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Faerie Wings and Pirate Kings
The morning’s post brought excitement to the Therston household. “Oh, my dear!” Aunt Callista pushed her breakfast plate aside at the sight of the oversized envelope. She glanced up at Charlie, eyes dancing. “Oh, how thrilling! Forster!” The last syllable was nearly operatic.
The butler, thus summoned, made a hasty appearance from the depths of the house, whisking a large napkin out of sight. “My lady?”
“Lady Walsham’s invitation has arrived! Send a footman ‘round to Madame Lavigne at once, for she will be fully engaged by noon and we simply must outdo ourselves this year!”
Thus galvanized, the butler bowed and strode from the room, hollering for “Francis! Albert! Come here at once, you rascals!”
Charlie watched the entire production with a spoonful of porridge halfway to her mouth. She’d grown accustomed to her Aunt Callista’s exuberance, but found it no less amusing now. “The modiste, auntie? I have only worn a few of my new dresses.” A chain shifted beneath the dress she was currently wearing, the charm from Asher hidden safely away near her heart.
There was no other word for it: her brevet-aunt wriggled. “Yes, but this is for Lady Walsham’s ball,” she explained, which enlightened Charlie not at all. Callista held up the invitation. “It’s simply the event that begins the Season—and it’s fancy dress!” She began to nibble on her lip. “What shall we go as? Oh—it hardly matters what I wear, but you, my love, must shine.” She consulted the invitation again. “This year’s theme is Things Fantastical. What fun!”
“That is quite a broad theme,” Charlie replied, laughing at the older woman’s excitement. “I certainly have my choice of options.” She finally took her bite of porridge and began ticking off characters in her head. The charm under her dress shifted again, reminding Charlie of Asher’s parting compliment. “Do you suppose Titania will be overdone?”
Callista grew thoughtful. “I think very few young ladies would undertake the Queen of the Fairies so early in the Season, though I expect we’ll have dozens of Peaseblossoms and Mustardseeds.” She smiled. “An inspired choice, my love. I shall instruct Madame Lavigne to let her muse run free.” She tapped her lower lip, nodding slowly. “Yes, I think Titania will work quite well.”
Upon finishing breakfast Charlie found herself at the center of a frenzy of preparation. Aunt Callista applied herself to the task with the dedication of a general on the eve of a decisive battle. The woman was a marvel, and no detail was left to chance. It was not unlike Uncle Elias’ ability to focus on a task, though he certainly did not carry things out with the same grace and efficiency.
Madame Lavigne arrived midmorning, sweeping into the parlor with her usual grandiose flair. “Ah, my lady Therstonne,” she cried in a very French accent, “and the small golden one!” Kisses were deposited on every cheek in the room. “‘Ave you decided upon the costume?”
Callista smiled and looked to Charlie to answer. Charlie smiled too, sure she was blushing wildly at the greeting. “Ah, yes, Madame. I thought perhaps... Titania would be a fitting choice.”
“Ah!” and somehow even that syllable dripped with Gallic approval. Madame circled Charlie, her finger to her lips. “Oui—oui, I see it. There must be magic—the glow, the sparkle—and the secrets of the forest, flowers...” She turned to Callista, brows raised.
“Let your fancy take flight,” Callista replied, her affectionate gaze on Charlie’s face. “I care little for the expense—I have no one else to spend it on. Can you have it in time?”
Madame pursed her lips. “Has Lavigne ever failed my lady?” Callista laughed, and the little modiste went on. “I will consult with friends at Drury Lane and the Savoy—we shall produce a wonder for mademoiselle, n'est-ce pas?”
Charlie thanked Madame Lavigne and her Aunt Callista, though the latter reminded her that they were family and the joy was hers entirely. Having no clear idea what might be produced, Charlie decided to put her faith in those with more experience, and instead turned her attention to practicing her dance steps before being asked to perform them in front of all and sundry.
In this, too, Aunt Callista had been beforehand, asking Charlie’s dancing-master to arrange extra time with her before the ball. “Not because I think you need it,” she was careful to explain, “but because I want you to feel confident. I’m sure Titania never feels anything less,” she teased.
The week was filled with fittings and dance lessons, as well as a plethora of stories shared from the ‘days of old’, as Aunt Callista referred to her and Charlie’s mother’s Season. Charlie did manage to see Elsie once during that time, and they happily chattered over their plans for the upcoming affair. The visit was a much-needed break from the cyclone of activity, and was a quiet, treasured time with her new and increasingly dear friend.
At last the day was upon them, and though remarkably cold, the glittering layer of frost that covered everything might as well have been the final touch to add a sense of wonder to the event. Charlie found herself in an elegant carriage, a fine cloak around her shoulders, and a set of airy, sparkling wings on the seat at her side, being too large and cumbersome to be worn inside a coach. She fiddled a little nervously with the bracelet round her wrist, the donkey charm discreetly positioned so as not to draw Aunt Callista’s attention. Wearing it might not have been the wisest choice, but it did go with her costume, and as long as no one looked too closely, the tiny name engraved would go unnoticed.
Fortunately, apart from the frost, the weather had been dry, so there was no fear of mud, and when the carriage deposited Charlie and Callista and the wings (which really deserved their own introduction, Charlie thought), they took a moment in the ladies’ retiring room to complete Charlie’s costume before entering Lady Walsham’s ballroom.
The Walsham home was nearly as grand as the Kirkleith manor, though situated differently, as one had to climb up a set of stairs to achieve the door to the ballroom, and then descend again to enter the ballroom. Lady Walsham herself stood upon the landing to greet her guests, and affected the fanciful custom that each guest should be introduced as their character rather than their name.
Callista and their hostess exchanged affectionate greetings. “My dear,” Lady Walsham gushed, “such a costume!” Callista had chosen to impersonate a peacock, and her gown, in rich shades of blue and deep green and purple, was replete with iridescent feathers and beetle wings.
Charlie, behind her brevet-aunt, unfurled her wings, a triumph of nearly-transparent chiffon, glittering beads, and beautifully scrolled wirework. Lady Walsham gasped, clutching at her chest. “Oh—oh, my dear!” Charlie gave a modest spin at her Aunt Callista’s behest, showing off the details of the rest of her costume. Embroidered and beaded flowers and vines twisted and curled across the sheer overdress; the underdress was of gleaming, glowing silk, white in one light, pale gold in another. Charlie’s hair was piled high and adorned with sparkling, fanciful flowers, echoing the ones upon her dress, and her maid had dusted her cheekbones with a powder that caught the light like a crystalline prism. A simple yet fanciful crown sat atop her head, leaving no doubt who it was she was meant to represent.
Charlie glided forward—for the fullness of the skirt allowed for nothing less—and greeted their hostess, prettily dipping her head. “Lady Walsham, thank you for inviting me to your home, and such an evening of unparalleled wonder.”
Their hostess entered into the spirit of the thing, curtseying deeply. “Oh, no, your Majesty—it is I who must thank you for gracing my home.” Her eyes were twinkling when she straightened back up. “Piffle,” she said to her butler, “kindly announce the Peacock and Queen Titania.”
“The Peacock,” Piffle cried, “and Her Majesty, Queen of the Fairies, Titania!”
Callista offered Charlie her arm. “Shall we?”
Still beaming from Lady Walsham’s greeting, Charlie accepted her aunt’s arm and made slow, graceful progress down the grand staircase with its glittering garlands of flowers. It was impossible not to feel like the elegant creature of magic she’d chosen to represent. She scanned the faces of those below, looking for any that were familiar, and hoping to see one in particular.
A smattering of applause rose to greet them; Callista squeezed her arm. “Next year,” she murmured without moving her lips, “there will be a dozen Titanias, and none will measure up to yours.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs without Charlie recognizing anyone, but the crowd was large and she had hope that there were friendly faces somewhere within the mob.
Charlie was quickly pulled into a sea of fanciful characters. Aunt Callista moved through with ease, introducing her to some, and discreetly steering Charlie away from others. It was easy to imagine the plume of feathers attached to her costume ruffling when men of ‘undesirable reputation’ tried to draw near. A peacock she might have been, but Aunt Callista proved fierce as a hawk when chaperoning. By the time they’d made their way toward the middle of the room, Charlie already had several names on her dance card.
A small kerfuffle caught their attention; Robin Hood and Maid Marian were making their way through the crowd toward Charlie and her aunt, mostly through Robin’s judicious use of his bow to shove people aside. “At last,” Elsie said upon reaching them, slightly out of breath. “What a crush! Charlie, you look absolutely magnificent. Lady Therston, a triumph as always.”
Charlie took both of Elsie’s hands and gave them a friendly squeeze. “Thank you! But you are a vision as well, Maid Marian!” She leaned closer to the other woman. “I see you managed to convince the good doctor to go along with it.”
Elsie dimpled. “I have my ways of persuading him.”
Ross greeted Charlie and her aunt after slinging the bow over his shoulder. “It wasn’t that difficult, when you consider that Quinn was trying to convince me to go as the white rabbit.”
Charlie laughed, and though the response from the Irishman had been playful, the look he fixed on his wife was one of pure adoration. She cleared her throat a little. “Well, I think the two of you make a stunning pair, and I’m glad your friend was not able to convince you.”
Ross tore his gaze from his wife and bowed graciously. “My thanks, Your Majesty. And if I may be so bold, might I put my name on your card?”
“Oh! Of course!” Charlie reached for her card. “Assuming your lovely wife is willing to part with you for a dance.”
“Anything for the Queen of the Fairies,” Elsie replied merrily. “Only I beg you, don’t enchant him. I’m rather fond of him as he is.”
“You have my word, as Queen, that your husband shall be returned just as he is.” Charlie laughed again. She doubted even the real Titania would be able to part the two of them.
Ross finished signing up for a waltz. “Thank you for allowing a humble forest thief to share a dance.”
A blue-gloved hand reached through the crowd, followed by an entirely blue-suited Quinn Rutherford. His face was painted blue and he wore a blue peruke, topped with a bright red fez; under one arm he had tucked an elaborate hookah, and on his nose was perched a familiar-looking pair of tortoiseshell spectacles. Attached to the back of his coat was a fat, segmented tail that reached all the way to the ground. He took the pencil from Ross and signed for the other waltz and a galop with a flourish. “Whoooo,” he asked Charlie whimsically, “are youuuu?”
Charlie had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle the giggles at both his appearance and the theatrical greeting. He looked nothing like the man she’d met back at her uncle’s farm. She got herself under control. “Queen Titania, of the Fairy Court, is whoooo I am, and highly amused is what I am.”
He grinned in response and bent over her hand. “Forgive the lack of a proper salute, but this blue stuff gets everywhere. You look lovely, Miss Whitfield. I hope you’re enjoying the evening?”
“The trials of being a caterpillar.” Charlie dimpled. “The evening has only just begun, Mr. Rutherford, but if the start is any indication of the rest, then it will be a jolly time indeed.” She glanced around, wondering if Asher had come, or if he’d been pulled away and his spectacles were the only thing in attendance.
The orchestra began to tune, and she could see Prince Charming making his way over to her for the first dance. Before he quite got there, Quinn leaned in. “You may notice a rather nearsighted Pirate King milling about somewhere, if that’s of interest.”
It was indeed of interest, but she could hardly say so with Aunt Callista standing at attention. Even if that were not the case, her partner arrived and bowed before her with a smile that Charlie had to admit was befitting the costume. Prince Charming led her out onto the dance floor, and pulled her into the circle of twirling couples.
It was her first dance at her first ball, and her partner’s skill made the experience lively and enjoyable. He smiled and complimented her, claiming that her feet must never have touched the ground. When the music stopped and he returned her to her aunt, Charlie was blushing wildly.
The next couple of dances passed in a blur of fairytale Princes (including a Frog) and Arthurian knights, and then it was time for her dance with Ross. Charlie spotted the doctor making his way toward her, again using his bow to clear a path, and she had to wonder if that hadn’t been part of his decision to dress as Robin.
“Miss Whitfield,” he bowed slightly. “Forgive me, but I must cry off. However, I have procured a suitable replacement so that you need not miss the waltz.” He turned slightly, and nodded back in the direction he’d come from.
A rakish Pirate King followed him, his tricorne in one hand against his chest. Asher’s coat was long and old-fashioned, heavily embroidered, with many buttons and deep cuffs. His billowy white shirt was open to the waist, showing his well-muscled chest; his breeches were tight, with a bright sash and several wide leather belts, a brace of pistols and daggers tucked into them. High cuffed boots and a scarf around his forehead completed the costume, his curly dark hair in dashing disarray. He stopped, staring at her for a moment, a smile slowly blooming.
“One moment, Dr. McInerny,” Aunt Callista broke in. “An introduction, if you please?”
Charlie put a hand on her aunt’s arm before Ross could respond. “Auntie, this is Mr. Asher Burton, the gentleman who helped in securing Uncle Elias’ safe return.” She looked at Asher, smiling gently. “Mr. Burton, this is Lady Therston.”
Asher gave Lady Therston a most elegant bow, flourishing his hat. “My lady,” he said, coming up with a genial smile. “A pleasure indeed.”
Callista, after a penetrating look at him, softened a bit. “And you, Mr. Burton. Hurry or you’ll miss the opening bars.”
Asher offered Charlie his arm. “Majesty,” he murmured, and his voice seemed a bit husky.
She slipped her hand into the corner of his elbow, and when they were far enough from Aunt Callista she shifted her wrist so that Asher could see the bracelet. “I brought Nick with me. I thought he added a touch of whimsy to my costume.”
His face went noticeably pinker. “I’m glad you like him.” They took their places on the dance floor, in position for the Viennese waltz, and the music began.
Charlie clutched Asher’s hand and moved through the first steps, feeling a bit like the lighting had suddenly become softer, more golden. Time might have reversed and brought them back to a sitting room in a cottage on the shores of Loch Ness. She smiled at Asher, not the practiced and polished expression she’d grown accustomed to wearing here in London, but one of simple joy.
“I have practiced since the last time we waltzed,” she whispered as they turned.
“Have you?” he asked, and shook his head. “You’d no need to. Dancing with you always felt like this to me.”
Charlie’s breath caught a little, but she tried to hide it behind a small laugh. “As I recall it is possible I bruised a few of your toes.”
“I don’t remember that. I thought you a perfect—that is to say, a perfectly good dancer.” He was red again. “I—uh—is it difficult, dancing with those wings?”
“Not when I have such an accomplished partner, Asher,” Charlie replied, indulging in the use of his name, and enjoying the sense that they’d reclaimed some of the closeness they’d shared at the lake. She met his gaze for an instant. “Then it’s more akin to flying.”
His lips curved slowly. “Isn’t that what wings are for?” And then he tightened his arm around her waist and began to swoop her around the ballroom, his footwork as precise as any dancing master.
The other guests might have vanished entirely for all Charlie knew. They twirled around the floor together, free to simply be Charlie and Asher again, free from judgment or worries as long as they remained in the charmed circle created by the music.
“I am glad you came to speak to me at the opera,” Charlie whispered. “I’ve missed our friendship.”
“I was...” He let out a breath. “I don’t know what was wrong with me, I... it was almost as though someone else was speaking through me, trying to... I don’t know. I felt I’d misbehaved at the lakeside, and I was trying to...” He shook his head. “I ought to have trusted you to understand, Charlie. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
She wanted to reach out and stroke his face, to ease away the little lines of guilt and concern that clouded his features. But that was not possible with so many others present. Charlie resigned herself to what they were allowed. “Thank you, Asher.”
“Thank you, Charlie. Your forbearance... means more than you know.”
Charlie would have liked the dance to go on forever, but the music drew to a close as they took their final turn around the room. She curtsied to Asher, then quirked a playful brow at him. “I shall be sure to send your regards to Nan and the chickens.”
He bowed, very correctly, for all he looked like a dashing rogue. “Please do,” he said, and led her back to her aunt.
Charlie knew the smile on her face likely gave more away than intended, but she simply could not compose herself enough to hide the feeling of enchanted bliss. She greeted Aunt Callista with a contented sigh. “My, but this is a wonderful evening, don’t you think?”
Lady Therston’s gaze sharpened. “I’m so glad to know you’re enjoying it, my love.” She paused. “Mr. Burton is a handsome man indeed. And he is some sort of police officer?” She gazed across the room, where Asher was laughing with Viscount Kirkleith and his lady, dressed as King Arthur and Guinevere. “He certainly keeps good company.”
“He is handsome,” Charlie agreed absently, glancing across the floor, admiring the way his coat rested on his broad shoulders. “Kind and brave as well.”
Callista made a noncommittal sound, and Charlie’s next partner came to collect her. “One side,” said Quinn, offering her his arm, “makes you smaller, and the other,” he turned and offered her the other arm, “makes you taller.”
His playful approach shook Charlie from her daydreams and she embraced the utter silliness of it all, accepting the side supposed to make one smaller. “I would not wish to step on a caterpillar before he’s had the chance to become a butterfly,” she replied with a laugh. It was impossible not to—the man looked ridiculous in that coat and tail, grinning like a blue-faced loon.
The galop began, and with it an impressive spectacle. Quinn was an exceptionally skilled dancer—he had to be, for his caterpillar tail seemed intent on murder and he sidestepped it nimbly as he guided Charlie around the floor. Charlie herself found that she was hopping over the blue devil almost as often as her partner.
He very nearly took out another couple dancing by, and began to laugh. “Lord, Lord, Asher is right—I need a keeper. This costume seemed so clever at the time, though.”
Nearly in stitches, it was all Charlie could do to keep up with the man. When he hopped and clicked his heels she thought she might faint from the effort of laughing and dancing at the same time. “Mr. Rutherford, that tail! You very nearly caught it between your heels.” The latter part of her statement was little more than a squeak.
“Not I, Miss Whitfield. It’s well known that while I am a menace to society, I will preserve myself at any cost.” They turned on the diagonal and headed down the center of the room. “A very good thing this is my only dance, I think.”
Charlie tsked at him playfully. “You have a short memory. As I recall you are on my card for a waltz as well.”
The music ended and he bowed over her hand, somewhat short of breath. “My dear Miss Whitfield,” he smiled down at her, white teeth in a blue face, “you really ought to read your dance card.” So saying, he deposited her with Lady Therston, bowed to both, and ambled off, fanning himself.
Frowning at his cryptic response, Charlie wasted no time at all in consulting her card. She’d been certain he put his name down for a waltz... but it was not his name in the slot.