As before, the date with Billy is April 1877, and the date in New Orleans is June/July 1855

Disclaimer: No matter how much I wish, I will never own Magnificent Seven.

For the first time in a long while, Goodnight readied himself bright and early Sunday morning to go to church. It had been hard to go while he'd been in Charleston, since there were not nearly as many Catholics in South Carolina as Louisiana, but today he was going to the church he'd grown up in with his family, the one his father had seen built, and he was glad he was home.

As the Robicheaux sibling carriage pulled up to the church, Goodnight looked out the window and felt a new rush of contentment at the familiar faces all milling about in front of the building before Mass.

"Excited, Goody?" Across the seat from him, his sister Valentine grinned wickedly. "I saw you last Thursday."

Goodnight had hoped she would grow out of her meanness, but on the contrary, Valentine had merely learned to skillfully conceal that part of her. At fifteen, she was already beautiful, with their mother's fair hair and sharp blue eyes; she'd have more beaux than she could keep track of once she came out, even with her mean spirit.

"Funny how people see each other when they share a house and carriage," Goodnight said as his ears heated. This was the conversation he'd been waiting on but hoping wouldn't happen. Friday when he'd come down for breakfast after the ball, Valentine had sat across the table and smiled wolfishly at him, a cat knowing she had caught a mouse; she loved secrets and gossip, and he'd known just what she had on her mind. But he'd buttered his toast, didn't give her a chance to speak, and steered clear since then.

"I saw you at the barbecue and the ball."

"I don't remember you turning sixteen," Goodnight said to her offhandedly.

"I wasn't at the ball, but Mama didn't take me home either. Made me stay upstairs all night." Rolling her eyes, Valentine crossed her arms, forever peeved that she wasn't allowed to showcase herself. "I just looked out the window, and I saw you cut off Micah Magee to dance. She's right there, if you want to speak."

"Don't point, Val, that's not proper."

"It's just you in here, I can be as improper as I please," Valentine snapped with a toss of her lovely head. "Come along now, let us mingle."

Before he could answer, Valentine flung open the carriage door, leaving Goodnight with no other option but to step out and help her down. Passing through the doorway and transforming herself into a proper lady of society, she linked her arm into his and led him, more or less, through the crowd, stopping to flash her dazzling smile and speak to whoever caught her eye.

While his sister was paused by the DuBois clan to discuss their upcoming party, Goodnight took the moment to scan the crowd. He loved seeing everyone in their best, loved the sober but happy air that always followed Sundays, and he always had a surge of pride when he saw the church his father built.

"Oh, Goody, you must meet this lady!" Valentine suddenly shrieked, much louder than proper, and a flash of annoyance struck Goodnight as people turned to stare; he liked attention, but only for the right reasons. "Brother, this is Miss Augusta Evercreech. Augusta, have you met my brother, Goodnight?"

To Goodnight's surprise, two ladies turned when Valentine addressed Augusta; the one being spoken to smiled easily, but the one to her left gave only a cold stare with one eyebrow cocked, looking like she would spit at them at any moment. Whereas Augusta had been right pretty at the ball, she now paled in comparison. Salome Evercreech Saucier could have been every man's dream, with her heavily-lidded grey eyes set against mahogany hair and full lips; but her lips were usually turned down in a scowl, and her eyes always told you that if you lived or died, she could not care less.

Wide-eyed, Augusta's head swiveled back and forth between the Robicheaux siblings and Salome. "I had the pleasure at the Magees', Valentine. Mr. Robicheaux, Valentine, have you met my sister Salome?"

"I don't believe I have properly. It is an honor, Mrs. Saucier," Goodnight said, sweeping his hat off his head as he lowered into a bow. To no avail.

Salome, raising the one eyebrow higher than Goodnight could have ever thought possible, was evidently not impressed. She gave Goodnight a once-over down her nose, half snarling, then cut her eyes to Augusta. "Robicheaux, you say?" She had a slow, husky voice, and dripped each word with disdain. Augusta couldn't even answer before Salome had cut her eyes to Goodnight once more and, seemingly deciding they were not worth her space, turned and stalked away, hips swaying.

While Valentine stood with her mouth open, Augusta, eyes twinkling, pressed her lips tightly together. Finally she said, "Mr. Robicheaux, it is not honorable to charm a married woman like that."

Snapping out of his surprise, Goodnight couldn't help but laugh. It seemed time and marriage had not worn Salome to sweetness. "I'm remembering now exactly why I couldn't ask her to dance."

"Why, I never," Valentine huffed as Augusta pressed a hand to her mouth and Goodnight's shoulders rocked with laughter.

In that moment, Goodnight wished his sister was not there, nor the crowd of churchgoers. Augusta looked like she was stretching at the seams to contain a slight of the tongue, and Goodnight wanted to know what it was, wanted to pry the secret from her red lips. He must have been staring because he noticed the blush creep at her neck, and she cast her gaze down. But he wanted her to keep looking at him.

"It's been lovely to see you both. Good day to you," Augusta said, nodding at the Robicheaux siblings as she headed towards the church with her family. Salome, now on her husband's arm, did not look back.

When they took their seats a few rows ahead of the Evercreeches, out of the side of her mouth so their parents didn't hear, Valentine hissed, "You haven't offended her, have you?"

"I'm afraid I never had the pleasure of making her acquaintance," Goodnight whispered back, hardly realizing that he was answering. He knew the Evercreeches were behind them, and he didn't know whether or not he was imagining the eyes on his back.

"Once upon a time, Billy, everyone had said Anastasie Evercreech would struggle to find a husband, but as far as I know—and I'll never know any differently—she had no issues whatsoever. And then it was Salome's turn, and everyone thought that, sure, she was absolutely breathtaking, but she was too mean to ever get married. But along came Dorian Saucier, and she must have been somewhat sweet because it wasn't long before he'd proposed.

"Billy," Goodnight states, "I don't know if Salome tricked Dorian or all of New Orleans."

Billy flicks the ashes from his cigarette with a slight of his middle finger, his lips twitching faintly.

"She was a right snake, that one, but I'll tell you what. There weren't too many people whose…respect I wanted to have, but Salome was one of them." He scoffs. "You never knew what she would do. She'd scowl at you until you expected it, and then she'd be grinning away. You'd think she was going to call you a sonovabitch—her second favorite word, behind the root of that—but then she'd just laugh and swat at you. On my honeymoon, I bought her this beautiful bonnet, and when I gave it to her, she said in the flattest voice possible, 'What a color.' Say that, Billy."

"What a color," Billy deadpans, and he can't stop a smile from spreading across his face when Goodnight laughs.

"Just like that, she said it just like that. Oh, the disappointment of that moment." Goodnight offers Billy his bottle of whiskey and takes a long, sobering swig when Billy returns it. "I think I eventually earned her respect, but I'll never know that either."

"Alright, Aggie, we have you all to ourselves now."

When Hattie said that, Augusta knew she was in trouble. Her parents milled about inside the Verrets' parlor, sleepy from lunch and the heat, and she hadn't thought much of it when the twins had dragged her outside since they were often scolded by Mrs. Verret for being too rambunctious. As sweet and friendly as they were, Hattie and Mathilde were not quite as proper and docile as their mother hoped.

"What is it," she asked nervously. Had she known the twins had a ploy up their sleeves, she would have put up a fight, but it seemed too late to make an escape inside.

"Well, we just wanted to know what you thought of the Magees' ball the other day. We never had a chance to catch up, you see," Mathilde began, trying in vain to look as innocent as possible, and Augusta felt her neck heating, knowing where the conversation was headed. "Who all did you dance with, again?"

"Let's see here...there five dances. First was Micah Magee—"

"Oh, Minnie danced with him, and now she's determined she's going to catch him," Hattie scoffed with a snarl, rolling her eyes, obviously unimpressed, and Augusta thought she heard her mutter, "Stupid."

"And there was...next was Josiah Miller—don't look at me like that, Hattie, I couldn't very well say no—and then I danced with Ames while you were with Micah, Mattie. Fourth was Ansel Delacroix, and then I finished the night with Goodnight Robicheaux."

"And what did you think, which ones seemed promising?" Mathilde pressed closer, like a child eager for a treat, blue eyes twinkling.

"Don't you dare even think for a moment that I could have any interest in Josiah, and I'd never even consider Ames, Mattie. If Minnie wants Micah, then he wasn't so interesting that I'll miss him, and besides, I think he was drunk before we went inside for a nap. I suppose that only leaves Ansel and Goodnight."

"Would you really want to live out at Flipeau?" Hattie asked, always the more particular of the two. "Tobacco? And I hear the fields stink so much from the slave quarters. Imagine you trying to host a party and the fields stinking."

"You'd be the talk of the town, alright," Mathilde agreed.

Augusta rolled her eyes. "Hattie, Mattie, you're telling me that my only option from the other night is Goodnight."

Goodnight Robicheaux, making his returning debut to New Orleans, now a good deal taller and more filled out, but still with those sharp blue eyes. She hadn't seen him since a year or so before she came out, when he had been quite smaller and hadn't given her anything other than a passing glance. But then again, with her sisters, no one had given her more than a passing glance, not when she was so quiet and her sisters were so loud and obnoxious, in her opinion, save for Salome who rarely spoke unless it was to call Oceane a bitch; her sisters who would not have needed to have opened their mouths to turn heads. She had never paid any mind to him either, but at the Magees', he'd been so charming and had all the girls chattering, now that the Robicheaux heir was back home. The handsome devil, he knew how to make a return, that was for sure.

"Now, that's not what we're saying," Mathilde began, but Hattie, taking up her sister's eager expression, said, "Wouldn't you love to live at Foxsong? Oh, Aggie, wouldn't it be so nice to be a Robicheaux? You could have whatever you wanted and live in that beautiful house."

"You don't get married based on what house you want to live in, Hattie," Augusta scolded, though she couldn't keep from grinning, knowing that was exactly how Hattie would choose a husband. She shrugged. "Besides, I'm afraid there's no hope with him. Valentine came to introduce us today, and Salome probably scared him off."

"Sal—how could she," Hattie shrieked suddenly, pounding her fists on her lap, face aghast because she knew that Salome had no qualms about letting people know what she was thinking. "That hag, how could she have done that!"

"Shhh," Augusta hissed, glancing over her shoulder at the house and covering Hattie's mouth with her hand. "Don't act like Oceane, or you'll have everyone out here."

Hattie shoved Augusta's hand away, frowning impressively, a foreign gesture on her lips. "Ames told Mattie...he told Mattie you and Goodnight...Aggie, I really hate your sisters."

Before Augusta could add anything to that thought, good or bad, Mathilde had joined in. "Hattie is right, Aggie. Ames…How could Salome have scared him off?"

"She was just Salome. What is this about Ames?" But the twins simply shook their heads in unison.

There was a little part of Augusta who was resentful of Salome too. Her sister had a knack for scaring off men almost as good as she had a knack for drawing them to her, but Augusta didn't see why Salome had to scare off men who weren't even interested in her—at least, not all of them. If she wanted to scare off Josiah Miller, that was one thing, but Goodnight…

He was handsome, and worldly in a way other gentleman weren't. Perhaps it had been the way he spoke, with his slow, deep voice, hanging onto words as if he put a good deal of thought into what he was saying, or the way he had walked with long strides and just a hint at a bounce in his step. She had liked the way he grinned, all lopsided until his lips really pulled back and made his eyes crinkle, and how he had leaned towards her ever so slightly when they spoke.

Then Augusta caught the twins smiling wolfishly, exchanging glances between themselves, and she realized she had been grinning too.

At the very south end of Foxsong, the creek that flowed through the parish separated the Robicheaux family from the Evercreeches. Goodnight had spent a great deal of his boyhood free time down by the creek. He'd gone there to practice his shooting, which his mother knew nothing about; to fish, which is what he always told his mother he was doing; and to read, which is what his mother most likely suspected he was doing.

He loved reclining beneath the willow with his hat covering his face and doing nothing but listening. Usually he only heard the babbling of the creek and a few frogs and birds, but if he listened closely, he could sometimes hear the work songs floating down from the fields, and if he was very still and came late enough in the evening, he'd been lucky enough to spot a handful of foxes for which the plantation was named.

Today, with a few hours before dinner, he had decided to take a walk down to the creek, fishing pole in hand and a book in his coat pocket. As he passed by the southern field, he saw his father sitting atop his horse next to the overseer, the two men surveying the work; his father pointed to the eastern field and made a sweeping motion with his hand, and Goodnight couldn't help but to smile. Maxence Robicheaux, family patriarch and parish paragon, the man with the softest heart and the strongest back; Goodnight didn't think he would ever know a better man than his father.

He had just started to whistle when the creek and his willow came into sight, but he almost stopped in his tracks. His willow was taken.

When she heard his whistling, Augusta raised her head from her book and regarded him as if she was deciding whether or not to be angry by the interruption. She settled on a warm, closed-lip grin. "Good day, Mr. Robicheaux. I hope I haven't taken your spot, but recently I've found it to be a lovely place. The creek is narrow there, and I can just hop, hop, hop right over on those rocks."

"Good day, Miss Augusta." What a great, terrible situation he found himself in, to have a lovely, captivating lady under his tree, looking right at home with her book and blanket. Goodnight wondered if the heavens or the Devil were smiling on him, and somehow, he didn't care a single bit that she was in his spot. He nodded to her. "My apologies for interrupting you. I'll be going, if you'd like."

Augusta shook her head, and the sun caught just so on her deep black ringlets, which beckoned his fingers as they danced. "As far as I know, fishing isn't a noisy pastime, and I fear I am on your property, so I believe it should be me who leaves."

"As far as I know, you sitting on that blanket and reading isn't causing much damage. If it suits you, I'll stay here and let you be."

"That suits me fine." She flashed her teeth, and Goodnight nodded to her again, turning away to fix his line so that she couldn't see his red ears. When he had his hook adequately baited, he tossed it into the pond and glanced to see what she was reading. Wuthering Heights.

"'I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.'" Goodnight quoted under his breath, remembering one of the lines that had stuck out most to him.

"Have you read this?" Glancing over his shoulder, Goodnight found Augusta gazing at him with wide eyes, mouth drawn in such a way that was both hopeful and surprised. "That line, Brontë wrote it. Have you read this?"

"Of course," Goodnight answered, and when her face lit up, he knew that if he hadn't have already read it, he would have instantly told her to hand the book over and he would get right on it, fishing be damned.

"I'm surprised. I feel as though most think this is…well, a girlish book."

"Miss Augusta, to my knowledge, literature has no gender and is intended to be read by anyone who wishes to read it."

"Oh, how exciting!" she gushed, leaning forward slightly, and Goodnight wished he was sitting on that green blanket next to her. "I should have known you liked to read by the way you spoke, but I feared most men would have no use for books and only cared about the crop. Not that I would know, my poor papa has been so outnumbered, so I couldn't base my judgement completely off him because it wouldn't be fair, but none of my sisters had any taste in literature."

"Yes, I'm afraid Val has more important things to occupy her time too. Like which dress she'll wear to the next ball. She is very accomplished at the piano though." His own book was growing heavy in his pocket, and he longed to pull it out and see her reaction. "I take it you read often?"

"Any chance I get. It doesn't matter if it's a science journal or a novel, or even the newspaper, though Papa doesn't approve of that. He says I have enough silly ideas without me trying to be versed in current affairs and it isn't my place to say any of them, but it's not as if there's anyone to listen to them, so I don't see how it matters. I agree—"

Perhaps she noticed his rapt, amused expression, but suddenly Augusta closed her mouth. Where she'd been bubbly and excited, she now blushed, ducking her head and looking almost ashamed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get going like that, but when thoughts get in your head, you just have to get them out. My parents are always chiding me for it."

Goodnight wanted to reach out to her and tip her chin up so that she met his eye and tell her he was always getting thoughts in his head that he just had to get out. He wanted to watch her solemn expression melt away until she was smiling and her eyes were not doleful but lively again. Softly, just loud enough that she could hear him, he said, "I didn't mind one bit, Miss Augusta. It would be a privilege to know what you agree with."

But Augusta merely shook her head at him and gave him a gratefully sheepish look. She stood and picked up her blanket. "It's no matter. I really should be going, Mr. Robicheaux, I may be late for dinner. Thank you for letting me stay, however brief it was. I apologize for distracting you."

He was sorry she was leaving and that she wouldn't entrust him with whatever it was she agreed with. As she was walking away, Goodnight remembered the upcoming party at the DuBois residence and called, "Miss Augusta!"

Goodnight could tell by the way she turned around, pausing before taking slow steps that she really did not want to face him. "Yes, Mr. Robicheaux?"

"I reckon you'll be at the DuBois' on the Fourth?"

"I don't miss a party if I can help it." He hated how tired she sounded and wanted the lilt to come back to her voice.

"Might I have the honor of a dance?"

And then, the corners of her mouth tugged up before she could stop them, and somehow, he knew she was trying not to smile, which only served to invigorate him. "Of course, Mr. Robicheaux."

Goodnight's stomach wouldn't stop somersaulting. "And Miss Augusta! The pleasure was mine today."

You sly devil,her eyes said, but she turned for the last time with a toss of her head that he took to mean she didn't mind his slyness one bit.

A strand of grass tucked into his mouth, Ames stretched out on the bank of his family's pond. The sun blared down from the sky, but beneath the bald cypress, they were protected from its harshness. Thinking Ames had fallen asleep, Goodnight reached into the pack he had beside him and pulled out a book he'd picked up after the train had stopped in New Orleans. Hard Times by Charles Dickens, the one he'd planned to read the other day until he'd gotten distracted.

"Goody, you best put that book down, or so help me God…" Ames muttered through teeth clenched around his grass.

"Or what?"

Ames opened one squinted eye. With the sun hitting his hair just right, he seemed to radiate a golden shine, falsely cherubic with his brown cow eyes and plush cheeks, and Goodnight thought he would have looked right at home if he'd been swathed in white robes and basking on a cloud. A man who enjoyed his food and drink, he leaned towards the plump side, but it suited him. "Well I won't shoot you, that's for sure." He pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Let's talk, Goody."

"You know me so well." Goodnight feigned bashfulness, throwing his hat over his heart, and Ames shook his head.

"Asshole. Heard you, uh, met Mrs. Saucier at church."

"You heard? There wasn't much to hear. I think, Ames, that you watched this event unfold from the safety of Miss Mathilde's side." Ames smirk was his response. "I believe her sister got a right kick out of it."

"Who, Miss Augusta?" Ames asked, and Goodnight could hear from the excitement in his voice that this was the topic he had wanted to talk about. "You seemed to have hit it off with her."

Goodnight tossed his book onto his pack with a sigh, knowing good and well that he wouldn't be doing any reading. "Alright. I'll bite. Yes, Ames, I would say that we've hit it off."

"Do you love her?"

After he recovered from his shock, Goodnight could only laugh. Ames could fall in and out of love with anything in a matter of minutes, save for women, which he always loved.

"I don't know her!" The look on Ames' face was full of disbelief. "I can't tell you I'm in love with her when I don't even know her. I can't tell you how she takes her tea, or if she sings when she's all alone. I don't know what color she thinks looks best on her, or what she even thinks of herself. But she's something new. She has that look like she's just heard the most the most wonderful secret, and when she smiles, I must smile back. And she has that—that mane of hair, and when she moves her head or a strand of it falls, I have to stop myself from touching it." If Goodnight hadn't been lost in his soliloquy, he would have noticed Ames look of utter pride. "And goddamn do I want to know what she's thinking. She keeps teasing me, eyes flashing like she has a secret, always stopping herself from saying it. I just want to ease her open and let her spill everything to her heart's content. How lucky would I be to be entrusted with that?"

Springing into the air, Ames suddenly hollered and slapped his knee with his hat. "I knew it, I just knew it! I knew that you would like her. When she came out after you left, she told this marvelous story about a toad and a boo-hag, and I said to myself, 'Ames Rubadeau, this is the girl. This is the girl that's going to change Goody's mind.'"

"How'd that story end?"

"Not so great for the boo-hag, but don't try to change the subject. You best get to courting her."

"I don't know her, Ames. How can I face Mr. Evercreech and tell him that I intend to marry his daughter when I don't even know her?"

"You'll get to know her after you're married."

"Yeah? And I reckon you'd be the one to learn the alligator's got teeth after you get bitten."

"Well the DuBoises are throwing a party on the Fourth. You leave it to Mathilde and me, and you can have every moment of the party with her."

"I can do my own bidding, thank you kindly. And besides, I can't monopolize her, or everyone will talk. And not about me." With an inward sigh of relief, Goodnight congratulated himself that he hadn't told Ames he already had a dance saved, nor had he mentioned that he knew Augusta liked to read under his willow tree; that had not been a proper meeting, however short, and if word got out, they'd both be in trouble. He turned to his friend suddenly. "You know what I don't understand? How did I forget there was one after Oceane?"

Releasing a sharp bark of laughter, Ames laid back down. "There's what, eight years between them? Ten? She wasn't out yet, and Oceane never gave her a chance to be noticed at a gathering. And we were all worn out after Oceane was married and wanted to forget all the Evercreech girls. But Goody, I'm so glad you're back, and don't you worry, I'll put Mathilde in her ear."

Goodnight grunted. "I can do my own bidding. Now are we going to do any fishing, or are you just going to lie there all day?"

"Put that goddamn book away," Ames grumbled as he reached for his pole.

"I've got it right here," Mathilde Verret said breathlessly, waving a little card in the air with one hand and pressing the other to her chest. Upon Ames's request, she had gone bustling through the crowd and now returned with the object of his desire. "She excused herself, but I got her programme before she got away."

The card passed from Mathilde to Ames and then finally to Goodnight, who hurried to get it open with uncooperative fingers. Not wanting to be awoken from a nap, Valentine had taken her sweet time getting ready, and only the Sauciers were later than the Robicheauxes, though Goodnight, from only his brief meeting, doubted Salome cared whatsoever. But Goodnight cared, and he cared a great deal. If he was too late, he may not have a chance to put his name down.

Inside, each line for a gentleman's name had already been filled. All three blinked at the card, as if not able to fully comprehend what had happened. Goodnight felt his stomach drop. "Goddamn it, Valentine."

"It's full," Ames stated, and fury flashed across Mathilde's face. She jerked the card from Goodnight's hand in an unladylike but immensely Verret way, muttering about what a vazey little ratbag Augusta was.

Feeling very betrayed and extremely embarrassed, he was considering going home to keep from facing her when his mind registered the fact that both Ames and Mathilde were speaking and he hadn't heard a bit of it. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're already down," Ames said, and shoved the card into Goodnight's face.

When he managed to get the card at a distinguishable distance, he carefully read each name on it. There he was for the opening reel, and there he was again for the final waltz. But there was no way that he had written his name, and judging from Ames' surprise, his friend had not done so either, though his name was on there once. "I didn't do this."

As Mathilde plucked the card from Goodnight's hands once more, she smirked. "I know whose handwriting this is."

"May I speak honestly?"

"It would be a privilege if you did."

While Goodnight strolled lazily through the hedges with Augusta on his arm, the party came to a close, though rumor had it that the Mr. DuBois had procured fireworks. The final waltz had concluded, and he'd asked her to take a turn with him. As was only customary.

"I didn't put my name on your card."

In the dim light, he could just barely make out her face, serene and almost laughing. "Mr. Robicheaux, I promised you a dance, and a lady must keep her promises."

Her hand on his arm was small and warm, and he had a terrible, irrational fear that if he moved the wrong way he would crush it, but under no circumstances did he want her to remove it. He noticed her arm next to his, and the way her soft voice was slightly lower, how her head came just to his shoulder. From the side, he could see the way her nose curved up just slightly, just enough for someone to see if they were paying close attention.

"You put me down for two."

"I wanted to assure myself that you were as good dancer as I thought and that the first time wasn't a fluke." Her skirts swished with every step, and Goodnight could feel them brushing against the leg of his pants. For some reason, his every sense was hyperactive, but he his mind was still for once. "Tell me about Charleston, Mr. Robicheaux, that must have been exciting."

"It came to remind me of our New Orleans in its own certain way, old and proud though sleepy. The city is lovely and sits right on the bay. I used to go there in the mornings sometimes while it was still dark—you wouldn't believe how it looked as the sun painted the sky, and the palmetto trees along the bay looked just like shadows, black against the water and the sun."

Up and down the rows of hedges they wandered while Goodnight told her everything about Charleston. When he said something that caught her interest, she turned her face up to him, and when he said something funny, she tipped her head back to laugh, unrestrained and carefree. Soon he realized he was racking his memory for those moments just to hear the sound. When Mr. DuBois set off the fireworks, both Goodnight and Augusta startled before realizing that they had spent too much time away. He caught her eye, and somehow a silent understanding passed between them that they needed to return to the party no matter how much they wanted to linger in the garden.

"Thank you for the dance, Miss Augusta," Goodnight said when he delivered her back to the Verret twins. And then, in a burst of confidence, as Augusta dropped into a curtsy, Goodnight brought her hand to his lips.

"It was my pleasure," she answered with a ghost of a smile on her mouth, eyes locked with his, and if there hadn't been people around, Goodnight thought he would have put his lips somewhere higher than her hand.

Goodnight looks to Billy, waiting for the other man to pass some sort of judgement, but of what, he doesn't know. Until now, he's only listened silently, stoically, just like normal, except for the story about Salome and the bonnet, and Goodnight can't even read his face to see what he's thinking. It's a feeling he doesn't like, the uncertainty, not knowing what Billy is thinking. His name and Billy are all he has left in this world, and if he loses them, he can't imagine what he would do.

Faced carved from the substance of his "name," Billy blinks once and takes a long drag of his second cigarette, blowing out the smoke in perfect circle, and it's only then that Goodnight catches a hint of emotion—satisfaction. Jumped-up little shit,Goodnight thinks fondly, reaching for the cigarette.