the neat script written on the envelope. With a flourish and great satisfaction she threw the letter into the fire unopened and breathed a sigh of relief as it left her hand. As the ashes of the first letter lay in the hearth, two days later another arrived looking identical to the first, but with a message from the young man who delivered it, “Don’t burn this one.” Charlotte had scoffed and laughed at this as she aimed to throw it on top of the old one, surprising herself when she lowered her arm, the letter still clutched in her hand. She wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of being that predictable and begrudgingly stuck it in her pocket, the weight of it feeling much heavier than it actually was.
When she sat down in her room early in the morning, all business attended to and the house finally quiet, she slipped the letter out of her pocket and stared at it with tired eyes. She passed the envelope back and forth between her hands, wondering if she were ready to read what it had to say. The movement caused a light waft of perfume to fill her senses and without thought she sighed and slipped her thumb underneath the flap. Charlotte was still so angry but she read the letter slowly with something akin to reverence. It did not ask for forgiveness, it did not ask for understanding, and most importantly it surprised her. By the end of it her hands were shaking with quiet fury and bewilderment, how could this woman still surprise and affect her like she did? It was unfair and Charlotte was too tired to analyze it, letting it slowly fall from her fingers to the floor as she leaned back and prayed for sleep.
For two days the words that she had read swirled in her mind like a hurricane, uprooting feelings she had sought to bury, and relentlessly distracting her from anything else. She sat in the parlor that night, the buzz of alcohol running through her veins, pen in hand. The blank parchment glared up at her, thirsty for the thoughts that would drain the inkwell. One more drink of the smooth amber liquid and her hand moved across the paper in a blur of haste, spilling forth the betrayal she felt towards the woman. When she finished she felt an unconscionable weight lifted from her and sobbed unabashedly into the quiet room as she dropped the pen back onto the desk.
She slept deep that night, her feelings purged and resting neatly on the parchment on her desk. The words stung as she reread them, debating whether to send it to the courtesan. It contained her fury towards the justice system, Isabella, and even herself written plainly in black and white. These words hurt like knives and she was ready to throw them. With a heavy sigh she sent the letter off, expecting it to be the last correspondence between the estranged women, only to find that she would once again be surprised two weeks later.
Charlotte had been feeling lighter lately; despite her heavy heart that she believed was made of stone. The anger and frustration she had been feeling seemingly replaced by sadness and an unrequited longing that she refused to acknowledge. Pa had handed her the letter on a quiet evening while Charlotte sat in the kitchen going over the totals for the month. She looked at the letter lying on the table and reached for it automatically, unconsciously comforted by the neat script on it. Isabella didn’t run from her or her wrath, causing the smallest hint of hope to bloom deep down. She shook her head at the ridiculous thought and abandoned her task to read the letter in the privacy of her room.
Her door hadn’t even closed all the way when she started to read it, wanting to see what the woman had to say. Isabella’s anger rolled off the page in waves, each one crashing into Charlotte. As she read on the waves calmed and were replaced with sadness, one that echoed her own and made her ache. She was mad but was starting to realize that she may have done the same thing if they had switched places. Asking someone to risk their daughter’s safety by putting their faith in the justice system that had failed them so entirely may have been the wrong plan, but she should have had faith in Charlotte, knowing she wouldn’t let any harm come to them no matter what the outcome. Yes their plan was desperate but it was their only option. She should have trusted her. They were allies, they were friends… they were more than that. She crumpled up the letter and threw it in the corner.
She let three weeks pass before she sat down to write Isabella. She could understand where the woman was coming from but she was angry that she should have had faith in Charlotte. She wrote slowly, thoughtfully, a change of pace from the rushed letters before. When she read it back to herself she realized that it did not sound angry but echoed of hurt and sorrow. She frowned at it. She sent it a few days later, secretly hoping it wouldn’t take Isabella three weeks to respond like she did.
She didn’t have to wait long, a week later the letter was handed to her in the morning when the house was just starting to wake up. She stood there in the hallway reading it, drinking it in, and sighed heavily. They were both in the wrong, both to blame, and both hurting because of it.
Charlotte sent her response that afternoon, asking for details about the agreement that Isabella was able to strike up with her menacing brother, wanting to know if it was worth the hurt it had caused her.
Three days went by before she received her response. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t impressed at what Isabella was able to achieve. She even felt somewhat proud of the other woman for finally taking her freedom and life back. Charlotte had to sit down when she read the part about her being in the written agreement, permanently protected from the self-proclaimed Trojans. Even after everything that had happened, Isabella made sure to protect Charlotte and her family in the only way she could. She had wondered why there was no retaliation for all that they had accomplished and now it made sense. Isabella had done this knowing there was no way for Charlotte to have known, that her sole purpose of the agreement was to protect her daughter and Charlotte.
She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. She held the letter against her chest and breathed deeply, the ache in her chest only getting worst. That night she sat down thinking of what to say and could only come up with two words, “Thank you.” The letter was sent in the early morning.
For a month there was no correspondence between the two women, both needing space to digest everything that had transpired between them. Everything that had needed to be said was now out in the open and dealt with. Wounds were healing and anger was replaced with something else, something both were not ready to admit.
Charlotte was walking to the market to get more grain for the house when the delivery boy she hadn’t seen in over a month stopped her in the street, letter in his hand. She looked down at it dumbly before smiling slightly to herself and tipping him generously. She stood there in the middle of the street enraptured in the familiar handwriting. The letter was tentatively curious, asking about her family’s well-being and how Charlotte was settling in as a bawd. It spoke of Sophia’s accomplishments and Isabella’s anxiety as a mother. She felt the familiar tug at her heart at the honest words from the woman. The last paragraph is what had her rooted to the spot as people pushed past her, “It may not be my place to say this after everything but I think of you often Charlotte. You brought so much light into my life and now the world seems a darker place without you in it. I hope this letter finds you well.”
Those last words were so simple yet deceivingly powerful. She could feel the walls around her heart start to crumble and a deep yearning filling her. She took a deep breath, tucked the letter away and turned home to reply to the letter, the grain forgotten.
Charlotte was poised over the table with a drink in one hand and her pen in the other. She updated Isabella on her family; Jacob was too quiet for their liking since Ma was gone and Lucy was working too much. She wrote about the transition of becoming a bawd and that it was a lot harder than she expected. The last of her drink burned her throat as she thought of what to write next. Liquid courage grabbed hold of the pen, “You are always on my mind Isabella. I miss you.” The letter was sent off that afternoon.
Late that night there was a knock on the door, her Pa answering it and coming back with a letter for Charlotte, rolling his eyes as he handed it to her. She opened it up immediately.
“I miss you too.”
She slipped the letter underneath her pillow and had vivid dreams that night.
When Charlotte woke up she was hot and bothered, a deep ache settling in her chest. She wanted Isabella. Biting her lip she took out a piece of parchment, intending to send it before she could overthink it. “I dreamt of you last night. No one has ever made me feel this way. I ache to be near you. Only you. Do you think you’d ever want to see me again?” She sent it before anyone woke up.
Later that day after she had run some errands, she walked into her room to find an envelope on her pillow. “Always. I always want to see you Charlotte. You have no idea what you do to me.” Below it was an invite to the pleasure gardens.</p>