The Envelope: King Me (1)

[manniness]

Part 4: King me

The news had spread as news tends to do: quickly. Of course.

"Who is this new fellow down the street, Miss Kingsleigh?" one of the board members asks in a falsely idle tone. The company's first bimonthly meeting in which Alice has been in attendance since her return has just concluded and already there is gossip to be dealt with! "The one you've leased that shop to?" The one who accompanies you home every night and escorts you to your office every morning, he doesn't say.

It doesn't matter; Alice can read the words in his eyes, hear them in his tone. She grins, "That, sir, is Tarrant Hightopp, and you are cordially invited to the grand reception which will be held in conjunction with the opening of his store for business."

"A grand opening? A reception?" the Hatter fairly squeaks with excitement later that evening when she confesses to the existence of the event. Alice had fabricated it on the spot in order to forestall judgmental nonsense and is rather surprised by the Hatter's obvious enthusiasm for it. "Marvelous!" he exclaims. "Why, we'll model the old and new, toss scones and launch teacups, there will be bread and butter and cake—!"

"Hatter!" Alice calls softly, wrapping her arms around his waist as he lurches toward the writing desk, his fingers grasping for his ledger.

"I shall have to pen the Thank You notes personally!"

"The invitations," she reminds him.

"Hm? Oh, yes, yes. Those as well."

Sighing she lets him get on with it. She composes the guest list, including Hamish and William and James (and yes, even Lady Ascot!) and begins addressing the envelopes as the Hatter scribbles away in a flurry of energy beside her at the writing desk.

When she decides that her fingers would like a break from addressing one address after another, Alice collects one of the still-drying cards and reads the Hatter's no-longer-shaky-or-oddly-slanted handwriting:

Dear Mister Bower,

Although we have not yet met, Miss Alice Kingsleigh assures me that you are a man of discriminating and adventuresome tastes.

"But, Hatter," she protests, gently fanning the card in the air. "I haven't assured you that Mister Bower has discriminating and adventuresome tastes."

The Hatter pauses in the middle of composing the next invitation and looks up. "And what would you say if I were to ask you about the man's character? Would you have assured me that he is an interesting gentleman, deserving of an invitation?"

"Well, yes…"

Seeming quite satisfied with this response, he concludes, "So, as I would only ever invite people with discriminating and adventuresome tastes to our event, he must possess those qualities!"

She sighs out a laugh. "Hatter, I adore your logic," she informs him and returns to the note in her hand.

Forthwith, I would like to take this opportunity to extend a most cordial invitation to you concerning the grand reception celebrating the achievements brought about by a union between Miss Kingsleigh and myself. Festivities will take place at the following establishment.

Alice chuckles as his clearly enthusiastic phrasing. Goodness, if his excitement is so blatant when it comes to a shop opening, one could be forgiven for wondering if he might explode from joy were he planning his own wedding reception!

She scans the invitation once more and, this time, she frowns. "Hatter," she interrupts him again. And again, he promptly lifts his pen and turns toward her.

"Yes, Alice?"

"You haven't given the name of the shop."

He considers the invitation in her hand briefly. "No, I haven't, have I?"

She waits a moment for him to explain that but he merely looks at her. Finally, she presses, "Have you decided yet what you will call it? Your shop?"

He smiles. "Wonderland."

"Wonderland?" she echoes through a wide smile.

"Yes, it's the only name appropriate under the circumstances," he says cryptically.

Alice, being quite used to nearly understanding his brilliant ideas, ignores the fact that she doesn't catch all his meaning. Instead, she focuses on her love for the idea itself. "Brilliant, wonderful, and mad," she approves.

The Hatter shares her smile, then leans forward to steal a kiss.

It is that evening, as Alice assists the Hatter with the invitations, that she realizes for the first time that she is surprisingly happy here, in London. She had never expected this place, which is so utterly normal and predictable, to be so full of excitement and adventure. Oh, there are no jabberwockies, true. But there are other challenges ahead of them. Ones that are thrilling rather than frightening. Alice could get quite used to these sorts of exploits. She marvels; her world has been made into something more than it had been just a few weeks ago by the Hatter's mere presence in it.

And then she thinks of Underland and all of her friends there who have, quite possibly, been lost. How much of what she had fought the Red Queen for still remains? Does she want to know? It will break her heart to learn that the Windmill House has been crushed under the weight of water or that the pearly balcony upon which she had considered the moon with the Hatter beside her is slimy with water plants and algae and her friends themselves…!

She cannot bear to contemplate it, so she doesn't.

But the fate of Underland is not the only worrisome point to intrude upon her incomparable happiness. There are also the letters. Her parting words to her sister had been a reminder to keep in touch and that is precisely what Margaret does. Although, given what she has to say, Alice rather wishes she wouldn't keep in touch quite so often.

Alice, you've been so smart – a smarter woman than I – to avoid marriage and romantic entanglements. I regret now never broaching this topic with you. In my defense, I can only say that I assumed you understood the dangers inherent in such unions. Enjoy Mister Hightopp's company if that is what you desire, but do so responsibly, dear sister! Or else you may find yourself as chained as I am…

Her sister means well, Alice knows. Truly, marriage had not been Margaret's happily ever after. It had, in fact, turned into a nightmare. Alice respects her sister's fears, but does not share them. She further understands that Margaret's constant warnings of "whatever you do, don't marry him!" are made not because she objects to the Hatter as a brother-in-law. No, her sister objects to the institution of marriage itself. Alice can hardly blame her: with an example like Lowell, is it any wonder that she lacks faith in matrimony?

What Alice finds more disturbing and grating than her sister's smothering concern are the almost-daily invitations to teatime (and sometimes dinner) from her mother which are addressed to Alice… and only Alice. Helen's insistence on excluding the Hatter from family gatherings despite knowing the nature of Alice's attachment to him is far less confrontational than Margaret's letter-bound lectures, but more damning.

All of these unwelcoming invitations, Alice burns in the stove at her office along with the letters from Margaret (once Alice has composed and sent a reply, of course) lest the Hatter see them. If he were to read Margaret's letters (with the aid of a looking glass, naturally), he might take it as an attack upon his person and Alice would rather wear stockings every Sunday for the rest of her life than sour the burgeoning chummy acquaintance he'd struck up with her sister. But if he were to see proof of Helen's constant snubs… Well, Alice would rather fight the Jabberwocky a second time and lose than see him disheartened now, after he has faced and overcome so much and with such inspiring cheer!

So, Alice replies to Margaret's notes and Margaret's notes only. She even informs the Hatter that her sister had written and wished him well. He happily gives her brief comments to pass on in exchange.

"Tell her that tomorrow shall be a day for all things with a peach hue. I can hear it in the air!" he says over dinner one evening and Alice promises to relay the message.

Replying to her sister's letters is the only way she can cope with her mother's constant invitations, to which Alice has neither thought of nor made an appropriate response. At least this way, she can speak to her mother through Margaret without causing a confrontation over her mother's rather uncharitable mood, the evidence of which Alice endeavors to hide from her lover. Alice assumes that she has been successful in sheltering the Hatter from the carryings-on of her family until, one evening, he presents her with her mother's latest invitation.

He places it on the writing desk in the study (at which Alice is seated) and takes half a step back, waiting for her reaction. Alice stares at the Kingsleigh stationary for a long, silent moment. Chewing her lip, she glances up and meets his stare.

"Will you answer this one, Alice?" he lisps gently.

Alice shifts guiltily. The Hatter does not remind her of their intent to return to Underland permanently. He does not remind her that travel between Underland and Upland is not easy. He doesn't have to.

"I only attend mad tea parties," she declares although the attempt at humor is weak. The words come out strangled and her smile is wobbly.

The Hatter looks from Alice to the invitation and back again. "Alice, even Tumtum trees would rather bend than break." When Alice says nothing, he sighs softly and sinks into the seat beside hers. Their shoulders bump-and-brush and his warm, thimble-capped fingers curl around her left hand atop the desk. He murmurs, "Ye havenae answered a one o' yer mam's invitations, laddie."

For a moment, she considers maintaining that this is the first one she has received… but no. The Hatter had already seen her resigned expression when he'd presented it to her. She had not seemed surprised enough then for her to justify such a claim now.

Alice studies the Hatter's serious expression, his somberly green eyes and then sighs with acquiescence. Fine, all right; she's been caught. Now what? She glances down at the envelope. For the first time in her life, she's not sure what she ought to do with the thing.

She feels… lost. How can she possibly do what the Hatter suggests? How can she bend without breaking?

She looks up at him and flaps her free hand in a gesture for help. And help he does. The Hatter presses a kiss to her temple as he squeezes her fingers in his grasp. His grip is strong and his skin is a bit rough from the preparations he has been making in anticipation of the shop's opening. The light from the gas lamps reflect off of the silver thimbles covering his fingertips; if they'd had eyes, Alice is sure they would have winked.

The Hatter reminds her, "You said that your mam only needs the opportunity to see in me what you do…"

Alice watches as he reaches across the desk and produces the guest list for the upcoming reception. He then places it squarely in front of her, for her to consider. And she does. Perhaps if she declines her mother's invitation to tea (or perhaps it's dinner this time), citing the demands on her time that the preparations for the grand opening require, and then if she hints that an invitation will soon follow…

Smiling, she reaches toward the Hatter and tugs him closer and into a proper kiss. "Crazy, mad, wonderful…" she mutters against his mouth, "man."

He grins back with abundant delight and watches as Alice adds her mother and sister's names to the guest list.

"When the time comes," he asks, nuzzling her ear and tickling her neck until she squirms, "will ye stand wi'me an' greet them?"

The words seem oddly – curiously – formal. But sometimes he is. She still hasn't puzzled that out about him yet. Instead of asking, she responds in kind. "You can count on me, Tarrant Hightopp," she vows.

Leaning back, he smiles softly. "Thank you, your Majesty."

Studying his expression, Alice slowly shakes her head in wonder. "Why do you call me that?"

"What else would I call you?"

"You call me Alice," she reminds him.

"When you call me Hatter," he qualifies.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she murmurs, shaking her head in amused befuddlement.

"Am I?" he asks, looking rather pleased with himself.

Laughing softly, Alice assures him, "You are."

Suddenly, life seems busier, bigger, fuller than it ever has before. Alice splits her days, spending the mornings and early afternoons at her office and then rushing to the Hatter's shop with a late lunch picked up from the teashop to assist him (and both Robert and Edgar) in whatever capacity she is able as they getting ready for the opening. The Hatter works fastest by himself, of course, so, mostly the boys hand him the materials he requests and Alice tidies up in the wake of the ongoing activity. It's exhausting… and she isn't even doing anything!

One evening, two days before the event itself, Alice catches Edgar smiling at her inexplicably.

"What?" she demands of the capricious boy. "Have I a length of ribbon stuck to the sole of my shoe?"

"No, Miss Kingsleigh," the young man says, his smile widening.

"Well? What is it?"

He hazel eyes glance in the direction of one of the wardrobes. "You'll see."

Alice studies the closed doors he'd indicated and oh she is curious, but no. Let it be the Hatter's surprise. And, two days later. It is indeed.

"Shall I assist you with your wardrobe tonight, Miss Kingsleigh?" Marta asks a bit stuffily, not pausing in the task of clearing away the dinner dishes. The poor woman looks as if she is frantically trying to ignore the fact that her services as a lady's maid have not been required since the Hatter had taken up residence. At the moment, he is absent: washing up in the necessary room and finishing his preparations for the evening. He had practically glowed at dinner. Alice doesn't doubt that she is far more nervous than he is!

The newspapers had been notified of the event and, upon hearing of Mister Hightopp's unique speech impediment, had insisted on a personal interview. The article had caused quite a sensation. Alice doesn't doubt that his shop will be overrun with curious London Socialites from the moment he opens for business on the morrow!

Belatedly, Alice considers that she might have made a mistake in sharing him with London. Whenever will she find the time to simply be with him if he is swamped with work?

"Miss Kingsleigh?" Marta prompts her.

"Hm? Oh! I'm sorry. No, no thank you, Marta. I shall manage. Enjoy your evening."

With a disapproving nod, the woman retires and Alice draws in a fortifying breath before heading upstairs. She takes each step slowly, deliberately, imagining the evening to come. There will be musicians performing and refreshments offered. There will be lords and ladies and other well-to-dos present. Alice doesn't doubt that the Hatter will manage them all beautifully. Perhaps that is what is making her anxious. Perhaps she fears that he will not need her…

"Stop being a stupid girl, Alice," she scolds herself and then almost laughs at the irony: no doubt, if London Society ever realizes her true relationship with Tarrant Hightopp, they would label her a stupid girl, indeed! Living – and sleeping in the same bed! – with a man who is not her husband! Scandalous!

Alice does not have any objections to being married to him. Her sister's mantra is not influencing her hesitance in this matter. Rather, it is Alice's hopes for Tarrant that have postponed any discussion concerning marriage. She would rather see him successful first, would rather have him discover who this London Hatter is by himself and for himself, before she becomes his public partner in all things. People will talk – as people are wont to do – but what will that say about him? That is Alice's chief concern. Will they tout him as "that mad fellow who moved into town and starting turning us all on our heads!" or will they mutter, "that odd husband of Alice Kingsleigh's never would have made a go of it in this town without her patronage"?

Perhaps the Hatter does not care what people say about him here. Perhaps he has never cared, not even in Underland. But Alice cares. She wants only the best for him and if she can provide this, she will.

Reaching the landing, Alice notes the light under the door to her bedroom. It feels strange knocking on her own door, but the occasion seems to demand it.

"Come in, Alice!" he calls.

Pushing open the door, the first thing Alice sees is him. He is standing before her looking glass in his new suit sans jacket. It is a creation of his own and one that Alice doesn't doubt has the potential to become very popular. His trousers, though long and straight, are a delightful wine-on-burgundy paisley print. His waistcoat is magnificently orange and the linen weave of it includes faint hints of magenta. His dress shirt is a rich, peacock blue and his cravat a satiny, emerald green with (Alice squints at it just to be sure, and yes, those are!) white rabbits printed at somewhat regular intervals. He fiddles with it as he watches her in the mirror's reflection.

"You," she says, coming up behind him and wrapping both arms around him so that she can investigate his waistcoat pockets, "look magnificently, majestically marvelous."

"Silly Alice," he scolds her with a grin stretched so wide with joy and pride it's a wonder he can speak at all! "You should only say such things to a king." He pivots and presses a kiss to her nose. "Although I highly appreciate the prolific use of M's."

"I thought you might."

He winks and then glances over her shoulder toward the bed. Alice follows the twitch of his chin and gasps at the sight of the garments that had been laid out for her.

"You—this—!" She has no words, truly. The blouse is deep, royal blue with a pattern woven into the fabric itself. The vest is a caramel, golden brown, made interestingly dynamic by the variations in the threads of the fabric itself: some are pale yellow while others are nearly chocolate. And the skirt… No, wait. Not a skirt. This is…

"Did you use my sketches of Japan as a reference for these?" Alice asks, gently investigating the pleated folds to discover that, yes, they actually are trousers. Very full and wide-legged trousers, cut in the style worn by men in Japan. And what's more, they are a lovely dark brown. The creases, however, conceal glimpses of vibrant sky blue. She imagines how they will look when she moves, flashing slashes of summer sky…

"Everyone will adore you," she declares, her heart aching at the thought of seeing him exhausted from work night after night.

"You are sure?" he queries worriedly.

Alice blinks at him, startled. She cannot recall ever seeing or sensing this uncertainty in him before and she can find no words to give him. In answer, she turns and embraces him in silence. At once, his tension dissipates. She kisses his neck and smooths her cheek against his cravat, which he had tied into a simple bow. He lifts his arms and rubs her back until she sighs happily against his waistcoat.

"There's more," he informs her after the moment has been filled with the monotonous ticking of the mantle clock.

"A jacket?" she questions, leaning back to view his expression.

He wiggles his bushy brows. "Better," he promises. Alice cannot imagine it, so she doesn't try. She holds still as he fingers the buttons on her blouse. "May I?" he rasps.

She nods. This is not the first time that he has helped her undress. It will not be the last, but she is suddenly overcome with fear. After tonight, he will not be her Hatter, will he? He will be a hatter of London and…

"Be with me," she breathes, shrugging out of her shrift. The Hatter's green eyes focus upon her bare breasts.

"Alice…" he whispers, indecision making his moan long and thin.

She reaches for his hands and places them upon her. She shivers at the cool, metal kiss of his ever-present thimbles against the swell of her breasts. "Please. Before the public has you, I want…"

He glances up sharply and meets her gaze. "They'll not have me. Only you."

The promise makes her shiver, the feel of his trouser buttons giving way to her questing fingers makes her smile, and the first thrust of his hips as he enters her makes her sigh. She braces herself against the vanity tabletop, wraps her legs around his hips, pushes his trousers down his thighs as he kneels on the padded bench and gives to her again and again. The bottles of perfume clink against the sliver handles of her hair brushes but she closes her eyes and simply feels him and her and them. She feels them, together.

"Hatter—!" she gasps as the cold, hard surface of his thimbled thumb presses deeply within her flesh and rubs against her there. Precisely there!

He moans when she reaches the height of her pleasure. She gasps and holds onto his shoulders, holds him steady when he buries his face in her neck and clutches her waist with his long fingers and drives into her. And she takes him. She takes all that he gives.

And when he is still except for the dramatic expansion of his chest with each labored breath, Alice thinks about his essence within her. Yes, she will keep that part of him with her tonight. It will remind her that she is a fool to fear losing him. He is hers.

"Thank you," she whispers against his orange hair, "for indulging me."

He giggles and Alice smiles with him. But then he leans back and regards her with an expression that steadily sobers. "E'erything is fine," he assures her. "We'll tend to our guests an' make our claims an' then we'll come home."

"We?" she confirms shakily.

"We."

And with a promise like that, how can she delay both of them any longer than she already has? The Hatter helps her off of the dresser, his brows rising when she refuses the handkerchief he hands her, and then his entire body seems to twitch when he realizes what that signifies.

"Alice…" he growls and then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The gesture does not sufficiently calm him if the hot look he gives her is any indication. "Naughty."

She supposes she is. "It's one of my finer qualities," she replies cheekily.

"Aye," he agrees, catching her hand and placing nibbling kisses on the palm. "'Tis."

Dressing is far more entertaining that she had expected. She moves her arms and legs as requested, but mostly watches the Hatter's enthusiasm manifest itself through his expression as his creation at last comes to life.

"Do you approve?" she asks unnecessarily, turning in a circle without being prompted. She has never worn a more comfortable (or more provocative) blouse. Rather than the high collars of recent fashion, this one plunges straight-and-narrow to her décolletage. The ruffled edging of the daring collar teases her bare skin. The lines of the vest hug her torso the way a corset would, but this option is a delight to wear. As she'd guessed, the pleats of her trouser skirt do flare and flash wonderfully with movement. She admires this effect in the looking glass for so long that the Hatter disappears without her even noticing… at least not until he is suddenly pinning a blue-on-buckskin top hat to her hair.

"Marvelous," she pronounces, admiring the hat as he places a deep blue cape around her shoulders. The cape is a work of art, defying any and all words to describe it. It is far better than a jacket, she admits.

And then she turns and admires him. He has shrugged into his suit jacket, a magnificently tailed affair of emerald and indigo embroidery on violet. That particular combination shouldn't have looked so marvelous, but it undeniably does.

"You've a new hat," she observes, examining the remarkable example of a chestnut brown (utterly un-burnt, not-singed and non-scuffed) top hat. The assortment of colors interspersed throughout by way of the band and pins make it just outrageous enough to compete with his gravity-defying hair. Meeting his slightly anxious gaze, she delivers her verdict, "I like it!"

The Hatter snorts with humor. He places his hands on her waist, pointedly admires both her and the fact that she is wearing garments that he had tailored just for her. After a long moment, he takes a step closer, fitting his knee between hers, and glances up at her through his wild brows. She does not ask him if he is thinking the same thoughts she is thinking – her thoughts are mainly composed of memories of the rather indescribable experience of abusing her dresser and vanity mirror. No, she does not ask him. But she fully intends to take a survey on it before the night is over.

"Are we late enough yet?" he whispers suddenly.

Alice sputters on a laugh. "Fashionably so," she agrees.

When they arrive, Robert and Edgar look positively delightful in their Hightopp-made suits. They also look positively relieved to see the both of them. "The guests are already here!" Edgar chides them. "You're late!" Robert declares.

The Hatter brazenly takes Alice's hand and grins. With that gesture, Alice thinks of James – she had told him that her tardiness is communicable through hand-to-hand contact – and upon entering the shop, she sees not only him, but his brother as well. William is resplendent in a black satin top hat, very classical and stylish. ("What a dashing gentleman you are!" Alice praises.) James is modeling headwear that the Hatter had clearly intended just for him; the bowler hat is an imaginative green with a fanciful band and a cheeky feather. ("You would make a Cheshire Cat jealous with that style, Jamie!" she compliments.)

Alice is both charmed and surprised by the fact that the Hatter holds her hand in his very tightly and blatantly, not releasing it even to shake hands with the guests (which he accomplishes rather dexterously with his free left hand). The initial shock of the gaffe melts into amusement and then curiosity as he speaks to the guests one-by-one and Alice translates.

"Thank you so very much for coming, Lord Throngate. Truly, it is an honor."

"The pleasure is ours, Madam Winchester."

"Mister Bower, how marvelous of you to join us in celebration!"

"Lady Ascot! We've a hat just for you!" And, shockingly enough, after a singularly expressive, doubt-tainted sniff, the woman deigns to glance at it… and is won over at first sight.

Their circuit of the room eventually brings them to Lord Ascot. The Hatter greets him with even more cheerful enthusiasm than the others and then, in a quiet aside to Alice, says, "I regret that I must attend to some things. I shall return in but a moment."

"Have you been waiting a terribly long time?" Alice asks Hamish as the Hatter confers with Robert and Edgar, no doubt in order to convey some additional instructions.

The current Lord Ascot grins ruefully. "I have known you for years, Alice. You would be late to your own wedding." She has no answer to that, merely an apologetic grin. Hamish sniffs and admits, "We were the first to arrive."

And intentionally, she doesn't doubt. Hamish had looked after the guests in her and the Hatter's stead. "Thank you, Hamish. Your forethought and forbearance are much appreciated."

"Humph," he grunts. An instant later his expression softens. "To be perfectly honest, I got quite a bit of business accomplished. I would appreciate it if you were late more often."

Alice enjoys that comment for a moment before Hamish sets aside his beverage and holds out his hand. "Here now, Alice, let's have a look at this masterpiece you're wearing."

She models the ensemble with playful flair and, as she does so, catches sight of Lady Ascot, still wearing her new Hightopp hat, and smiling. The gentleman at her elbow – none other than Mister Bower – looks thoroughly charmed. "Dear dodo birds," she mutters, flabbergasted.

Hamish, noticing the direction of her gaze, glowers. "I shall hold you personally responsible if my driveway becomes a jam of traffic due to the gentlemen callers, Alice."

"Would you be all right with that? Your mother and… someone new?"

He smiles at her with exasperation, "Alice, truly, you cannot see the forest for the trees at times. I was sure that inviting you to the manor for long walks and such would rile her into going out."

She snorts. "Oh, Hamish. I could have told you that would never work!"

He nods. When faced with the success of a plan not his own, what more can he do?

Still watching Lady Ascot bewitch Mister Bower and also thinking of her faith in the Hatter's future success in London, Alice says to Hamish with a triumphant grin. "I was right, wasn't I?"

He sighs. "When aren't you?" Hamish replies with a rare smile. He then offers his arm, clearly intending to escort her back to the Hatter's side. "However, it looks like high time you rescued him from Lord Rathbury."

Knowing how much the man in question loves to listen to the sound of his own voice, Alice gladly accepts his assistance.

As the night wears on, the shop fills to near bursting. To Alice, it seems as if every invitation had been answered favorably and the individual invited had brought as many guests as he or she had felt just within the boundaries of propriety. Thanks to the rather tantalizing news article, no doubt. Oh, yes, Londoners are a curious lot. Alice has undeniable proof now that she isn't the only one!

It is nearly ten o'clock when the door opens and Alice manages to glimpse (over a sea of magnificently hatted heads) her mother and sister hovering uncertainly on the threshold. Of course, it takes her and the Hatter (who has not released her hand once in the last hour; she fears this will undo all her good intentions about keeping her patronage of his shop out of common knowledge, but he looks so luminously happy that she can't bring herself to protest) nearly fifteen minutes to make their way over to them.

"Welcome to Wonderland!" Alice practically sings as she leans forward to kiss each woman's cheek in greeting.

"Good gracious, Alice! What in the world are you wearing?" Margaret exclaims.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" she bubbles, the atmosphere making her giddy. "I shall ask the Hatter to make an ensemble for you as well! It's amazingly comfortable! What colors for Margaret, do you think, darling?" she asks him.

He is already considering the question if his clinically evaluating stare is anything to go by. "Mint, lavender and sage!" he declares with a decisive nod.

Margaret approves the selection once Alice repeats it for her benefit. Her sister then adds with playful sternness, "With a bit less plunge on the north side, if you don't mind!" The retort is accompanied by the unmistakable twitching of lips that want nothing more than to a smile.

"Oh, pooh. You're no fun at all, Magpie," Alice teases. "Come along, mother. Lord Ascot is here and you haven't seen either William or James in… what? A year? And that smiling lady over there is—"

"Lady Ascot?" Margaret wheezes.

"Yes! It's amazing what a new hat can accomplish, isn't it?"

And the Hatter's creations do seem to be rather magical. He has something for each of the invited guests – a hat or a scarf or even an embroidered handbag – as well as those who had merely tagged along. The fine quality of the creations and the sheer quantity of them still leaves Alice breathless with awe.

"You made something for everyone?" she had murmured once she'd realized. She had leaned close to convey the message, whispering directly into his ear and bypassing the obstacle of the lively music.

"Of course, Alice. This is our reception and these are our guests!"

The customs of Underland never cease to amaze her. She would protest the cost of it except she herself has learned that things of exceptional quality are so appreciated in London that having one of a particularly fine item is never enough. No, these people will be future customers of the Hatter's shop. They will be back every season for a new suit or hat or fan or cape. It is a daring but brilliant move to give away samples of the delights yet to be commissioned.

When the sounds of street traffic from the opera crowd begin to intrude upon the festivities, the guests finish their glasses of wine or brandy and, pair-by-pair bid their farewells. It is an exhausting hour of final chats and thank-you-once-again's. Even Alice's parting conversation with her mother and sister is rushed. Although Alice has been avoiding her mother's invitations for weeks, she wishes she could have spoken to her more than briefly here tonight. Helen Kingsleigh's kind greeting of "Congratulations, Mister Hightopp, on such a grand accomplishment" had been wonderful to hear, but not nearly enough… But there will be other opportunities, Alice is sure.

With a sigh, she squeezes the Hatter's hand, which is still holding tightly to her own. "Today is now tomorrow," she informs him and he giggles.

"True, but for some, tomorrow is already today." He nods in the direction of the shop's chaise lounge and Alice covers her mouth to stifle a laugh at the sight of William and James sprawled across it, fast asleep.

"Oh, dear…" She glances through the thinning crowd to Hamish, who appears to be deeply involved in a conversation with Lord Thorngate. Before she can consider whether or not to alert him to his sons' state of exhaustion, more guests demand her attention as they state their intent to depart.

It is very, very tomorrow when Alice finds herself facing the very last guest remaining. "First to arrive, last to leave, Lord Ascot?" she teases him.

"I had to see it for myself," he declares. And then he offers his hand to the Hatter, "Well done, Mister Hightopp. A very grand opening."

As they clasp and then release hands, Alice cannot contain her triumph one moment longer. She announces with pomp and pride, "I was right! London adores you, Hatter!"

The Hatter allows Alice's tugs on his jacket to bring him about to face her. Giving her his undivided attention, he queries worriedly, "And you? Do you as well, my Alice?"

She reaches for his hands and grasps one in each of hers. "I do," she informs him, uncaring of Hamish's immediate presence. No doubt Robert and Edgar are also listening in as they tidy up the room. "I already do, have always done, and shall never fail to do so from this moment henceforth."

"And I, you, my Alice. I do, I have, I shall." He leans forward to brush a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth and then burrs in her ear, "Ye are mae one love, for ayeways."

Alice leans on his hands for support. Her knees feel rather like aspic and her head like a wispy cloud caught in a high, dry wind and her heart like the ocean tide just before a storm. Really, in such a situation, there's only one thing to do: smile through the tears, which she does… and rather spectacularly if the Hatter's replying grin is any indication.

The sound of a throat being reluctantly cleared brings her back to herself. "I'm sorry Hamish. That was ridiculously sentimental, I know."

He sniffs. "Sentimental, yes. Ridiculous… no, I don't believe so." His reply is so startling that Alice glances at him… and then she tries not to study his expression too closely. Those are quite possibly tears in his eyes and if they are, she ought to leave them to him. This man knows what love is; he has felt it – been inundated by it – before. And he has lost it. Never has her heart ached more for him.

"Thank you, Lord Ascot," the Hatter replies softly and reverently. Interestingly enough, Hamish nods in acceptance before Alice can translate.

"Dear lord," she teases him, "you aren't beginning to understand all this mirror-wise talk, are you?"

"Bloody hell, I just might be. I lay the blame squarely upon the brandy!"

Where it belongs, no doubt.

Alice butterfly-kisses William and James awake. Or rather, awake enough for their father to herd them out the door and into the waiting carriage. The Hatter orders Edgar to drop the plates he's carrying and Robert to abandon the fetching of water buckets: cleaning is morning's work! They lock up the store and see the boys home… and then the night – what remains of it – is theirs.

The house is dark when they arrive but Alice doesn't bother to light the gas lamps on the first floor. Together, they head upstairs only, tonight, interestingly enough, after the Hatter opens her bedroom door for her, he pauses on the threshold.

Alice does not notice his hesitance until she is halfway across the room. Finding herself alone, she pivots back toward the open door. She is sure that her confused frown is clearly understandable, but she feels compelled to ask, "Aren't you coming to bed?"

He smiles sadly, "I'm afraid, under the circumstances, that I shall have to go to bed."

"Go? Go where?"

He slides his gaze slowly in the direction of the guestroom.

Alice returns to the doorway and reaches for his arm. "But you needn't sleep in there!"

"I'm afraid I must. I've answered, but you haven't yet asked, Alice."

"Asked? I'm sure I… Never mind!" With a shake of her head to scatter the gathering doubt and uncertainty, she says, "Would you like to rest with me tonight?"

"Very much so."

"In that case, you are very welcome to do so."

With a gentle but regret-filled smile, he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. She leans into his touch and sighs as his careful fingers deftly remove the hatpin and lift the top hat from her head. Tucking them under one arm, he caresses her scalp with the other hand, massaging her hair loose from its fastenings. Once all the pins have been deposited into the hat, he presses his lips to her forehead and murmurs, "Shall I fetch Marta to assist you with your wardrobe, Alice?"

What?

She gapes at him. "No, I believe you can manage the fastenings and such just fine."

"And I will look forward to that honor most impatiently, but I cannot, Alice. Not yet."

"Not yet?" she echoes, shocked.

He gives her a brave and happy smile. "I have faith in ye, laddie," he whispers. "An' ye're well worth waiting fer."

"Hatter, as lovely as that is to hear—" And what a relief it is to hear it! "—there's no need for us to spend the night apart." She collects his free hand in hers. "Please, come inside," she murmurs invitingly.

"It wouldn't be proper," he informs her, still smiling happily, as if her attempts at persuasion are encouraging. "Good night, Alice."

He hands her the top hat, pecks her gently on the opposite cheek and then, turning on his heel, strides down the hall to the guest bedroom, not even pausing on the threshold of his room to bid her one more farewell. (Alice knows this because she is still frozen – gaping like a codfish who has suddenly found itself performing the function of ladies' headwear – when the door closes.) Moments later, when her wits return to her, his door is still shut and she is still alone, standing uselessly in the doorway to her room.

What had just happened here? It is not proper for the Hatter to reside in her room tonight? Does that mean she must go to him? Well, it certainly wouldn't hurt to try! In her thirty-and-some-odd years, Alice has learned when a display of pride is utterly unnecessary. This is most assuredly one of those times.

She sets the hat down on her bureau, turns up the gas lantern on the sideboard, and, in the midst of preparing a candle, finds something on her bedside table that had not been there before. She sets aside the candle and stares at the small square of white parchment lying in stark relief against the cherry wood.

It is an envelope.

Odd. Had the Hatter forgotten it here? But no, it is not in his character to be absentminded. If he had put it here, then he had undoubtedly meant for it to be found… and found by her.

The moment she picks it up, she knows this is not the same envelope that she'd found in his jacket pocket in the Room of Doors. This one is newer, crisper, and… is that the Hatter's own watermark? From the stationary she had ordered for him shortly after their arrival in town? Yes, she believes it is.

Slowly, she turns it over in her hands, presses the flap open, and gently tugs out the card. Upon it, she reads two words. They had been written mirror-wise, although Alice does not need a mirror to decipher them:

King me.

That and no more.

Well.

Well!

Now what?

She stares at the inked instruction on the card and then sighs hotly. "Botheration!" she mutters. It is far too late at night and her brain is far too interested in catching up with its day's rest for her to puzzle this out!

Alice hurriedly sorts out the candle and, clutching the card in her other hand, marches into the hall and down two doors to the guestroom.

"Oh! Alice!" the Hatter declares upon responding to her soft knock. He is wearing only his shirtsleeves and trousers and Alice tries not to stare at his bare feet. "Ah, you received my note." He looks utterly delighted… and oddly expectant.

"I did," she replies, taking a purposeful step toward him, crowding him. She expects him to give way, to invite her in.

He doesn't. Curling his fingers around the door and the doorjamb – effectively blocking her path – he asks pleasantly, "Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Kingsleigh?"

Miss Kingsleigh! Now that's taking this strange game of his a bit too far!

"Do not call me that."

"But it's what you are," he replies with a confused frown.

She cannot fathom his honest befuddlement. What in the world is going on here? Even her well-exercised imagination cannot sort through the clues. She holds up the card. "Does this have anything to do with these new sleeping arrangements?"

"No!" he whispers sharply with surprise. "It has everything to do with them!"

Alice surveys his expression as, for the first time, his brows twitch with worry.

"And just how am I to go about turning you into a king, Hatter?" she interrogates him. "I'm in no position to—"

The Hatter inquires, "You reached the eighth square, did you not?" When Alice merely stares at him, he reluctantly elaborates, "Over the last brook?"

Again, she merely waits for him to elaborate. He lets out a long breath, the anxious tilt of his brows collapsing into a frown. For a moment, he seems as lost and doubtful as Alice, but then his smile brightens. "It will be fine. Very fine," he assures them both. "You will remember, Alice. The question will come to you!"

This time, he does not reach out to her, does not press kisses – not even chaste ones! – to her cheek. "Good night, Alice Kingsleigh," he bids her warmly… and then he shuts the door.
 

*~*~*~*