"So, Dodsworth. What do you think of the house?" Anthony asked as he shifted from one foot to another. If I had just looked for the signs…
"It is very nice. The house looks lovely decorated for Christmas. Thank you very much for inviting me." The words sounded so stiff coming from my lips. I would not tell him that I loved his house a thousand times more than mine and I refused to tell him how much I coveted what he had. What good would that have done? It would have just made me look like a simpleton, a loser, and I would not do that to myself.
Anthony nodded and clutched his hands behind his back. "I know it isn't the biggest and the best in Brighton. We aren't Lord Langton and his fine home, but I believe we have a good home here."
He said "we" like he knew he'd get the mansion someday, and he would. Anthony, being the oldest son, would inherit it. In the not too distant future, all of that beauty would be his. I tried not to dwell on it too much, but I couldn't help it. It wasn't right. I had more brains than him, better looks, a more interesting future, and here he would get this beautiful home to present to a wife and what did I have? I had my mother's house and up until then it had been enough. Now, I wanted more. I needed more so people like Anthony Wexley would keep his big mouth shut.
I cleared my throat because I knew I had to be formal and cordial even though I didn't particularly want to be. "For a house its size, it is very cozy." I said, backhandedness included. From the look on his face, I knew my comment had the desired effect.
He glared at me for the briefest of seconds, and the fire which roared behind me reflected in his eyes. He was not accustomed to me speaking out of turn or even informally. We were friends, but I had never let my guard down around him. I had never let him see the true me. There was a reason for that, a reason I didn't even know I had until I think back on it now. I wanted his admiration. I wanted him to like me. I loved him that much. I concealed my true self because I feared if I didn't, he would decide we couldn't be friends anymore. Little did I know what a traitor he'd be no matter what I did. If only I could go back in time and talk to my younger self. I would have so much to tell him. So many life stories. So much pain could have been avoided.
Mine.
Yours.
Everybody's.
I don't remember in detail the day I married. I don't remember my daughter's conception. I don't recall the first time I held her in my arms. But I remember every detail of the night I met Rebecca.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring at Anthony and waiting for him to speak. Hartwell stood at his side and hadn't spoken a word since I'd walked up. I paid him no never mind because, honestly, why would I? He meant nothing to me then. He means even less now.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Hartwell's gaze drift up the stairs so, being curious, mine followed. As I said, I remember every detail.
Rebecca stood at the top of the stairs, her red velvet cloak had been removed to show a snow white dress with intricate red details. It was long sleeved which was understandable, based on the weather. The fabric hugged her bosom tightly then erupted in what my designers call an empire waist. A red velvet belt hugged her under her breasts. She looked like an angel and even more so when she glided down the stairs.
Never in my life have I seen such a beautiful woman. Ever. I'm not being cruel or biased, for it is a fact. Rebecca Eaton was the most beautiful woman God ever created on this cold, dead world. Her hair was the color of the sun, a warm blond. A trait her daughter carries, unfortunately. Her eyes, oh my, her eyes! They were dark and seductive. When she looked at me, it appeared she could see into my soul.
I wanted her to see it. I wanted her to see how much she meant to me. How much I wanted to get to know her.
And when she smiled, I will tell you the truth, my heart stopped in my chest. I could not breathe for the briefest of moments, and it felt as though my chest would explode. You may think me foolish to say such things over a woman I had not yet been introduced to, but you must know that the Lord works in mysterious ways. I was drawn to Rebecca and she to me, for she couldn't keep her eyes off me. Though strange that she didn't look me directly in the eye, I took it for what it was — her being shy — being a fragile girl who needed to be taught the ways of the world.
I wanted to teach her.
Not like that — though yes, I admit my mind wandered hastily as to what she looked like under her exceptional gown. But I also wanted to teach her about the world. About art. And life. I didn't know much about the world — let me be clear — but I felt as though I knew more than her. I wanted to share it with her. I wanted to share everything with her.