Chapter Text
Mary and Charlotte found their rhythm in life, working the shores of Lyme, keeping up with the tourists in the shoppe and loving one another in the small bedroom at the top of the stairs. Lyme was good to Charlotte, who acclimated quickly to life in the seaside town. Mary still didn’t trust her with a paring knife or anywhere near supper, but Charlotte was learning Mary’s ways.
Beyond the practical, daily chores Charlotte’s presence was felt in the shoppe which she brightened up with a fresh coat of paint, clean windows, and new signs just in time for tourist season. It pleased Mary to see Charlotte so invested in her space. After all of Roddy’s threats to remove Charlotte from Lyme and return her to London, she was relieved to see her manifest commitment to the shoppe, and felt secure going forward.
Letting herself trust again was not something that came easily for Mary. And if she were being honest, she’d admit that she hadn’t held much back from Charlotte since her return to Lyme and it was the most frightening feeling–trusting someone–but Mary resisted the urge to pull back from Charlotte after her husband had retreated back to London. It had been six months since Roddy threw his weight around and Charlotte had not heard from him. She tried to make peace with that but something about having a disgruntled husband in the mix, even if he was off in London, meant he could become a problem at any time.
Still, Mary put her faith in Charlotte and let Charlotte love her as only she could and Mary was happy for the first time in her life. Time passed and she thought of Roderick less and less as she fell more deeply in love with Charlotte.
Mary had been shut down for a long time before Charlotte collapsed into her arms. She’d become so used to not caring, the numbness she felt inside was overwhelming. When Charlotte literally fell into Mary’s lap and asked for help something awoke inside Mary. She was not so far gone that she would ignore the doctor’s request to care for Charlotte. Mary became invested, watching over her day and night, forgoing days on the shoreline and even enlisting the help of an ex-lover all to make Charlotte better.
Mary’s hammer cracked against a rock and she sighed, coming up empty again. It was getting late and Mary began to pack up, trudging back up the shoreline with a satchel full of shells and rocks to the streets of Lyme. Her back ached from the weight of the bag as she climbed the steps to her shoppe. Charlotte had pulled the signs in already–it must have been later than Mary thought.
The door jangled as she entered and swiftly shut the door again. She stood still, catching her breath and listening for movement.
“Charlotte?” She called out.
When no response came, Mary dropped her satchel heavily by the door and walked further into the shoppe. She frowned as she entered the kitchen and found it empty as well.
“Charlotte?” She hollered louder and made her way towards the stairs. Maybe she had a headache. Mary was starting to worry.
She climbed the stairs slowly, her bones aching from the long day of walking the beaches. She noticed candlelight flickering beneath the door at the top of the stairs and relief washed over her. The bedroom door creaked as she opened it slowly, in case Charlotte did have a headache.
“Charlotte?”
Mary found Charlotte sitting on the bed, a single candle burning on the nightstand.
“Everything all right?” Mary asked quietly, still unsure about disturbing her.
Charlotte looked up from her lap and smiled at the sight of Mary. So quiet and unassuming were Charlotte’s ways that Mary often forgot that she was also a force to be reckoned with.
“Mary,” she sighed happily. “It’s late. What has kept you?”
Mary smiled. “In my own world today…”
“I thought you might forget.”
Mary frowned, unsure if she’d disappointed Charlotte in some way.
“It’s fine,” Charlotte said sweetly. “Come sit with me.” She smiled. “I have something for you.”
“But I haven’t anything for you.” She sat on the bed beside Charlotte.
“Shh…” Charlotte shushed her, placing a finger against Mary’s lips. “Nevermind that.”
Charlotte stood and moved to the foot of the bed where her trunk sat. She flipped open the lid and reached deep into the trunk. Mary watched her root around, unable to see beyond the lid.
“Close your eyes.”
Mary hummed as her eyes drifted shut. She heard the rustle of fabric and Charlotte laid something on her lap.
“Open them.”
Mary’s eyes opened to a sea of red fabric. She recognized it instantly as the dress Charlotte had given her before. Finerie she’d carried around the London bedroom–a room as big as the entire first floor of her home–and had returned it to a drawer just before she fled the Murchison’s home. Mary felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment.
“You don’t like it.” Charlotte scrunched her nose and tilted her head. “I know I gave it to you before, but I wanted you to have it.”
Mary had to smile. She nodded. “Thank you." She appreciated the fabric between her fingers. "I’ve got no place to wear it.”
“Nonsense,” Charlotte said with an effervescent grin. “Will you put it on for me?”
“I’ve not yet bathed,” Mary said self-consciously, fiddling with a tendril of hair against her face.
A kind hand came to rest on Mary’s cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up, then.”
Looking away, Mary blushed again, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “Charlotte…”
“Come…” Charlotte took Mary’s hand from her lap and tugged her to her feet.
She released the fine dress onto the bed and let Charlotte guide her downstairs to the kitchen where she warmed the water for Mary as she unbuttoned her dirty dress, letting it drop to the floor unceremoniously. She stood before Charlotte in her underthings feeling awkward and out of sorts. When Charlotte turned to pour the heated water into the wash basin, Mary tried not to be awestruck by her beauty in the shadows of the kitchen and failed spectacularly.
“What is it?” Charlotte asked her.
Mary shook her head, unable to articulate her feelings. “Tired.” Her reply wasn’t a total lie.
Charlotte carried the steaming bathing basin to the table and when Mary reached for a clean rag Charlotte’s hand intercepted hers. “Let me.”
They had shared many things in the time they’d been reunited but bathing was not one of them. Charlotte stepped into her space and pulled Mary’s slip up over her head. Mary chewed her lips as Charlotte assessed her sweetly. She pressed a kiss onto Mary’s bare shoulder. Mary shivered, eyes closing at the contact.
“Cold?” Charlotte’s voice was barely a whisper against her skin.
Mary swallowed. “No.”
Mischief sparkled in her lover’s pale eyes and Mary watched as she dunked the rag into the basin and reached for her. She started on the nape of Mary’s neck, scrubbing the sweat and dirt gently. Mary sighed at the contact, the warmed rag soothing her aching muscles as Charlotte cleaned her skin.
She dipped the rag again and wiped the splotches of dirt from Mary’s face before giving her the warm rag to wash her own face. Mary covered her face with the rag and sighed before scrubbing the elements away. Returning the rag to the basin, Mary caught Charlotte watching her. She cleaned the rag and approached Mary again, their eyes meeting.
Charlotte turned her attention to scrubbing her chest before lifting her breasts carefully and wiping beneath them as well. She was thorough and gentle and Mary felt her kindness in every warm swipe of the rag. By the time Charlotte had reached her belly, Mary was feeling the amorous pull of her hands.
Charlotte wrung the rag out again, and reaching for Mary, dipped her hand between Mary’s legs. She never looked away from Mary’s yearning gaze as she cleaned her gently. She squeezed the rag out again and returned to her apex. Mary bit her lip, eyes closing at the feel of Charlotte’s hand lingering between her legs. Sighing when she moved away, Mary braced herself on the table as Charlotte scrubbed her trembling legs.
“There,” she said, dropping the rag into the basin and straightening in front of her. “Now where did we leave that dress?” Charlotte smiled brightly.
Mary picked up her clothes, holding them against her chest as Charlotte marched her back upstairs, rejoining the dress. She let Charlotte dress her and in the process dote on her a bit too. It was sweet the way Charlotte still tried so hard to make her love known. Mary knew, of course–without the bath or the dress or fanfare–that Charlotte did love her.
As Charlotte tightened her corset and skirt laces Mary began to feel the difference of finerie. She’d never had a dress as tailored as the one Charlotte presented her with. As she slipped into the garnet-colored dress, Mary felt like an imposter. The dress was perfect, fitting her measurements and hugging every curve, so little that needed adjusting. She was unaccustomed to such fine material, so silky beneath her fingertips.
She smoothed her hands over her midsection, the bodice of the dress wrapping her tightly and lifting her bosom. Charlotte moved around her, fawning over her and fastening the dress with great care. Mary knew that Charlotte was used to the ritual of dressing in such exquisite materials and let her lead the way.
When she fastened the final hook, Charlotte turned Mary around to face her. A smile creased her cheeks as she took a long look at Mary in the red dress.
“You’re beautiful,” she sighed.
Mary fidgeted, feeling uncomfortable in such a showpiece. “What now?” She asked quietly.
Charlotte grasped her hands, entwining her fingers with Mary’s.”We eat dinner.”
Mary didn’t dare ask who cooked the meal they were eating. She feared she knew the answer already–Elizabeth–but she ate the slices of roast beef with potatoes and carrots on her plate with a gusto nonetheless.
Elizabeth and Charlotte had struck up a friendship after Charlotte had returned to Lyme. She wasn’t jealous of their friendship. Jealous was not the right word. Frustrated and bitter were two better choices to describe her feelings. She supposed that was due to the fact that she still held on to some portion of that pain from the past. It was one of Mary’s worst habits. Whether from the loss of her sea lizard in her formative years, the betrayal of trust by Miss Philpot in adulthood, or losing Charlotte twice, history was always painful for Mary.
Charlotte reached across the span of the table between them and held Mary’s hand and sighed happily. “My Mary,” she said softly.
Mary fiddled with a stray wisp of hair in her face.
“What is it?”
“You like me more… when I’m dressed like this.” Mary’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an indictment. Mary had never made peace with the fact that Charlotte came from great wealth to live in her little hovel by the sea in Lyme.
“No,” Charlotte’s face softened. “That’s not true at all.”
“But it pleases you to see me like this.” Mary lifted her arms and looked down at herself.
“Mary…”
“Go on.”
“I just wanted you to feel beautiful.” She bowed her head. “And yes, I am guilty of enjoying the dress as well.”
Mary sighed. Charlotte was always so agreeable that even when Mary wanted to row, Charlotte never took the bait. “Why did you bring the dress?”
“What? I don’t–” Charlotte looked hurt.
“You brought one trunk and a suitcase from your life in London and this dress took up plenty of space. Why was it so important that I have it?”
Scrunching her forehead, Charlotte spoke after a long silence. “It was a gift.”
“That I didn’t accept in London,” she said curtly,
She looked away, sad. “Mary…”
Her deliberate cruelness made even Mary wince internally. She recognized it for what it was–her trying to put some distance between them when things got too close, too tender and she hoped Charlotte would realize that too. She looked at the remnants of dinner and blurted one final indictment on the evening. “Who made dinner, Charlotte?”
Charlotte swallowed hard. From Charlotte’s lack of reply, Mary knew the answer was as irritating as she already imagined it to be.
“Elizabeth.” The women said simultaneously.
Mary rolled her eyes.
“Mary, she just wanted to help.”
“You can’t have asked the neighbor? You asked my ex-lover? Did you not think I’d recognize her cooking instantly?”
“I didn’t think ab–”
“Clearly,” she said disdainfully. “I need to get out of this dress. This isn’t who I am.” Mary stood abruptly and left the kitchen, lifting her skirts to climb the stairs to her bedroom.
By the time she got to her bedroom, Mary felt dreadful. She was in a cycle. She was happy and that meant she also deserved to be miserable. She’d been awful to Charlotte tonight, but Mary was just so irritated by her involving Elizabeth in her grand romantic gesture.
Mary stood in front of her bed and attempted to unfasten her dress, quickly discovering that finerie was often a two-person job. She sighed. “Shit.”
The door creaked open and Charlotte appeared behind her. “Would you like some help?”
Mary nodded, knowing she didn’t deserve Charlotte’s kindness tonight.
Charlotte moved nearer to her and reached out to unfasten the hooks on the back of the dress. As the top of the dress began to fall away, Mary turned in her arms. The women looked at one another for a long moment, before Charlotte leaned in to kiss Mary. Her hands found Mary’s hair, sinking her fingers into the thick, dark lengths tied up on top of her head. All at once Mary felt repentant and unbearably guilty.
When Mary broke their kiss, Charlotte looked confused and her expression softened. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against Charlotte’s cheek.
Charlotte exhaled a shaky breath. “I only wanted you to feel special.”
“Then you only need to be near me.” She said and looked away.
Charlotte’s eyes searched her face for the key to Mary’s sorrow. Truth was, Mary had so many sorrows and there wasn’t anything to do about any of them. So much so that after a time, Mary became sorrow incarnate.
After Charlotte came to stay the first time Mary learned that her sorrow was maybe not as big as some others or even in the same realm and she felt horribly selfish at that realization. Mary knew Charlotte’s pain ran deep after watching her deliriously toss and turn in her bed, but at their first meeting she had thought it theatrics–her pale skin ablaze against her black dress and bonnet coupled with the sullen and sour expression she wore as if she’d never had cause to smile in her life. So young she was, and Mary couldn’t fathom how she could be so sad.
Mary was not oblivious to her own melancholy, after all, it was one of the things that kept Elizabeth at bay. But the extent of her melancholy was not truly understood by her. Charlotte’s recovery had shown Mary a light in her own struggle.
Charlotte lifted Mary’s chin with a finger. “I could never be far from you again.”
When their eyes met, Mary felt the spark of love in her chest and a familiar yearning in her belly. Charlotte stepped into her and kissed her firmly, Mary falling back onto the bed indelicately. Mary laughed, and it surprised her as much as Charlotte. Her head rolled back and forth against the lumpy mattress as she continued to laugh about the ridiculousness of her situation–her dress half off, skirts piled high on top of her.
And Mary continued to laugh until she felt Charlotte jostling her skirts as she lifted them and tugged at her bloomers. She trailed off, more breathless than laughing anymore, as Charlotte tugged again, cold air blowing over Mary’s most sensitive spaces, Charlotte’s hands sliding up her thighs.
“Charlotte…” She whispered.
“Shh…” Out of sight, Charlotte hushed her, a hand coming to rest on Mary’s at her side, soothing her.
A moment passed, silence–or as close to it as one could find in Lyme with waves crashing against the nearby shores–roaring in her ears. And then Mary felt her between her legs, gently parting her and pressing a kiss at her tenderest place, eliciting a languorous moan from her throat.
Mary lifted her head and looked down her body–bosom exposed, dress disheveled, Charlotte hidden beneath her skirt as she moved. Mary was dizzy, breathless, and wide awake at the attention Charlotte was spoiling her with. And when she came in a sea of garnet-colored gown, Mary cried out, helpless to her own desire.
She breathed heavily, eyes opening to the image of Charlotte emerging from beneath her skirts, a jolt shooting through her and straight to her loins again. Mary groaned, her skirts rustling as Charlotte crawled up and laid beside her.
The back of Charlotte’s hand grazed her cheek. “Mary…” She whispered.
“Hmm?” She grunted
“My Mary,” Charlotte hummed. “I do love you.”
Mary's eyes opened to find Charlotte smiling down at her. She felt the involuntary pull of her own cheeks as she returned the gesture.
Charlotte’s eyes sparkled. “In or out of the dress.”
Mary smirked, sitting up awkwardly. “Maybe you might help free me from it?”
Charlotte laughed, hopping up, she pulled Mary to her feet and began to peel the dress off of her, spinning her around to finish unfastening the back, before watching the dress drop to the floor. Mary stepped out of the center of the fabric and walked to the dressing table, changing into her dingy night shirt.
When Mary turned, Charlotte was undressing, too. She was clearly more used to the fineries and able to extricate herself easier than Mary–just another way the women were more different than alike.
Mary remembered visiting the Murchison’s opulent home–the maid, their cook, even a driver. None of that impressed Mary. Intimidated her, yes–but she definitely wasn’t impressed by their wealth. In fact, she wasn’t even offended by Charlotte’s status or her blessings or even that it all seemed to come easily to her. It was just foreign and uncomfortable for Mary. And when Charlotte wanted Mary to live with her and Roderick, it was simply not possible.
Mary had gone to London, but she’d left her pieces in Lyme. Her dingy bedroom, the small shoppe, and the well-used kitchen were all missing in London. The beaches that she walked every day of the year were out of reach in the room she’d rented after fleeing Charlotte’s. It was noisy with chatter from the other rooms and Mary missed the ever-present sound of the waves crashing onto the beaches of Lyme. London lacked texture, there were too many people, and it felt far too foreign to Mary. The only thing London possessed that Mary legitimately yearned for, was Charlotte.
When Mary retreated back to Lyme, and Charlotte had chased her down, she knew she’d never have a reason (other than Charlotte) to ever set foot in London again. She’d seen her relic, and where Charlotte had come from, and neither filled her with any joy. London was too big to be inconsequential, but she had little use for it, nonetheless.
And now it appeared Charlotte had joined her in that opinion of London. She’d sent her husband away without an explanation–a true explanation–of what was happening between her and Mary. She was unhappy with him and kept Mary out of the discussion. In truth, Roderick Murchison was far too into himself to notice the obvious implications of Charlotte’s decision to stay in Lyme with Mary.
She laid her dress in the trunk and closed it softly, before sliding into the small bed and looking after Mary expectantly. Mary was used to Charlotte’s need and had come to crave being the reason for it. Some nights she would be pressed so close to her in Mary’s bed, not because the bed was small or they were too much for it, but the gravity of Mary pulled Charlotte closer still.
On this night, however, her need was more basic and carnal. As Mary slipped into the sheets beside Charlotte, she moved in swiftly, kissing her deeply. Mary could taste herself on Charlotte’s lips and a shiver coursed through her as her body remembered too.
Mary was overcome by Charlotte’s need, and felt her body’s pull intrinsically. She sunk a hand between their bodies, coaxing a long, low moan from Charlotte’s throat as Mary’s fingers found her slick center.
Moving over her, Mary’s fingers caressed her gently–reverently–and Charlotte’s hips shifted to accept her more deeply. Each push of Mary’s fingers was matched with the pull of Charlotte’s hips. Mary breath fell heavily against Charlotte’s neck, her own arousal reaching a peak once again.
Charlotte gasped as Mary withdrew and lifted her nightgown to press herself against her. The heat where their bodies met was unbearable to Mary, who moved her hips with great purpose. Charlotte’s hands found Mary’s hips and squeezed her softly, urging her on as she flexed her hands.
She rocked against Charlotte, eyes drifting shut in silent contemplation of their pleasure. As their need grew more insistent, Mary quickened, bracing herself on the pillow behind Charlotte’s head as her hips moved in circuits.
Charlotte gasped and reached for Mary as she ground down against her center, allowing her bliss to build and quicken her response. She was a picture of pure passion, laid out before Mary, blue eyes burning into her, hands clutching at Mary’s nightshirt, hips moving wildly against hers.
When Mary reached between them, she slipped a finger into Charlotte’s warmth, kissing her deeply, as Charlotte gasped against her mouth. She groped for her breasts beneath Mary’s nightshirt.
Mary’s hips maintained a tempo that made Charlotte desperate. She held onto Mary as Mary’s finger plunged deeper still. Charlotte’s breath hiccuped in her throat, a long, low moan following. Mary held Charlotte against her as she stroked her, the staccato rhythm hard to maintain as she felt her release approaching.
The swell of orgasm overwhelmed Mary, hips bumping against Charlotte’s, her irregular rhythm sending Charlotte over the edge too. She reached up, threading her arms around Mary’s neck and held on as Mary rode out her orgasm against her.
Breathless and delirious with love, Mary lowered Charlotte back onto the bed and let her body fall to her side, leg still draped over her. Chest heaving, Mary looked at the cracked ceiling and stroked Charlotte’s bare stomach.`
“It’s never been like this…” Mary’s voice cracked in the darkness.
Charlotte sighed, stroking Mary’s hand on her belly. “Like what?”
Mary hummed thoughtfully. “Frightening.”
Charlotte frowned. “I scare you?”
She chuckled. “Not in the way you think.”
“Then, what?”
Mary’s voice cracked. “I think I will cease to exist if you go away again.”
“Oh, Mary…” Charlotte reached for her to move closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your husband–”
“He’s in London.”
“Until he grows weary of your health crisis. Isn’t that what he’s told his family? You’re in Lyme to bathe and convalesce to recover from your melancholy?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“Won’t they become suspect when you don’t return after bathing season?”
“I don’t know.” Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t care what he tells people.”
“You really don’t believe he’ll let you stay, do you?”
“You really don’t believe it’s his place to dictate whether I stay or leave, do you?”
“No, but I just think–”
“Shh…” Charlotte hushed her with a delicate kiss.
“Charlotte.” Mary’s voice was serious.
“Mary.”
The younger woman smiled at Mary and disarmed her instantly. So gentle and innocent was Charlotte’s affect that Mary couldn’t be frustrated with her.
“We’re just going pretend that things will never change?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t see any other way.”
Mary sighed, unable to abide by the options presented. Seeing this, Charlotte continued.
“How else do you propose we live? Waiting for Roddy to barge back into our lives? Tiptoeing around each other and everyone and everything because you fear the future?”
“I fear a future without you.”
“A thousand things could happen, Mary. Just hold me here and love me now. The rest can wait.”
And with such honesty, Charlotte centered what was important and Mary began to understand how love was more than any given moment. It was ageless, timeless, and without borders. And their love was bigger than anything Mary had ever been a part of. But fear need not be invited, as Mary had started to.
“Besides,” Charlotte started. “Why would anyone leave Lyme?”
Mary smirked. “I don’t know.”
She smiled at the ceiling, wrapped around Charlotte in the small bed that used to epitomize Mary’s solitary existence. Charlotte hummed with amusement and pulled at the blanket, tucking it under her chin as Mary moved nearer. Now, her single bed was big enough for two.
Her last thought before drifting off as the waves crashed against the shores of Lyme wasn’t about the future or the frustrations of the past, instead but the beauty of a moment so pure that it had to be enjoyed as it happened.
Mary Anning would wake the following morning at dawn, fetch the coal from the bin and start the stove. She’d start the tea before Charlotte had even stirred. Life hadn't changed much from any other morning before, but it wasn’t until Charlotte emerged from the bedroom, fresh-faced and lovely as ever, Mary felt how different things really were.
A kiss to send her off into the elements of the shores of Lyme was always preferable to her mother nagging her to work harder and do more for the shoppe. Now that Molly was gone, Mary was free to work on larger relics, Charlotte, happy to help scouring the shores for trinkets and shells for the tourists if it meant Mary could be fulfilled again. Life was still simple in Lyme and Mary still had her shoppe, her home, and her work. She used to think it wasn’t much, but oh, how that had changed. it wasn’t for everyone, but for Mary and Charlotte, Lyme was bursting at the seams with love.
Fin.