Still half asleep, Arthur stretched across the bed, seeking Charlotte for comfort. Last night, her hair and skin had still smelled of home: of a smoky fireplace, the surrounding wilderness and the fragrant spring flowers she'd been bringing in the house since they'd begun their bloom. All of which reassured him that this displacement in Chicago wasn't nothing permanent.

Except now, when he reached over to pull her against him, she weren't there. He opened his eyes and rubbed them to clear the bleariness. He was alone in bed and, by the stillness in the air, the rest of the room.

Damn it. He wished she'd stop disappearing like that.

Arthur rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling and fighting the urge to leap out of bed in a panic. He shouldn't have a reason to worry. They were staying in a home she'd grown up in. She'd said she would be going down early to breakfast with her mother. She couldn't get into much trouble with any of that.

He covered his eyes with an arm and tried to fall back to sleep, but it weren't taking. Logic did nothing to dispel his instinct. He didn't have a good feeling for it and gave up on sleep.

Sneaking rays of light slipped into the darkened room from the sides of the covered window. He got out of bed and opened the drapes, only to be struck in the face by the blinding sun.

"Jesus."

Arthur winced, turning his face from the brightness. When his eyesight cleared from the glare, he saw the street below and immediately noticed how it was too alive to be early morning. He checked the clock on the mantel above the fireplace and couldn't believe the little hand's placement after the one.

How the hell had he slept through the whole morning and into the afternoon?

Arthur went into action, shoving on trousers and a shirt. He was lifting one suspender over his shoulder when he remembered today was the one day he was supposed be mindful of what he wore. He'd need to put on the new outfit Charlotte and Karen had insisted he bring for the day of the wedding party.

Arthur undid the buttons he'd already finished and slipped off the rest of his preferred clothing. He dug in the wardrobe for the ensemble he was supposed to don. He'd chosen a black suit and white tie, which had been the least offensive of the options he'd been given.

The last thing Arthur reached for was his black leather hat, but he hesitated a moment, hand hovering over it. It would make him stand out among the other guests, surely, but he'd feel more in his skin with it on. With a decisive grunt, he snatched it from the dresser and planted it firmly on his head.

Dressed to the nines now, he only felt a fool instead of looking it too as he traipsed through the house like he belonged.

Holy shit, Karen had commented last night about everything in the home, from the artwork on the walls to the glittering chandeliers hanging overhead and the finely threaded rugs covering every floor. Her assessment ain't been wrong yet.

Arthur weren't ignorant of how the wealthy lived. He'd been in rich homes, not always by invite. But, besides Bronte's and the mayor's mansions, the rest of them had been country homes. Some of them just as large, sure, but in the Dorsch house, the money flaunting was more obvious. He'd bet even the servants here had more to their names than him.

When he got downstairs, it seemed the party had started without him. Folk were standing around chatting. Clark was playing host by himself, an army of crisply garbed servants at his back.

"The festivities are taking place on the lawn," Clark informed everyone. "Follow the hall to the patio. Food and drinks will be served all day at your pleasure. This evening shall be reserved for music and dance."

Arthur slipped through the crowd, heading for the first place he'd chosen to look for Charlotte, which was the dining room from last night.

His stomach knotted tight when he walked through the doorway and she wasn't there. In fact, if he wasn't distracted with finding Charlotte, he'd say the rest of him wasn't feeling so great neither. He'd been tense from the get-go with her absent from the room, and on edge with all these strangers milling about.

When he strode out into the hall again, he ran into Karen. She wasn't alone, as two little girls followed behind her.

Baffled at the sight, he blurted, "What are you doin'?"

"Hey, Arthur." Karen stopped beside him and glanced at the girls imitating her movements. "I was looking for Ben and ran into these two. Felicity's sisters, Grace and Ruthie."

"Pleasure," Arthur nodded briefly and continued, "Listen, Karen—"

"Miss Jones," she corrected snappily.

He scowled at her. "I don't got time for your games."

Karen made an exaggerated sigh for her audience of two. "He was born in a cave, but it doesn't excuse his rudeness. Manners, dear girls, maketh the man. "

Impatiently, Arthur said to her, "Can you quit playin' house for one goddamn minute and help me?"

Karen fluttered her fingers in the direction of the dining room. "Excuse us a moment, girls. I'm going to have a word with the impatient Mr. Callahan."

Karen led him into the room, eyeing him up and down. "Now, what's got you hopping foot to foot like some anxious rabbit?"

At her accusation, he held still. "You seen Charlotte?"

"No. Thought she was still upstairs with you."

"Well, she ain't," he snapped.

She raised her hands. "Alright. Calm down. In case you ain't noticed, this is a big goddamn house. She's gotta be around here somewhere. She say anything?"

He scratched his beard, irritated. "She said something about meeting her momma this morning, but that was hours ago."

"What about her mean old daddy? Maybe she's with him. As far as I know, I ain't seen him around and it's got me thinkin' the two of you made him up to keep me on my best behavior."

Dorsch's harshest words to him rang in Arthur's ears. "Does my daughter have to suffer so you can have a comfortable ending to your unfortunate life?"

"Oh, he's real alright," Arthur confirmed grimly. "But I ain't seen head nor tail of him neither. Got a feeling he's avoiding me."

"What's the matter?" She winked. "He not appreciate that great Arthur Morgan charm?"

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. Just watch yourself around him when he does come around. He sees more than you think," Arthur grumbled. "For now, I'm just trying to find Charlotte."

"Alright, alright. Don't get your britches in a twist. Let's see if I can help." Karen called over her shoulder, "Hey, girls, either of you see Mrs. Balfour this morning?"

Two heads shook in a negative gesture and Arthur deflated.

"I know where she is though," the taller of the two girls piped up.

"Where?" Karen asked before he could.

"Felicity got to go shopping with her and the lady of the house this morning."

"I got that much," Arthur said. "But they ain't back yet?"

The girls shook their heads again.

The outspoken one crossed her arms. "We didn't get invited."

Karen rested her hands on her hips. "Hey, I didn't get invited neither, but I'm not pouting about it." She turned to Arthur. "Did you check outside?"

"No. Why?"

"They got a bunch of shit set up out there for guest entertainment. There's a banquet full of all kinds of food, sweets and drinks. They got a petting zoo for the kids, yard games and some fancy photographer."

"Ain't no reason to get my picture taken."

She shrugged. "Well, I ain't never looked this good so I'm gonna head over."

"I thought you were gonna help me find Charlotte."

"Arthur, stop worrying and enjoy yourself for once," Karen urged. "Join the party. I'm sure when she turns up, that's where she's gonna be anyway."

Karen wandered off with the girls, which suited him 'cause he was too disgruntled at her irritating lack of concern for any more conversation.

He was thankful there wasn't much for a ceremony. Since the official wedding formalities had already been conducted during the elopement, the guests today were allowed to mill around the property of their own accord with little restriction.

But it was all for naught in terms of his searching. In the end, he did what Karen suggested. Not much else for him to do except wait, but he'd never been much for waiting around.

Arthur left the house, staring across the lawn at all the high bred guests. He spotted Ben floundering in the middle of a group of women keen on him. Karen turned up in the next moment, barging her way between them to be at Ben's side.

Arthur passed the table of food, but stopped to get a drink. While a servant poured him some high quality wine he was too ignorant to appreciate, some fool introduced himself and started talking his ear off.

"You hunt, sir?"

"Uh...some," Arthur answered distractedly as he'd spotted Felicity calling to Clark across the lawn in a high pitch. If that girl was here...

"I'm a hunter myself," the man claimed. "This summer I intend to put together a party, head out west and hunt a great white cougar."

That drew his attention. "That has got to be the dumbest goddamn thing I ever heard."

The other man—Thomas something-or-other—cut a frown. "I beg your pardon?"

"Tracking a big cat like that? You're askin' to be mauled, mister."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Callahan, but I disagree."

"Disagree all you want, but it ain't saving you from being prey before you even had a shot out."

Arthur continued the discussion with the greenhorn so intently, he missed the woman coming up at his side until she spoke. "Enjoying the party, sirs?"

Thomas broke into a wide smile. "Hello, Mrs. Balfour."

Relief coursed through Arthur at Charlotte's arrival and her looking no worse for wear.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Waverly," Charlotte acknowledged graciously.

"Care to join our discourse, madam?"

"Actually," Charlotte said apologetically, "I fear I'm here to pull Mr. Callahan away and break up the debate."

"Very well." Thomas Waverly nodded. "We shall have to continue the discussion another time, Mr. Callahan."

"Making friends?" Charlotte asked lightly as the man left.

"Not with the likes of that fool." Arthur rested a hand on her shoulder. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Content to finally have a break from Mama." She tugged on his arm. "Let's put some distance between us and some of these people."

She didn't have to tell him twice.

"Where you been?" he asked her while they walked down the lawn. "Not at the house."

"No." She sighed. "I'm sorry for my absence. Mama snatched me away unexpectedly. If I'd known the trip she had planned would take so long, I would've insisted on informing you."

"What happened?"

She frowned slightly. "Mama spent the morning doing her utmost to remind me of what I'm missing in Chicago."

"Big city like this, it's gotta be a lot."

"Mmm. She certainly thinks so," Charlotte agreed. "She whisked me off to breakfast at my favorite restaurant and then had us all over town to all the shops I used to frequent the most, where she proceeded to make an obscene amount of purchases against my wishes."

So, bribery was the angle her mother was taking again. She'd tried it once before at the house. "Thought it might've been something like that."

Charlotte tilted her head his way. "Have you run into my father at all?"

"No, but that ain't too shocking. The last thing he'd wanna do is seek my company."

"You might be surprised," Charlotte said wryly. "However, it is somewhat disconcerting that I haven't seen him since our arrival. Mama knows something, but I couldn't pin her down with a straight answer. She kept saying he was busy with work."

If Dorsch wanted to keep to himself the whole time they were here, that suited Arthur just fine. Charlotte would likely be disappointed, but he didn't see nothing good coming from any sort of confrontation from that pompous ass.

"Mr. Morgan?"

Arthur tensed at the unexpected callout. He shouldn't flinch every time he heard his own goddamn name, but it'd recently grown into an annoying habit. He rolled his shoulders to shake the tension and faced the man who had risked outing him in the last place he should be recognized.

At the edge of the lawn, where a camera was set up near an archway, waved a bearded man with large brown eyes. He was dressed smartly in vest and tie, but completed the posh look with a boater hat atop his head. It did not match the rest of his get-up. Despite the odd appearance, Arthur was relieved to be pleasantly surprised for once.

If that didn't beat all. Albert Mason, in the flesh. Amusing fella who'd been naive about what awaited him in the country, but Arthur had always liked him because he'd been able to see the same beauty of the wild that he did. Maybe more so, because Mason seemed to be empathetic to the plight of monsters too.

As he and Charlotte made their way over to him, she raised a questioning brow. "An old friend?"

"Eh...not like that," Arthur answered, knowing what she was thinking. "More like...Brother Dorkins."

"Oh?" Her eyes lighted with interest.

"Small world, Mr. Mason," Arthur said by way of greeting when they reached him.

"Ah. That is you," Mason replied with relief. "Thought I'd been imagining things."

"Nah," Arthur told him. "Just your mind confused on how someone like me could be found in a place like this."

"Not so difficult a stretch, in my opinion," Mason protested good-naturedly. "You were nothing less than a gentleman whenever you encountered me bumbling my way through Mother Nature."

Arthur shrugged. "I see you ain't fallen off another cliff or got yourself eaten on your way back to civilization at least."

"No, no." Mason laughed a little. "I arrived in the city in one piece, fortunately. I did have a spontaneous idea to travel to Canada this past winter, but fate had other plans. A blizzard derailed my intended train and I ended up taking up my old business again here in Chicago."

"I don't mean to discourage you," Arthur told him, "but it's probably for the best."

"Perhaps you're right." Mason sighed. "It seems I'm not quite the outdoor adventurer I thought I was."

He could say that again.

"In any case, it's left me with the time to raise money for my next venture."

"And what's that?" Charlotte asked.

Mason admitted, "I haven't quite figured that out, but I have a few ideas. Perhaps further west or south or even a complete change of scenery entirely. Someplace tropical, maybe?"

"I don't recommend it myself," Arthur told him, memories of Guarma swarming his thoughts.

Charlotte gave him a puzzled look.

"Oh no?" Mason asked. "Well, perhaps I'll return to the same areas you found me and retake the shots for better ones."

Arthur frowned. "What's wrong with the first set?"

"As they haven't led me to any professional offers, they must not have been the desirables I presumed them to be."

"I don't know about any of that, but they turned out fine, as far as I could tell."

"You flatter me, sir, but I don't believe you."

"I saw your photographs, Mr. Mason," Arthur insisted. "They was hanging up in some art gallery in Saint Denis. Alongside the paintings of a French fella. Charles Châtenay."

"Good heavens," Mason answered in surprise. "You have seen them."

"I told you I did."

"Well, it is to your credit they made it there at all."

"'Fraid I lost my own print though," Arthur admitted with true regret. "But it's in the care of a friend of mine." He hoped.

"Oh!" Mason lifted a hand, raising a finger. "Stay here a moment."

He turned without looking and clumsily bumped into own camera. Arthur reached out before it tumbled over and set it straight again.

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan," Mason said gratefully and moved to a trunk sitting in the grass nearby and dug in.

"Here we are." When he emerged again, he handed off four pictures. One of wolves, one of horses, one of a gator and lastly, one of Arthur himself. "I always carry a few extra in case someone wants a sample of my work."

"Much appreciated," Arthur said sincerely as he accepted the portraits.

"You wouldn't fancy yourself another trip to the wild country as my bodyguard again, would you?" Mason offered. "I never did get my eagle or ventured far enough north for a bear."

A bear? The man seriously had a death wish. "No, Mr. Mason. I do not have the time to chase you all around the country again."

"No, of course not. I understand." Mason nodded plaintively. "You wouldn't want to travel too far with that little one on the way."

"What?" Arthur said in alarm.

Charlotte dropped a hand on her stomach. "Oh, my."

Mason's face fell. "Oh, dear. Was that a secret?"

"Apparently not," Arthur grumbled, glancing around to verify no gossiping party guest was near enough to blow everything sideways.

"I apologize," Mason said sincerely. "Sometimes I forget my own powers of observation."

"There is nothing to apologize for," Charlotte said kindly. "It is true."

"Just don't be shouting it from the hills," Arthur warned. "It ain't exactly a known fact around here."

Mason's expression brightened with a sudden strike of inspiration. "Let me make up for my blunder. Come." He beckoned them eagerly. "Let me get a photograph of the two of you."

"Mr. Morgan, stand here." Mason indicated a location in front of the camera. "The archway out here has been complimentary as a backdrop all afternoon and with the setting sun, it's sure to be perfect. Mrs. Morgan, come in close next to your husband."

Arthur swallowed hard as Charlotte took her place beside him without correcting Mason. Husband. He weren't that, but he couldn't say he didn't like the sound of it. Foolish, wistful idea that it was.

It was something he'd given serious thought over early on, but had never discussed with Charlotte. He'd been afraid of overstepping since it hadn't been long since she'd been widowed.

And then winter had him giving up on the idea in its entirety. The cold had starkly reminded him of how little time he had. Any promise he made would be for a false future he had no way of continuing.

But Mr. Mason's mistake had him selfishly wanting it possible.

"Arthur?" Charlotte clasped his hands and tilted her head. "Are you alright?"

Arthur kept hold of her hands, caressing the backs with his thumbs, watching her smile turn up for him. Sure, he had doubts. He always did, but for every moment he locked gazes with Charlotte, his mind eased off on all the worry.

For a moment, Arthur could believe her when she said he wasn't a burden, when she insisted he had time left, when she told him what he could teach their child. What could he say? He loved her and she gave him hope that things could work out for a bastard like him.

A light flashed and Mason's voice brought him out of his musings again. "Perfect. One of my best, I'm sure. If you write down your address, I can mail a copy when I have it developed."

Charlotte squeezed his hands before making her way to Mason for the address. Up near the house, Clark was making an announcement. Arthur missed the first half of it, trying to collect himself from his internal struggles, but he saw the guests on the lawn were all headed inside.

"Party over?" he asked Charlotte hopefully.

"Not quite. It's time for music and dance," she informed him in good humor. She rested a hand on Mason's arm. "It was wonderful chatting with you, Mr. Mason."

He tipped his hat. "Thank you for being a lovely subject, ma'am."

"Looks like this is where we part ways once again, Mr. Mason." Arthur held out his hand for him to shake. "Good luck with your work."

"Ah, thank you, Mr. Morgan." Mason shook his hand energetically. "And to your future endeavors as well!"

Even though he wouldn't be a part of it, Arthur wasn't too worried about the photographer's fate. Unlike him, Albert Mason was one of them men who never seemed short on luck.

He and Charlotte followed the crowd to the patio doors and Arthur was surprised to find himself looking forward to the rest of the evening. Encountering a friend among all these strangers had unexpectedly lifted his spirits from the drowning he'd been suffering previously.

For the first time since leaving Willard's Rest, Arthur was thinking maybe some good could come of this trip after all.