AN: I know. I know long periods of no updates suck for everyone. You can always check my author profile page to see what's going on, and if you've done so, you'll see that a LOT of bad things happened to me and my family in the past month, and I've been too busy dealing with funerals and medical emergencies and work to be online at all. This chapter, written tonight, is actually the first time I have written ANYTHING, even in my personal diary, since May 31st. The month of July is dedicated entirely to writing projects, though, since I need to get some of these stories finished AND I need to get my creative thesis for my BFA started. This means many more updates to come. This story in particular I'm hoping to have finished by the middle or end of August. There are maybe . . . four or five chapters left? I *think*. We'll see how it all actually plays out, lol.

ALSO, the wonderful Casimir Paulaski has made a BEAUTIFUL banner for this story. As soon as this chapter is posted, I'll go put a link up to it on my profile page. Definitely use that if you care to do me the favor of spreading word about this story to anyone. I always appreciate new readers! :)

All of that said and done, this chapter is scattered and crazy and busy and lots of stuff happens and is revealed and you will basically be running the entire time to keep caught up. So hold on tight, lol.

Chapter Twelve

Glasses clinked as silverware scraped against the good china dishes. Mr. Pevensie tried to hide a burp behind his hand; Mrs. Pevensie cleared her throat and sent him a look. Lucy slurped her milk a bit too loudly and earned a nudge from Susan. Edmund drummed his knuckles against the table but stopped at a death glare from Peter.

Suddenly, Charlotte got the hiccups.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, taking a sip of water. She hiccupped again, snorting water up her nose in the process. Edmund clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Lucy's lips twitched, then returned to their downward pull when Lydia frowned at the couple drops of water Charlotte had spilled on the table.

"My apologies," Charlotte added, taking another sip as she dabbed at the table cloth – an embroidered white one Mrs. Pevensie had pulled out for this sudden celebratory dinner. "I get the hiccups sometimes when I—"

"Have too much to drink the night before," Peter interrupted, muttering it a bit more loudly than he had meant to.

"Peter!" Susan hissed, delivering him a rough kick under the table. Unfortunately, her foot glanced off of his and hit Lydia's ankle.

"Oh! What was that for?" she yelped, her hands flying up in surprise. She knocked her glass of water right onto Charlotte's blouse, which instantly threatened transparency.

Charlie, however, seemed oblivious, and suddenly turned an angry glare to Peter, staring right across Lydia's nose, "I am not hungover. I was going to say when I eat carrots."

"That's a bit ridiculous," Edmund snorted. "Though not quite as ridiculous as Peter springing an engagement on—"

"Edmund, mind your manners," Mrs. Pevensie scolded.

Lucy seemed the only one to notice Charlotte's blouse and cried out, "Charlie!" while throwing her marina-sauce covered napkin straight at the American girl's chest in order to conceal her exposed undergarments. Unfortunately, this sent red sauce flying onto Charlotte's face and Lydia's arm.

Peter rolled his eyes, "Right, carrots. Alcohol—"

"Peter, son, it's a good time to hold your tongue," Mr. Pevensie suggested sagely, continuing to cut his pasta.

"Indeed," Susan added, eying him coolly.

Lucy had leapt up with Charlie to begin dabbing at the sauce on her face, but added, "Sorry, Papa, Peter's really not very good at that."

"At least I know when to call it a night," Peter snarked. "And what sorts of people to go gallivanting around the streets of London at night with. Or Paris, for that matter, or Hollywood."

Charlotte suddenly began hiccupping so violently that she turned red in the face and Susan leapt up, afraid for her dear friend's life.

"My blouse is ruined!" Lydia cried, yanking on Peter's arm and pointing to the dots of red sauce on her red top. Peter was too busy glaring at Charlotte and the attention she was receiving from Lucy, Susan, and Mrs. Pevensie.

Edmund leaned across the table to offer his clean napkin to Lydia, but accidentally knocked his class of water into Lydia's lap. He didn't get his mouth shut in time and enough laughter came out to make Lydia yell, "This is not funny, Edmund! That was horrifying of you! How can do you such a thing! My blouse is ruined! My skirt is wet! Someone help me."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Pevensie cried helplessly, running around and trying to calm everyone down.

"I don't think she can breathe!" Lucy squeaked, stepping back helplessly as Charlotte began to cough and hiccup simultaneously.

"Well, Peter, aren't you going to give the girl some sugar?" Mr. Pevensie asked, glancing briefly up from his meal. Edmund had offered his napkin to Lydia the second she'd leapt up with water in her lap, but she yanked it from his hand and threw it down on the table.

Peter froze and gave his father a confused look, which only intensified when he clarified, "Charlotte. Lydia has the sugar on her finger, I believe . . ."

"What?"

"All right, I will," Mr. Pevensie shrugged, rising and retrieving the sugar bowl from the cart in the kitchen. He held a spoonful out to Charlotte and encouraged her to swallow it.

As soon as she did so, the hiccups stopped, and she was able to swallow enough water to clear her cough.

She turned to Peter and, pointing her finger, hissed, "You, Peter. I have had enough of your attempts at clever cruelty. If you don't wish to be civil to me, then ignore me. But you are behaving like a petulant child and ruining your own engagement celebratory dinner. Congratulations, Lydia, on your lucky find."

"Hey!" Peter yelled, but before he could even step forward, Edmund had grabbed his arm, as if – as if afraid he would physically lash out at Charlotte. "Don't you go talking to my fiancé like that – don't talk to her at all!"

"You aren't my king," Charlotte snorted.

"I wouldn't let your lot into my kingdom," he returned. "Don't need your sort running around dirtying up the place."

"Oh, you are vile—"

"Oh, I'm vile? I'm vile? Why aren't you happy for me, huh, Ms. Daws? Jealous of—"

"PETER!" Susan shrieked.

This time it was Lydia who physically restrained Charlotte, stepping in between the two and facing Peter to snap, "You are embarrassing me very badly. I will go clean up, Peter, and I expect you to be better behaved when I return. This sort of behavior will pass in this household but it will not be accepted when you are introduced to polite society through my family."

"Don't you go nagging me, too!" Peter retaliated before he could stop himself while Mrs. Pevensie huffed indignantly at the slight towards her home.

Lucy's eyes widened and her mouth twitched as she mouthed to Edmund, "Ooooh." Ed let go of Peter and coughed to hide his laughter.

Charlotte and Lydia both fled the dining room to the bedroom upstairs, Mrs. Pevensie following to collect their soiled blouses. Susan glared at Peter and set to cleaning up the spilled dishes while Lucy gathered the napkins to rush to the sink lest the sauce stain. Edmund returned to his seat, as did Mr. Pevensie, and both resumed eating as Peter stood, fuming and confused. Only the Pevensie men remained in the dining room.

Mr. Pevensie shook his head, "It's a shame to see a son of mine spat with his girl like that."

"She needs to get over herself," Peter shot back. "Comes prancing into this house and thinks she's just the bee's knees because she's done a few movies—"

Edmund glanced between the two before laughing, "He was talking about your fiancé, Pete."

"I—oh, I thought you said—" With an angry growl, his face bright red, Peter turned and stomped up to his room. Mr. Pevensie held up four fingers, then three, then two, one . . . a door slammed.

"So are any of my children not in love with this Charlotte?"

Edmund shrugged, "I only like her."

"Ah. Glad to hear it."

Upstairs, Charlotte burst into tears the moment the bedroom door was closed. She sniffled as she unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off.

Their backs to each other, Lydia pressed, "Why are you crying?"

"Those . . . those things he said to me! It was just awful, Lydia, wasn't it? I know he is a good man most of the time, but that was just—"

"Did he say something that is not true?"

Charlotte froze, mouth open, and spun to face Lydia. The French girl seemed unconcerned with the slap of her words and began shuffling through the wardrobe for a new blouse.

"What do you—"

"Oh come, Charlotte. You are so sweet now, but you were not before this. I would have liked so very much for you to have changed, but you have not. You are still, what is the word in English . . . a whore, no?"

Charlotte cried out again and remained frozen as Mrs. Pevensie stepped in to steal their blouses. The mother patted her shoulder, assuming her horrified face remained from earlier, and left to allow her to finish dressing.

"What do you—"

"You will say they are just rumors, no? But I know," Lydia insisted, stepping closer, too close for comfort. "Jack Daws runs off with, what do they call it, an Okie whore who is less than half his age – younger than his eldest daughter! So much scandal that you ran from."

"You don't know anything that happened—"

"You are sure of this?" Lydia asked with what was almost a laugh. She leaned in closely and whispered into Charlotte's ear, "My aunt would like her husband back."

Charlotte sat and fortunately landed on the bed. What were the chances? But . . . but Charlotte didn't know whether to continue crying or laugh because what was happening?

The explosion at dinner was not truly surprising to anyone. That it had been her hiccups that finally triggered the explosion was simply the part they were all supposed to laugh about someday. Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie had feigned enthusiasm when Peter had announced his engagement that morning, but his mother's sobbing fit behind her closed bedroom door a few minutes later had set the mood. Ed and Lucy mumbled congratulations but twitched uncomfortably when forced to hug Lydia and welcome her to the family. Lydia had lifted her nose at the now-sober congratulations from Charlotte and Susan, and by lunch it was clear that the couples were at odds with each other, with Edmund and Lucy caught awkwardly in the middle. Though forced together as they spent Christmas Eve day at home, they remained on opposite sides of the room, speaking to each other only when required.

Things had finally come to a head at supper, to no one's surprise. But now, for Charlotte's past to be suddenly shoved beneath her nose in so undeniable a fashion, she didn't know what to make of it all. She was used to bad things, but had settled into a sort of rhythm and understanding of her role in this household. She had thought she was doing the right thing encouraging Peter to propose to Lydia but the actual announcement hurt too much to bear, and now this newest revelation simultaneously reaffirmed her resolve that she had acted correctly and added to her misery.

There was no place for her in this world.

Seeing the utter despair she had finalized in Charlotte only just before they were to leave for a Christmas Eve service, Lydia tapped Charlotte's chin to close her mouth and insisted, "Close your mouth, doll. You will give the wrong idea—or maybe not." She paused, then added, "I will not lose my husband to you. My family will see to it." That said, she left the room.

Charlotte lay on the bed and sobbed, and even Susan was frightened to go into the room, though she did after some time, rubbing Charlotte's back as the broken girl tried to piece things together.

Lydia's aunt. She realized she had never been told Lydia's family name. Of course, even then it wouldn't have mattered. There were many Devereux in the world. And really, she should not be surprised. Really, this was the world doing her a favor. Reminding her why she had no right to be so brokenhearted over Peter's engagement, because she didn't deserve him. Even if he said cruel things to her, she knew it wasn't because he hated her. It was because he was infatuated, intrigued, and in crisis – not in love with her, of course, but infatuated the same way Jack had been. She had already ruined one marriage, and her goal was not to ruin another, no matter how miserable it made her. It was simply the grand irony of life that both possible instances were within one family. She was resisting this time; eventually, Peter would forget his curiosity about her and be happy with Lydia. But the more she resisted, the more was thrown at her.

Fortunately, Charlotte was not given much time to dwell on thoughts of self-loathing. In less than half an hour, Lucy crept in and whispered, scared by the sorrow of the room, "We have to leave now for the service."

"Would it be awful if I just stay here?" Charlotte begged of Susan, hardly rolling over.

"Of course you cannot stay here," Susan retorted, rising and tugging her up. "Peter is being a beast and you can't let him win."

"Besides, this will cheer you up," Lucy insisted.

Charlotte disagreed, but didn't want to ruin things for Lucy and Susan. So she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet and her face powdered, her coat to be wrapped on her, and herself to be led along the sidewalk in betwixt the Pevensies to church. Lydia and Peter walked a few yards behind everyone, Lydia smiling and laughing at a pretend conversation while Peter stared at the ground.

"He should feel awful," Susan muttered, squeezing Charlotte's hand. "I took back my Christmas present to him. So did Lu. We've had enough of the way he treats you. I wish we could exile him from the family. He has no right to treat you like that!"

"You would be surprised," Charlotte sighed, but not loudly enough to be heard.

At the church, Lesley Stevens and his family greeted Susan and Charlotte. Though it was instantly clear to Lesley that Charlotte was not herself, the service was too close to beginning, and so he could only whisper to her, "Meet me afterwards. I have something for you."

Charlotte sat stiffly through the service – which was beautiful but entirely wasted on her. She stared vacantly at the large cross hung above the altar. She rose when it was called for, and sang when it was called for, but remembered nothing. When time was allotted for silent prayer, all Charlie could think was, "I will never hate anyone as much as I hate myself."

Jack Daws' first and only wife was a French actress named Elle Devereux, blond and blue-eyed and a bigger cinema star than Charlotte would ever be. Charlie had played the supporting role beneath Elle's lead in In Winter, a movie in which, ironically, she stole the lead character's husband and then walked off into the winter forest to freeze to death in seeking redemption. She had been the sympathetic villain and received such wide acclaim, but from none more than Elle Devereux, who had called her marvelous and introduced her to her director husband, Jack Daws. When Elle had become pregnant with their fourth child, Jack had needed a replacement for her in a film he'd just begun – Elle had been the one to suggest Charlotte.

Their interactions had been harmless at first. Charlotte was not stupid, though she couldn't deny being dumb. When Jack had begun visiting her in her dressing room "just to talk," she knew it was inappropriate. When he began buying her gifts, showering her with compliments, she had been wary. But her career was on the rise and for the first time she felt appreciated and adored – she deserved that, so why did it matter if the adoration was coming from a married man?

Then things happened very quickly. Ashley died, Jack took her to coffee, the next day she was waking up next to Jack and there was no going back. Before she could even approach him about ending the affair, news of the scandal had been unleashed on the movie set, and from there spread like wildfire throughout Hollywood and the rest of the world. Helpless and unable to erase her actions, she had no choice but to trust Jack's declarations of love and assurance that he would make everything work out. Jack told her he had split from his wife a few days before – this Charlotte didn't know was false until the day they left the country, or so she told herself. Would it have changed things? She liked to think that it would have, but who knew? She had felt so entitled at the time, so righteously adored and talked about, that maybe it wouldn't have bothered her at all.

Elle had never contacted her, reacting to the scandal more beautifully and gracefully than Charlotte could ever hope to be. The only time she had seen Elle afterwards was the day they left, the day after Jack had promised to marry her if she would flee to Paris with him. He had picked her up from her apartment, then swung by his own house and told her to wait in the car while he grabbed his bags. This, she later decided, had been intentionally done to hurt his wife – as if enough had not already been done. She'd felt eyes on her in the passenger's seat and glanced up to see Elle looking down at her from an upstairs window. Her face hadn't been angry or upset or condemning, just . . . tired.

Charlotte understood now. It was the weariness of trying to do things right and everything still crashing down around you. It was trying to do what was best for those you loved, but just somehow winding up in a dark and ugly world where everyone was hurting.

She hadn't known for sure that Jack hadn't actually left his wife, but really, she had. Perhaps that was the worst part. She never asked. She heard the same rumors everyone did, that Elle knew about the affair and was trying to make the marriage work, and yet Charlotte had taken the mindset that she would trust Jack to sort it all out and not worry about anything other than satisfying her own needs – for love and acceptance and someone to tell her what she wanted to hear.

The service ended, but Charlotte was unaware until Lesley grabbed her arm and dragged her outside, whispering something to Susan. Once out of the overly warm church, after he had helped her with her coat and scarf, Lesley pulled her to the side of the building and wrapped her in a tight hug. Charlotte just held onto him and sobbed into his neck.

The tears didn't stop for a long while, not until their noses and fingers were numb and her eyelashes were practically frozen shut. Lesley kissed her forehead, then wrapped his arm around her shoulder and encouraged her to stroll with him away from the church and the people milling about socializing.

"Su—"

"I told her I'd take you home," Lesley assured her. "She seemed relieved."

"Susan doesn't handle emotions very well."

"And you do have a lot of emotions."

"Damn them all."

Lesley laughed, "Perhaps, but life would be awfully boring without them." They walked in silence for some time, arms linked, enjoying the crispness of the night air. Finally, as they neared the Pevensie's house, Lesley sighed, "So."

"So . . . you're wanting to know what that was all about."

"Oh, I know what it was all about. I saw that godawful rock on her hand. Boy has terrible taste if you ask me." Charlotte said nothing and Lesley just watched her face for a long pause, her eyes still glassy and staring at the path as they walked down the street. "So I was right?"

"You were right."

"I always am, aren't I? You should have followed my advice."

"Why don't you follow your own advice?"

"My advice doesn't apply to me yet," he pointed out with a laugh. "You've only managed to get me on one date with Susan, and I don't think she even realized it was a date."

"Oh, she did, at least afterwards."

"Oh. Well, anyway, this is about you and that blond dolt. I just think if you had told him, everything would have worked out. Maybe it still would."

"What? So I tell him and . . . and what—"

"Well he does too."

"So then he leaves Lydia and what, I've ruined another marriage – in the same family! Did you know—"

Lesley gave her a startled look, "You didn't know?"

"You did?!"

"I'm sorry," he frowned. "I forget you aren't familiar with European aristocrats. Yes, I knew. But anyway, you really think any man who marries a Devereux woman is happy? You'd be doing Peter a favor, really. I wouldn't wish that nasty little princess on anyone."

She snorted and shook her head, "Just like I did Jack a favor, right?"

"Elle and Jack were terrible creatures long before you came into the picture. I know you have this angelic image of Elle Devereux, but she was a monster to work with. Really bullied people."

"But she loved Jack, and even monsters deserve love and happiness and not to have someone else—"

"Run away with the man they love?" Lesley finished for her. He grinned, "You're right. So don't let her."

Charlotte huffed but Lesley only laughed and, getting down on one knee, took her hands in his and insisted, "Charlotte Auburn, I wish to god we loved each other. But we don't, and so all we can do is help each other find love. And I am telling you right now, that little boy was ready to take me out the first time he met me. I wish I had been there to help you before with your brother, and maybe the whole Jack fiasco could have been avoided. But it happened and now you're forcing yourself into a lifetime of penance when you've already paid the price of the mistakes you made."

Hearing voices behind them, they both glanced over their shoulders to see the Pevensies rounding the corner, so he rose and leaned in to finish his lecture, "Stop thinking you deserve to be so miserable and unhappy for the rest of eternity. You aren't that important." She cracked a smile as he kissed her cheek and pressed two boxes into her hands. "Give that one to Susan, will you? You know, if it feels right at the time. As for yours . . . open it when you feel like you need to."

"Oh, I didn't get anything—"

"Get me dinner with Susan again. That'll do." The Pevensies were fast approaching, and so he kissed her cheek before hustling off in the opposite direction, calling back, "Now practice saying it!"

"Saying what?" she returned.

"I love you, Charlotte!"

And she laughed, finally smiling as she yelled after him, "I love you, too!" It kept her spirits lifted in amusement and a small grain of hope as she bounced on her feet, waiting for the Pevensies to catch up.

"What a loud scandal," Lydia sniffed once within hearing distance.

"If love is a scandal—" Susan began, while Mr. Pevensie nodded, "Just the sort of scandal this world could use more of."

It was late enough, and the day had been long and trying enough that no one much felt like staying up late. At Lucy's request, Charlotte played a couple songs on the piano while Lydia and Peter glowered in the chair by the fire. Not long after the clock struck ten, though, the exhausted occupants of the household each trekked to their bedroom, those who were on speaking terms hugging and kissing each other goodnight.

Lydia and Charlotte dressed in silence, slipped into bed, and closed their eyes without saying a word. As soon as Lydia's snoring began, though, Charlotte rose and tiptoed downstairs.

They had gone to bed early enough that the fire was still roaring behind the grate, casting a warm, flickering glow around the living room. The baubles on the Christmas tree caught the light and tossed it against the walls in dancing circles, and the tree itself seemed to bend and sway. It had begun to snow again outside, white puffs floating down against the black sky and collecting around the toppled snowguards. The room was almost too warm, but she welcomed the comfort and coziness, her eyes roaming over the dancing shadows on the walls and ceiling. She poured herself a glass of milk and set it close to the hearth so it would warm, then curled up on the rug between the fire and the tree, wrapped in two blankets.

What a perfect place to be. It would make her sad when the tree got taken down. They'd never had a tree growing up, and it would have felt foolish to put a tree up when she was living alone. How nice it would be someday, if she possibly ever had a family of her own, to decorate it as a family and then sit around together on Christmas Eve and read the Christmas story together as the Pevensies had done before bed. Her paltry family traditions couldn't hold a candle to the love and happiness that emanated from all the Pevensie Christmas traditions.

She didn't think she could play the piano quietly enough to not wake anyone, but the record player in the corner could be dialed down. Mr. Pevensie had pulled the Christmas records out shortly after her arrival, and now she selected one for its recording of one of her favorite Christmas songs, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." She, Ashley, and Julian had used to go around town singing it at stores to see if anyone would give them hardcandy or oranges. Sometimes it had worked, but probably just because Julian was an awful singer and ruined it, so the people wanted them to be quiet.

With the house otherwise silent, she settled back down, but the stillness threatened to send her back into the dark, tear-ridden place she had been earlier. She caught sight of the small box from Lesley and decided that sure, now was as good a time as any, as she missed her non-existent family and was having to work too hard to not loathe her own existence. She couldn't go to bed anyway. Lydia might kill her in her sleep – or worse, she might not.

The box filled her hands and had been meticulously wrapped in shiny blue paper. Quickly she tugged this off and first pulled out the card, which said simply in Lesley's slanted writing: Everyone deserves love, from herself and others. On the back he had drawn a picture of a lion and a lamb snuggled down with each other, fast asleep. She smiled, remembering Lesley's sketches during downtime between filming. He had quite a knack for the arts and had taught her some basics – perhaps that was what had inspired her to give it a shot later.

Wrapped in a layer of black velvet sat a beautiful dark blue bauble for the tree. Some light blue and white had been brushed across the surface, swirling around the smooth ball like waves or the wind. It was beautiful and she rolled it around in her hands, tracing the currents carefully with her fingertips, gentle lest she break it. After appreciating it, she rose to hang it on the tree so it could dangle among its fellow baubles. As she stretched the gold chord to slip it over one of the unburdened pine branches, she noticed it had been personalized. Her name printed in a gold script near the bottom: Charlotte Anne Auburn. She hadn't noticed it a moment before when she had rolled it around her hands, which was strange enough.

She quickly realized however, and it left her standing frozen with the chord still in her fingers, that Lesley didn't know her middle name. She hated it because Anne Auburn was her mother's name, and so had never told a soul. No one knew except her family, and they certainly hadn't had a hand in this.

Leaning in closer to make sure she was reading right, Charlotte also came to the sudden realization that the bauble was no longer opaque. Rather, she could see into it, and the swirls that had looked painted on a moment before suddenly drifted like clouds or some sort of gas rolling around inside a now transparent ball. Still holding the bauble in the air, she stared hard, trying to figure out how the appearance could change so suddenly.

Movement reflected on the glass brought her attention to the shuffling of feet behind her. Had she not been staring so intently into the bauble, perhaps she would not have been so surprised. As it was, however, as soon as Peter's mouth opened, she spun and dropped the ornament.

"Char—" he began, but cut off as the glass hit the edge of a hard gift and shattered, sending small shards of glass flying against her legs. She gasped and quickly knelt, but overbalanced and fell backwards. Her eyes closed at the impact and the sudden stinging of the cuts in her legs.

When she opened her eyes again, Charlotte was no longer in the Pevensie's living room.