Chapter Text
“Here you are, dearest.”
Philomena blinks her heavily kohl-lined eyes, focusing on the treats that had momentarily interrupted her relating of Very Important Things.
“Geoff, I’ve gained a stone since we began our Courtship, I hope you are aware.”
Blue eyes twinkle at her, and Philomena knows that what he says next will have her reaching out for the plate. It seems whenever he gets that particular look in his eyes, she is unable to tell him ‘no’ to whatever it is that he suggests. “Believe me, Mena, I’ve noticed.” His eyes slant in an expression that never fails to send a fissure of heat down her spine. “Besides, they’re good for you. And look how delicious they seem! Why, if my spouse offered me a plate of crumpets that were chock full of berries and grains and…”
“Oh, give one here,” Philomena cedes, motioning for Geoffrey to bring the plate closer. “La, crumpets!” she sighs, picking one up and taking a large, unladylike bite. “Wethe weally arw wewwy nummy, Geoff-y.”
“You know that I hate it when you call me that,” Geoffrey offers, but the protest sounds, at best, half-hearted now. Philomena has been calling him that for well over ten months now, four of which have been spent in happily wedded bliss. If he’d truly protested to her calling him by that moniker, why, they would have never gotten out of the Luckluster Library, would they?
Swallowing that bite and taking another, Mena argues around her food, “No, you don’t. You love it, Geoff, and you know it.”
“You never do stop talking, do you?” One of Geoffrey’s well-manicured fingers winds itself around a crimp in her freshly whitened hair. Mena sputters defensively.
“Surely I can’t talk all the time.”
Smirking, Geoffrey assures her, “Last night I was treated to a full discussion on the merits of merlot nail lacquer versus plum, dearest. While you slept .”
Sure that her blush was shining through her layers of carefully applied powder, Philomena asks, “And which did you decide you preferred, Geoff? The plum or the merlot?”
“I believe my opinion was irrelevant in your musings, Mena. You were most concerned about Alice’s thoughts on the matter, actually.”
“Oh, la! Now you’re just being silly , Geoff! Alice never wears nail lacquer, what with opening all of those Doors to and fro! Whatever would I ask her thoughts on such a matter for? Oh--!” She grasps Geoffrey’s arm to keep him from removing the crumpets from her presence with one hand and snatches for another with her the other. “Did you see Alice and Tarrant yesterday coming in from the Snud-facing garden? Her hair ! And wherever do you think his ascot got off to? La! I don‘t believe she was even aware that her tunic was backwards !”
Geoffrey snorts, and says, “Quite. His shirt was untucked and very rumpled, as well. I suppose it follows if they couldn’t even manage to court properly than the marriage that resulted from that Courtship would be equally improper.”
Another bite, and Mena chastises her husband with a sharp, playful, “La, Geoff, aren’t you being just a tad critical? We were not exactly the souls of propriety towards the end of our Courtship either, if I recall.”
“Our Courtship lasted considerably longer than theirs, Mena.”
Philomena continues as if Geoffrey hadn‘t spoken. “And if I recall correctly, a certain someone,” here she pauses to give him a pointed look, accentuated by batting crystal-dust-coated lashes coyly, “lost his jacket, waistcoat, and ascot in the stream, where it was fished out by that absolute tart Lady Callia—”
Rushing to defend himself, Geoffrey asserts, “That was only after someone else misplaced their garters and invited Sir Frederick to assist them in finding them!”
Giggling, Philomena says, “La! Just wait until the Kingsleigh-Hightopp Courtship Anniversary Party next week, Geoff! I won’t be the only member of the Court known for such behaviors, mark my words!”
Clearly intrigued, Geoffrey murmurs, “Hearing rumbles, are you? Pray tell, dearest.”
*~*~*~*
“Have they served the pears?”
“Yes, Alice.”
“Not our pears, but just… pears. In general. From the trees on the edge of the wood?”
Tarrant can not let the opportunity to tease his wife pass him by. “What, you didn’t want to serve pears from Our Tree? Oh, dear. This is most inconvenient, as I’ve already had Chessur take the trays out… but I suppose if we hurry, we can gather them up before too many couples taste what could be in their future…”
Alice’s look of alarm is extreme; a chortle bubbles up from his throat, giving away the joke, and she smacks him lightly upon the arm. “Do not do that to me, Tarrant! Good Underland, but you nearly gave me an apoplexy! Thinking of all of those couples with our fruit…!”
Kissing her swiftly, enjoying the soft sound of their lips meeting and the gentle caress of her touch, Tarrant whispers against her mouth, “Nay, Alice. Those are for us, and us alone.” Caressing her waist, he asks, “How long until we need to make our appearance on the hilltop, wife?”
“Not long enough to indulge in the direction in which your thoughts have wandered, husband,” Alice tells him.
Pouting out his lower lip in what he hopes is a beguiling manner, Tarrant wheedles, “Are you certain, Alice? We can duck into your Heart room…take a small basket with us…no one will even notice that we are gone…”
“There you are!” Tweedle Dee waddles into the room, effectively quashing any success Tarrant may have hoped to have in regards to convincing his wife to forgo the festivities of the day for something that, in his opinion, would have been a decidedly more festive way to celebrate the anniversary of the commencement of their Courtship. “I told you they’d be in heres, didn’t I, Dum?”
“No, I told yous they’d be here, and you said they wouldn’t, you did,” Tweedle Dum insists, coming up behind his brother.
“Hello, boys,” Alice greets them, stepping out of Tarrant’s arms and towards the twins. “Is it time, then?”
“It is indeed, Alice,” Dee nods.
“Yes, the Queen told us she and Thackery and all the others are waitin’ on you, they are.” Their message delivered, the boys turn around and leave them, chucking each other on the back of the head, arguing over what delicacies they would eat first.
Smiling, Alice turns to him, and the sheer joy in her expression steals Tarrant’s breath for a moment. “Shall we go, husband? I’m looking forward to constructing a great number of Doors to the Bottom of Hearts this season.”
“Is that the only reason you agreed to host this event, wife? To further assist your career as Underland’s premier Door Crafter?” Tarrant lifts his brow in challenge, and Alice laughs.
“Well, I shall not lie and say that the thought did not cross my mind that if a great many couples left the library then they would be needing Doors…”
Tarrant grins, knowing there is a ‘but’ coming.
“But—” Alice pauses when she sees his tie flutter, brow raised. Clearly deciding to let the show of emotion pass for the moment, she continues with, “my main motivation is seeing as many couples as happily settled as we are, husband.”
“Are you happy, wife?” Alice has told him—many times!—that she loves him, that she needs him, and yes, that she’s happy—but he never tires of hearing it come from her lips.
“Of course, husband! Do you doubt me when I tell you that our marriage makes me the happiest of women?”
“No, my Alice…” Tarrant whispers, freshly bandaged fingers winding through her hair. “I would just like to hear you say it… once more.”
Obliging him, Alice stands on her toes, brushes her nose past his, and sighs against his mouth, “You make me so very happy, Tarrant. I Love you, husband.”
“And I Love you, wife. My Alice…” he nuzzles his face against hers, nips her chin lightly with his teeth, sighs as her warm wet mouth finds his neck and begins suckling.
“There you are!” Philomena flounces into the room— blast !—interrupting them once again. “Oh, la! There is time enough for that later!” she says, snapping her fingers in their general direction as Alice and Tarrant reluctantly part. Tarrant scowls at her, but knows that he will not stay irritated at her for long. People seldom are, with Philomena. “Those Tweedle boys said they’d told you ten minutes past that we were all ready for you, and when I heard that, I said to myself, ‘Self, you must go and fetch them immediately, before that husband of Alice’s manages to convince her to away to their Rooms!’”
Sure that he is flushing in what could only be a guilty manner, Tarrant steps away from Alice, adjusts his waistcoat, re-tightens his ascot (which somehow, in their clinch, had managed to loosen itself… Alice’s fingers are rather clever… and not only with Door Craft), and clears his throat. Thus prepared, he gallantly offers an arm to both ladies, who accept with giggles (Philomena) and an appreciative sigh (Alice).
“Why thank you, sir!” Philomena cheers. “I am most grateful for your easy acquiescence. Why, Geoffrey insisted that you would refuse to come down for another full half-hour! It is gratifying, indeed, that I will be proven correct!”
Tarrant giggles and leaning in toward Alice ’s ear whispers, “A mere half an hour is far too brief a time to accomplish things... satisfactorily . Shall I inform our Lady Philomena that she would have been proven correct in either case?”
“Tarrant!” Alice hisses on a bubble of laughter.
And although the words had not been meant for Philomena ’s ears, she had heard them nonetheless. “Oh, ho! La! I should very much like my Geoff-y to hear that !”
And as Philomena raises a hand to wave her husband over to them, Alice leans heavily on her husband ’s arm until her lips are a whisper away. “More than a half an hour, hm? I’ll hold you to that.”
“I trust you will, my wife,” he whispers back, eyes shining with mirth and promise and happiness and Love. “And I am very much looking forward to it.”