AN: I guess I don't really have anything to say. That's rare, huh? lol Just enjoy!
Chapter Eleven
Susan was clearly nervous, which amused Charlotte to no end. Lucy sat in Charlotte's lap as Lydia picked at Susan's hair, fluffing and smoothing the rolling waves around her fair face, which Charlotte had already made up.
"What are you going to do tonight?" Lucy asked, twisting and threading her fingers through Charlotte's. She knew she was far too old to be sitting in someone's lap like this, especially someone who was but perhaps two inches taller than herself, but she didn't care and Charlotte didn't seem to mind. She just alternately rested her chin on Lucy's shoulder or ran her fingers along Lucy's braid as one would a pretty little doll.
"Well tonight," Charlotte explained, "I'll introduce Su to Lesley and his parents. We're meeting them at the Savoy where they're staying. I suppose we might have some tea before we leave. The opera begins at seven, and then afterwards we'll go somewhere for a late supper. We should perhaps eat some biscuits before we leave," she suddenly thought to suggest to Susan. "After supper, we will either come home or, if Lesley invites us, go to a café for a drink."
"I would rather we just come home," Susan insisted, twisting her hands nervously in her lap. Susan was rarely nervous, and so it delighted Lucy to see her so uncomfortable. Susan herself was running through the many gaffs she could make. Yes, she had been royalty in Narnia, but they had set their own rules there, for the most part. It hadn't bothered her there to be 'the Barbarian Queen,' but here the idea of the Stevens family thinking her anything less than couth terrified her. This was her first involvement with the higher society in London and she certainly didn't want to embarrass her dear friend, who had been so kind as to invite her.
Lucy rolled her eyes, "You have to go out, Susan, because I can't."
"I meant I would rather not go out for a drink afterwards."
"Oh, but you must, Susan," Lydia argued. "It is only polite, and besides, Mr. Stevens is a handsome man who I am sure has handsome friends. You can have only one drink and sip it and you will not get drunk. A lady does not become intoxicated in the presence of men, anyway."
Had Charlotte ever felt the need to put up defenses against Lydia, she might at that point have felt some discomfort. But as it were, she only grinned when Lucy's arms tightened around her neck and the younger girl glared at Lydia. Lucy was not a stupid girl and she was fiercely protective of her friends, even unaware as she was of any of the scandal surrounding the American girl.
A knock at the bedroom door carried the expectation of Peter, but it was Edmund who stuck his head in at Lucy's invitation and announced, "Charlie, I got my photograph book!" She clutched Lucy and scooted down the mattress so that Edmund could sit beside them, the large hard-cover book in his lap. Lately he had discovered an interest in photography –the technical aspect of it fascinated him, and so he was attempting to understand the artistic side as well. Charlotte had mentioned Henri Cartier-Bresson as one of her favorites, and Edmund had stepped into a bookstore with Mr. Pevensie and found his latest book for sale, which included some of his photos of Ghandi's funeral which Charlotte had not yet seen. He flipped through the book, Charlie and Lucy leaning over, the younger two asking Charlotte frequent questions about subjects of photographs. She didn't always know the answer, but she certainly knew more than they did, and could answer many of their questions about places in Paris and America that they had only ever heard of.
This was the manner in which Peter found them a short time later when he ventured upstairs to alert the girls that the cab Lesley had sent was waiting for them. It angered him, seeing Lucy and Edmund huddled together with Charlie and Susan only paying half-attention to Lydia now that her work was finished. It wasn't fair. Lydia was his sweetheart. They were supposed to be crowded around her; that's how he had always imagined it. He'd always known it would be difficult to introduce a new person to the Pevensie family –no matter which sibling was bringing their sweetheart home—but Lydia was so sweet and giving and kind that he had assumed it would be an easy assimilation. But then Charlotte had come along and ruined it, ruined everything.
Peter could feel his face flushing with the anger he had forced into place after the mortification of the almost-kiss. That had been crossing the line. As soon as Charlotte had left him alone with his thoughts, he'd seen the ugly intentions. He had almost kissed another woman while his own sweetheart was sleeping upstairs. Now he knew for certain he couldn't begrudge Charlotte any of her previous actions, because wasn't he seeing himself how easily it was to slip down that road? Sure, it was easy to judge when you had never yourself been tempted—
But he had resisted, he comforted himself with. They had not actually kissed. And his siblings would learn to accept Lydia –look, even now Susan was thanking Lydia for her help and admiring herself in the mirror. She did look rather glamorous, and Peter wondered if perhaps he should say something about Susan going out with Charlotte and Lesley. After all, it was one thing for Charlotte, who had already allowed herself admission into this world of nightclubs and men, to continue her scandalous lifestyle, but Peter certainly didn't want his sweet sister being dragged down into it. He chanced a glance at Charlotte, who looked as lovely as usual but completely unaware of it. Lucy was wrinkling her dress, sitting on her lap like that, but she didn't seem to care. How stupid, to not care about her appearance before an evening out.
Clearly nothing anyone said or did was going to make Peter lose his abominable mood. He stared at Susan as he snapped, "Your car is here if you're really going."
Lydia flitted to his side and kissed his cheek, crooning, "Oh, he is so sweet, aren't you, Peter darling? So concerned for the safety of your sister. But if there is anyone who can guide her around the pitfalls it is a native herself, is it not?"
Once again, Lucy's eyes narrowed, and the youngest Pevensie wondered if she was being overly sensitive or if everyone else was really just very stupid. She watched suspiciously as Charlotte rose and stepped around Peter to reach for her clutch on the desk –but not just around him, wide around him, as though a bubble encased him and prevented her from coming within three feet of him. For his part, Peter turned his head so that she would not be in his train of sight. Their avoidance of each other was tangible and made Lucy sigh and fall backwards onto the mattress.
Edmund watched her and laughed, "What are you so serious about?"
"I think it really must be silly to be an adult. Do they take all your common sense away when you grow up?"
"It's not that common sense goes away," he argued. "Only you get a very heightened idea of your own importance and think you're far too clever and mature to just take a good long look at yourself. But then, Pete's always been like that, hasn't he?"
"Do we know what's going on for sure?" Lucy asked, pushing herself back up to watch with her brother as Charlotte and Susan wrapped themselves up in scarves and gloves and hats, hiding their fancy evening dresses. Susan was wearing the same gown she had worn for winter-formal, but one would hardly have guessed it had been worn before or was a couple years old once Lydia and Charlotte had finished with her. She looked perfectly in league with the French aristocrat and the American starlet.
Edmund shook his head, "Not a clue. Only that Susan is mad at Peter and Peter is mad at Susan and Charlotte and I guess Charlotte is mad at Peter."
"Is it because Peter and Charlie stayed up late talking?" Lucy asked innocently. Edmund gave her a startled look, but Charlie chose that moment to reach over and kiss Lucy's forehead, "What are you two whispering about? We're leaving now."
In a flurry of hugs and kisses and promises to behave and have fun from Mrs. And Mr. Pevensie respectively, Charlotte and Susan were gone, giggling and holding hands all the way into the cab.
"What stupid little girls," Peter mumbled. Still, he could feel some of the anger dissipating at their departure. It was easier to forget Charlotte when she wasn't close at hand –easier, though still not easy. He saw Lydia watch him stare at the closed door and gave her a broad smile, opening his arms for her to collapse against him. This she did, nuzzling her face into his neck.
"They are stupid but they are enamored," she explained, kissing his cheek and leaning back. "And we girls tend to do stupid things when we are enamored."
This was familiar and easy and Peter smiled back at her as he asked, "And are you enamored with me?" Yes, this he could do. It was so simple being with Lydia while Charlotte was gone romancing her movie star boyfriend.
"Peter darling, don't get sappy," Lydia teased, kissing his nose and then twisting out of his grasp. "Are we going to supper now?"
Lydia put as much care into her appearance for their simple supper out on the town as she had into Susan's and Charlotte's for their trip to the opera with the wealthy London elite. Peter waited patiently for her, joking amicably with his father in the living room until Lydia at last descended the stairs, her hair coiled and her smile plastered on.
"Mr. Pevensie, I will steal Peter now, if that is fine with you?" she piped, bobbing her head gracefully.
Mr. Pevensie grinned and nodded, "Of course. You look lovely, Lydia." But the smile wasn't quite in his eyes and Peter could see in his simple bow that Lydia was intangible to his father. Mr. Pevensie approved of her beauty and manners but he would never be able to joke with her the way he did with Charlotte, for fear of breaking her. Charlotte was durable; Lydia was delicate. But women –wives!—were supposed to be dainty. Lydia was certainly that, and it made Peter proud. He kissed her long fingers and led her out the door.
Several of Peter's uni friends that lived in London had rung him to see if he and Lydia would like to dine with them. They met them now in the restaurant of the Lewis Hotel. David was married and brought his wife Carol, but Ralph and Parker were enjoying bachelorhood –until they laid eyes on Lydia. Peter could see the jealous gleam in their eyes throughout supper as Lydia and Carol sat primly by their husbands' sides. Carol was sweet but simple, and next to her Lydia looked like a visiting angel. She spoke at the appropriate times, her tinkling laughter ringing out in response to clever things his friends said. They were practically tripping over themselves to earn a smile or verbal recognition of their witticism, and Peter didn't feel the least tinge of jealousy. He was proud of her social grace and sure of her love and eternally grateful to his friends for reminding him what a gem he had found in Lydia.
Yes, she was wonderful. Peter could see that. She could make him happy and content in a way flighty, passionate Charlotte never would be able to. She was saying something particularly delightful that had everyone at the table enraptured, listening to the chirping lilt of her voice, and Peter leaned closer to her, feeling the cloth bag shift in his vest pocket. He had been afraid to shove it into his pants or jacket pocket lest it fall out, and the thing was worth almost as much as his entire undergraduate education.
Peter was feeling very happy until conversation drifted to cinema, which depressed him again because it made him think of Charlotte and all the hurt she had suffered because of the film industry and its people. Really, was he any better? Getting her all upset as he had and then trying to kiss her --how disrespectful towards her! There he was trying to turn her into a scandalous "other woman" when that was the very reputation she had tried to flee away from. He was an awful idiot.
But then conversation skipped to the future and Peter listened to Lydia detail his plans to become a doctor –she politely didn't mention that her father had already agreed to pay for Peter's med school. Truth be told, Peter wasn't so sure he still wanted to be a doctor. It was a reputable profession, to be sure, but now that he had almost graduated, the idea of diving immediately back into an even more intense study to pursue a profession that would dictate his life was a little less than appealing. But he really wasn't sure what he would rather do instead. He had considered teaching, only in passing, but Lydia had laughed at the idea, saying it wasn't worthy of someone such as him. He knew he could be a good doctor. Lydia's parents supported that, and it would be a way for him to keep Lydia leading the lifestyle she had been raised in –well, perhaps with a bit of help from her parents. Besides, wasn't a doctor what he had wanted to be since he was a small boy?
Yes, Dr. Pevensie would be the pride of his family, he and his beautiful wife, Lydia Pevensie.
After supper, Ralph invited them to a café down the street, but Lydia clutched Peter's arm and pressed, "Peter, darling, I'm quite tired." So Peter apologized and declined the invitation, and he and Lydia strolled away from his friends. Only then did she admit, "It really is quite inappropriate for a lady to go to a café after supper with the men. I don't mind you going, of course, darling, but it would never do for me."
"I rather agree," he laughed, light-headed with anticipation. Dr. and Mrs. Pevensie. They were going to be lovely together. He would make people healthy, and she would attend dinners by his side and visit with the neighbors. They would be happy and wealthy and comfortable. "I wouldn't want you anywhere near any drunk men. They would steal you away from me." She yelped in surprise and giggled as he suddenly wrapped his arm around her waist and spun her around to face the opposite direction, then dragged her south. They were only a short distance from the river, and though she complained of the cold, he pulled her onwards until they stood on the northern banks of the Thames.
"Oh, Peter, do let me stay on the land," she insisted when he made to tug her out onto London Bridge. "It's bitterly cold."
He pouted and pointed, "But look, there's a man playing the violin. You love the violin."
"If we listen, I can hear him from here and keep my nose," she teased, poking him in the chest with one gloved finger. He conceded that he did love her nose an awful lot and what a shame it would be if she lost it. So they stood on the bank, ears straining for the gentle whine of the violin as the moon glinted off the calm black water of the Thames. Lydia closed her eyes and buried her face in Peter's neck, wishing this romantic moment of his would pass and they could go home. She loved romance in the proper time and place, but it was too cold for it right now. Peter, for his part, inhaled deeply of silk and roses and tried to solve the battle in his mind. There were no terms of agreement, though; one side had to win, and had to win fast, or he was going to go bloody mad.
As if sensing the stress radiating from his body, Lydia pressed, "Peter, darling, is everything all right?"
"Of course."
"You are distracted," she observed. She kissed his chin and buried her cold nose in his neck again. "What are you thinking?"
Should he just tell her that he was torn? No, that would be cruel. But perhaps he could suggest they wait a bit longer before thinking of an engagement. He could suggest they put it off until after he finished med school; that would appease her, because money would be tight while he was in school, and that way he could go into the marriage with some stability. But he couldn't very well let her father pay for his schooling if there was even the faintest possibility he would not marry Lydia. No, they needed to marry, and soon. But Lydia had a kind heart; perhaps she would understand his dilemma. He could just—
"Peter, look! It's Charlotte and Susan!" Peter startled and spun to follow Lydia's motioning hand. Sure enough, walking across the bridge were four figures, huddled together, leaning on each other for support through their gales of laughter, which echoed out onto the river. Susan's dark head was on the end, her arm looped through one of Lesley Stevens' while Charlotte took the other and also supported a fourth man, unfamiliar to Peter and Lydia. It was unclear whether the lot were drunk or simply laughing too hard to walk straight, but they certainly appeared to be having a good time. As they neared, Peter pulled Lydia out of the lamplight so they would not be visible, though he continued to watch as Lesley Stevens leaned down and whispered something in Charlotte's ear that made her break out in new laughter. She stumbled and would have tripped had not the fourth man caught her deftly around the waist and spun her around, suddenly dancing forth with her in a quick step that Lesley and Susan had to run to catch up to. The fourth man was blond and unrecognizable in the dark, and so it was easy for Peter, in one silly second, to pretend it was him holding Charlie and spinning her around, making her throw he head back and laugh like that.
And just like that his decision was made. This was nonsense and had gone on long enough. She would understand.
Turning to Lydia, he grabbed her by the upper arms, gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, and then confessed, "Lydia . . .
"What is it, Peter?" she asked, visibly concerned.
"I . . . I was going to wait until Christmas to ask for your hand, but I cannot wait a moment longer. Will you marry me?"
Lydia froze and watched with wide eyes as Peter tugged the cloth bag out of his pocket and held the ring out to her. She gasped and brought her hand to her mouth, a perfect tableau of a happily surprised young woman.
"Oh Peter!" she cried, suddenly bursting into tears and throwing herself at him. "Oui! Oui! Je me marierai avec toi! Oh, Maman sera si heureuse!"
"I have no idea what you said, but I hope it means yes," he laughed. When she nodded and cried some more, he grasped the opportunity to slip the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly and looked right at home on her hand, a gaudy diamond for his fair angel.
"Oui! Yes!" she repeated before setting off into more French babble that he couldn't understand about her parents and family and how happy and perfect everything was now. It was some time before she had calmed down enough for him to suggest they take a cab and head home.
The house was silent when they arrived, and Peter insisted they wait until morning to make the announcement, because Lucy and Edmund would not be thrilled about getting woken up.
"All right, but might we sit up and tell Susan and Charlotte when they return?" Lydia asked innocently, already settling herself on the sofa. Peter paled; that was actually the last thing he wanted. But no, this was right and good. He had made the correct decision, and Charlotte would only confirm that for him. So he smiled and nodded and sat beside her, listening to her happy prattle about wedding plans and whether they really had to wait until he finished med school or not. Peter gave simple answers and nodded a lot, not caring too much about the particulars. Lydia's mother would be running the show, at any rate.
The clock ticked on and Peter was just about to admit he was too tired to wait any longer when, sometime around two, a car rolled to a stop outside. Peter sprang from the couch as Lydia pranced to his side, not observing at all that Peter looked anything besides excited to share the news. He looked, if anything, guilty.
Susan and Charlotte's giggles could be heard through the door as they bid the gentlemen goodnight, and Susan fumbled with the key. Finally the door swung open and, with one final round of goodbyes, the girls stumbled inside, Susan first and Charlotte pulling the door closed behind them. Flushed and giggly, and certainly unstable, there was no question now that the girls had imbibed, perhaps too much. A great fear struck Peter's heart that now was not the time at all to share the news of their engagement, when alcohol would keep mental governors from doing their job.
It was too late, though, Lydia had already cried out, "Susan! Charlotte! You must wish us congratulations!"
At their names the girls froze, their arms around each other in the entry way, to gape at Peter and Lydia in the living room. Lydia clutched Peter's arm, vibrating with excited energy.
"Whatever for?" Susan asked after a long pause. In response, Lydia merely held her hand out; of course the diamond could be seen from such a distance.
Susan suddenly burst out laughing and, burying her face in Charlotte's neck, giggled, "Carlotta, I forgot to buy you a ring! But I will! And it will be even bigger than that!"
Charlotte's face, though, was not the image of mirth that was Susan's. Instead she stared hard at the ring for a long moment before giving Lydia a warm smile. She turned her face into Susan's and insisted, "Don't tease them, Susan. It is a wonderful thing Peter has done. Why he has saved us all!"
"Saved us all!" Susan repeated. "Saved us all! High King Peter has saved us all from what?"
"Don't you know?" Charlotte demanded, her smile widening and the alcohol apparently regaining control of her person. She had been still and morose for a moment, but now the tipsy glee seemed to have returned. She swung Susan around once and whispered loudly, "Don't you know, Suzie? He has saved us all from the horrible, wicked thought: what if?"
"What if what?" Susan urged.
"What if," Charlotte froze, hers and Susan's foreheads pressed together, "What if we are wrong?"
Peter's heart froze and he thought that, if it were physically possible to drop dead, he would have at that moment. She could be alluding to anything, or nothing at all –she was drunk! But it was just enough to water the seed of doubt that had long since been poking at the surface. What if he had chosen wrong? What if he was wrong to assume he could never be happy with Charlotte, or indeed that he would be happiest with Charlotte? What if she was, right now, daring to think she had been wrong to tell Peter he should ask Lydia to marry him? What if she hadn't meant it at all? He had hoped Charlotte would confirm that he had made the right choice, but she instead had only poked holes in his resolve. And it was too late now! That angered him. It made him hate her for being infuriating and impossible. She had been the one to say he should marry Lydia and he had trusted her advice. He hated her for now making him doubt it.
Lydia crossed her arms and sniffed, "You are both drunk and it is a disgrace!"
"A disgrace!" Susan repeated. "We're a disgrace!"
"No, only I am the disgrace. You are quite good yet, Suzie. Now come, let's away! Congratulations to you both. I wish you all the—" but here she was interrupted because Susan had taken her command to leave quite literally and practically tackled her up the stairs, both laughing the whole way.
There was a long moment of silence in the living room before Peter turned to Lydia, who was clearly fuming. He tried to comfort her, "They're drunk, Lydia. They'll be more receptive—"
"It is a disgrace!" she repeated, throwing her arms into the air. "Women like that should not be allowed in polite company!" Before Peter could process her insult at both his sister and Charlotte, she had fled upstairs to nurse her wounds in the bedroom where Charlotte pretended to sleep soundly, the silvery tear tracks down her cheeks masked by the darkness.
Oh, also, before I get any hate mail, lol: keep in mind that a lot of the things Peter thinks are him trying to convince himself of things. So don't be all "Peter would never think that about Charlotte!!!" because yes, he so did.