An Introductory Note from the Author: After careful consideration and in response to reader comments, for the sake of clarity I have reverted all characters' names to their cannon versions/spellings regardless of whether that name was historically/geographically common at the time. (For those interested, the originally-conceived tweakings are on my Tumblr account.) The gents tend to refer to one another by surname. Hope this helps!

'Flowers' revealed: Iris - Ymir; Peony - Mikasa; Lily - Historia; Poppy - Sasha; Crocus - Annie; Orchid - Mercedes [OC].

Chapter 11: Suitable Arrangements

(Two days later; Armin Arlert)

The carriage was nearing Smith's home. Over the course of the ride – some thirty minutes' worth due to the busy streets and where he lived in relation – Arlert composed his thoughts. The last two days had given him time to digest what he had experienced; although the enquiring portion of his mind had wanted to hear the accounts of the other men, the more sensible portion determined he didn't much want to know. Consequently, he'd not seen them since, and this imposed isolation had helped.

As promised, Lady Collingston's invitation to luncheon had arrived, and he had agreed to meet them. She had promised answers for Smith's behavior, but Arlert was only half-certain that he would get them. He had to be prepared with his own inquiries and confrontations – never his strong suit in the past, particularly when it came to Smith, but something he felt was very much needed and unlikely to come from another quarter.

The carriage turned a corner, its wheels rattling on the cobblestones. Arlert calmed the nervous patter of his heart by breathing deeply and watching the view beyond the window: they had turned into the circus now, with the green acreage of its park on the left and the gentle, long curve of the pristine apartments on the right, guarded by black-painted lampposts and short fences. Well-dressed couples and families were taking advantage of the beautiful day, strolling or picnicking, talking to one another on the steps of their homes. Spring flowers as bright as the women's dresses were being delivered.

He understood that it had been Smith's last adventure as a bachelor, and that such adventures typically weren't the kind of thing you could talk about in polite company thereafter. He also understood that brothels, cabarets, and the like were an undeniable part of the underbelly of any city and it was unreasonable to expect that the higher echelons of society wouldn't be patrons. Annie's warning to not judge a man for his pleasures, and her insight into what had driven Smith there in the first place, was a heavy weight in Arlert's chest.

What was it that disgusted him, exactly? Was it the place and the acts within it themselves, or was it the feeling of betrayal he subsequently experienced? Was it disgust, or rather, betrayal? Betrayal of what, exactly? Having been deceived…that there truly were no righteous human beings…that he really could not know anyone… Or, moreover, that there seemed to be some even grander purpose behind it all that would involve Smith's fiancée, a woman of good breeding and fortune, of all people. He could hardly imagine that this could get worse…

"Sir? We've arrived."

Arlert looked up, startled, at the open door of the carriage where his driver stood. Beyond lay the white-painted door of Smith's apartment that he'd kept ever since he'd returned from the war. As Arlert climbed out of the carriage, hat in hand, the brass knob of the door turned and opened to reveal a butler.

"Shall I wait, Sir?"

Arlert came to his senses. "Oh, no, Young. Return at Three o'clock for me – that should be fine. Thank you." The carriage door closed and Arlert ascended the short flight of shallow stairs.

"Welcome, Mr Arlert. It's good to see you again," the butler greeted.

Arlert passed into the foyer with its checkerboard-tiled floor and a maid took his hat with a curtsy. After shutting the front door, the butler led him past the staircase on the left and down the relatively narrow hall to the first door on the right, which was open.

"Mr Arlert, my Lord," the butler announced to the small dining and sitting room.

The foremost half of the long room, sage-colored room contained a round dining table for six covered in a cornflower blue cloth, with three places set with silverware that glinted in the flight from the bay window looking out from the front of the house. Smith rose from his seat to greet him, while Lady Collingston remained seated.

"I'm so glad you could come," Smith said warmly.

"Thank you for the invitation," Arlert said as he shook his hand.

"Please sit!" Lady Collingston gestured at the empty place. "I think there's a fair amount to talk about."

His thoughts from the carriage reemerged as he took his seat. The butler uncovered a tray of ridiculously small cold chicken sandwiches and even they managed to make his stomach sour. The smoked salmon and crackers made it worse. He looked away, from his vantage point able to see the other half of the room: a sitting area with two low settees, two full bookcases flanking the fireplace, a door to another room in the left corner and, on the left wall, a small desk with a lit lamp and what looked like recent business being attended to.

"You're wanting to know why."

Arlert looked up at Smith's voice. He wasn't smiling, exactly, but neither was his expression accusatory. He seemed unrealistically focused on buttering a cracker and, using his fish fork, folding a layer of smoked salmon on top. He paused before he took a bite, his eyes meeting Arlert's.

"Yes," Arlert conceded. He realized Lady Collingston had poured them tea and was offering the cream. He held up his hand in a polite 'no'. "It's only because…the entire experience struck me as out of character for you." He wondered if he should mention his conversation with Annie – would it reflect badly on her in any way that she had told him all she had? "I never thought of you as the type to frequent such a place, much less have such a stake in it." He averted his gaze by serving himself a couple of sandwiches despite his lack of appetite.

There was a pause, and the clink of a knife being set on china. "As I told Kirstein, I will not pretend to be above vice, and I will not ask forgiveness for it. However, what you have not seen is the atonement I have attempted to make that is finally coming to fruition today. I'm glad you'll be a witness to it."

Lady Collingston hummed into her teacup. "Speaking of, I believe our timing was spot on in that regard." She set down her cup into its saucer and craned her body toward Smith. "Is it Noon yet?"

Smith procured a pocketwatch and opened it. "Almost," he said, and put it away. At Arlert's frown he said, "You have not been our only guest, and there are three remaining appointments."

"Am I only to receive riddles?" Arlert commented with dismay.

Distantly, he heard the doorchime. Smith smiled. Both he and his fiancée – whom Arlert still couldn't believe was here so close to their wedding much less unchaperoned much less involved in all of this – wiped their fingers and dabbed their mouths on their serviettes and stood.

Arlert made to stand too but Lady Collingston waved a hand at him, "Please, no need. Carry on." She smoothed the brown tweed of her skirt and stood eagerly to attention just inside the doorway. Smith rounded the table and stood in front of it, and Arlert angled himself to better see between them. He heard the front door open and close, and was surprised to see what appeared to be satisfaction and excitement on the couple's faces.

"Miss Mikasa, my Lord, my Lady," announced the butler.

It took Arlert a moment or two to recognize the young woman who was shown into the room, but he sat back in shock when he realized it was the Peony. With her face free of the theatrical cosmetics he'd last seen her in and dressed in a more modest navy kimono, he barely recognized her. Her dark eyes alighted on him briefly and continued to scan the room; nervously, she wiped a tray strand of hair behind her ear – the rest of it was in a practical knot at the nape of her neck.

"We're so glad you came!" Lady Collingston greeted and, making the entire situation even more surreal for Arlert, took Miss Mikasa by the arm and guided her to a free spot at the table, "Please sit! Would you like some tea?"

"Oh, no, thank you," she said and looked confusedly at Smith.

Without hesitation, Smith said, "This is my fiancée, Lady Collingston."

Lady Collingston beamed at her as she returned to her chair.

"I see," Miss Mikasa said as she also took a seat, a couple of places away from Arlert.

Arlert already felt awkward and could only imagine what she must be feeling, but a glance at her pale face showed a strangely taciturn expression. But moreover – why was she here? And why was he here to witness whatever it was?

"I know this must be confusing," said Smith as he walked to the other side of her, "and so let me also express my gratitude for your agreeing to meet. Did…Master Cyrus tell you anything?" He placed his hands behind his back.

Miss Mikasa looked down into her lap; Arlert could just about see that she had a small cloth-wrapped bundle with her that he hadn't previously noticed. "Only the time and address at which I was to arrive, and that I was to bring the hairpin you so kindly gave to me," she said quietly.

"I see. Well, then I should explain myself," Smith said. "I invited you here to make an offer."

"An offer?"

"Yes. Unbeknownst to you, when I gifted you with that hairpin, insodoing I was also signifying to Master Cyrus that – should you so choose – you could trade it for your freedom, so to speak."

Arlert thought again of all the pearls he'd witnessed that night, and called on what little knowledge he had of their worth. Was this truly possible? The women weren't slaves, exactly – in theory they could leave whenever they wanted.

"And where would you propose I go instead?" Miss Mikasa ventured. "I became part of the Carousel to support my family. That need still exists."

Arlert looked to Smith questioningly, and watched as his smile re-emerged – the kind one that he was more familiar with. A glance at Lady Collingston showed him that she was smiling too, biting her lip to stop herself from speaking.

Smith pressed a knuckle to the edge of the table, running along it. "With Lady Collingston's help, I have managed to secure a position for you at a certain restaurant, paying decent money. You would not need to work in the entertainment industry ever again." After a moment's pause, he added, "This is of course your choice. If it's something you would like, you need only return the hairpin to Master Cyrus and take my letter to your new employer."

Miss Mikasa looked up; her eyes were narrowed, but not in an angry way. "Why are you doing this?"

"To atone," Smith said. "Is it a crime to want to provide someone with a better life, in gratitude?"

Arlert wondered if his face matched Miss Mikasa's – the way he could see her processing what she had been told, reining in her reaction while she considered it.

"I gratefully accept your offer," Miss Mikasa said at length as she stood. Her head was lowered.

"Wonderful!" Lady Collingston exclaimed, her hands in their lace tea gloves even clapping a couple of times.

Smith moved toward the desk in the other half of the room as his fiancée burst into chatter, and Arlert became lost in his thoughts. Had Smith done this for all the flowers? Had Annie known this would happen? That aside – Arlert had to remind himself of the influence Smith and Lady Collingston wielded. Both of them were well-connected and had good money, and now that he thought about it, he seemed to recall Lady Collingston's leanings toward women's rights – had Smith become interested in it because of her, or had it been there all along? She had mentioned their engagement being more like a business partnership, so it seemed to be the latter. It stung a little to realize that he would have had such stimulating conversations with them both had he only thought to bring it up.

He glanced up – the three of them were beside the desk, and Smith was handing Miss Mikasa a small sealed envelope, which she tucked into the breast of her kimono. After a few more words, she was taking her leave of them all.

When he heard the front door close behind her, Arlert finally felt able to sip his now lukewarm tea and take a bite of a sandwich. Smith and Lady Collingston came into the room again, and she plucked a cracker from her plate.

"I'm so pleased," she remarked. "Placing two out of the seven so far isn't bad at all!" The cracker disappeared into her mouth. "And there's still two more to go," she added through a less than ladylike mouthful.

Arlert quickly did the math. "So, you've seen three of them already?"

Smith hummed an acknowledgement as he sipped his tea.

"Which two refused?" Arlert asked. It seemed an unlikely response to such a generous and rare opportunity.

"Chista and Ymir – or, as you know them, the Lily and the Iris," Smith answered. "And I support their decision. Independently, as their visits were separate, they both claimed that the Carousel was the only place where their affection for one another might be safe. As much as we are able to take steps forward on behalf of these women, unfortunately our power is not yet significant enough to offer them the world they want."

"Then we saw your latest find – the Spanish girl, Mercedes," Lady Collingston said as she piled salmon on another cracker. "Sent her to that painter in the east side. Said he could use a model. Not the most ideal of arrangements but it was the best we could do last-minute."

Arlert frowned at her tone. How was she so pleased to be involved in this? Knowing that her husband-to-be had carnal relations with all of these women at least once…marriage of shared interests or not, how could she be inclined to help them?

"Sasha will be the last, at around Three, but Annie is due next, at a quarter 'til," Smith said.

Her name wiped his mind clean like a slate. Unexpectedly, he found himself worrying more about her fate than anyone else's, more than the motives of these two privileged people. What was in store for her? Surely she would take the opportunity to leave, whatever it was? Should he stay, let her see him again? Would she be offended by his presence?

"Have you been able to locate anything else for Annie?" Smith asked Lady Collingston.

For once, Arlert saw her frown. She shook her head once, "Not yet, but I'm sure we can work something out." She poured more tea for her fiancé and sighed. "I can't believe it fell through. I'll be sure to give Mr Abbot a piece of my mind next I see him. I explicitly told him not to hire a secretary, that I had the perfect candidate lined up for him…"

"Like you say, I'm sure we can work something out," Smith assured her, but it did little to assure Arlert.

Her 'placement' had fallen through? What would happen now? How long would she have to remain at the Carousel? Though he reasoned that she had survived there for some time quite successfully, now that there was a chance for her to have a better life – strange as the circumstances might be – Arlert was anxious for her to be away from there.

The three of them spent the next twenty minutes or so chatting back and forth, as if this was no longer anything unusual. Arlert could only chime in half-heartedly – the wind had been taken from his sails – though he knew he should be taking the opportunity to quiz them both, find out more, unravel the remainder of the mystery, offer some solution for the predicament with Annie. He felt powerless.

A quarter to One came, and there was no doorchime. One o'clock came, and still none. The table had grown quieter and the luncheon abandoned. A quarter after, and no sign of her. No one commented on it, as if they understood what it symbolized.

By One-thirty Lady Collingston had excused herself to address some last-minute arrangements with the wedding in another part of the house and, being the good host Arlert knew him to be, Smith had invited him to his study to invite his opinion on his plans for his late father's estate. As they passed through the hall Arlert eyed the front door, willing the chime to sound.

A(nother) Note from the Author: A huge thank you, as always, to everyone who's taken the time to read and review!