After dinner, later that evening.

The two elder women excused themselves to Clementine's drawing room, after desert was served.

Once they've gone, Esme and Charles were left alone to finish their patisserie.

Charles glanced at Esme from across the dinner table, the soft light placidly illuminating the dining area. He could see the bored look on her face as she toyed with her desert, using her fork to separate the icing from the chiffon.

"Don't you like cake?" Asked Charles, setting aside his fork and napkin.

"No, not really," Replied Esme as she pushed away the plate, "Not if you've been eating the same kind of cake for desert, in the last three years."

"Oh," Responded Charles, somehow unsure of what to make out of her statement.

"I have nothing against the cake," She said earnestly, "I've just grown indifferent to its taste over time."

Their interaction was momentarily interrupted when the maid came over to collect their plates.

Charles was about to say something after the servant left, when the grandfather clock in the foyer struck ten.

Esme felt a pang of disappointment at the chiming of the old clock. It was time for her to retire for the evening, she had an early day tomorrow; Clementine insisted that she slept early tonight. They would have 'matters' to discuss in the morning.

Whatever the reason, it must be serious. Esme then thought to herself.

She wiped her mouth with her napkin, and placed it on the table.

"If you'll excuse me Mr. Evenson, I shall retire now for the evening." Said Esme as she got up from her seat.

She could hear a dismal tone in Charles's voice, "Oh, must you really? My grandmother and I won't be leaving for another hour."

She could see the blotched outline of his figure. Carefully she made her way to him, using the edges of the table as a guide. "I'm afraid I must. grandmother has me on a strict schedule."

She could sense his gaze again. That unwavering gaze that flustered her.

"You're very obedient." He began to say.

"Not always," She replied sheepishly. "Good night Mr. Evenson, it was a pleasure to have met you." She extended her hand to him in a gesture of friendship.

Charles took her hand and held it tenderly, "What can I possibly do to convince you to stay with me for a little while longer?"

"I-I can't stay Mr. Evenson..." Esme stammered at the closeness of their contact. She could feel the warmth of his hand against hers.

"Charles. Please call me, Charles." He said softly, as he gave her palm a gentle squeeze.

"Very well. Charles, I really must go."

"But I shall be alone, nothing but the desolate companion of my own thoughts to comfort me." Said Charles, feigning a timbre of woe in his words.

Esme noticed it, "You sir, are relentless." She said with a small smile.

"And you my dear, are far too good.

Say you'll stay with me, please?"

"Charles, grandmother will reproach me if I disobey her."

"And have you always feared your grandmother's temper?"

"No." She answered truthfully. But still, she did not want her grandmother upset with her.

Charles could see she was having difficulty deciding, and so he thought of a compromise.

"Alright, how about we shall sit on the steps of the staircase? That way, if we hear your grandmother you can dash all the way up to your bedroom. And she would not have to know about our little scenes of mischief.

"Mischief? You make it sound like a crime."

"All the better," Charles said, chuckling lightly. "Now please, stay with me or else I shall go mad!" He exclaimed dramatically.

Esme giggled involuntarily.

"Would you like me to kneel?" He added.

The man was absolutely impossible. And yet, somehow, she could not find it in her heart to say no.

Inside the drawing room, the two older women were engaged in a serious conversation.

Charlotte was pacing the room at a steady pace.

She glanced at Clementine who was calmly sipping tea by the fire light.

"How can you be so calm?" Said Charlotte, sounding vexed and agitated, "Have you even read the newspaper? The fear is spreading like a disease all over London."

"Charlotte, they are just rumors and speculations by the nervous public. I have heard the news, even the servants are discussing it. But I still refuse to be deterred."

"Clementine," Charlotte said with a sigh, stilling herself as she faced her old friend, "There is going to be a war, whether you believe it or not. They are going to come. Maybe this week, maybe next month, and they won't be carrying swords and canons this time I'm afraid."

"They will not reach England," Clementine said adamantly.

"And if they do?" Charlotte took the seat opposite Clementine, "Please, think of what's best for Esme."

"I am. And the best thing for her is to remain here with me."

Charlotte took a long steady gaze at her, knowing there was nothing she could say; no words to sway her will from the ground she was set upon. Charlotte observed Clementine more closely this time. She noticed there was something different about her tonight, a poignant sense of determination. She sounded as if she had nothing to lose, as if her journey was reaching an end.

"But," Clementine began to say, "You are right. I will not be blinded by my ignorance of these facts. However, it is not the war I fear..." She said quietly, setting the cup back into its saucer.

"What is it dear?"

"I can't tell you, darling. But, if the war do comes, may I entrust Esme with you? The child has no other family, and I would rather die first than to leave her in a miserable orphanage."

"Of course you may dear. Rest assured she will be well taken care of." Charlotte said comfortingly as she patted her friend's hand.

A great war was approaching, like the inception of an unavoidable catastrophe. Clementine knew things were going to change very quickly, and she wondered just as she has many times throughout her granddaughter's youth; whether or not Esme has the strength to surpass another tribulation of life's grand scheme. Esme was a sensitive spirit at heart; so easily disappointed, so easily hurt.

Later that evening. Charlotte and Charles bid their hostess goodbye with a promise to visit again soon, just as the clock struck Eleven sharp.

The elder lady was ushered first into her carrige, while her grandson stood patiently behind her as he waited his turn to get inside. Once she has settled in, he climbed aboard; casting a final glance with a smile into Esme's bedroom window, before they began to drive away.

Meanwhile in Esme's room.

She laid in bed, the white sheets surrounding her like a sea of clouds. She was smiling greatly in the darkness. She could not forget what had just transpired, thirty minutes earlier.

They were sitting on the steps of the staircase. Charles was chatting aimlessly for what seemed like infinitum, and she just sat there listening to him. His deep voice, his animated words, his restless stories of an exotic land far, far away from all that was known to her.

Charles noticed her familiar silence after a while.

"I haven't been boring you with my nonsense have I?" He said with a soft glide of his voice.

"I hardly call it nonsense, Charles." Esme replied with a half-smile.

She heard him laugh, but then his timbre shifted to a more even tone, "Esme, may I ask you a question?"

"Yes?" She answered, a little surprised at how quickly his pace of mood shifted.

"Are you always this quiet, and shy?"

Esme fumbled with her fingers in her lap. "I suppose so."

"But why?"

"I've no reason to explain the nature of my temperament. I just simply am myself."

"You certainly are nothing alike to any young person I've met before." Charles remarked.

"Am I so strange?" She asked guiltily.

"No. Only that, you puzzle me." He said intently.

"How so?"

"I cannot fathom it. You seem to be in some sort of world, some sort of bubble where only your thoughts, and solitude exist."

"Do I seem so despondent to you?"

"Perhaps that isn't the word. Perhaps loneliness is."

The conversation was beginning to reach a different kind of level.

"I'm no complex puzzle, nor riddle Charles."

"You are to me. I like riddles."

Esme smiled again.

"You are less of a mystery when you smile." He teased.

"Is that so?"

Before they could continue their conversation, they heard a small noise in the direction of the drawing room.

"Our grandmother's must be coming out soon. I've got to leave you here Charles." Esme said hurriedly, making a move to get up.

"Perhaps you're right," He conceded.

They both stood up abruptly.

"Well, its been a lovely evening. Thank you for the pleasure of your company Miss Esme."

"Likewise Mr. Charles." She said with a small giggle.

"Before we part," He began to say, his tone serious as he continued, "One last question before you go?"

Esme nodded.

"May I kiss you goodbye?"

Just then, the voices of the two women echoed from the hallway.

Before Esme could reply, in the moment of an instantaneous second; she felt the softness of his lips against her cheek, followed by their sudden departure as they both dashed in opposite directions - Charles to the main entrance of the corridor, and she up the stairs to the safety of her bedroom.

Esme laid there on her bed, in a state of bliss that she never knew even existed within her. She closed her eyes once again to re-live the memory of that fleeting moment.

The way he had kissed her. The way his voice sounded when he would speak.

Rapture. She thought happily to herself before falling into a contented slumber.

Downstairs, Esme's grandmother returned inside the drawing room. It was a pleasantly still night outside, peaceful and tranquil, but the silence within the room was filled with unsolicited tension. The old woman exhaled quietly as she took her seat again in front of the fire; she rested her elbow against the armrest, with a single index finger to support her throbbing temple.

She would be expecting another visitor later that night. But this was no cheerful visit, in spite of the idyllic evening.

Clementine's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her maid's voice, shaking her out of the deep contemplative state she was in.

"He's here to see you Madam." Said Judith.

"What?" Clementine said distractedly, "Oh, oh yes. Send him in, please."

"Yes ma'am."

Her visitor would be carrying the answer to the heavy question that remained silent in her brain. Through the years that Clementine has known him, she found him to be utterly unflappable and unimpeachable. But most importantly, though verbally she has never said it (Nor would she ever admit it.), he has gained her trust. Slowly she withdrew all her patronage to the other Doctors she's known over the years, and has completely shifted her loyalty to this one man.

And now, she needs his help more than ever before. She trusted his discernment so much, that even this delicate matter she has confided in him to keep, as a matter of utmost secrecy.

She heard the faint squeak of the hinges on the door as he came in, closing the door behind as he stepped inside.

"Good evening, Dr. Cullen." Clementine greeted.

He returned her greeting with two serious nods.

"Please, sit down." She gestured for him to sit in the empty easy chair opposite hers.

She watched him expectantly as he came towards her, dressed in his usual black suit and vest.

She felt nervous. She knew what he was going to say next, now as he sat there before her.

Clementine studied his face, and quietly said with a satiric sense of tone, "Still blank as a paper I see."

"Emotions are a superfluous nuisance." He replied indifferently, avoiding her gaze as he stared into the fire.

"Wouldn't you think, in this circumstance, a little look of compassion would be suitable?" She replied a little meekly.

"It still does not change the facts."

Clementine nodded. She knew, that he knew exactly what she was doing. She was stalling. Stalling for time so that the blow might not seem so painful, so real.

The elderly lady took a deep breath and sank deep into her chair. After a brief silence, she directed her gaze at him.

"What does the test results say?"

Carlisle met her gaze, and spoke slowly without even flinching, "It is a tumor, I'm afraid."

The words sank deep into her ears, she forced her voice to be resolute, "Where is it?"

Carlisle hesitated for a moment, "The side of your heart."

He watched her nod, her pale eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Is there any hope for a cure?" She asked, diverting her gaze down to her wrinkling hands.

"There's nothing we can do...The cancer is slowly metastasizing to the other parts of your organs. We can only numb the pain for so long," Carlisle looked at her, his eyes lightly flashing with a mournful glare, "I'm sorry."

"How long will it be?"

Carlisle hated to be asked that question. Hated having to tell a person how much time left they have left before the inevitable consumed them.

"A few months at most." He replied simply.

A/N: Hey guys! I know I'm a little late with this update, please forgive me. But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this Chapter, their conversation will actually be divided into two parts. This is only the first half. We've reached Chapter 13 woohoo! Thank you guys for all your reviews, keep 'em coming!

And also, a special shout out to a new friend of mine who loves Carlesme just as much as I do, Her name is Cris P.C , thanks for all the wonderful reviews gorgeous! ;)

Stay tuned guys! God bless!