The gang had just gotten out of one of the lowest of low points. Arthur had hardly comprehended Sean getting shot dead in the middle of Rhodes before he'd returned to camp to find out from a hysterical Abigail that Jack had been kidnapped. Dutch led the gang to burning down an old woman's legacy, house and sons included, and they'd hightailed it out of there. Now, not two weeks later, they were clicking heels with the wealthiest of the county, at a party hosted by the mayor of Saint Denis.

Dutch said they were here for reconnaissance, on the lookout for jobs. But Arthur hadn't missed the hungry gleam in Dutch's eye that meant he was after something more. It wasn't all about finding their next job for him; Dutch liked rubbing shoulders with these so-called elites.

But Arthur didn't find their time crashing the mayor's party all a waste. The entertainment had been exciting with a band playing the classics, free drinks, and a spread that could feed the whole city. Then there were the fireworks—the viewing-only sort, not the kind for causing a distraction in order to rob a bank across town.

But with the good, the bad and corrupt followed, which included the worst of men. Lemieux, Crawley, Fussar. Ain't none of them worth shit and Arthur would prefer not to cater to a single one if they could help it. Yet even Hosea seemed to think there were business opportunities for the taking here. Arthur had his doubts, but he'd keep them to himself until he was proven right.

Of all of the rotten men at this party, Arthur was the least comfortable with cozying up to Angelo Bronte. He knew a snake when he saw one and Bronte didn't much try to hide it. The Italian egotist disparaged Americans at every opportunity. Admittedly, Arthur hardly knew the man, but on the few occasions they'd met with him, Arthur felt not a grain of respect, especially after tonight. For one, Señor Bronte didn't mingle. He lorded over all the mayor's guests like a Roman Emperor. He spoke with Dutch in a condescending manner, but Bronte's suggestion to go for the trolley station still got Dutch drooling.

However, Dutch wasn't entirely taken in by Bronte, as at this moment Arthur was following Bronte's man through the mansion, trying to catch word of anything they could use. He was on a missive to find something, but had been told to steal nothing unless it was information. There hadn't been much to recover until Lemieux's man entered an office upstairs. Once the assistant left the room, Arthur slipped in and went straight for the mayor's desk.

Well, Dutch was right with his hunch. It hadn't taken long for Arthur to find a ledger with a loose document that was labeled "Extremely Confidential". Looked like the right kind of information to him.

He stashed it inside his suit jacket and promptly went about getting the hell out of there before he was seen. He opened the door and stepped over the threshold—only to immediately collide with another person.

Damn it, Morgan! He'd been so careful sneaking around this house, but he was a fool for not taking the time to make sure the hall was clear.

He'd momentarily thought it was Lemieux's man he'd run into, but it was a woman who exclaimed, "Oh my! I am so terribly sorry, sir!"

She'd startled him so badly it took Arthur a second to realize she was apologizing for spilling a drink on him. "It's alright—"

Before he knew what was happening, she grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hall. "There's a powder room down here."

"Really, ma'am, it ain't no—"

"Stay here a moment." She pushed him onto a backless, cushioned bench that was against a stair railing and then left him, disappearing through a nearby door.

Arthur looked around a moment, noticed there was no one else close by, and then turned his attention to his clothes. A dark red stain now soaked through his jacket and the white long sleeve underneath. Shame about the jacket, but the night was near the end and he weren't sure he'd ever have to wear it again anyway. Unless Dutch got them attending balls on the regular somehow.

Just when he felt sure the woman had abandoned him, she returned with a towel in hand. She rushed over to him and began dabbing at the stain on his shirt, but Arthur saw it as the lost cause it was. The jacket was ruined and the shirt underneath likely beyond repair.

"Drat. I cannot believe I've done this." The woman fretfully brushed a loose strand of her black hair behind her ear and met his eyes. "You must allow me to buy you a replacement for these."

She had soft, kind eyes, green and real pretty. Arthur shook himself. No need for none of that type of wool-gathering. He was in the middle of a job. "You don't got to do that. Likely, it's the one and only time I'll wear the thing."

She straightened and frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, this ain't my usual watering hole anyhow so the shirt won't be missed." He used the towel to dry his hand though. She appeared to be just another guest, but Arthur had better make sure she hadn't been following him. He asked in a casual manner, "What you doin' up here anyhow?"

At his question, she released a heavy sigh and surprised him by taking a seat next to him on the bench. "Truthfully? I…needed a momentary reprieve from the party."

Arthur studied her. In his eyes, she looked no different from the rest of them. She was dressed formally, in fine cloth, donned in a pearl necklace and a matching set of earrings. She was dolled up, her hair pinned back with a golden hairpiece. He wondered what could not be to her liking here. Was it not lavish enough?

"You're not enjoying your time at the fanciest home in Saint Denis?"

A wry smile curled her lips. "Let's just say I want to leave Chicago to get away from these sorts of functions."

"Chicago, huh? So, what are you doin' down here?"

She lowered her gaze, glancing downstairs in the direction of the rest of the guests. "My husband is currently speaking rather enthusiastically with a realtor. He means to buy some land, perhaps a house too, near Annesburg."

Ah. A husband. Arthur should have guessed, or taken notice of the ring on her finger. "You don't sound too thrilled about that neither."

"No. Well…I've never lived outside of the city. This move is not exactly within the confines of what I find comfortable."

"You don't say?" Arthur shifted, wondering how to excuse himself and get these documents to Dutch without it looking suspicious.

"The truth is…" She grew quiet and confessed, "I'm not quite sure I'm ready to leave everything I know."

Arthur suggested, "If you've got the means, I say go for it. You only got one life."

"Spoken like a true free spirit."

Taken aback, Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know about that, but it ain't so bad out here. If you're the law-abiding sort."

Amusement tipped her lips upward unexpectedly as she met his gaze. "Are you implying you're not?"

"Er…" Damn. He didn't mean to be so revealing.

"Oh, my." She chuckled. "What kind of villain have I stumbled into?"

She had no idea. "The worst of the worst."

"Hmm. Now that simply can't be true."

"You ain't lookin' hard enough."

She eyed him and once again he was drawn to the sparkle of her pretty green eyes. "Oh no?"

Usually, people didn't much challenge his offhand remarks, dismissing his snark and continuing the conversation or ignoring him, but this woman directed her full attention to studying him from top to bottom. He shifted again at her earnest inspection.

He fumbled to come up with an explanation. "I ain't as refined as some of the mayor's guests."

"Refined?" she mused. "I have noticed there's quite a variety of characters in attendance tonight. Hat makers, opera singers, famous authors…"

And thieves, liars, and outlaws. But out loud, he added in a murmur, "Not to mention drunks, lunatics, and clowns."

"Which of those categories do you believe I fit into, I wonder?"

"Uh…"

She laughed and the sound was pleasing to the ear, and with it, she'd broken all the tension he felt towards her. "I'm only teasing, Mister…" she paused. "Oh, dear. I fear I've made another blunder. All this gabbing and I haven't taken the time to introduce myself." She offered a hand. "Charlotte Balfour."

He took her hand in his and shook it. "Arthur. Arthur Morgan."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan." She smiled at him, like he was someone normal, just another guest at a party like her.

There was a moment when he held her gaze, her hand, where he couldn't help but think about how different things would be if he was what he appeared to be tonight. He could forget the truth of his reality, of the adversity he faced on the daily. All this mess with Dutch entangling them with Bronte. The law and worse after them, all the time. Instead, Arthur wanted to sink into the green depths of Charlotte's eyes, to lean in, press his mouth to hers, and think about something other than killing, robbing, and being on the run all the damn time.

As if she heard his thoughts, a blush overtook her cheeks and she slipped her hand out of his, lowering her gaze. "Perhaps I'd better get back down to the party."

"Why? You got other men to wet down?"

She laughed and he crooked a grin. He liked making her laugh. If he was on his own time, he might spend the rest of the night getting to know her. Funny, he hadn't had this kind of feeling since he'd first Mary. He'd flirted mercilessly to win her over, throwing every line, every compliment he'd ever heard given to a woman until it'd eventually worked. He felt a similar connection with Charlotte, but he hadn't said nothing special, just been himself and she hadn't gone running.

"Ah, so my wife can make friends."

A man in a well-tailored brown suit strode their way. He wore a bowler hat and was eyeing the two of them with curiosity. The husband. Arthur had forgotten.

Charlotte rolled her eyes playfully as the man reached them. "This is my husband Cal, Mr. Morgan."

He and Charlotte stood from the bench and Arthur shook the husband's hand for good measure. Cal Balfour eyed him up and the grip on his hand was tightened briefly. It didn't hurt and Arthur wasn't bothered, but he detected wariness.

Yet Cal grinned when he told Arthur, "I'm not usually the jealous sort, but I must say, you have me nervous, old chap."

Charlotte scrunched up her face. "Oh, stop that."

Arthur thought Cal meant his size as the two of them standing eye-to-eye were of a similar height, but Arthur's coat couldn't obscure the width of his shoulders.

But then Cal said, "Char doesn't reserve her smile for just anyone."

Charlotte slipped her arm through her husband's. "Really, you make me sound like a beast."

"It took me weeks to win your attention, if you recall."

"Mr. Morgan and I have only just met and had the one conversation."

As if he sensed a threat, Cal asked her seriously, "No forwardness on Mr. Morgan's part then?"

"He was a perfect gentleman."

One of Cal's eyebrows lifted as he asked, "Not too perfect, I hope?"

"Will you excuse us, Mr. Morgan? My husband is impossibly incorrigible tonight."

"'Course."

"I am sorry about your jacket. You're certain there's nothing I can do for you?"

"I'm sure, ma'am."

"You are indeed too kind, Mr. Morgan." Charlotte nodded to him. "I must also thank you for listening to my whinging."

"It was nothing," Arthur told her as her husband's expression deepened with curiosity. Arthur addressed the both of them, "You folks enjoy the rest of your evening now."

"And you, sir," said Cal while Charlotte bestowed him one last warm smile. Then the couple turned toward the stairs, Cal asking his wife in an undertone, "Whinging?"

Arthur watched the couple a moment, ignoring the sharp stab of envy trying to arise. He sighed, patted his jacket to check on the documents he'd taken, and then went back to work.

Arthur found Dutch standing at the balcony where they all had initially made their plans to scout out the party when they arrived. Arthur tried not to compare the way Dutch watched below with how he'd seen Bronte surveying the party earlier, but the resemblance was eerily similar.

"What took you so long?" Dutch asked when he noticed him coming up. "You run into trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Good." He lowered his voice. "Find anything of interest?"

Arthur patted his jacket pocket. "I think so."

A moment later, Bill came stomping up the steps, grumbling about the uselessness of this city, but Hosea, who was following behind him, sounded more hopeful on their prospects. As they started to leave the party, Hosea spoke excitedly about the big bank in town, but Arthur's mind was wondering, thinking on the woman who'd charmed him when he'd least expected it.

"What happened to you, Morgan?" Of course it was Bill who noticed the stain on his shirt. He snickered, "Couldn't hold your liquor?"

"Yeah, something like that," Arthur said evasively. Bill was one to talk, but Arthur was not in the mood to react to his asinine comments.

"You alright, Arthur?" Hosea asked, staying behind while Bill and Dutch entered the carriage that Lenny had brought around to the front of the mansion's entrance.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I'm fine. Let's get on and figure out what we got to do next."

Hosea eyed him a moment, but didn't challenge him. He got into the carriage, leaving Arthur a moment to stand outside of it, alone. Arthur couldn't help himself. He looked back at that big house one more time. There were golden tongues and other stuck-up rich folk within those iron gates, but he'd met one tonight who was genuine with him.

Arthur shook his head, entered the carriage, and refused to think any deeper about what and who he could never be.