Twenty minutes after they had left for the market, Carlisle was just only returning to the Inn from his unfruitful excursion into town.

He was informed that any carriages traveling into the Grange, would only be available after two days.

Two days!

That also meant that none of his letters would be sent to Mrs. Evenson, for the mail coach has equally been made unavailable due to the uneven roads.

What was he going to do by then? How could he hope to explain the delay to Mrs. Charlotte Evenson? He was after all expected to be there with the girl by evening. But now certain plans have been changed, and there will be two days for them that shall be unaccounted for.

Carlisle made his way through the muddied roads, the wind indifferent to his cold skin; his thoughts trying to conjure a quicker way out of their current predicament as his hands closed into a fist inside his pocket.

He neared the Inn a few paces later.

For a moment he stopped, and stared at the filthy ground beneath him; curious onlookers passing him as he did so, the sun a damp shade of gray above him; morose and unwelcoming. He noted there was something different in the atmosphere. He could not help but feel a strange twinge within him, a certain cringing that was pulsating like a thriving organ deep in his gut.

He was only ten paces away from the Inn, when he glanced up at the window of the room he shared with Esme. He saw that the drapes had been drawn back, and for a brief moment, he silently prayed that his instincts were terribly wrong. But he knew he would only be lying to himself.

As calmly as he could, but with a violent stride, he quickly entered the establishment. Pushing past the Innkeeper who greeted him; he ferociously devoured the floor with each step he took, a wild stirring surfacing from within him.

As he ascended the stairs and made a turn in the narrow corridor, he didn't even need to look at the door to know she was gone.

He halted his movements, feeling as though a new nightmare was ensuing, and he was the object of its torture.

She's gone.

His mind repeated.

A few steps behind him, the baffled Innkeeper approached him concernedly, "Sir is there anything wrong?"

Carlisle closed his eyes for a brief minute, and willed himself calm. "The young lady-" He began, turning around to face him, "When did she leave her room?"

The Innkeeper avoided the murderous glare in Carlisle's eyes, as he answered, "She went with my daughter sir, to the market. I didn't think much of it, they should be back-"

The man scratched the crown of his head, as he watched Carlisle leave abruptly mid-sentence. He didn't realize that he had been perspiring profusely, as though he had a brief encounter with death himself.

Arriving in the market a short time later, Carlisle scoured the crowded streets like a madman.

His eyes sifted through every possible corner of the area; trying to discern the singular shade of her hair; his ears straining in search for her voice in a sea of noise; his pursuit wrathful and yet desperate. He pushed past the moving crowd violently, with his breath in his throat. There was a strange dooming sensation that overcame him. He could not help as though he were sinking, and sinking fast into some strange abyss.

For a moment, the temptation of his ire overcame him. And he gave into his anger, his rage. His thoughts hating her, cursing her, and her grandmother for ever coming into his life. Why should he look for her now? He should be glad that she was lost. Rejoicing that he could relinquish his responsibilities to someone else, some dismal stranger who will find her. Victorious that he shall never have to deal with her stubborn upper-class temperament any longer; joyful that a stone was finally taken from his shoe.

He wanted to stop looking for her right then, and there. Damning her by abandoning her.

But he couldn't.

And neither did he feel any of these emotions that so fumigated his thoughts. His feet that he wished with every might of his will to stop, and to turn back and to never return, kept on moving forward unceasing in motion. His eyes relentless in his search for that tangled mess of hair that he had grown so accustomed to seeing.

He had to find her.

Finally, after a tedious pursuit, it seemed to him that she indeed was lost. He couldn't find her. A blow by loss was a frightening feeling, a feeling that could turn men into children, and monsters into men. He thought it was all over, when suddenly, as he came near the town square, there she stood at the center amid the moving rush of bodies. Her pale face was stained with tears, her wild hair blowing in the wind; her eyes confused, her boots covered in mud as she clung to her gloves feebly like a child.

And like a lash of lightning he came towards her, rapidly taking her wrist and dragging her away like a clumsy doll. His touch was so fierce and brutal that she did not realize she had even dropped her gloves, causing them to simply lay in the ground to be covered in mud.

"Carlisle..." She whispered in a trembling voice.

He did not respond. Instead he kept on walking, trailing her behind him as he kept a firm grasp on her wrist; Esme struggled to keep pace with his gait.

In that moment, Esme was terrified of him.

Later, as they arrived back at the Inn and into their quarters, there was another storm that was brewing.

Carlisle opened the door to their room and thrust her inside.

Slamming the door behind him, he looked at her.

With a low voice hissing with venom he said to her, "Did I or did I not tell you not to leave this room?"

"Carlisle I only wanted to-"

He walked over to her, "Have you the merest idea of the possible consequence of your actions?"

Esme felt herself cower before him, "I only wanted to go outside, I was not going to be gone for long, but I got distracted and confused...I got los-"

"Lost, Ms. Platt." He continued for her, his voice unusually soft, hinting danger. "You got lost."

Esme listened to his footsteps as he paced in front of her. He then stopped, and savagely took her by the shoulders, bringing her face close to his, "You deliberately disobeyed me! Why can't you do as you're told? WHY?" Carlisle shouted, his voice sounding like a roar.

"I shall not be treated like a prisoner any longer!" Esme sobbed in reply, "I only wanted to go out! 'tis not a crime! You are not my keeper!"

"I am your guardian! Heaven forbid I never found you, what then? What shall I say to Mrs. Evenson? What words could I use to explain what has happened to you? Tell me!"

"Let me go!"

"No! Whatever possessed you to think that you could go out there? The world is not the same as these four walls Esme, remember that. You can't protect yourself out there on your own."

"Yes Doctor," Esme replied with seething anger of her own in spite of her tears, "Thank you for reminding me that I am blind, that I am incapacitated, and incapable of surviving on my own... But I am not a doll! I refuse to be placed in a glass case! I refuse to have my life lived for me!"

"You will not last long with that rebellious temperament, Esme."

"What must I do then? Nod like some simpleton?! I am no one's puppet Doctor Cullen, and certainly not yours!" Vociferated Esme passionately.

"You are hopeless! Stubborn and insubordinate! My only concern was for you welfare, but even in reason you too are blind..." He growled in response. His hands on her shoulder started to tremble as he continued to speak, his gaze intense and deadly, "You haven't even the slightest notion of my personal turmoil in finding you, desperately hoping that you were not lost to me; hoping by some miracle that today was nothing but a horrible dream, and what you had done was merely the cause of an illusion. But no, today indeed was real. And so was your disobedience. You care not of such things but yourself, you spoiled child. That's what you are, nothing but an ignorant, selfish child!"

By this time Carlisle's anger reached beyond its boiling point. He pushed her back quite forcefully; causing her to lose balance and to stumble on the floor.

Carlisle immediately regretted his actions as they happened.

Esme stayed on the floor as she cried, her heavy sobs echoing in the room.

Carlisle was watching her, his anger dispersing, now replaced with heavy remorse at what was said and what he had done. He felt slighted at his own actions that were out of anger and frustration.

Esme continued to cry, and Carlisle could not help but feel the familiar twisted feeling of guilt creeping into his core; intertwined with the secret tenderness he has learned to harbor for her.

Slowly, like a repentant sinner, he knelt before her.

"Esme..." He said, his voice woeful and somber.

Upon hearing his voice, Esme flinched, and moved away from him. "Go away! Leave me be!"

Still Carlisle persevered, and came close to her.

The mere whisper of his presence caused her to lunge at him with a slap on his face. She wanted to do it again, to feel the impact of her palm colliding with his cold skin; when he caught her by the wrist, gently this time.

"Let me go!" She screeched obstinately. But Carlisle held fast onto her right hand, pulling her to him. But Esme would have none of him, pounding him on the chest with her left hand. "I hate you!" She screamed as tears poured from her eyes, "I hate you!" She repeated, more loudly this time.

"Esme...Listen to me-"

"No! You don't care! You hate me! You...hate me..."

"Listen-" Carlisle said, his voice soft. He then reached out and touched her cheek, still Esme resisted, "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I don't hate you...If I didn't care, I wouldn't have gone looking for you...You must know that..."

Esme closed her eyes. Refusing to forgive him. She tried to break free her wrist from his grasp, but she was unsuccessful. Instead, Carlisle pulled her much closer to him; Esme landing in his embrace as he whispered to her over and over again, "Please, forgive me."

Covered in his arms, Esme could not help but to return his embrace as she buried her face in his chest, new tears sprouting forth from her eyes.

"Ohh, my dear child.." Said Carlisle with a resigned voice as he coddled her in his arms, "You are so stubborn...But as am I..."

He pressed a half kiss onto her forehead, "But we must try to forgive each other..."

Carlisle felt her in his arms, and stroked her hair gently. Feeling a battlefield of emotions exploding within him. In a way, there was a morbid sort of pleasure that overcame him, knowing fully well, that if he allowed it, she would be the end of him.

"I thought I would surely go mad if I didn't find you." He whispered to her once more, after what seemed like a long while of stony silence.

Esme's face resurfaced from his chest, her face flushed, her eyes red, "I'm sorry, too. I don't know what happened, but there was so much noise, I didn't know where to go. There was so much people...I wanted to call out to you..."

"I know...Come, let's get you up." Said Carlisle, as he helped her to a standing position. Either of them exhausted emotionally from their verbal and physical exertions.

He then led her to a chair.

"Let me have those boots, we need to have those cleaned."

Esme then raised the hem of her dress as Carlisle untied the laces of her shoes, and one by one, removed them.

Carlisle was about to get up, when Esme stopped him. Her eyes once again moist with tears.

"Are you still very angry at me?" She asked in a broken voice.

Carlisle set down her boots, and took her small and delicate hands in his. He sighed quietly and then answered, "No...I was angry at what you did."

Before anything else could be said, he took her boots and left her side.