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All’s Well That Ends Well
Charlie opened her eyes slowly and was immediately disoriented. She was in bed... in her bedroom... and sunlight was shining through the window. Her head felt a bit like it was detached and floating, and strange images flashed through her mind. There was a man, familiar but unknown, and then she was outside in a world of glittering snowflakes and stone. She sat up slowly, blinking as she tried to mentally navigate the fog.
“Easy, dearest.” Aunt Callista was immediately by the bed, helping Charlie to sit up. “You had quite an evening. How are you feeling?”
“What—what happened?” Charlie asked, looking around again. She had no memory of coming home. The last thing that she recalled with any clarity was dancing with Asher, and that memory hardly accounted for the nagging sense of trepidation that the images of a dark garden summoned. “We were at the ball, and I was...”
Her brevet-aunt stroked her hair. “You took a little tumble and had a swoon, dearest, that’s all. The doctor said you should feel right as rain today.”
Physically she felt fine, perhaps a little light-headed, but nothing alarming—well, nothing but a gap in her memory. “I don’t remember that at all. Am I to stay in bed then, or may I get up?”
“If you feel well enough, my love, of course you may get up. Shall I ring for your maid?”
Charlie nodded absently, still trying to reconcile what Aunt Callista had said with the images of a face and a walk through a snowy garden. The memories had the same feeling that her dream of the Fae realm had, and that made her shudder from head to toe—but the more she tried to recall them, the more they slipped away, until at last she forgot entirely the source of her worry and confusion. An earlier memory in the evening was crystal clear, however: when Asher had held her in his arms, twirling them around the room, the entire world seeming to move in perfect harmony.
Her maid arrived and helped Charlie to dress for the day, taking extra care with her hair. “My lady says you’re likely to have callers, miss,” was the explanation when asked; but at last Charlie was deemed presentable.
By the time Charlie was dressed and making her way to the stairs her earlier disquiet had faded along with the disjointed images. Soon she was feeling quite herself again and was smiling brightly when she came down the stairs to an entryway packed with bouquets and small tokens. Charlie stopped short and stared at what could only be described as a small garden’s worth of flowers. “My word, what is all of this?” she asked Aunt Callista, as Forster the butler sought out a clear space for another bouquet.
The older woman kissed her cheek. “Tributes, my dearest. A Queen must have her court, you know.”
Charlie gaped, approaching the nearest arrangement of flowers. They were for her. Each and every bud, every ribbon and card, were intended for her. She’d been introduced to what felt like half of London last night, but even so... True, she’d had a full dance card, yet only one person had truly meant anything amid all the enchantment and glamor of the night, and no amount of bouquets or tokens from any other would ever be enough to take her heart from him.
Even so, to be confronted by the reality of so many suitors was... staggering. Whether she wished the attention of another or not, the gifts had to be considered and polite thanks offered to the givers. She took her time looking over as many of the offerings as she could while breakfast was laid out, taking note of which she liked best, and which would suit the parlor or the dining room. But there was one that stood out above all the others.
The other tokens had been addressed to Titania; beautiful and flattering, but blind to who Charlie truly was. This bouquet was something different—a profusion of roses, all in shades ranging from the most delicate shell pink to a deep blush, studded throughout with star jasmine. The fragrance was heavenly, and the outer fold of the card bore a sketch of a donkey.
A soft smile spread across Charlie’s lips as she reached for the card and slowly read the note within, heart fluttering like the wild beating of a butterfly’s wings.
My dearest Charlotte, it said,
Thanks to you I can never see roses without thinking of the stars—and I can never see the stars without thinking of you. I regret that I won’t be able to call on you today, but look to see me tomorrow.
Your most faithful and willing servant,
Asher
Charlie folded the small paper with a sigh and slipped it back into the envelope. She leaned forward to smell the roses and her smile grew even wider. She stroked the petals of the nearest rose before asking the butler to have the bouquet taken to her bedroom.
Just as Aunt Callista predicted, the callers began to arrive by mid-morning: gentlemen with whom Charlie had shared a dance, or who had merely pushed glasses of punch into her hands. Prince Charming showed up, introducing himself, this time as Lord Frederick something. Without the trappings of his costume he was a rather unimpressive figure, but kind enough in his demeanor.
Charlie greeted each of her many visitors graciously, and only once claimed indisposition to escape the room when one fellow began reciting the most ridiculous of sonnets—self-composed—and declaimed terribly at that. Thankfully, Aunt Callista was able to tactfully encourage the fellow to return to the other business of the day, allowing Charlie to come back to the parlor for a blissfully quiet and suitor-free cup of tea.
By late afternoon she was exhausted, having received many badly written poems, several bold requests for a curl of her hair, and an invitation to go riding the following day. Lady Therston informed Forster that they were no longer at home to visitors, and their public day ended. Charlie took a moment to write and accept the invitation to go riding, and then Aunt Callista declared that an early night would be a relief for everyone in the household, and so it proved to be.
Asher was not among their callers the next morning. Charlie tried not to make a show of looking for him—but he had said he would come, though her heart beating wildly each time the bell rang would not speed his arrival.
After luncheon she readied herself for her ride in the park, rather wishing she had refused; but she’d had no real reason to do so, and the gentleman who had asked had seemed kind enough. The day was fine, if still a bit cool, and so Charlie added a velvet coat in deep rose to her ensemble, and tucked some of Asher’s roses into the brim of her hat.
The ride was long and the gentleman unexceptionable—but also rather unexceptional—and Charlie was relieved to return home. Forster relieved her of her coat and hat, and after rescuing her roses she went in search of her brevet-aunt.
Callista was in the drawing room, speaking with a handsome but slightly impatient ex-Pirate King. Asher stood immediately at Charlie’s entrance.
Charlie stopped in the doorway, glancing from one to the other before fixing a warm smile on Asher. “Mr. Burton,” she greeted him, not bothering to hide the pleasure his presence brought. “I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”
“I’m grateful to Lady Therston for keeping me company,” was his clearly diplomatic reply. “I hope you enjoyed your ride?”
Aunt Callista rose at this juncture and excused herself, murmuring something about speaking with the cook about the evening meal, and closed the door behind her.
Surprised, but delighted by the opportunity to be alone with Asher, Charlie’s shoulders relaxed. “It’s almost like being back at the farm.” She moved further into the room, and closer to the man she’d spent so many hours thinking about. “I must admit that even in the middle of all of this wealth and comfort I have missed those evenings we spent together.”
“It’s my cooking, I expect,” he replied, blue eyes twinkling over his spectacles. “I could run down to the kitchen and give Lady Therston’s cook a pointer or two if you like.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. It was our collaborative efforts that proved the most rewarding,” she replied, laughing a little herself.
“How fortuitous that you should say so. I came to speak with you about another collaboration, if you are willing.” His smile seemed to falter a little.
“Another case to be solved?” Charlie replied, trying to puzzle out why he seemed to have grown more serious. She gestured for him to sit, and made for a chair close to the settee. “I am at your disposal if I can be of service.”
But he did not sit, instead pacing a little. “I had,” he said after a moment, “a speech planned out, but I find the whole thing’s fled, so I suppose I’d best just get to the point.” He came and sat at the end of the settee nearest her. “The other night,” he began, hesitated, and shook his head. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Charlie, and I’ve come to ask whether you might find it in your heart...” He let out a breath. “I know I’ve been an idiot—I was like an animal, caught in my own trap. I thought we could never be together, you see, and so I tried to put some distance between us when all I wanted was the opposite. Have I a hope, or have I pushed you too far away for forgiveness?” His expression was very stark, fear warring with hope in his gaze.
It took several seconds for his words to truly sink in, as often is the case when one is faced with their dreams becoming reality. Charlie knew she ought to reply and tell him everything she’d longed to say, but her voice was quite absent.
She reached out to put her hand on his, and in doing so, found that the words came as soon as their fingers met. “You’ve already been forgiven, Asher... one cannot live their life holding their own heart in contempt.”
He nodded and rose again, tension in the set of his shoulders. “Then I’ve made a start, at least.” He took a moment, seeming to marshal his thoughts. “I’d hoped—” Her words seemed to penetrate, finally, and he dropped to his knees before her, taking her hands. “Are you saying—do you mean—?”
“That I love you?” Charlie suddenly felt her eyes filling with joyful tears, she blinked a few times, laughing a little at herself. “I do, Asher, my dear, sweet Mr. Burton. I love you with all of my heart.”
He blinked at her, dazed, and then pressed kisses to her hands, her fingers, her palms, finally gazing back up at her. “My love,” he murmured, his voice husky, “I cannot—I will not—contemplate a life without you in it. Will you embark with me on this last, lifelong collaboration, and become my wife?”
Lost for the one word that she needed to speak, Charlie simply nodded, squeezing his fingers. She cleared her throat and sniffled just a little, allowing the Bard to answer for her. “‘I am your wife, if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid.’”
All at once he surged to his feet, pulling her with him and into his arms. “Charlotte, my darling,” he whispered, and pressed his mouth to hers.
There were no words, only Asher, and the enormity of what Charlie felt for him. She returned his kiss with all the love and longing she’d held under control for so long.
Fingers slid up his back and wove through his dark curls. Charlie moaned ever-so-slightly, and pressed closer to him.
He lifted his head and gazed at her. “I swear to you now, my love, before God, the Devil, and anyone else who may be listening: I will love you all of my days and beyond.” He nudged her nose with his a little, tilting her head back, and kissed her again. His lips were soft and warm, his arms were tight around her, and when he coaxed her to open to him she obliged, a little shy but without hesitation.
The sound he made was of a man long starving who’d just been given sustenance. He lifted a hand to cup her jaw, his thumb gently stroking her cheek as he plundered her mouth in true Pirate King fashion.
A shudder coursed through Charlie, heated shivers that shimmied down her spine. Her knees suddenly felt a little wobbly, but he held her close and she knew he’d never let her fall. Seconds later—or perhaps minutes, Charlie couldn’t be sure—he lifted his head, raining softer kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. Just being close to him was like stepping into a dream. “I love you, Asher Burton. I cannot wait to see what sort of adventure our life together will be.”
Asher’s cheeks were red, his breath quick, and his smile intimate as he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and got down on one knee. “May I?” He took her left hand in his and held up a ring, an amethyst surrounded by pearls.
“Oh, it’s—Asher, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever...” She replied as he slipped the ring onto her finger. Charlie held up her hand and admired the way the ring glittered in the light. The corner of her mouth quirked upward playfully. “A fitting jewel to be presented by a pirate king.”
“No pirate nor king,” he replied gently. “Nor even an agent anymore. Just a man who loves you more than life.”
And because she could not resist doing it, Charlie bent and kissed him again, though she tried not to lose all sense of propriety, knowing it would not be long before Aunt Callista would return to check on them. She pulled back and admired the ring again. “Oh, I cannot wait to tell Elsie!”
Asher chuckled and tugged her toward the settee, sitting next to her. “Geordie offered to get us a special license so we could wed before she and Ross leave, if you’re willing—though if it’s too soon, just say so. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”
When they’d met, Elsie had said they would be leaving in a few weeks, which left precious little time for planning. Charlie looked at her beloved’s face and realized that the details of the event mattered little to her. The only thing she truly cared about was the man at her side, and whether they married in a week, or at the end of the season, she would be his.
“Tell him he may ask for the license. I only want you, Asher.” But Charlie stopped short on the way to kissing him again. “And we must send word, and arrange for Uncle Elias to come to London for the wedding.”
Asher nodded. “I did cable yesterday to ask for his permission. I expect he’s waiting to hear from you.”
The drawing room door opened and Aunt Callista peeked in. “May I wish you happy, my dearest?”
Charlie grinned at Asher—her Asher—before responding. “Do come in, Auntie. We have quite a lot to plan.”
The older woman hurried to her as Asher vacated the settee with a smile. “Oh, I am so happy for you—for you both! When Mr. Burton explained to me how very dear you are to him...” Callista clasped her hands against her breast, “oh, Charlie, how very pleased your mama would be that you have found someone so steadfast. And you are suited, truly?”
“I am, dearest auntie,” Charlie assured her. Then holding a hand out to Asher. “I could not be happier.”
“You know, Asher,” Geordie said, roughly a week later, “some might consider three best men a bit excessive.” He chuckled and finished pinning on Asher's boutonniere.
Asher chuckled. “This is as much my Charlie’s choice as mine,” he told them. “Once she found out what you’d done, helping me to face Orion... there was simply no other choice to be made.”
“And we’d have it no other way,” Ross agreed. But you must admit it’s unusual.”
“Not everyone’s as lucky as I am,” Asher pointed out with a grin, adjusting his spectacles and looking around the sacristy in which they stood.
“Truer words,” the viscount agreed. “We’re lucky men, and no mistake. Which got me to thinking, actually.”
“That’s almost never a good idea,” Quinn teased, and Geordie chuckled.
“I’ve no wish to steal your thunder, Asher, so we’ll not announce anything official for a bit yet, but,” Geordie paused and looked at each man in turn. “Aye, I think three godfathers should just about be enough.”
To Asher’s surprise, Ross let out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank God you finally told them.” He put an arm on the Scotsman’s shoulder. “I don’t know how much longer I could have kept it in.”
“A baby?” Asher grabbed Geordie and hugged him. “Congratulations! That’s wonderful!” He pounded Geordie on the back.
After a moment Quinn joined in, congratulating Geordie on his impending fatherhood. “Seems like a day for celebrating,” he observed. “Though we’ve still got this one small matter to deal with first.” He looked pointedly at Asher.
“Right!” Asher took a deep breath. “Has everyone got everything?”
Ross pulled his hand from his pocket, a band of gold slipped halfway down his pinky. “I’ve got the ring.” He paused and reached into his other pocket. “Oh, and I found that key you gave me!”
“I’ve got two full flasks of whiskey,” Quinn volunteered. “Emergency rations.”
Asher laughed while he confiscated his house key from Ross. “You won’t need that in another day, and I definitely don’t want you coming to my house tonight.”
“And I’ve got the special license,” Geordie held it up with a flourish, “which I will file as soon as it’s signed by the bishop.”
“Then we’re ready.” Asher nodded and straightened his waistcoat; at his nod, Quinn went to let the bishop know everything was in order, and after a few moments, the organist began to play.
The four men filed into the sanctuary, Asher at their head, and took their places at the altar.
For having had so little time to plan, Charlie’s brevet-aunt had pulled out all the stops. The chapel was a masterpiece of delicate white and pink flowers, and the floor of the aisle was blanketed in snowy petals. The doors to the narthex opened and Charlie’s small party of ladies began to file in, three to match Asher’s company. A young woman who Charlie referred to as ‘Rose Red’ was the first, followed closely by Ione, with Elsie stepping through the doors last.
And then the music changed, and so too did Asher’s world. Charlie entered the chapel on her uncle’s arm. She wore the Titania gown, but the theatrical flourishes from the ball had been replaced by delicate silk star jasmine. Her hair was pinned up, but several soft, golden curls framed her face. The effect was no less dream-like than the night of the ball, yet it was simpler and showed more of the woman Asher met in Scotland.
His heart felt near to bursting for love of her. Asher could feel his eyes prickle and fill, but his smile was as wide as the sky, and when Elias gave Charlie’s hand into his keeping, he silently vowed he would never let it go.
The bishop began the service, but Asher wasn’t listening, too wrapped up in Charlie’s radiant gaze. And then it was time for the vows, which he managed without bobbling. Charlie promised to love and cherish him in that sweet voice of hers. Ross gave him the ring without incident, and Asher slid it onto the third finger of Charlie’s left hand.
At last the bishop pronounced them husband and wife. “You may kiss your bride,” intoned the bishop, and Asher thought that was a brilliant idea, bending Charlie back over his arm as he kissed her with élan.
It was probably Quinn who began the applause.
When Asher released his wife, for that was what Charlie was to him now, he thought he heard his friends chuckling a bit. Not that it mattered much, for Charlie was beaming at him, and had been just as enthusiastic in their embrace. Asher began to lead her back down the aisle, catching a congratulatory smile from his parents as they passed.
Charlie squeezed his arm a little, and stole another kiss once they were out of the chapel and free of the eyes of their guests. “And now we can start a new adventure, my love. Agent and Mrs. Burton will make quite a team, I believe.”
“Just Mr. Burton, my darling. I’ve given up being a field agent.” He kissed her nose before handing her up into the carriage that was to take them back to Aunt Callista’s for the reception. “A man in that line of work has no business with a wife. I’ll be training new recruits once we get back, working from the home office.”
That earned Asher a very bright, very dimpled smile, and a kiss full of the promise of what was yet to come. “Good. I’d rather keep you close to home.” She sighed a little, nestling closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. “Our home.”
“You’re my home, Charlie,” he murmured, tilting her chin up so he could get to her mouth. He whiled away a minute or two testing his limits, and then lifted his head. “You haven’t asked where we’re going for our honeymoon.”
“Haven’t I?” Charlie’s response was breathless, her eyes only half open, but focused solely on him. She reached up and stroked back the curls at his temple. “Where are we going?”
Asher picked up her left hand to toy with the gleaming gold ring there. “Did you know that Lake Como has a monster in it?” He grinned at her.
Charlie laughed a little. “I did not.” She cupped his cheek and looked up at him, expression warm and sultry. “But I have my doubts as to whether or not we’ll see it. I suspect there will be more pressing matters to keep us occupied.”
“Definitely,” he murmured, and kissed her again.
The reception was winding down, and as the orchestra played another song, Elias came to ask Charlie for one last dance. Asher watched as they swayed to and fro at the side of the floor, while Ross and Elsie and Geordie and Ione swept past in a set of elegant figures. Across the way he noted Quinn watching them too; the other man sighed visibly and left the ballroom.
Thinking of the obviously personal nature of Quinn’s words after the confrontation with Orion, Asher followed his friend. He came across Quinn in the orangerie, nursing a brandy thoughtfully, and took a seat next to him. “May I ask you something?”
The corner of Quinn’s mouth quirked upward. “You may ask. I don’t promise an answer.”
Asher hesitated, then took the plunge. “What happened to you?”
A lengthy pause ensued; at last Quinn shook his head slowly and drew out his watch fob, opening the lid. Inside was a photo of a small boy, dark-haired and dark-eyed. He held it out to Asher.
Asher studied the photograph. “I don’t understand. Who’s this?” He gave the watch back to Quinn, who gazed at the picture for a long moment.
“This is my son,” he said at last. “I’ve only met him once.”
“Your s—” Asher couldn’t even finish the word, his throat aching in sympathy. No wonder his friend had been so adamant, so angry when it seemed that Asher would make the wrong decision.
Quinn nodded, touching the picture gently. “When I told you you’d regret choosing the job... I made that choice, you see. And everything was taken from me.” He closed the watch with some finality and looked at Asher. “I’m glad you chose differently. Now go find your wife and take her home.”
Asher blanched. “Quinn, I—”
His friend held up a hand. “A bed of my own making, and nothing that should dim your lights, Ash.” He stood up. “Go on, start your wedded bliss—and if you’re not deliriously happy, I’ll come find you and draw your cork. Now get.”
That sounded more like the Quinn he knew, and Asher relaxed a bit. “Thanks, Q.” His friend waved him off, and after a moment’s hesitation, Asher did as he was bid.
Having been charged to indulge in wedded bliss, he went to go find the agent of his happiness. She was sitting with her uncle and Lorna Alvin, chatting happily as the reception carried on around them.
Charlie looked up at his approach, a broad and radiant smile curving her lips. “Hello, husband. Shall we enjoy another dance?”
He leaned down to murmur in her ear. “I have a different dance in mind. Shall we leave these nice people to their party?”
For answer, Charlie politely excused herself and slid her hand into the crook of Asher’s arm. “Home, then?”
Asher chuckled and quoted Shakespeare. “‘That is my home of love: if I have ranged, like him that travels I return again.’” He bent and stole a kiss. “Let’s go home,” he agreed, and they slipped away, eager to begin their lifelong collaboration together.
Quinn Rutherford’s story continues in Agent of Change. Coming Soon!