Charlotte led Arthur into a room he hadn't yet been in, a large hall with high ceilings and two enormous glittering chandeliers that caught the eye upon entry. Along the wall lined well-dressed men and women in conversation. Dancers had already taken to the glossy floor, gliding with their partners to the music of a string quartet assembled to the left of the entrance.
Charlotte pulled him to an area beneath a painting of a greenery landscape as tall and wide as the wall itself. The doors along the far wall were thrown open to wash cool air over the heated guests. If he had the choice, Arthur would've prefer to step right back outside and avoid this mess altogether.
"Don't worry." Charlotte's hand on his arm tightened. "All eyes will be on the honored couple of the evening."
He had a look around and saw that she was right. All the attention followed Clark and Felicity sharing a dance. Her elaborately sewn gown had a six foot radius on each side, but Clark had skill enough to twirl her around without stepping on it.
Together, he and Charlotte watched the dancers until the song ended. For some reason, the crowd began clapping at the end of the set and Arthur joined in half-heartedly, unsure what the big deal was. Clark and Felicity smiled and bowed in response before taking position for the next number.
The guests who weren't gliding across the floor, stood on the outskirts, gossiping about thems that were. Over what, Arthur couldn't say. He shook his head, dubious. He'd never understood this sort of life and he didn't think he ever would.
As the strings' melody drifted across the room again, beginning the next song, he glanced at Charlotte, heard her humming and realized she might want to be one of them couples dancing.
Arthur cleared his throat. "You wanna, er, go out there?"
Charlotte turned her head to face him, a quizzical look in her features. "Where?"
"You know..." He gestured. "With them other folk."
She pressed her lips together and he swore she was trying not to laugh. "Arthur, are you asking me to dance?"
Agitated, he returned, "I mean, if you want. I ain't sayin'...I don't know...never mind."
Now she did laugh.
"It ain't that goddamn funny." He crossed his arms and looked away from her, embarrassed as all hell. He shoulda known it'd be a stupid idea.
"I'm sorry. Truly." She rested a hand on his arm. "I'm not laughing at you, I swear."
"Like hell you ain't."
"Arthur, look at me."
He did so and her green eyes were sparkling, but not with mockery, as he expected.
Charlotte explained, "You took me by surprise is all."
"Why? 'Cause you know I can't dance?"
"I know no such thing," she chided lightly. Her gaze returned to the dancers. With her next words, her amusement was back and a hint of wistfulness. "I thought my life as a debutante was over and here you are, the last person I expected, trying to pull me back into it."
He grunted, making no comment.
Charlotte faced him again and raised a brow. "Are you interested in dancing, Arthur?"
Maybe he was, soft-hearted fool that he'd become. Weren't so much the dancing itself, but he'd like to have her in his arms.
He grumbled, "Ain't much of a dancer."
"Funnily enough, I never was either." She chuckled and tugged his arms free from their crossed form. "Come. Let's struggle together."
As they walked away from their safe place near the wall, Arthur noticed Charlotte's cheeks started to pinken before she bowed her head. As they faced each other, she glanced around the room with sudden uncertainty.
"You nervous?" he chuckled lowly, not believing it.
"I learned the steps ages ago." She bit her lip. "It's the implementation of those teachings I've never been able to pull off."
"Why don't you teach 'em to me?"
Surprise brought her gaze up to his. "Teach you now?"
As of yet, no one had noticed their standstill, but the music hadn't picked up yet and they were still on the edge of the dancing. Soon enough, they'd garner attention if they didn't start moving.
"Just keep your focus on me," Arthur told her. "Make sure I'm doin' it right."
Her eyes wandered over the potential observers of the room. Charlotte weren't perfect, he knew that, but her usual calm temperament always had him forgetting she doubted herself just as much as everyone else. This setting, where every action was about presentation and politeness, couldn't be an easy place for her to shake some of her deep-rooted insecurities.
"Where you want my hands?" Arthur prompted.
Charlotte laid her palm on his shoulder. "Rest your right hand high on my back."
He followed her instruction. She stretched out her right arm and he grasped her hand with his left.
"We'll start slow and with a simple box step."
So they did, Charlotte offering guidance under her breath as he took her direction stepping forward, right, back, left, repeat. Simple enough, even for him.
It was...mostly successful.
Arthur thought she'd been sparing his feelings or exaggerating by claiming she weren't good at dancing. He had a hard time imagining Charlotte as clumsy. But here she was stepping on his toes and wincing every time she did. Arthur reckoned it might be wrong of him, but he actually found her shared bungling preferable to a more skillful performance.
They didn't stray too far out of the invisible square at their feet. However, the little bit of moving they did manage, they still somehow bumped into a few others. And the more couples that took the floor, the more victims there were of their inexperience.
At the fourth shoulder Arthur bumped, Charlotte covered her mouth as he mumbled apologies. When the couple moved away, noses in the air, he accused, "You think that's funny?"
"Of course not," she claimed, bubbling with barely contained laughter. "But I did warn you."
"Ah, hello, Charlotte, Arthur." Ben arrived at their side all of sudden, saying apologetically, "Clark's ordered me to cut in."
"Whatever for?" Charlotte asked.
Her brother's eyebrows rose. "He says you two are terrorizing his guests with your infernal fumbling."
She scrunched up her face. "How rude."
"Sure." Arthur had himself a chuckle. "But he ain't wrong."
Ben nodded, as he drew his sister into the correct dancing position. "Miss Jones is over by the patio doors, if you wanted to speak with her for awhile, Arthur."
Arthur weaved through the couples until he found Karen standing on the edge, watching the crowd. He took a spot beside her, crossing his arms.
"How are you gettin' on?" he asked. "Sick of enjoying yourself already?"
She shrugged. "Drinking, dancing with strange men, pissing off rich women..." She grinned. "Just another Tuesday night for me."
"Guess it is." Arthur felt a cough creeping up and he cleared his throat.
"You okay?"
"Fine," he said, brushing off her question. "What you think of all this then?"
She arched one eyebrow. "I think it's interesting the moment we stop robbin' rich folk, we start rubbin' elbows with them."
"Believe me, I ain't missed the irony."
"Sean would've hated us at a party like this," she commented next, unexpectedly. "Seein' us cozied up to these kinds of people."
"Yeah." Arthur scratched his jaw. "Does seem the sorta place he always bragged about burnin' down, don't it?"
Their gazes followed Ben and Charlotte's movements across the hall, and Arthur noted they avoided the other guests with ease.
Karen stated, "They're fools, Arthur."
Arthur glanced at her with surprise. "How you mean?"
"I mean...look at them." Ben spun Charlotte about with more finesse than Arthur's dithering footwork. As Charlotte's delighted laugh reached their ears, Karen continued, "Always actin' like there ain't nothing bad out there. Fools."
"Maybe." He rolled his shoulders. "I guess I'm thinkin' we're the fools, for being convinced we ever had it better."
"You like this?" She pointed a thumb at the rich folk all around.
He scowled. "Not this, but...I don't know."
Karen suggested, "Normal?"
"Yeah." Arthur exhaled and it came out more of a wheeze. "Normal. Didn't know what we lived wasn't even close to it. Thought we had some grasp of a regular life, even if it weren't conventional."
Karen eyed him and said bluntly, "You're sweatin' like a pig. Wanna step outside for some air?"
"I'm fine." He wiped his brow because she weren't wrong. Since he'd taken Charlotte on the dance floor, he'd gotten winded.
"I need a smoke anyway and I'd prefer outside."
"Sure," he assented, but she'd already turned for the doors, expecting him to follow.
They strolled across the lawn, the night air refreshing after the crowd and heat of the party. He could breath again, but his insides was paining him something fierce, almost like he'd been stabbed. Musta been that fancy wine.
He and Karen weren't the only ones outside. Some other folk had ventured out here too, walking the paths in pairs, the lanterns lighting the way invitingly. They paused, admiring the house, the soft music lilting their direction. Even at night the house loomed large and majestic, a place neither of them had any business being.
"Us lowlifes don't deserve none of this," Karen commented, her thoughts running the same course as his.
"I know it." He eyed her carefully, looking for signs of drunkenness. "I thought you was havin' fun. You ain't knocked back a few, have you?""
"No. Shut up," she answered, irritated. She unexpectedly snatched from her bosom a hidden lighter and cigarette. He wondered idly if she was the original owner of either. "I just got to thinking. If these people knew the half of what we've done out there..."
"It is what it is," Arthur told her, "And it ain't worth feeling sorry for ourselves."
"But taken in by these kind of folk, like we wouldn't have robbed and killed them only a little while ago?"
"I know." What she was saying was something he'd struggled with himself, while getting to know Charlotte better. "You just gotta move on from it or you'll get yourself stuck."
Karen took a drag of her cigarette, blowing smoke before saying seriously, "I'm happy for you, Arthur. Charlotte's something special and she's good for you."
"Yeah." Boy, did he know it. "She sure is."
"But," she pointed at him with the hand holding the cigarette. "I'm telling you right now, you're gonna have to be more for her."
Arthur frowned and turned his head, unsure he heard her right. "Excuse me?"
"You're sitting on your ass, expecting every day to be your last, when you should be living."
"What you talkin' about?" he argued. "I am living."
She snorted. "Barely. You're always in your head or scribbling in that journal of yours."
He said defensively, "Charlotte ain't said nothin' about it."
Karen rolled her eyes. "'Course she hasn't. She doesn't want you freaking out any more than you already do."
This conversation was starting to irritate him. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"
"You can't deny it. I've been living with you two for months now. You tiptoe around like she's about to break or you're a big sour puss all day, contemplating death or something."
"It ain't like I can just wake up without my days being numbered."
"Arthur, your days have been numbered since you were a teenager, when Dutch and Hosea molded you into a goddamn thug."
A harsh assessment, even if it were true. "That was different."
"Yeah, you didn't think so much."
He stepped away from her, a restless energy growing in him. "Where the hell is this coming from?"
"You got a good thing and all I see is you wasting it."
"And I still don't know what you're talking about."
Karen narrowed her eyes on him, tilted her chin and said, "I noticed you ain't cracked open that paint set Charlotte got you for Christmas."
His brow furrowed at the abrupt change in subject. "So?"
"Charlotte's noticed too."
Arthur shifted and didn't meet her eye. "I don't got the skill to use it."
"Uh huh," she said, full of doubt. "And you ain't helped Charlotte with picking out a name for the child? That not a skill of yours either?"
"Don't see the point," he muttered.
"Hopeless," Karen said, not quite under her breath. "After all that bullshit with Mary Gillis and you're gonna squander another chance to be with someone you love?"
"Don't." The mention of Mary still sharpened thorns around his heart, even though that relationship had long been done and buried.
"I know you, Arthur. Better than you think I do," Karen claimed. "But I've been puzzling over what you've been doing these past few months and I don't understand it."
"I ain't—"
"Are you even thinking about this baby?"
"'Course I am!" It came out harsher and louder than he intended. He scanned around to make sure he hadn't brought any attention to them. "I'm makin' something."
Karen quirked a brow. "That secret project you got going in the shed?"
She musta been watching him. "Yes."
"Why you keeping Charlotte at an arm's length when it comes to the baby?"
Karen wouldn't let up when she wanted something out of him. Once she took an interest in someone else's business, she liked to make it her business. He didn't see any way of getting out of this discussion 'cept walking away, but he weren't no coward and it would only be a temporary relief until she caught up with him.
"The reason I ain't using the paints," Arthur told her, "why I ain't discussing nothing with Charlotte, is because I'm trying not to leave an imprint."
"That's the stupidest—"
"The less of myself I leave behind," he broke in, raising his voice, "the easier it'll be for her to forget me and move on. Charlotte's experienced enough grief in her life. She don't need to waste none of it on me."
Karen stared at him and he waited for her to continue her insults to his intelligence. With a gentler tone than a moment ago, she pointed out, "You don't think her havin' a child you're the father of ain't gonna remind her of you every day?"
Arthur looked away. Mostly, he tried not to think of life after him, besides making sure Charlotte was set up for it. "I don't know."
"Arthur, she ain't ever gonna forget you. Not after all the time y'all already got. And not with a child besides. Do you want her remembering you as a man wasting away during the last of your days? Or as a man spending that time being 'normal'?"
Damn. She just had to throw that admission back in his face. He chose not to answer her.
"C'mon," Karen stubbed out her cigarette in a nearby planter. "Let's go back inside before they miss us."
They started up the path to return to the house and he was stuck in thought. She'd given him a lot to reflect on. He'd been holding back on purpose, to protect Charlotte. He was gonna die soon, he knew that. He was prepared for it.
But, what if...what if, despite the low chance of it, he did manage to steal more time for himself somehow? He wasn't sure he was ready for that as a possibility.
It was a dangerous consideration. Dangerous, because it got Arthur to thinking on what could be. Got him to start believing the impossible.
Inside the house, he and Karen took the same position near the doors where they'd left and soon Ben was bringing Charlotte around again.
"Here," Ben said. "You can have your partner with two left feet back."
When Charlotte landed near him, she nearly fell against his chest, but ended up catching herself on his forearms. She looked up at him, flushed, all radiant and happy with a twinkling in her eye and a smile on her lips.
"Oh my." She fanned her face with her hand. "I may need a drink here in a moment."
"I'll get you one, sister," Karen offered.
"Seems you're havin' yourself a good time," Arthur commented.
"Ah, yes. Maybe a little too exhilarating." She smiled up at him. "Have you had enough? Or shall we risk the other dancers' peace of mind with one more time around together?"
Arthur should tell her the truth. That he was feeling run down from the long day, that he was tired, that there was a shallow ache in his lungs and a pain in his gut.
But Karen's comment about him wasting his time was burning his mind. Because Karen was right. There'd be a time when he couldn't leave the bed and he wouldn't have the ability to create any more fond memories for Charlotte to look back on. Arthur wanted her to be able to reminisce on as many happy times between them as possible.
So he returned a grin. "I reckon there's a few still out there we ain't run into yet."
Arthur held her hand, turned to lead her to dancing some more...
...and came face to face with Dorsch and Charlotte's mother.
"Mr. Callahan," Dorsch said with a hint of a sneer. "The burdensome yard worker."
"Father." Charlotte's good cheer evaporated. "That is completely uncalled for."
"Hmm," Dorsch commented without apology.
Alright. Arthur could do this. He could be pleasant. "Mr. Dorsch."
His sneer grew more pronounced, lifting his dark mustache. "That's Dr. Dorsch, you ignoramus."
"Father!" Charlotte exclaimed in shock.
Shit, the doctor wanted it that way, did he? Off to a nice, rocky start then. If this bastard thought he could hash out insults and not expect a fist to the jaw, he had another thing coming.
Charlotte's hand squeezed his and she whispered. "He's intentionally provoking you in front of his guests."
Arthur got his temper under control enough to have himself a look around. There were a lot of people here and he weren't blindly angry enough to not see where this would go if he threw a single punch. How easy it would be to get thrown out of the house and into a jail cell for at least the night with a valid reason. Shit. Maybe that was the bastard's plan.
"My mistake." Arthur loosed a false, but easy-going smile. "Doctor."
Disappointment flickered over Dorsch's features and Arthur reckoned that reaction proved Charlotte's assumption right.
"What have you been up to all day, Father?" Charlotte asked, trying to keep the peace.
"Research," he replied succinctly and inexplicably faced Arthur again. "What say you to joining me tomorrow afternoon at the yacht club?"
"Sure," Arthur answered, obviously suspicious of the invitation a moment after being insulted, but willing to bite. "But I ain't much of a fisherman."
Dorsch chuckled and Arthur got that it was done more at him than with him, for it surely had his trigger finger itching something fierce.
"A prosaic notion, but one must only take into account your background to understand the ignorance."
Arthur didn't say a word, but he was buzzing with tension.
Dorsch explained, "One doesn't fish on a yacht, dear boy. It's about the sailing experience."
"Ain't got much of that neither."
"Have you ever watched or participated in a regatta?"
"Can't say that I have..." Arthur answered, wary again as his stomach tightened painfully. "But since I don't exactly know what that is, I can't say for sure."
Charlotte's father laughed again at his expense and this time he got his rich friends on the edge of the conversation to join in. Dorsch was trying real goddamn hard to piss him off to fisticuffs. Trouble was, Arthur might not have a hold on his temper for much longer to deny him.
"In layman's terms, it's a sailing race."
Arthur unclenched his jaw. "Like I said, I don't got much knowledge on the matter."
"Unsurprising."
"Father," Charlotte broke in, unable to hold back her own anger at the old man anymore. She started in on him with sharp tones, defending Arthur against his mocking.
But something funny happened where Arthur couldn't hear the exact words of her scolding. For some reason, she all of the sudden sounded fuzzy and when Dorsch answered her, he was just as muffled to his ears.
Arthur shook his head to clear it, but that did nothing except make him aware of the dark edges creeping over his sight. He rubbed his eyes and felt himself sway. Shit. He was slipping...
"Arthur!"
He opened his eyes, nothing coming into focus and everything being bright and blurry. He felt the floor cold and hard on his back.
"Godfrey, my bag. Charlotte, move," Dorsch commanded and took up his vision while Charlotte shifted to his other side. The coolness of her fingers threaded through his encouragingly.
"Ain't dead yet," Arthur mumbled, mostly to deny Dorsch the satisfaction.
"Of course not," Charlotte agreed in soothing tones, squeezing his hand.
To his surprise, Dorsch started examining him with serious intent, the mocking and sneers disappeared from his face and a more professional expression taking over.
"Nothing more than a faint," Dorsch concluded in an announcement to the guests surrounding them. "Let's get this man to his room. Can you stand?"
Arthur wasn't sure, but he was helped to his feet anyway. He could tell it wasn't death's unyielding grip on him yet, but it weren't good. Mostly, he felt weak, shaky, and nauseated. All his energy had depleted.
Strangely enough, Arthur wasn't having any trouble breathing for once, but he couldn't believe a moment ago he'd been willing to go a round with the good doctor.
"It's gonna be okay, Arthur," Charlotte said to him in soothing tones.
They was words that threw his mind back to the first time he'd passed out in front of her, so long ago now, but just like last time, he slipped into an unconscious state after she said them.
When Arthur gained consciousness the second time, he was laying in bed, half fooled for a moment that he was home. The drapes were drawn and the room was nearly in complete darkness except for two lamps. One at the bedside table and the other near Charlotte at the vanity.
He watched her a moment, discarding her jewelry gingerly and then picking up her brush to comb out her dark hair. He wondered not for the first time how a lady such as herself came to love a villain like him.
Arthur thought it might be the only time luck and timing had been on his side. Charlotte had never seen him at his worst, since he'd quit robbin' and killin' folk for pleasure shortly before they met. For if she had, there would surely be no possible scenario she'd burden herself with him.
"There you are," Charlotte said warmly, as if he'd been lost. She caught his eye in the mirror.
"Darlin'," he said, gruffly.
She left her chair and stood beside the bed, twisting her fingers together. "I've sent for a hearty broth from the kitchen, but it's been awhile." She bit her lip. "I'm sure they're delayed because of the party, but once you've eaten, it shouldn't be too long for your constitution to gain improvement."
"Charlotte."
She was acting almost timid and Arthur thought he knew why. He'd scared her. Sure, he'd fainted in front of her a few times now, but nothing this public and not since he'd first settled in at Willard's Rest. He'd managed to take it easy and had learned his limitations.
But, all this...'societal living' had thrown him off. He hadn't been paying attention to his body's warnings.
"Come here." He motioned to her.
"You need to eat something," she protested.
"Then I'll eat," he said agreeably. "But right now, what I need is for you to come here."
She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed down her skirt.
Amused, he drawled, "Closer, darlin'."
She slid up the bed and sunk into his arms, laying beside him and resting her head against his chest. She asked quietly, "Are you alright?"
Arthur closed his eyes, held her close, and took a steady breath. "I am now."