“Gotta move, lamb. I think it's fair to say school's out for bloody summer.”
“Spike!”
“I mean it! I gotta do this.”
“I love you.”
“No, you don't. But thanks for saying it…I wanna see how it ends.”



Prologue:




To most people, death was a permanent situation. A fact of life. You were born, you lived, and then you died. For her however, she’d not only died once, but twice, and rose from both occasions. Her continuous resurrections gave her a false security of the world around her. Even when her skewed sense of life and death became apparent as she watched the horror of Tara’s death reflected not only in Willow’s eyes but also the eyes of her baby sister, as Dawn stood vigil over Tara’s lifeless body. Even then she did not understand.

But death became very real for her when she felt the heat of his hand etching his eternal mark into the palm of her hand. His whispered plea to leave him there to die, to let him finish his task, to atone, and his denial…continued to burn within her at every turn. Sometimes she would stare at the scars marring the flesh of her hand. A never-ending testimony to the pain that wrought from her experiences with him. They wouldn’t heal up, no matter how long it had been. Slayer-healing an all, should have done the trick, but the faint pink scars remained there. Willow once said that she could magic them away, but then, what silent testimony would be left of his existence? Everything had burned at the bottle of the hellmouth. And besides…the scars were kinds of like him…rough around the edges, but always there, ever present, never leaving her like he never did…until now.

The others didn’t understand her pain though; even if they could see how it marred her once golden features. To Giles, her eyes showed the loss of her one and only Chosen status, to her friends, the loss of her home. But Dawn knew the truth and knew why her sister wept at night.

At times she tried to think of the words in her mind…to take the knowledge that she knew to be true and form the words. Spike is dead. But she was forced to stop every time. She couldn’t do it. Even if her brain did manage those words, for only a fleeting second, that was all it took to break her heart anew.

Despite the horror that was brought to her soul, her deepest regret was that he had died not believing her. He’d faced his first death unloved as a human and his second unloved by her. He had told her once that Dru had never loved him and that the only love he’d ever known in his existence was that of his mother, but for reasons he wouldn’t disclose, he believed he’d lost her love as well.

She loved him so much in that moment, and if she was truthful, for years before. Perhaps the first inkling was with his cocky “hello cutie,” but in all reality it started when he sat on the back porch with her the night her mother had to go to the hospital. She’d felt so safe with him, realizing for perhaps the first time, that on occasion, someone else could be the strong one.

Her admiration for him had continued to grow when he took the beating from Glory. She could tell in that moment how worried he was for Dawn and for her, his remaining Summers women. It allowed her to etch away just one more layer of the Big Bad persona and see the hints of William that had clung to him throughout the years and refused to die from Drusilla’s stinging bite.

She might even have completely loved him during her experimentation with alcohol in his crypt after Willow brought her back. It was during those times that she got to witness one of Spike’s real true smiles. She made the *bleeack* noise extra loud because his smile was too good to pass up.

But now he was Gone. Dead. Dust. And he didn’t believe her…

But the worst part was that she was going to have to live forever with that knowledge. That her soulmate, her lover, her everything didn’t know how much he meant to her.

Maybe it was intuition, maybe it was part of the slayer package, but she knew. She knew she was confined to this world. Whatever forces Willow had used to bring her back from beyond, bound her to this place. Who knows? Maybe Willow did everything right. Maybe it was the destruction of the Urn of Osiris by the hellions that left her unable to move on. She’d never know. All she knew was that she couldn’t die. The sword through her gut during the final battle had proven that, along with the other odd scrapes she’d gotten herself into over the past few months.

So that meant never dying, never getting peace, never finding any solace from those last precious moments she had with Spike. She wasn’t sure how to contend with that. She’d always assumed that the greatest regret of her life would have been killing Angel. How she thought, so foolishly during her time in L.A., that her heart would break from the sheer torture of having killed him. But now, she understood the real definition of regret. She’d killed Spike. Oh, maybe not by the most conventional of standards, but she’d killed him just the same. She was the one who put that amulet in his hand. But the part that truly ate away at her was never giving the best man she’d ever known the love that he so deserved, that he’d sought, actively, from her.

She knew, somewhere deep inside…she had to make it right. She had to make him see that he was deeply loved and that there was no one else to love him better.

And she knew exactly how to get that…

Willow.

Chapter 1: The Proposition




How to get Willow to agree to my plan? was a thought that plagued the Slayer for some time. She knew of course that threatening the red head would work, but Buffy didn’t want to put any more strain on their relationship. They hadn’t really been as close as they were in high school since…well Glory, and then Buffy died…and well, things kept happening and they never had a chance to fix their friendship. And while Buffy didn’t really feel the overwhelming need to reconnect with someone who listened to her psychotic-wannabe-slayer-girlfriend-with-a-tongue-stud and kicked her out of her own house, Buffy also didn’t want to create any waves…or more importantly…alert Giles.

However, how to convince Willow that she needed to do this. That Spike needed her to do this. Willow never really forgot or forgave the whole “bottle in my face” fiasco and well…the bleached vampire was known to be more than a little cranky with her ever since she did that spell on Buffy. Maybe Buffy could call on what they once had…especially since Kennedy recently got the boot and there would be no more of that influence on the red witch…

“Hey Buffy!” Willow said as she entered the kitchen. My goddess she looks pale. I wish I knew what was bothering her. She should feel so relaxed now that there are so many slayers and that she doesn’t have to bear the burden of slayage alone.

Buffy and Willow had moved to England with Giles after the hellmouth had been closed, Buffy to train the slayers and Willow to continue to learn from the coven. Xander had decided to stay in California, though he’d moved up to San Francisco, so that he could continue his construction business. Also, with the advent of Anya’s death, Xander wasn’t really interested in the slaying gig any longer.

To Buffy, it seemed that with the more days that passed, the less Xander called or interacted with the other Scoobies. Perhaps it was just as well, since she didn’t want more people than necessary to notice her absence that is of course if she could get Willow to agree to one, teeny tiny spell.

“So, Willow, read any good spells lately?” God! Obvious much? Buffy said as she tried to think of a way to broach the topic of fixing things with Spike.

“Uh, I guess Buffy.” Oh goddess, what is she thinking? No spells. Willow and spells equals kablooey. I’m still training with the coven. They’ve decided that the spell I cast to release the essence of the scythe was a lucky break on my part. She’s not going to ask me to do a spell is she? And besides what kind of spell does she need – she has everything she could want now. A normal life.

“Well Willow…I…God, hah, that question came out blunt didn’t it? I guess that’s better than a ramble isn’t it hehe.” God, just cut to the chase already. You’ve already made her too jump-to-conclusion-y. “See, the thing is Willow that…um…I miss Spike…and I was thinking that…”

“No!” How could she ask me to do that?

“No? You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you yet.” This doesn’t look good. And hey, when have I ever asked her to cast a spell – a personal spell?

“And I don’t need to missy. I know exactly what you’re going to ask me and the answer is completely and totally and all other ways to say: NO.”

“But…” the increasingly distraught Slayer started.

“No! See…resolve face.”

“But Willow, if you just listen.” God, maybe I’m going to have to revert to force. Where are the tadpoles when you need some?

“No, Buffy, I am not going to undo the spell that made all of the potentials into slayers. You finally have the chance to rest, oh goddess, for all of us to rest.” The red head answered in mounting confusion. Why would Buffy want that? I know she’s been kinda grumpy lately, but reverse the spell?

Buffy sat back in stunned silence at where her supposed best friend’s mind had just gone. She thinks I want to be the one and only slayer again? While the thought is sort of appealing, just because I did like being TheSlayer doesn’t mean I want to go back to being the only one able to stop an apocalypse. The clothing cost alone…

“Willow, that’s not what I was going to ask you.” Nowhere near…although now I wonder what you’re going to think of my actual request. “I was going to say that I want to fix things with Spike. I want to…”

“NO! There is no way in the world that I’m doing another resurrection spell Buffy. Look at what happened to you! I tore you out of Heaven and it nearly destroyed you. There is no way that I’m doing that to…not that Spike would be in heaven, so would I be saving him from hell?” Willow questioned as she scrunched her nose in thought. “Never mind that. There is no way that I’m doing another resurrection spell. Been there, done that, have the T-Shirt. Besides we used that last Urn of Osiris on you and the gods are not so much with the favor-y requests from me anymore. Not since Tara,” she added quietly. If I couldn’t bring her back, how could I bring Spike back?

“Willow,” Buffy said slowly. Where did all of that come from? Like I would ask anyone to go through the same experience that I did. Plus, I still really don’t think that Willow should be allowed anywhere near that kind of magic. She’s still on my list of ‘people Buffy thought were friends but then decided to go all evil.’ “I wasn’t going to ask you to resurrect Spike.”

“Oh…well of course. I didn’t mean to assume that you…cuz badness, and black lines on me and snakes and…I’m babbling.

“Willow, I actually had something else in mind. Something that I know you might object to, but I really need you to listen to me and understand why I need this. I’ve never ever asked you for a personal favor, magically speaking. And I promise that this will be the last thing that I ever ask of you.” Well, if that didn’t convince her to at least hear me out, nothing will.

Willow just stared at the pleading Slayer, thinking for the first time since the hellmouth’s close that perhaps her tears of unhappiness and lack of slaying participation wasn’t because she was taking a much needed rest. Maybe all her troubles resided in the death of one snarky, yet apparently much missed bleached-blonde vampire. Who knew that he came to mean so much? Did I miss the memo? When did we move on from the ‘bottle in my face’ feelings? “Wait, Buffy, what exactly kind of spell are you thinking of?”

Crap! How to break this to her so that she agrees? Buffy thought. Well, I guess it would be better to just be straight with her. “Willow, I don’t…God I thought this would be easier. Think Buffy think. “Willow you loved Tara right?” That was kind of a low blow…but I need this.

“Buffy you know I did, in a ‘wanted to end the world sort of way.’” How could she ask me that?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out the wrong way. I just wanted you to understand…for someone to finally, or at least know…that I loved, no, LOVE Spike just as much as you loved Tara, Xander loved Anya. I love Spike and he never knew it.”

“Buffy…”

“No. You don’t understand. He NEVER knew that I EVEN CARED for him because I was too busy living up to everyone else’s expectations. Everyone was so fixated on me having a normal life that I started believing that was what I wanted too. I, as well as the rest of you, became so jaded by our experiences with Angel that we never gave Spike a chance. Never let ourselves see how he had changed over the years. And he DID change.” Ha! What can you say to that.

“Buffy,” Willow started out slowly, unsure how to approach the obviously distraught blonde,

“How can you possibly say that we were too jaded because of our experiences with Angel? You were involved with a vampire and said vampire killed people that we knew and almost killed you. How else were we to react to a vampire-boyfriend type situation? And Spike? Come on, he was all with the ‘going to kill you Saturday night.’”

“Willow that was years ago. You of all people have seen different sides of him, his emotions. He cried on your shoulder when Drusilla left him, tried to comfort you after Oz left, and said that you were totally bitable…okay…maybe not the ‘totally’ part, but how can you say that he was just another vampire? He was never, ever like Angel or Angelus. He was always so much better. And I was too stupid to realize it. So now that man, and yes I mean man, that I love, died not knowing how much I loved him because of you and the rest of my so-called friends.”

“Wow” was pretty much all that Willow could managed to squeek out. She had no idea that the Slayer’s feelings ran this deep or that all of her recent sadness was so unequivocally tied to Spike’s death. Perhaps she should have known though. Perhaps she should have been a better best-friend and realized what Buffy was going through. Her instant thought was to start baking cookies, but then the witch thought better of it and decided that for once, just once, she would really listen to what the Slayer wanted her to hear. Since obviously she hadn’t been listening well enough for a long time. When did it all go wrong? When did we stop being friends and became…what? co-workers? associates? Bronze-buddies? Maybe if I do this spell it will help fix it? “Okay Buffy…what’s the spell?”

Buffy could barely believe that Willow gave in that easily. She would have thought that it would have taken a lot more convincing or something else to change Willow’s mind. I wonder what this means?

“Willow…is it really that simple? I ask; you do? Or it there something more?” Please don’t let there be anything more!

“No Buffy there’s no more. I just want you to be happy, and if you believe that what you have thought up will fix all the sad puppy-dog faces I’ve seen you with these past few months then I’ll be more than happy to help.” Hopefully this way she’ll see that I’m trying to fix things between us too. I want us to be how we were in high school.

“Willow, I want…,” Here goes nothing. “I don’t want you to resurrect Spike. Even though I have no idea where he ended up, though I liked to think that his actions over the last few years saved him a seat in heaven, I don’t think that’s really possible. Nevertheless, I don’t want him brought back from…wherever…that would be messing too much with natural forces that I don’t want to deal with. The First was the result of my resurrection and who knows what would happen with Spike. So that’s what I’m asking for.”

“What are you asking for Buffy. Exactly. No avoid-o-girl syndrome allowed.” She wants to fix things with Spike but she doesn’t want him resurrected?

Taking a large breath, the champion who faced hell gods and cyborgs alike, said quickly to her high school friend, fearing she would be turned down:

“I want you to send me back in time…to William.”

Chapter 2: Living London 1880




“William?!” The redheaded witch nearly shouted. Pausing to control herself, she started again “William – Buffy why would you want to go back to William? I mean, he has NO IDEA who you are. What in the, and to borrow from Xander, what in the jumping frijoles is that going to prove?” The past? Wasn’t human-Spike supposed to be all with the growl-y-ness too?

“See that’s the part that you don’t know about Spike or well William” I hope I don’t regret telling her this “Spike told me that he has never really been loved the way that he has loved others. His mom loved him of course, but he’s never known the true love of a woman. Sure he had Dru, but she’s a psycho ho-bag and in love with Angelus. Jealous much!? Anyway, I want to go back in time and prove to him that someone at some point in history loved him for him. That he’s important, a good man – that’s he’s mine the way that he always wanted to be.”

“But why Buffy, why in the past?” The red head questioned with a furrowed brow.

“Because – because… I…When I told him I loved him before Sunnydale collapsed, he didn’t believe me. He didn’t believe me Willow. I just want to prove to him that I do love him and that…” the Slayer broke off into a sob, unable to continue to tell her once best friend how much Spike’s denial of her love broke her heart anew each time she remembered his final moments. How those were the words that echoed in her mind each time she tried to close her eyes at night. Perhaps if they’d had loving times together, when she wasn’t denying their relationship or her love for him, perhaps she could find some peace. However, as it now stood, all she felt was the mind-numbing grief of his death coupled with the undeniable guilt of having denied him the love that, in all reality, he’d had for years.

“Okay…I get that, but why so far into the past? He won’t know you Buffy” Willow tried to placate her friend as best as possible.

“I-I…as much as I hate to think about it. I can’t mess with the timeline Willow. I can’t go back to the situation with Glory or even the Initiative or any other part. He might die sooner or who knows what else. Might not love me in another timeline. All I can hope is that if he can have some memory of me from the past, then… maybe he’ll believe me down in the hellmouth. Please?”

As Willow moved to comfort Buffy, who’d begun crying again. She realized for perhaps the first time that the Scoobies had all misjudged the slayer’s recent feelings and that perhaps, just perhaps the spell that Buffy was proposing was the right choice to getting the California blonde back on track. Let’s just hope that I can get through it without going to the bad place.

“Okay Buffy, I’ll see what I can do. I can ask Gi…”

“NO! No Giles, no nobody. Just you. I don’t want anyone to know what is going on. This is something I’m doing just for me and I don’t want them messing it up” the retired Slayer begged the witch with pleading eyes, threatening to spill even more tears as the other girl contemplated whether or not it was a good idea to keep such a massive spell under wraps.

“Alright Buffy, my lips are sealed, locked, zipped” Willow tried to quip in order to both stop the Blonde’s growing number of tears and also to convince herself that there was no way that one simple time travel spell could go wrong. “Its okay, Buffy, its okay…we’ll get you to see Spike again. Everything will be alright.” Oh goddess, I hope so. I really hope so.


***

“Well, I turned into an eighteenth century lady for Angel one night, I guess its only fitting that I change into a Victorian maiden for Spike…I mean William…for a couple of months” Buffy thought as she gazed at herself in the ornate mirror hanging in her bedroom. The once chosen and prophecy girl hardly recognized herself as she stared at the yards of fabric that surrounded her petite form. While the undergarments had taken time to get used to, the fashion diva of yesteryear (future-year?) could appreciate the beauty of the gowns. It had taken no time at all to adjust to the primping and pampering that seemed to accompany the use of these clothes, as well as the amount of times that she seemingly needed to change. Her morning dressing gown, her day dress, her evening gown, and then a special gown if she were to go out. The fashion of the time period was definitely something that she would hate to give up…

It had only taken Willow a little over a month to get everything for the spell ready. Despite living in the newly set-up Watcher’s Council, it was surprisingly difficult to get the ingredients needed for the type of spell that the Wiccan was going to cast. Not that Buffy wasn’t clearly listening to all of Willow’s babble, but she at least knew the highlights – spell dangerous, ripple effects in time – yadda yadda yadda.

While most people failed to give the blonde credit for her mental abilities, she did realize that going back in time did jeopardize her current time frame…that maybe she wouldn’t have Spike at all. So that was why Willow developed some sort of magical powder that would erase William’s memories of Buffy’s presence, not completely, but at least enough that she would fade into past, like memories of a favorite and often thought of dream. While Buffy did want William to know that he was loved, truly and wholly, in his life, she could not risk Spike not becoming a vampire, or what he would do for the world in the future. It wasn’t what the heartbroken superhero wanted, but it was as close as she could get to atone for her treatment of her vampire. Willow assured her that by the time the two of them met behind the alley of the bronze, he will have forgotten enough details of the dream to be unable to place Buffy as the leading lady.

At least Willow hoped so.

After all, magic always has consequences.

“Miss?...Miss Elizabeth? ‘ave you been t’inking about the tea t’is afternoon?” the young maid asked Buffy as she fixed her hair, and unfortunately startled the newly Victorian woman out of her thoughts.

“Yes, slightly” Buffy mused as she continued to think about how to act and talk and what to wear for the following event. After all, William might be attending this tea. Who knows? If he’s not there, then I’m sure someone from Mrs. Smyth’s circle must know one William Pratt.

Buffy, that is Miss Elizabeth Sumner, was going to partake in her very fist public outing since she had arrived in London – 1880’s London, that is. Some woman that Buffy knew from Brighton (curtsey of the spell Willow cast that gave Buffy an instant past – no pun intended) was hosting an afternoon tea and had invited all of the single ladies and single men to gather. Mrs. Smyth was a bit of a busy-body, but her intrusive personality was softened by a tall figure that still emanated a stately grace and lingering trace of youthful beauty. Though she intervened, it was done so with the utmost care and diligence toward helping those around her. No one ever found fault with her continual presence in their lives.

As Buffy dressed, she let her mind drift over the details of William’s life. She’d managed to find information about William Pratt (no wonder he’d never told her his last name – he was sure to have loved that) in some lost archives in the old Council databases. However, she was fairly certain that most of the information gathered there was wrong. While Spike certainly presented a certain “bad ass” routine, she knew him to have a sweet and extremely over-protective side that came out when any of his “girls” were in trouble. That type of character didn’t develop out of a ruffian (to use a Giles word) lifestyle. He had to have a proper upbringing, especially since her mother always used to comment on what a gentleman he was to her and to Dawn. And me, if I ever allowed him to show it.

The biggest trouble that the short blonde had, was the differing accounts of when it was that William was turned. Most accounts seemed to center around 1880, though none were really positive if it was ’79, ’80, or ’81; although the most amusing account stated that he was turned so long ago that he was at the crucifixion. The slayer clearly knew that to be false simply by his lack of bragging. If Spike had really been around that long, he would have mentioned it – and often. Plus there was the whole “I’m-the-Master-and-am-so-old-that-I-can’t-shift-out-of-game-face-and-thus-have-fruit-punch-mouth” to use as a valid comparison.

So Willow and Buffy took the plunge and went with 1880. It seemed like the safest bet. Although, that still left them with the very large question of when in 1880. So, Buffy decided, start in the beginning and just hope that it wasn’t until much later in the year that Drusilla got to him. Buffy did want time to get to know him, of course. Willow, being the brainiack that she is, cross-referenced accounts of when the Scourge was in England during that year and did manage to eek out a possible reference to the later summer months. That information would have to do.

Bridget finished with Miss Elizabeth’s outfit and the two of them proceeded to go down the stairs to the solarium for breakfast. Buffy was soon joined by Edward Rawlings her “guardian,” a dear friend of her mother’s who’d agreed to keep Elizabeth in London, so as to have more exposure to a city’s opportunities (which of course meant, available bachelors – after all, Elizabeth was approaching twenty-three, and was soon to be an old-maid).

“Good morning Elizabeth. Did sleep find you with pleasant dreams?” inquired Mr. Rawlings, looking at his ward with admiration. I am quite sure that I will be able to find her a suitable husband. I picture her with someone tall, broad shoulders, and well, I suppose, a rather normal fellow.

“Good morning to you as well.” I hope I sound somewhat like a girl raised in the 1800s should! “I slept very well, I trust you slept the same?” Is that how they talk? I knew I should have read more of those Jane Austin books that Willow’s always pushing on me. Cuz all I can come up with is ‘Oh Rhett, I do love you, I do. I never loved Ashley’ and I don’t think Southern bell is the image that I’m going for.

“Yes, quite well indeed. Though I did spend some time thinking last night that I’ll have to rearrange a few things so that I may attend the tea with you. While I know,” he added with an arched brow as he saw Elizabeth begin to protest, “that you are perfectly able to attend the event yourself, and that Mrs. Smyth is quite renowned for her matchmaking skills, there are a few people that I wish you to meet specifically. And even more specifically that they know you are my ward. It will help you to go far in life.”

“Of course” Buffy replied despondently, wondering how she could go about asking Mrs. Smyth about some man named William, while trying to avoid making Rawlings suspicious, and dance around whatever guys he wanted her to meet. God, Willow should have set me up with some aunt or something – then at least I could have pulled at the old bat’s heartstrings and told her that I would only marry for love. Is that too movie of the week? Oh, well, I’ll have to do the best with what I have. Hell, maybe I should even try out what ol’ Rawlings thinks of Spike. If I’m right about who he really was, then Rawlings must know of him.

The debate between wanting to know if her guardian knew William warred against the fear that Rawlings would immediately reject her choice in partner, causing the slayer’s hands to shake and to blurt out her question before she had time to think it out properly…

“Mr. Rawlings, is William Pratt going to attend the tea?” Well, I guess that ends my inner debate – stupid Slayer senses, always make me fight first, think later.

“William Pratt…Pratt you say. The name does sound vaguely familiar. Pratt…”

“Yes, will he attend?” The supposedly calm and collected girl asked with a rising hope in her voice.

“Why are you so concerned about his attendance? Where do you know him from?” Rawlings asked with intent. Is this why her mother sent her to me? Has she already given herself to someone? I’ll not have a harlot in my household.

“No reason…particularly” she stated hesitantly How to play this? “I just, heard one of the girls at Brighton speak of him and from her description he seemed…nice, perhaps even, well-suited toward me. I thought maybe you would have more information about him and his family before I possibly meet him this afternoon.”

“Oh, I see” Rawlings stated abruptly. Well at least she’s still pure. I do like the little lamb, but really, there are expectations to be maintained. My reputation is as much at stake as her’s is when it comes to courting. “Although for the Pratt fellow, I do not believe that I have ever had the pleasure. If he is ‘well-suited’ as you say, perhaps one of the ladies will know of him.”

“Perhaps” she mumbled. Stupid Council with their stupid inefficient-ness, and their stupid un-record keeping, and…and stupid vampire who goes up in a pillar of smoke and is all ‘No you don’t, but thanks for saying it.’ And with that last thought, the increasingly distressed woman excused herself from the table and flew up the stairs in a torrent of tears as she once again thought about those final moments with the only man she ever really truly loved.



Several hundred tears later, the Slayer finally decided that she best come out of her room and make an appearance, lest she be mistaken for ill and not allowed to go to the tea at all.

All the servants working in at the Rawlings estate gazed at the young blonde as she leisurely browsed through the extensive library. They all thought her quite beautiful, with her green eyes and engaging laughter, yet they could sense a deep sadness in her; for while she laughed and did all the things that a young lady was supposed to do, the happiness never seemed to reach her eyes.

As they worked on the polishing, the cleaning, and the general upkeep of the place, Buffy sat quietly in the library reading poetry to Bridget. While Buffy generally was the non-research girl, she’d learn to appreciate the written word in a time in place where she could not simply flick on the television or the radio or had a demon to slay. Besides, she’d loved her poetry class at UC Sunnydale, so she thought she’d expand her knowledge of poetry while it was currently in vogue – so to speak.

While taking a short break from her reading, Bridget, who sat by her mistress’s side so as to absorb the beautiful words, queried “Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes Bridget?”

“If you don’t t’ink me to fo’ward, I ‘eard you asking the Master about a Mr. Pratt?”

“Yes!” Buffy nearly shouted and, after calming, “Yes, Bridget I did. Do you know of him?
Please tell me. Anything.” Please know something.

“Well, I don’t remember much about ‘im. T’was quite some time ago. I remember t’at he was a very quiet man, didn’t speak out very much. You know the sort.” Bridget added with a smile.

“Yet he was always very pleasant. Ne’er said a harsh word about anyone did he.”

“How did you meet him?” Buffy interjected.

After thinking a moment, Bridget responded “Well, Miss, I…ne’er actually met him. I…”

“Yes, go on!”

“Well, before I come to work for Master Rawlings, I help’t me mot’er out, who works for the Underwoods and I’d oft see him at one of their gatherings.”

“He was a quiet man, but he went to a bunch of gatherings?”

“Bunch, Miss?”

“Many, Bridget, I meant to say many gatherings.” Must remember to speak in actual English, not the ‘abhorrent butchery of the English language’ that Giles always calls my speech. “I thought you said that he was a quiet man? Why would he attend so many events? Surely he would have liked something simpler?” Not that I usually associate quiet with Spike. I’d never seen a man fidget more than he did.

“Quiet he was Miss, but then, so were the Underwood events. Perhaps ‘event’ is too strong of a word. They were just wee t’ings, a few people in which to talk about the day. Maybe have a bit to drink.”

As Buffy was about to voice her next question, one of the older servants called out “Bridget, come here, the young mistress has more important things to do than keep you entertained.” As Bridget was about to rise, Buffy quickly asked “Bridget, before you leave me, when was the last time you saw Mr. Pratt?”

“A couple of years ago Miss,” was the swift and honest reply as she turned to leave and enter the house as had been requested of her. She left so quickly that she failed to notice the look of bereavement that graced the young woman’s features, so that the sounds of the young woman’s sobs fell on no one’s ears.


***


Safely concealed on the private terrace of her room, the woman who had faced a hell god and won, the girl who had sacrificed her first love to beat an even greater evil, and the person who had fallen for the right guy too little too late, sat transfixed as the wind blew softly over the trees, remembering…


Chiseled cheekbones, hit only slightly by the iridescent moon. Rich voice, floating, coating her in its magic with the first cadence of sound. *Clap Clap* “Nice work, luv.”

Uncurbed innuendo, heat rising, youth unable to understand the difference between blush and arousal. A soft fluttering in her lower abdomen, coming to her in an indescribably diverse manner than when prompted by her oft brood-some boyfriend. “I just like them. They make me feel all manly.”

Cocky arrogance mixed with the memory of brutal anguish, yet eyes heightened by the ferocity of the fight and the certainty of his claim. “You’re *not* friends. You’ll never be friends. You’ll be in love till it kills you both. You’ll fight, and you’ll shag, and you’ll love each other till it makes you quiver, but you’ll never be friends. Love isn’t brains, children, it’s blood… blood screaming inside you to work its will. *I* may be love’s bitch, but at least *I’m* man enough to admit it.”

Sheer terror trying to be downplayed. The need to preserve the image, but unable to keep the façade amidst swiping claws, flying arrows, and a brigade of unperfected, shovel wielding combatants. “You made a bear! Undo it! Undo it!

Blue eyes, so expressive, dangerously fluctuating with mood. A searing intensity, a frosty echo, a blazing sun. Cobalt extremity, sure in its method to frighten and prove. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna want it. And the second – *clap* – the second that happens…You know I’ll be there. I’ll slip in…have myself a real good day.

Desperation. Longing. Desire. Rage. Unfathomable Love. Inability to put a successive plan in motion. Chains. The laugh track. That look at the end of the day. The epitomized facial manifestation of having your heart broken. Stomped on. Spat out when the taste didn’t agree. A slamming door. An un-invitation. Desolation. We have something, Buffy. It’s not pretty, but it’s real, and there’s nothing either one of us can do about it. Like it or not, I’m in your life, you can’t just shut me out.

A call for definition wrought with frustration and an unvoiced plea to give credence to what had occurred. To rise from below the depths of inconsequentiality and ignominy. To no longer be beneath. To be seen. To be heard. To be acknowledged. A crumb. “We…we kissed, you and me. All ‘Gone with the Wind,’ with the rising music, and the rising…music, and what was that, Buffy?”

Finding surprising warmth tucked next to a cool body, discovering comfort buried in oriental rugs, laughing…having a real conversation. Hearing, on the very rare occasion, that deep baritone laugh, reserved for, or perhaps only since brought out by, a green ball of energy and a kind face wielding tiny marshmallows. “Well, I ate a decorator once. Maybe something stuck.”

Clarity amongst a sea of doubt, cruel words, and reckless barbs that would never be reconciled. A simple stroke of his hand – rejected – feelings too close to the surface to allow. Eyes, littered with resigned knowledge that such a bold action would never succeed. Yet tried anyway. Always. “I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy.”

Understanding. Such powerful understanding. But so desperately wrong. All intuition, all knowledge, failed in that moment. Not realizing, unable to comprehend that is was true. Is true. Always will be true. “No, you don't. But thanks for saying it.”


Though the slayer found herself once again unable to cope, on the verge of bursting into tears, she instead fought to prevent such an occurrence with a strength and determination unseen by even her most formidable enemies. Though he deserved every one of her tears of anguish, deserved a hundred of hers to every one that he shed, but didn’t think that she saw or cared, she instead decided to honor his memory with a chance to change history.

“Just because Bridget hasn’t seen him for a few years, doesn’t mean that he’s dead…un-dead…whatever. It just means that she hasn’t been to the Underwoods since she’s been working for Rawlings.” Feeling the Scarlet inspired knowledge entering her thoughts, she thus quoted, “As God as my witness, I will not rest until I find him, one way or the other.” And with that she flounced out of the room, ready for the tea and the prospect of having her heart’s desire.

Buffy was about to leave the estate, having heard from Bridget that Master Rawlings would be meeting them later, when Rawlings himself stopped her, a look of mild boredom decorating his features.

“Ah, Elizabeth, there you are. I wanted to tell you that the name Pratt had put me in quite a fit, seeing as I was sure that I knew that name, only could not place its origins. However, it has just come to me. As far as I can remember, he was a rather unremarkable fellow and that something happened to him…or was it something about him? Oh, how my mind goes. Ah yes, well, anyway, I seem to recall that they referred to him as William the Bloody.”

“William…” the Bloody? Oh, God I’m too late! The Slayer thought with anguish.

Chapter 3: Meeting William




She was decidedly unable to figure out the purpose of tea. Yes, she drank chamomile when she was stressed before a big battle. Yes, she swallowed down Giles’s brew when he made it. Yes, she made tea for others. No, she did not understand the purpose of tea. And most definitely not a tea party. It looked like fun in Alice in Wonderland. But not in practice. Especially when there were no white rabbits to be seen. Anywhere. Of any kind.

Of course, she might be biased. After all, she’d been at the party for three hours and had yet to hear one positive thing said about William, or even a definite confirmation of his existence. Recognition of his name also seemed to breed the insinuation that there wasn’t much to tell, or much to remember after having been told.

The disquieted blonde couldn’t reconcile the memory of the man that she knew with the horribly un-varying insinuations of most people in attendance. Where was the vibrancy? Where was the charm? Where was the devil may care attitude? Or even, dare she think it? Where was the quiet patience? The understanding? The gentleness? Where was any semblance of the man that she had known for the last six years? Had the conquest of demon over man really changed the core of who William was? Who Spike was? If she ever met up with him, would there be any recognition? Or would it just be another man wearing her lover’s face?

There was no way to tell.

Or even hope.

Years ago Angel had told her that once a person underwent the change, they were nothing like who’d they had been before. While in retrospect, she’d learned never to take anything that Angel said at face value, as there were always aspects of the truth that he was trying to hide. Usually to the betterment of his own image. Hair gel aside.

Sometimes…rarely,…Angel did have a valid point. Did this mean that she would have to consider that all of her efforts, all of her spells (i.e. all of her conniving to get Willow to agree and thus cast a spell), and all of her lying and half truths told to Giles and what was left of the gang so that she could disappear for a year without question and without the threat of a locator spell? Was that all for nothing? Did she push Dawn away yet again? Did she even know anymore?

Was fixing her mistakes with Spike worth it?

Definitely.

Was proving to him, at some point in time, that he was valued, appreciated, and most importantly loved, worth all of the lies and heartache caused to her friends and family?

Most assuredly.

Did she believe that she was doing the right thing on all accounts?

Yes.

Then why was she so worried?

Because it may never be enough to fix what you did. Nothing will make up for treating him like trash, leaving him night after night, having no compassion when he was crazy in the school basement…beating him up and leaving him for sunrise. The cynical Buffy subconscious piped up and told off her needing-to-sugarcoat-conscious that was prone to living in denial.

“Great now I’m hearing voices,” Buffy thought with a sigh.

“Hearing voices dear?” Mrs. Smyth trailed off in a worried murmur. Never get that one married off that way.

“Huh? What! No! I just had some unpleasant thoughts and they seemed so loud, as if someone were talking to me. Great! Now she thinks I’m a nut job.

“Quite right, dear, I often plague myself with strong thoughts.”

“Mhmm.” The Slayer added distractedly. Then, realizing that she was speaking with Mrs. Smyth, the woman that she had been waiting to speak to all day, the blonde perked up, and started in on her next topic. “Mrs. Smyth?”

“Yes, child?”

“Um…I…well…” she began, trailing off.

“Speak up young lady. While I may still be able to match young couples together, it is generally agreeable to both the potential couple and me that I hear what their interests are. Not just doing so on the principle that they ‘look’ right together or will produce beautiful children.” Mrs. Smyth shot off her opinion without preamble and without waiting for other conclusions from the surrounding guests. She’d been around long enough in this world not to care what people think and to think of what people care about. In her much established opinion, life was short, so say what was meant to be said. After being widowed twice, she knew how to cut to the chase.

“Well, Mrs. Smyth, I was wondering if you knew a Mr. William Pratt?” She breathed out, her nervousness shown by her consistent need to tuck imagined hair behind her ear.

Mrs. Smyth, a master of body language, read the petite girl quite clearly. Perhaps I need not search the isle over in order to find a match for this one. It would seem that her heart already belongs to someone. Good thing too, the men around here are much too stuffy for such a spirited child.

“No dear-heart, I do not believe that I have heard of a Mr. Pratt. Where did you meet him?” Is there really a young courting fellow that I do not know?

“I have not met him, per se. A friend of a friend mentioned him. She said that I might enjoy his company.” Mrs. Smyth doesn’t know him? God, she’s like the English equivalent of Cordelia with the latest People magazine. I’ll never find him. Only went to this stupid tea to ask her anyway. The girl ended her thought tirade with a deepening scowl.

“Oh dear, I did not mean to upset you. I am perfectly certain that some of the girls around here must know him. If mere description alone was enough to capture you heart, then surely he holds pieces of their hearts as well,” offered Mrs. Smyth reassuringly.

“Yes, I’m sure” the young woman replied with a tight smile. Don’t kill the nice lady who can help you find him, even if she does assume that my vampire is some type of player. That my vampire would cheat on me. That my vamp…God, he’s not mine is he? He doesn’t even know me. He could be with someone…a married someone. “What will I do then?” Buffy asked dejectedly, unknowingly voicing her distress.

Oh the poor dear, this Mr. Pratt does not just hold a piece of her heart, he holds the entire thing. Soul too if I am not mistaken. She is such a ripe blossom, full of life, reminds me so much of me when I was younger, I will help her find him. After all, I have never tried to match a person already in love. Should be viewed as a God-given mission, rather than the machinations of an old, bored woman. Mrs. Smyth thought. Her network of friends and relatives was quite large (two husbands would do that for you). Someone had to know how to get into contact with a Mr. William Pratt.

“Well, Elizabeth, we will find him and make sure that he knows just how hard you tried to find
him” Mrs. Smyth added, hating to have been the one to put a frown on this lovely creature’s face.

“Thank you, Mrs. Smyth. I am quite sure that with your aid, I will find W-Mr. Pratt very soon,” Buffy added with a demure blush. At least she hoped, she wasn’t exactly sure how to play the blushing virgin, considering she’d given that part of herself to a demon.


Eventually Rawlings made it to the tea and introduced Elizabeth to, in her opinion, every available bachelor in England. However, perhaps the most disturbing thing about the introductions was the age of the men that Rawlings showed her. Talk about entrance into the Sugar Daddy world. There was no way she was getting within ten feet of these men, let alone allow them to ‘court’ her. Anyone came that close to her, they were going to see an extremely un-lady-like move, in the form of a roundhouse kick to the head. Propriety be damned. She wasn’t into old (vampiric lovers aside) or anyone that didn’t answer to the name of William or Spike.

Besides, most wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise. All they talked about were their landholdings, how closely related they were to some far-off royalty that she’d never heard of, or what they expected in a future bride. Basically the steps in which she needed to become a perfect doll. No thank you.

She’d take an over-zealous, over-protective, pig-headed, and demonic boyfriend any day.


Mrs. Smyth, seeing Rawlings lead Elizabeth to another pompous and over-weight bachelor, decided to step in and introduce her to some girls her own age. The poor child needed some friends in the area; it would not do to have the girl married off with her husband as her only company. That became terribly dull and uneventful. Fast. Mrs. Smyth knew that experience well.

“Elizabeth?” Mrs. Smyth called. Seeing that attention was now diverted to her, (which she most enjoyed) she pulled Buffy away and made both of their excuses.

“Elizabeth, I thought perhaps you would like to meet some of the other young ladies here this afternoon” and adding in a faux whisper “as well as get away from those men. They are not for the likes of you.” Thus, they left for the ladies’ table, not noticing, or caring, for the men’s sputtering at the implied insult.

Approaching a table where three women sat, Mrs. Smyth introduced them as “Miss Harriet Addams, Miss Virginia Fleming, and Miss Cecily Underwood. After cordial responses from all, the women continued their previous conversations, as though Buffy had not joined the table.

Gaining enough courage, the blonde asked her question during a considerably brief break in conversation. “Pardon me for interrupting, but do any of you know a Mr. William Pratt?”

Dead silence.

“A Mr. William Pratt you say,” Cecily fluttered wickedly. Buffy didn’t like her one bit and she had the oddest sensation of recognition. Also, she was fairly certain that woman was practically the only human to set off her slayer tingles.

“Yes, Mr. Pratt. Do you know him…of him?” She inquired, unable to keep the hope from rising in her voice.

“Well, yes. I just so happens that I do.” Cecily replied, in a tone of voice, that the Slayer could not place. It was highly reminiscent of Cordelia, but even Cordelia in Queen Bitch mode never reached that depth. “In fact, I am holding a little get together tonight in my home. William will be attending. You should join us,” Cecily continued with a saccharine smile.

“Um, uh, sure. I mean…I would love to. May I have your address?” He’s alive! He’s alive!

“Oh dear, I thought you knew?”

“Knew what?”

“I am an Underwood darling. Everyone knows where I live. Do not fret. Ask anyone, and they will be able to direct you.”

“Oh, I was not aware of your status. Forgive me.” God, rude much? In addition, I totally hate having to suck up to her. I have to leave before I ring her neck. And avoid her as much as humanly possible tonight.

“Very well. I will be seeing you,” Cecily stated, promptly turning back to her friends. The petite
blonde’s presence no longer interesting, nor worthwhile. After all, she was an Underwood, she could choose who she spoke with and when. Making her excuses to deaf ears, Buffy left the table, in search of Rawlings, and a way home, never noticing the speculative glance that Cecily threw to the gazebo across the way. Cecily would not have the plans she set in motion ruined.

Therefore, Buffy left the tea, never realizing that the man occupying her thoughts sat just across the way. Head bent down over paper, lost in his own world of rhyme and imagination; hoping that he too could capture the heart of the girl.


***

Dressing for the evening affair turned out to be far more effort than one could possibly imagine. Throughout the entire process, Buffy kept thinking that she was glad to be born in the future. While she loved all of the attention and pampering, there was no way that she could deal with all of these clothes, especially in summer. Slaying was also definitely out.

However, clothing was a small price to pay for meeting William. She’d nearly cried for joy when Cecily said that William would attend that night. Fears and doubts kept plaguing the Slayer that she would be far too late. Her heart would not be able to stand an evil William, just coming into his power and mooning over Drusilla. Spike always said that the Initiative’s chip was a catalyst for his transformation, a reason for him to stop and think about the direction of his un-life. Granted, love for her was the final push, but in this time period, he didn’t know her, didn’t have a chip, and would probably kill her. While he might be a fledgling, he was still strong, smart, and enjoying the power he was just coming into. Also, the little blonde powerhouse wouldn’t be actually attempting to kill him – she kinda needed him to live for the next century or so.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes Bridget?”

“I am all done wit’ your hair, Miss. T’will ‘here be anyt’ing else?”

“No, I believe that I am as ready as I shall ever be. God I hope he likes me.”

“Who, Miss? Did you find a lad to fancy at the tea today?”

“Sort of...”

“Ooh, who is it Miss? A wealthy man?”

“I do not really know Bridget. Can you keep a secret? Not tell any of the other maids?”

“Oh of course. Not tell a soul, I will” Bridget replied eagerly. She loved secrets and desperately
wanted to know what man brought a blush to Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks.

“Mr. William Pratt!”

“Mr. Pratt, Miss? The fellow we were talking about in the morn?” she said with a furrowed brow.

“Yes. Why do you look at me like that?” Great now what have I done wrong. I’ll never fit in here. Hopefully William likes quirky in a girl.

“I look no way Miss. I just…”

“Yes?”

“When we were talking about ‘im in the morn, I t’ought it was just conversation, not knowing you were in love wit’ ‘em!”

“In love! Who ever said that I was in love with him?” What’s the big deal. So I’m in love. Happens every day.

“Your eyes Miss. The eyes be not the lying type. But you cannot love this one.”

“Why?”

“Because…because he just isn’t fit for a lady like yourself….he’s…”

“He’s what?!” the girl added with a scowl, letting just enough of the Slayer sparkle in her eyes, letting the maid know that she was treading on extremely dangerous ground.

“I believe I am stepping over my boundaries Miss. I will be leaving you alone. You will see about Master William soon enough. Good evening Miss” and with that she left the room, without having been excused.

“Well, of all the…” Buffy said, trailing off, realizing that something must be going on. No one
seemed to recall William, yet he was going to be attending a party given by ‘an Underwood’ so he must be in the right circles. I shall simply have to see what is going on tonight.


***


Well it would appear that everyone indeed knew where the Underwood residence was. Buffy’s driver had no difficulty in finding it. Stepping out of the carriage, Buffy sucked in a breath at the magnificence of their home. It was lit up beautifully and certainly did seem like a party was going on. Though, she would hardly classify it as a ‘little get together.’ Buffy couldn’t even begin to imagine what a real party would look like in this house. Gathering courage, Buffy entered the home and proceeded into the parlor, where men and women of all ages, shapes, and sizes were sitting and standing about, discussing everything form politics to the weather.

After a few, necessary introductions and barely sidestepping Cecily (to hell with what needed to be done in proper society), Buffy began to both relax, due to the ambience of the place, and tense up with the thought of seeing William. At first, he seemed to be nowhere in sight, and as she felt the continuous pressure on heart grow increasingly heavy, all of a sudden, just like the movies, the crowd parted, uplifting music played in her mind’s eye, and there he was.

As Buffy looked across the room, her breath caught in her throat as she laid eyes on the man of her dreams for the first time in months, or years, depending on how one wanted to define her current situation. He was seated in a quiet little corner of the parlor, by a small table, writing furiously on a scrape of paper. The only thing that Buffy could possibly say to describe his appearance: utterly adorable. He looked nothing like what she had imagined. He definitely didn’t fit the bad boy image that Spike had tried to convince her of that traumatic night at the Bronze, in which, even at the time, she was shocked and appalled at her callus treatment of him and his apparent budding feelings.

No matter how much of the man she saw hidden inside his gruff exterior when interacting with Drusilla, Dawn, her mother, and even herself, she never, ever in her entire existence thought that the root of that good man was the one that sat huddled in the corner and scribbling somewhat hurriedly on a scrap of paper.

Even though he was dressed oddly, his hair a riotous mass of curls (and the sideburns!), and those glasses, there was no mistaking the man that she had loved for years. His eyes, those miraculous shining orbs of blue that could tell you their life’s history by just one look, could never be replicated in another man. Their color was simply too perfect and so perfect for him that she would be able to identify him anywhere: even a century before they’d ever meet.

Buffy slowly made her way over to William – nervous, excited, and hoping that she would be able to speak to him without either crying or jumping all over him. While the former might have been more appropriate for a young woman to faint and cry at the drop of a hat (so she’d heard) the latter was definitely out of the question, especially since they’d never met.

Stopping just in front of the small table he was writing on, as she waited for him to take notice, her brow slowly wrinkled in confusion as he continued to ignore her presence. Clearing her throat slightly, she nearly gasped aloud as his eyes finally met hers, but then almost giggled as his rising blush slowly transformed his entire face into a swirling mass of color.

“Y-Y-Yes, may I help you miss?” William queried as he took in the sight of the golden goddess standing by his side, misbelieving that she was addressing him. She is absolutely…effulgent…

“I-ah-well-hi” Buffy said with a blush to rival William’s own. Gah! I didn’t think this would be so hard. She continued “I…uh…I saw you sitting here, by yourself, and wanted to take the time to introduce myself. I’m Bu-Elizabeth Sumner, I have been hearing a lot about you and have been wanting to introduce myself, but haven’t had the chance – which I guess you probably gathered since I’m introducing myself now. And now I’ll stop talking because I’m pretty sure that I’m babbling and I only babble when I’m nervous and I only start admitting things like that when I babble…so I’ll just be stopping now…” trailing off in a whisper, pursing her lips, and desperately hoping that William wouldn’t mind her run-on sentences like he wouldn’t in the future.

My God she’s magnificent. “Oh I-I did not presume to think you were b-babbling and it’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Sumner, I am William Pratt.”

“The pleasure is all mine Mr. Pratt.” *Pause* “Would it be too forward of me to sit beside you?” Please say yes, please say yes!

*Gulp* “O-Of course, Miss Sumner.” I wonder what it is that she wants…surely it cannot simply be my company. Perhaps she wishes to borrow a book, requires help broadening her educational horizons. Although, I think, I would help her with anything.

With the both of them sitting awkwardly on either side of the table, shooting furtive glances at one another, Buffy decided to open the conversation. Although she didn’t exactly know how to do that. She couldn’t exactly start out with ‘kill any good demons lately?’ or ‘how many kittens did Clem spot you last night?’ So she’d have to think about what she knew Spike – human Spike – liked.

“So, Mr. Pratt, read any good books lately? Maybe? I mean Spike’s like way old – the only entertainment he had was books, right? I mean, no television.

“Actually I just finished a compilation of poetry by…” seeing her look of befuddlement, William trailed off. Ah, of course, not really interested in my perspective…I wonder what it is that she wants?

“Poetry?” Who knew a sensitive poet was hiding beneath the layers? Then Buffy thought with derision, You probably would if you ever let him hold you after he made love to you. He probably would have whispered poetry in your ear instead of those dirty limericks. Or maybe both, it is Spike I’m thinking about.

“Yes, I l-love poetry. It is but a passion for me. It can carry one to the very heights of joy and the bottomless abyss of heartache…t-though perhaps I speak too boldly for such a first meeting?” William trailed off as his faded blush from earlier returned in full force.

“No, no, of course not. It is good to be passionate about something” she stopped, getting lost in his eyes. God, they are so blue. “…so blue.”

“Pardon me?” What is it that she is observing? Do I have a bit of pastry on my face? William thought as he discreetly tried to brush his hand over his mouth.

“Oh, I…ah…nothing” she responded with a blush. Did I say that out loud? He’s going to think I’m weird!

And we’re back to the awkward silence. Well, I brought up the last topic it’s his turn. But what if he doesn’t? What if he’s bored? What if I’m not smart enough for him? I mean, my God, he reads poetry in his spare time. I took the class, but didn’t do extra work for fun.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Buffy asked.

“I asked if you were an American.” That was rather blunt, old chap. Could you make her feel any more out of place? The poor lamb probably already feels that way. “I am most sorry, if that was too forward of me…I sometimes…”

“No, not too forward at all.” I can’t believe how soft spoken he is. Where’s the rash impulsiveness? Where’s the oozing charm? Gah, I love that little blush thing he does. Makes my stomach do little flips.

“Yes, I am American. Born and raised. Just visiting London for awhile. You?”

“No, I am not American…” trailing off in embarrassment, realizing that she meant for him to tell her where he was born, not questioning his nationality.

“No, I meant if you were born in London or out in the country perhaps” she answered with a soft smile and a twinkle in her eye.

“L-London, um…yes. Born and raised, as I believe someone very wise once said.” She is an angel when she smiles.

“Are you teasing me Mr. Pratt?” the clearly infatuated blonde asked in a mock stern voice.

“Oh, Miss please forgive me. I-I meant no disrespect. Only to pay a complement…,” Must think before you speak William!

“No, William” and seeing his look of shock “I mean Mr. Pratt, I uh, was teasing you as well. No need to get too informal too fast, I see. And also, what is up with the insecure bit? I mean, Spike was insecure, but that was only cuz I used to punch him the nose right? Right?

“Please also forgive my like total lack of manners; I really didn’t have permission to call you William.” And wouldn’t Mom be proud, can take the girl out of the valley, but can’t take the valley out of the girl. Hope he doesn’t mind.

“No, Miss Sumner, I would be most happy for you to call me William. I f-feel so very much at ease with you. As though I have known you for quite some time.”

“I feel that way as well...William.” And there’s that blush again! Got to make sure to do that at least once a day. “And you may call me Buffy.”

“Buffy?”

“Yeah, I know lame name?” and upon seeing his look, cursed herself for using such informal language. It was just so hard to remember that this was not her William, at least not yet. “I meant, such a silly name, but it was a pet name my mother made up when I was younger. But – I only let good friends call me that” she added with far more inflection than was probably allowed for the time of day – or perhaps even the century.

“Miss Sumner, I do not feel that I have such prerequisites as to address you by a clearly personal name. Though I beg you please do continue to refer to me as William.” I have so few close, personal friends who call me that, I should very much love for her to be one of them.

“Very well William. Though I trust in a very short time, you will feel comfortable enough to call me Buffy.” Leaning slightly closer to whisper breathily and if she weren’t mistaken, quite flirtatiously, “After all, from now on, I do plan on monopolizing all of your time.” Was that too much? God, I don’t want Spike to think that I’m a big ho!

“M-m-monopolizing?” William barely was able to squeeze out. No woman has ever looked at me quite like that. I don’t even know how to describe it.

“Yes, I have been trying to make friends with interesting people. And you are the only one to have made it on my list” she stated matter-of-factly.

William, lost in her eyes, barely registered the comment. Her eyes are so green. A man could bloody drown in them forever. Like sparkling gems they are.

Seeing William do that head tilt thing that Spike always did when he was lost in thought (not to mention the added hotness factor of his eyes peering over his spectacles), made Buffy’s heart pound, fingers tense, and lungs pant. While this reaction usually led them to a very adult version of whom could pin whom on the ground first, this time, Buffy let it wash over her and she got just as lost in his eyes as he was in hers.

Unfortunately, Cecily was also privy to their little moment of discovery and almost saw red. There was no way that star-struck girl from the party was getting in the way of her plans. She’d been working at this for months. When William had originally started to express feelings for her (not verbally of course, he was too shy for that) she had dismissed him as someone not worth her time – not even to toy with. But, his puppy-dog expressions didn’t move on like she thought they would. Instead, his affection for her seemed to grow and, dare she even think it, turn into love. That simply would not do. Yes, Cecily Underwood was used to being loved and adored by men, but her good name would not be tarnished by the affections from one William the Bloody. Signaling to her friend, John, she awaited the disaster.



William, having realized that he had been staring into Miss Sumner’s eyes for the better part of the last five minutes, blinked, coughed, and averted his eyes, thus startling Buffy out of her thoughts as well. Searching for a way to distract herself from her mindless drooling, she spied a folded piece of paper in William’s lap.

“Oh, you were writing something before I disturbed you. Hopefully I have not made you lose your train of thought?”

“It is…uh…nothing.” He said quickly as he attempted to shove it into his pocket, only to be thwarted by John…something…he never could remember that chap’s name.

“Ah, Pratt old man, how have you been? Writing more poetry I see.” John stated arrogantly as he looked over the composition.

“Careful” William said forcefully, and then backtracked upon seeing the condescending look in John’s eyes. “The inks are still wet. Please, it’s not finished.”

By this time, a crowd had formed about them and John began to recite William’s poem.

“My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,
midnight descends in raven-colored clothes,
but soft...behold!
A sunlight beam
cutting a swath of glimmering gleam.
My heart expands,
'tis grown a bulge in it,
inspired by your beauty...
effulgent.”

“Effulgent” John said chuckling as he watched William sulk off the other direction. “And that’s actually one of his better compositions.”

“Have you heard? They call him William the Bloody because of his bloody awful poetry” one woman piped up.

Amidst the laughter and derision, William made it over to Cecily’s side. All thoughts of a certain blonde angel having left his thoughts in light of the utter humiliation he’d just experienced before the woman who had unknowing owned his heart for many years. Reaching her, he beseeched, “Cecily?”

“Oh. Leave me alone.” Cecily stated, though in all reality she just needed enough to lure him in.

Not to be deterred, William tried to regain the dignity he’d lost at others’ expense “Oh, they’re vulgarians. They’re not like you and I.” Forcing a smile the entire time.

“You and I? I’m going to ask you a very personal question and I demand an honest answer.” Let’s see if I can’t add a little more humiliation to this unfathomable man.

Seeing William nod in acquiesce, Cecily continued “Your poetry, it’s…they’re…not about me, are they?”

“They’re about how I feel” William answered cautiously, knowing that this was the defining moment. The moment when Cecily was sure to tell him of her reciprocal feelings.

“Yes, but are they about me?” Oh, get on with it, I cannot wait for your responses all night!

“Every syllable.”

“Oh God!” Could he be more pathetic?

“Oh, I know…it’s sudden and…please, if they’re no good, they’re only words, but…the feeling behind them…I love you, Cecily.” She’ll tell me now. I know she’ll tell me now!

“Please stop!” A little more distress, and then I’ll be ready to add insult to injury.

“I know I’m a bad poet, but I’m a good man and all I ask is that...that you try to see me-”

Perfect! “I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me.” Cecily said, and flounced off without a care in the world. She’d effectively ended his ridiculous crush, made it public, and had herself a real good day. While others in the room were too polite to notice the unquestionable meaning behind her smile, Buffy knew that look. Having finally been able to place Cecily as Halfrek, Buffy could only hope that Cecily was already a demon, so that she could beat the crap out of her. But, until then, she would offer whatever support she could. She only prayed that some sort of guidance descended down upon her from her mother, because, quite frankly, she sucked at touchy-feely stuff.

“William?” she quietly queried as he reached for the door, his shoulders hunched, eyes dejected. Unfortunately, it was a look that she was more than familiar with. Are those tears in his eyes. “That Bitch!” she said with vehemence, realizing too late that she’d said it aloud.

Looking up with a blush at William, fearful that she’d see disgust on his face due to a woman using such low-class language, she was delightfully surprised to see a hint of warm humor hiding in those blue depths. “Um, do you want to go outside? Get away from these people?”

Sensing that her comment caused the sadness to return, she nearly kicked herself. William was clearly about to decline, so, thinking fast, she spewed out “Would you be so kind as to walk a girl a home?” throwing as much flirtation as possible into her voice. Knowing from this brief meeting and years of the vampire version, that he could never resist escorting a lady. Besides, maybe she could coax him into a better mood.

“I would be honored Miss Sumner, though I fear I would not be the best companion, surely someone else is available? Where is your driver?”

“Please William. It is getting dark and…paging Scarlet O’Hara, isle 4 I’d feel much safer with you” with a bat of her eyelashes. Buffy knew she was playing dirty. But bullying him into doing something he didn’t want to do would piss him off and then, hopefully, her company would cheer him up again. Besides, that was the only way she knew how to get him out of a bad mood…well, except for sex…but that clearly wasn’t an option right now.

“As you wish, Miss Sumner.” Perhaps I’ve already drowned. William thought. His heart lighter than he believed it should be after having been trampled by the woman he’d loved for years; dreamt of as the mother of his children. And yet, this little wisp of thing was making it all better somehow. Like I thought earlier…effulgent.

Chapter 4: A Rose by Any Other Name




“Well, I did tell you that I planned to monopolize all of your time,” was the first thing the Buffy quipped upon seeing William the next morning.

She giggled as his startled surprise turned into open admiration and finally settled on the blush that Buffy termed the most magical thing she’d ever seen, which given her profession, she’d seen a lot of witch-y work take place. Her eyes twinkled in remembrance of his earlier admiration. The green dress she’d purposely selected made her eyes more intense and, with any luck, would draw William even further in.

Although, Buffy had to admit that William wasn’t the only one being drawn in. Even though she’d fallen hard for the all-black, leather clad, cigarette smoking, and more-often-than-not pain in her ass, there were definite crushable qualities present in William that would make any girl swoon. She hadn’t a clue why he hadn’t been snatched up already

Coming out of his stupor, William, realizing that he’d once again been staring, blushed harder, briefly glanced at his feet, cleared his throat, and then, barely being able to make out the proper salutations, stammered “G-good day, M-Miss Sumner. I trust your journey to my home was pleasant?”

“Yes, it was quite the pleasant journey. Your home is beautiful.”

“Thank you, Miss Sumner. However, I personally take no credit for it. The design falls truly to my mother,” he trailed off, thinking fondly of his mum and trying to keep the concern for her current health out of his mind. She’d started to feel so fatigued lately and while he’d attempted to gain her consent to call upon the doctor, his persuasive abilities had yet to make an impression.

“Y-your mother?” the slayer questioned awkwardly. God, I didn’t even think about Spike’s mother being alive. Well, I guess I don’t really know when she died…but, God, I have to deal with impressing ‘the Mom’ too? Oh, suck it up; it’s the least that you could do for him.

“Yes, I live here with Mother.” Does she think it odd? Where are her parents?

“Of course you do. I…uh…rude much, Buffy?” Now, she was more self-conscious than ever and utilizing her own brand of English.

“I took no offense, nor meant to imply that…” William pleaded, looking more forlorn at even the possibility of having slighted her in some fashion or made her to feel as though she of all people had offended him!

“No! You didn’t. I just…well, I guess I was just so excited – I mean pleased – with the possibility of seeing you again, that I did not think about your home situation.” *Pregnant Pause* “I hope it’s cool that I dropped by to see you like this…all, unannounced like.”

“Cool? Are you chilled? I can have tea prepared.”

“No, I just meant fine. You know? Fine and everything?”

“Fine. Yes, yes, most certainly. I would not have had it any other way.” You ponce! Could you sound any more like a complete ignoramus? “Would you care to sit down, Miss Sumner?”

“I would love to, but only if you call me Elizabeth,” the blonde replied.

Buffy then proceeded to startle William twice. Once, by joining him on the sofa, sitting closer than was proper and second, by insisting he use her given name.

Breaking the awkward silence, William inquired whether she wanted any tea, without reference to her temperature, and, at her decline, they slumped back into silence. Both were unsure exactly how to strike up a conversation.

William was quite flummoxed as to why this beautiful woman was sitting in his home. The previous evening he had assumed that she simply pitied him, first with his obvious separation from the group and second due to his abysmal humiliation at the hands, and apparently feet, William thought miserably, of the woman he had loved for years.

Yet, the gorgeous green-eyed girl was sitting in his parlor, looking for all the world like she was doing more than simply keeping a promise made the night before, but was actually enjoying his company. William simply could not fathom the young lady’s motivations. Miss Elizabeth did not seem to have any sort of cruelty within her, so he did not think that she merely called on him to mock him in the undefined future, but what could she want?

“Miss Elizabeth?” William managed without a stutter.

“Yes?” Finally! Conversation! I was on the verge of asking him about the weather or jumping his bones.

“What is it that you want from me?” Bloody hell! What a foul nave you are, asking a lady such a question and in such a brusque manner. “M-Miss Elizabeth, please forgive me for my brutal questioning, it is only that…well, what I mean to say is that, people – that is women – don’t, well…” he trailed off as he witnessed Buffy’s bemused rather than malicious look; as well as for the fact that she’d place her hand on his leg. Right. On. His. Leg.

“William? I may still call you William, correct?”

A singe nod.

“Good. Well, William there is in fact something that I want from you. And from you specifically.” Am I coming on too strong? Our relationship was so much easier when we knew what to expect from each other. First, it was you hate me; I hate you, now we fight to the death. Then, it was the whole you love me, I’m totally unsure about you, I’m now bopping you in the nose. God, have we ever just talked? Buffy thought heatedly.

“W-w-what is that, Miss?” Good lord, her hand burns me like fire.

“You.” That ought to stir up his imagination…or other parts of him.

“Madame, I certainly do not…” he began somewhat haughtily only to trail off once again as she gave him a gentle squeeze (though he could not hide his increased breath).

“Your company, William; that is what I want from you. Your company, conversation, thoughts. I really rather hope that you and I will become friends,” she said with the utmost sincerity.

Seeing that William was utterly uncomfortable with the situation, the young girl backed off and tried a different approach; the whole time wondering how – even though she found William perfect – wondering how, her bleached-blonde pain-in-the-ass lover resulted from this man. Spike would have made some crude comment about Buffy’s behavior, but William just seemed befuddled about what to do with her and perhaps, even what she was doing. Buffy could not reconcile the two, yet same, man.

In all of my years, I have never received such a look, or such an invitation. How in Heaven’s name could I possibly hope to accept such a friendship? Especially when I feel that I am beginning to desire so much more? William thought nervously, desperately wishing that he could take Elizabeth up on her offer, but unsure as to how to do so with some amount of courage and dignity as she had just displayed by putting her own heart on the line for him, in asking for friendship.

“I offer myself most humbly to you, in the same regard. I would be delighted to start a friendship with you,” William added, cheekbones aflame with embarrassment and wonder. However, he was calmed upon seeing the pure joy and happiness that radiated off Buffy with his response. Never before had he felt such a rush of excitement, the hope that finally, someone, outside of his mother, understood him, connected with him. He could not wait for their friendship to begin.

Buffy, on the other hand, was more nervous than she had ever been in her entire life. She had already failed this man once, more than once if she were perfectly truthful with herself. How would she stop from doing the exact same things to him again?

The two, soon realizing that they had once again fallen into the trap of gazing into one another’s eyes blushed and looked away, and William, surprisingly, spoke first.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes, William?”

“I…um, I-I must confess that our relationship, as it were, has come about by most unconventional means. Not that I have much experience in the formation of such relationships as you have so proposed, but I, what I mean to say, is that…well…”

“William, breathe,” Buffy gently reminded him. “You can tell me anything. You don’t have to be all proper and stuff with me. Friends, remember? Just tell me,” she offered with a warm smile that did odd things to William’s erm…stomach.

“You are too kind Miss Elizabeth. I know that I am not the type of person that one ordinarily seeks for company and –”

“Willia –”

“No, Miss Elizabeth, you please must let me finish.” Seeing her nod, continued. “As I was saying, my peers do not seek me out for social intercourse, nor do they offer me such a glorious olive branch as you have most kindly done. I only bring this up to tell you that I AM truly most honored and will do my utmost to keep your seeming affections of this moment continuous. Also, that you have my deepest gratitude. Miss Elizabeth…”

Buffy could no longer continue to hear the words pouring out of William. She’d had a vague understanding that life was not perfect for Spike before he was turned, but this outpouring of emotion, the sheer fact that William was grateful for even a passing glance of kindness from another human being was make her violently ill. It was in these few moments that Buffy learned an integral part of what made Spike tick. Why they could spend hours fucking each other raw, have the most heated of kisses, and yet, it was the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder during patrol to make sure he wasn’t hurt that sent a torrent of emotion and awe into his eyes. Why it was that holding him that night in the abandoned house meant more to him than anything. She’d assumed at the time it was rooted in the fact that she’d never allowed him to do that before, and while she was sure that had a great deal to do with it, it was also due to the fact that no one probably held him like that in his life.

She couldn’t really imagine Drusilla doing the cuddle routine – or at least being the one to cuddle someone else. This man, this remarkable man, had spent the last hundred and fifty odd years of both his life and un-life without really knowing compassion. Yet he had so much of it to give.

Finally zoning back in to what William was saying and seeing that he was still trying to express his gratitude for her kindness, she found it somewhat rewarding to finally have discovered a way to stop him from speaking – though she sincerely doubted it would work on her irksome vampire. William, on the other hand, seemed to be torn between being embarrassed and being affronted at the finger she softly pressed against his lips. While the young woman was certain that her actions would have led to a delectable blush, Buffy prevented this occurrence by saying his name very softly.

“William? Stop. There’s no need for you to do this. If anything, it should ME who ought to be so grateful that you would accept my friendship. And,” she increased her volume and tone to keep his contradiction at bay, “we needn’t speak any more about it. Realizing that Spike’s penchant for talking too much did not come from his demon, Buffy quickly changed the subject before he could speak.

“So, friend,” she started, green eyes twinkling at his knowing look, “what ever are we to do with our time today?” with a double bat of her eyelashes.

“Well, Miss Elizabeth, I was going to go through the family’s finances,” he trailed off with a warm laugh at her look of horror, “but I feel that would not suit such a vibrant creature as you.”

Buffy sat there in shock. Wondering how it was possible that William could switch from a bumbling man, tripping over his own metaphorical feet and, in the next second, flirt with her with such absolute abound. Did he even realize what he was doing? Because if he did – then seeing the charm that Spike so readily displayed really could be attributed to the not so different man sitting beside her. Well, she’d have to ascertain just how much of a flirt he really was.

“William, since it is quite clear that you are once again teasing me, perhaps I should spend my time elsewhere,” Buffy said with a simmering glare, waiting to see if he would take the bait.

While Buffy may have been merely surprised at William’s gentle teasing, William himself was nearly appalled at his bold behavior. He had never spoken to a woman this way – anyone this way. With such freedom of phrase, without worry of being mocked. If William was the sort to believe in destiny (which he entirely was) he’d think fate had led this gorgeous, intelligent person into his midst. Once again, if he believed in such illogical conclusions, he would say fate pushed him to attend the Underwood party despite his reservations – if only to meet a one Miss Elizabeth Sumner, from America, born and raised.

Once her words sunk into his fogged brain, he nearly stammered out an apology for his rash and impulsive teasing, only to catch the glimmer in her eye at the last moment, prompting a much different response.

“You are free to quit my company at any point and time Miss Elizabeth, but then I fear I shall simply have to find myself a new acquaintance.” He completed his statement almost entirely without a blush or softening of his voice, though he was still unsure as to how to speak so freely with someone he’d only just met, yet felt entirely comfortable with. Quite frankly, it was an odd occurrence for him.

Definitely seeing the William in Spike, Buffy thought before responding to his tease. “Then I suppose I shall simply have to stay and bear the bored-ness that is family finances,” she said, hoping that throwing in her own brand of English would not be off-putting to the proper gentleman.

“As agreeable as you are being about sitting around the house while I attend to the numbers, I was hoping that a picnic would be more to you liking?” Please say yes. Dear God, don’t let me have gone too far with that infernal teasing.

“A picnic? Really? That would be amazing – I mean – if it wouldn’t be too much trouble or keep you from your work?” she finished off with a nibble on her bottom lip, not noticing that this action pulled her flustered companion’s attention directly to that portion of her anatomy. God, kid much? I hope I didn’t sound twelve…all excited about a picnic.

Despite William’s increasing difficulty in concentration, he couldn’t help but be delighted in how adorable the young woman was as she tried to mask her near child-like delight at the thought of a picnic with proper sentiments of courtesy.

“It would be no trouble at all, in fact, I think a picnic is just what the day had in mind” the bashfully curly haired man replied with a rich note in his voice.

***

If Willow’s “it’s just a matter of balancing the elements” idea for beach picnicking was the modern-day equivalent of a good time, then the activity had certainly gone down hill since the nineteenth century. William’s idea, on the other hand, was marvelous. Though the spirited warrior was surprised to think that Spike was well enough off during his human youth to have a cook – she couldn’t say that she had a problem with it.

The amount of food packed was the most she’d ever seen at a picnic, or perhaps her entire life. There was no way that any two people could eat this much. Nevertheless, she’d certainly try. Especially since William seemed pleased that she liked the food and hadn’t even thought of doing the dainty-girl thing of picking at it.

Whilst Miss Elizabeth enjoyed the healthy spread before her, William leaned somewhat awkwardly against a tree, feeling as though the slate-grey sky was a reflection of his troubled thoughts. He couldn’t reconcile his rampant emotions. William had no idea what it was that he was doing, yet every time Miss Elizabeth spoke he knew exactly how to react; knew whether to tease or whether to be serious or to use that affable charm his mother always insisted, unconvincingly, that he possessed. She was a mystery to him – and even more so, making a mystery out of him.

Sensing William’s growing agitation with the prolonged silence, as well as his unease at opening the lines of communication, Buffy lightheartedly queried, “So, William, since you have so graciously accepted my offer of friendship, I suppose I’ll have to start getting to know you. All those deep dark secrets,” she said while wagging her eyebrows and biting into her apple. “We should totally play twenty questions,” she excitedly announced, hoping that she could both entice him to play the game and slowly bring in her more modern English, because quite frankly, she couldn’t spend one more second trying to sound like Giles and the Council’s cronies – it gave her the wiggins.

“I am afraid, Miss Elizabeth, that I do not know how to play ‘twenty questions.’” Please do not let her think me odd for not knowing a child’s game.

“Oh, it’s not really a game William…just, you take turns asking twenty questions with somebody, you know, to find things out quickly,” she ended with a shrug, then realizing she left out the most important thing, added rather rambunctiously, “Oh, I almost forgot…you have to tell the truth.”

“Oh…um…I-I supposed w-we could d-do that,” William said as he rearranged his napkin. While he did feel comfortable with her, sharing, truthfully, with her an untold amount of secrets, was a bit more than he was prepared to go through on their first outing. Friends or not.

“Great! I’ll start. Okay…um…what’s your favorite color?” Buffy asked seriously, trying to start with simple questions so as not to make William any more edgy than he was already.

“M-my favorite color? Oh well, I-I’ve always been particularly fond of, well, red.” My favorite color? Perhaps this ‘twenty questions’ shall not be so arduous. Of course, I should do anything to insure her continued interest in our friendship.

“Red, huh?” And I always figured he liked red cuz it reminded him of blood.

“Yes. Red is the color of courage, of passion. When something is red, you notice it. It is not a shade easily ignored.”

“Interesting, I never really thought about red quite like that before.” After an odd silence, she said, “It’s your turn William,” she added wondering what type of questions the timid poet would ask of her.

“Well then Miss Elizabeth, I should think that a return of the same question would be in order,” William rejoined, hoping that the level of questioning would not exceed such parameters.

Well, I think I can have some fun with this. “I suppose I would have to say that my favorite color is…blue,” Buffy stated, staring into William’s eyes, making sure that he had no doubt as to her meaning.

“I-I…uh, yes, I mean, yes blue is a perfectly lovely color, the color of…of the sky. I imagine,” William stammered out, unsure as to what she was alluding to with her tone. Why is she looking at me like that?

“The sky, yes. But I’ve personally always thought of blue as so much more than that. I mean, it can have such a range of meanings ya’ know? No offense to red, I like it a lot, but light red is pink and dark red is burgundy, but blue…blue keeps its name. Light blue, dark blue; you can have the darkest of troubled seas or the lightest blue fairy light in the early morning. It’s an incredible color – especially when it’s the color of someone’s eyes. Don’t ya’ think?” Buffy ended mischievously.

“Er-yes – I mean – no. I mean – I wouldn’t presume to agree with such a statement.” Especially when green is a much more alluring color. William ducked in response to her question and his own internal monologue. Unsure if she really meant to pay him a complement or if she was tormenting him in some fashion. Surely, she could not fancy his eyes that much?

Seeing that she’d clearly gone one-step too far with the teasing, Buffy decided to back off and tried to think of a question that would ease him back into the game and into the quiet camaraderie that they had been sharing only moments before. Not knowing how to get it started again without any more awkward moments, she decided to just take the bull by the horns and launched into the next round of questions.

“So, William, I believe I asked you last night, but I don’t think we every got around to your answer?”

“What question was that, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked rather wearily. As much as he had calmed down from the rush of her idea to play this game – truthfully – he was not quite prepared to return to a situation where she could quite possibly mock his responses. Besides, he still wasn’t terribly sure what she meant by her last comment.

“Read any good books lately?” she asked, hoping against hope that maybe he would forget about her overly-forward blunder and continue on with the delightful game they were playing while enjoying their picnic. “I believe last night you said that you were reading a compilation of poetry?”

“Y-yes poetry. Well, actually it was…um?”

“Yes?”

“Shakespeare. His sonnets. Have you read them?”

Buffy now found that it was her turn to stammer, not wanting to seem uneducated to William. “I-I um, well I’ve read some?” she haltingly admitted. “I always wanted to read the rest but slay…I mean, slav…ing away to my uncle’s wishes keeps me pretty busy. Since his wife died, it’s been up to me to keep the house running.”

“I’d be more than happy to lend you a copy of his sonnets,” William offered brightly.

“You would? That’s very sweet of you William, but I don’t think I’d find the time…maybe you would like to recite some for me instead?” She offered coquettishly. Spike would absolutely die *again* if he knew how much I always wanted him to recite poetry to me – that voice – but, of course, I never had the courage to ask.

“RR-recite? I-I sup-pose I could do that Miss Elizabeth.” Bloody hell William old boy, what have you gotten yourself into now? “What would you like to hear?”

“I’m sure that I would love anything that you should recite, Mr. Pratt,” she said with a flash of a brilliant smile.

Almost in a fog, he began to narrate:

“Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill’d with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I would write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, ‘This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touch’d earthly faces.’
So should my papers, yellow’d with their age,
Be scron’d, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term’d a poet’s rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice, – in it and in my rime.”

Finishing with a rather audible gulp, William ventured a glance into Buffy’s eyes, as he had found the path of an ant amongst the grass far more interesting as he’d recited his poem. As he looked up, he was surprised to find Buffy’s eyes glazed with a dreamy quality that for once William believed might – just might – have been a result of something that he had done. Never in his life had he ever entertained the notion that a woman could be moved by his words, um, that is borrowed words – well they did share their Christian name, it should count for something. Just as William was about to query how she liked the poem, he was interrupted by her exuberance…

“Oh, William, that was beautiful. I mean, I always knew that Shakespeare was good…”

“Good?! I must say…he is a trifle bit more than g…,” he uttered in abject horror.

Having completely ignored his bumbling outrage, the young girl continued on, “But the way you just…and-and the way that you, with the voice, a-and the sounding. It was just…just – tell me another?” Hopeful green eyes begged him in want. And William could do nothing but comply, wanting to give her anything.

And everything.

“Full many a glorious morning have I seen…”

Chapter 5: One Good Day



Edward Rawlings always considered himself a man of utmost pride and respectability. He and his sister, Joyce, had grown up quite comfortably with one another, spoiled rotten by their doting mother. As a young man, Rawlings knew what his future had in store. He would have a profitable business, a respectable wife who could run an efficient household, and two or perhaps three children, given the nature of he and his wife’s relationship.

However, here he was, a man approaching his mid-fifties and a confirmed bachelor. His darling little sister had run off to America to be with a man she barely knew. Granted, the marriage was respectable, and they had simply moved to America in order to be closer to Hank Sumner’s business ventures. Nevertheless, Rawlings felt he had been cheated from seeing his sister grow and mature into a fine woman.

It was with a rather strange delight that he agreed to accept his young niece into his home. The prospect of having even more correspondence with his sister was a thrilling one. He hoped that Elizabeth would bring a certain amount of joy to his life. He imagined that it would be like having Joyce back again.

It wasn’t.

Rawlings simply didn’t know how to connect with this child. Contemplating his situation with her, he sat perched on the window bench of his study and looked out on the gardens. The usual lack of English sunlight meant the flowers were dull and lacking their potential luster. It reminded him a bit of his young charge. While she tried to present a joyful and youthful front, anyone who observed her for even a mere moment would notice the underlying sadness and, well, emptiness that seemed to cling to her like a second skin.

Taking care of her was nothing like looking after his sister.

There was no light in her eyes, no spark.

He only saw a deepening abyss of despair that attempted to swallow him whole. He couldn’t stand to look at her at times, wondering how Joyce could have raised such an unpleasant little girl. His sister was full of such life, and his niece, such anguish. It was a great disappointment.

That was why he hoped to get her married as soon as possible. Foist her off to the first available man so that he wouldn’t have to stare into her lifeless eyes a moment longer.

Turning his gaze away from the garden at the sound of the front door, he sighed. He was getting far too old to be the guardian of a young girl, even if she was his niece.

As his thoughts drifted away from the young girl, he finally took note of the time, and realized that it was far later than it should have been. He had not seen her all day. He certainly hoped that she had not made a spectacle of herself. He didn’t know what girls were like in America, but if she was going to be living under his roof, he’d make sure that she understood that she could not bloody go off any time that she pleased.

Up until this point, she had rarely ventured outside of the house. Well, if she was going to do this now, he had better make some guidelines for the young thing to follow or else he’d never be rid of her.

Stepping out to the front landing, Rawlings watched as Elizabeth took off her hat, gloves, and proceeded to kick off her shoes. She’d made the horrible habit of not wearing her shoes while inside the house. He’d tried to tell her again and again that it was necessary, but she’d just beg off and compromise with slippers instead. It was unseemly. What if someone were to call on them?

“Ah, Elizabeth, there you are,” Rawlings said, unable to keep his annoyance in check. “Where have you been this afternoon?” Bloody girl had better have a proper excuse.

“Out,” she stated hesitantly. “I went on a picnic with someone I met at the Underwood party yesterday. I hope that was alright?”

Oh thank heavens. “So you were with one of the fine ladies from the party? That’s good. A good English friend is someone whom you need if you are going to end up in the right circles, Elizabeth.”

“Those girls? No thank you. I wouldn’t want to spend any more time with them than necessary. They were simply horrid. All they cared about was the latest town gossip. They were completely ridiculous if you ask me.”

“Ridiculous? Elizabeth, those are the girls that your mother wanted me to mold you after. You cannot escape that which is to be your future,” Rawlings barked in response to her tirade. Ridiculous indeed.

Continuing, he said, “You had better start acting appropriately or else there’s no telling what I might have to do.”

“Now, who were you with?”

Buffy looked nervously about, her facial expressions confirming to Rawlings that she had been up to no good. “I was with Will- I mean, Mr. Pratt.”

“A MAN!” Rawlings bellowed at the top of his lungs. “You were alone in public with a MAN. You are forbidden to see him ever again. I will not tolerate this type of behavior from you. No wonder your mother sent you to me. You are nothing but a –”

Mustering her courage, even as tears pooled in her eyes, “What’s wrong with that? I just went on a picnic.” Buffy responded with distress, a look of confusion marring her features as she wrung her hands. “It’s not like I went off to –”

“Went off to what? A young girl of your station should not have any clue about what would follow in that sentence. Have you given yourself to that man?” Rawlings had never felt such intolerable rage. To think that he brought that girl into his home as a favor to his sister and this was how the girl responded.

“No, I haven’t done th-that. We just went on a picnic.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rawlings interjected, “your reputation is ruined anyway. You were still on an outing with him, unsupervised. No one will ever take you now.” My God, I’ll be stuck with her forever.

“That’s not true. Mr. Pratt’s driver was there the whole time. We didn’t know how long we’d be, so he was kind enough to just stay there.” Buffy defended herself, biting her lip in an unconscious reaction to her unease.

“Bloody lucky you are. Granted, as a servant, he’ll be sure to alert the whole of London that my niece doesn’t know how to behave.”

Buffy, unused to her fictional uncle taking that tone with her, quietly queried, “What do I need to do to fix this?”

“I’ll get you a chaperon. And, would I be interpreting this situation correctly, if I said you plan to spend more time with this Mr. Pratt?” Rawlings spat out, desperately wishing that her answer would be no.

“Y-yes.”

Stepping closer to Buffy, pointing a finger within inches of her face, Rawlings told her simply, but with a definite threat in his tone, “I will be checking out his financial standing. He had better be economically worth all of this trouble. I’ll not let you marry a pauper and ruin the family.”

With that, Rawlings quickly turned around and stomped out of the hall, leaving a bewildered Buffy in his wake.

“A chaperone?” Buffy said aloud, to empty room.

***

“Early one morning, just as the sun was shining…” Anne sang quietly to herself as she sat with her embroidery and waited for William to return home. She hadn’t had the chance to speak with him last night. He’d come home far too late in the evening for her to wait up. She wasn’t the young girl she used to be, Anne thought with a sigh.

Thinking about the Underwood party gave Anne pause, her hands stumbling slightly with the needle, despite the ease years had afforded her. She truly hoped that Cecily had not given her poor boy any heartache. He wore his heart so freely, that even the admonishment of a perfect stranger caused him pain. Like his father in so many ways. He’d need a strong woman to bring up his spirits.

As she turned her attention back to the task before her, she heard the door open.

“William, dear, is that you?”

“Yes, Mother. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Well, he sounds rather happy. Perhaps last night turned out better than I expected.

Watching her son come into the room, Anne noted the way that he seemed to float on air. “Did you have a good time last night? You certainly seem like you did,” Anne asked with a barely concealed smile. It was about time he found some happiness in his life.

William blushed. “Yes, Mum. I did have a rather enchanting evening.” William responded and Anne knew without a doubt that he did. Even as a small child, William had only ever called her Mum when he wanted something or was in an extraordinarily good mood.

“Enchanting you say? Did you finally steal the young Miss Underwood’s heart?” I hope you did for your sake. Even if I do find her rather…cold.

“Miss Underwood! Good heavens, no. I wouldn’t dream of having any sort of relationship with her,” he stated succinctly.

“You wouldn’t?” Anne asked with shock, dropping her needlework. “But, I thought you lo-cared for her?” What could have possibly happened? Were those poems about someone else? Why hasn’t he told me about her?

“I met the most…magnificent creature last night, Mother,” William said as he dropped down to his knees at her feet, right before jumping back up to pace, far too excited to sit still.

“Met someone? I should hardly think your affections would be so easy to sway.” That’s no way to love or be loved by others.

Seeing that William was off somewhere else, lost in a fantasy, Anne took a moment to study him. He looked, well, happy. Happier than she had seen him in ages. He was always good-natured and amiable. However, since he had set his sights on Miss Underwood, some of that inner light had died in him, seemingly leaving him the more he realized that he would never capture her heart. Now he reminded her of that slightly mischievous little boy who had just woken up on Christmas morning.

“William?” Anne tried, and then, a little louder, “WILLIAM,” smirking to herself when he jumped. He clearly had no idea where he was or that he had left his poor mother hanging on his every word.

“Magnificent creature…?” she prodded.

“Mmm, yes, most magnificent.” William finally refocused and began telling his mother all about the lovely afternoon he spent with Miss Elizabeth Sumner.

As Anne listened to her son spout about the wonderful attributes of this young woman, she was delighted, but also extremely worried. She hoped her son had not given his heart to another woman not worry of such a gift.

***

Try as she might, all Buffy could do was toss and turn. She couldn’t fall asleep for the life of her. No matter what she did, Rawlings words kept echoing in the back of her mind. If she wasn’t careful, she was afraid that he would make her stop seeing Spike.

Not that he could really do anything, cuz Slayer and an’ all, but he could make it difficult. And she sincerely doubted that William would be up for any covert love affair operations.

Why couldn’t Willow have picked a better guardian for her? One that wouldn’t flip out if she went by herself? Oh, that’s right, because she was in the stupid Victorian era, where everyone was sexually repressed and scandals abounded.

Flipping back over to her side, Buffy pulled on her pillow and wrapped her arms around it, imagining that it was Spike. Thinking back to those last few days in Sunnydale when all they did was hold each other, she tried to recreate those feelings in her.

Apparently her ability to fantasize was getting better, because suddenly she thought that she could actually feel Spike’s arms. Like she was being wrapped up in a Spike sized blanket. Buffy had no idea what it was, but she wasn’t going to question it, as she let the warm feelings lull her into a peaceful sleep.

***


Across town, William was having the same trouble. Sleep alluded him, but for a completely different reason. He was ecstatic. Too much energy for him to deal with. He simply didn’t know how to calm down. Miss Elizabeth was…beyond words.

Thinking back over his life, William wondered if he would be able to make it work with her. She certainly seemed like she wanted to be genuine friends.

He’d been disappointed so many times before.

William had always had trouble connecting with people. Well, no, that wasn’t true. He always tried to connect with others, but they never wanted to with him. William remembered a young boy who used to live down the street. William had only been six or seven at the time, and his parents had invited the family over for tea. The two boys had been expected to go and play while the adults talked.

Henry hadn’t wanted to play.

Instead, William had spent an unnatural amount of time hiding, while the boy did not do any seeking. His parents found him underneath his father’s desk in the study well after the Hydes had gone home for the evening.

Shaking his head, as if to clear it by force, William decided to turn over once more and attempt to find some sleep. Thinking back to earlier in the afternoon, William slowly nodded off to the image of sparkling green eyes and the heat of Miss Elizabeth’s hand when she’d briefly rested it upon his knee.

***

“Well, I simply do not know what has become of that boy. Two weeks; it’s been two weeks, and hardly hide nor tail. I don’t know what possibly could have persuaded him to be so…so, male,” Anne announced as she walked into the kitchen, startling the cook and staff with her sudden entrance.

While the Pratt Family was financially secure, they were not millionaires. The staff of the house included one cook, one servant/maid, and one butler who doubled as a driver for both Anne and William. As a result, the staff was thought of as family more than servants. All three of them had been there long before William was born.

“Has he now?” Cook replied, chopping some vegetables, and slyly trying to get more information, while appearing disinterested. She’d seen the young man grow up and he was very special to her.

“Yes. It is but terrible. I do not know what has befallen my sweet boy. He leaves early in the morning and returns well after dark. If he’s not careful, some ruffian may get a hold of him,” Anne worried aloud as she paced about the kitchen.

“I well understand that men do not concern themselves with the worries of women, especially their mothers, but William has never been like that. He’s such a darling boy. I would expect – I assume – a boy’s blatant disregard for his mother’s wishes in their youth, but my Lord, he’s almost thirty! ‘Tis certainly an unseemly time to revert,” she ended in a sigh.

Cook, who was a bit more of a romantic than most people gave her credit for, what with her masculine features and seemingly perpetual frown, announced rather airily, “Ah, but Mum, don’t you remember what it felt like to be young and in love?”

“I suppose you’re right, Cook,” Anne replied with a laugh. “William certainly has fallen head over heals for this one. I’m glad that I will finally be meeting her this afternoon for tea.”


Cook didn’t reply, only nodded. She too was excited to see the girl that had made William so happy for the last few weeks. Cook hadn’t caught a glimpse of her when she had prepared their earlier picnic.

“If I may say, Mum.” Cook liked to keep up formalities, even though she considered Mrs. Pratt family. “I must say that I’ve never seen Master William so happy. After the Underwood party, I thought our dear Master William would return sad and upset, what with that Miss Underwood being such a heartless wench –”

“Cook!”

“– but instead, he came home rather happy, and then early the next morning that young slip of thing came over. I fixed a picnic for the two of them to go on,” she ended, words full of pride for her surrogate son.

Hearing the doorbell chime, Anne left to go and greet her houseguest, popping a pilfered carrot into her mouth, and winking cheekily.

***

William beat his mother to the door, wiping his hands on his trousers to make sure that his nerves had not gotten the better of him. He was both anxious and excited to have his mother meet Miss Elizabeth. Anxious because he couldn’t wait to be in her presence again and excited because he knew that his mother would absolutely love her.

William opened the door, his smile faltering when he saw Mrs. Fairfax appear before him, with Miss Elizabeth bringing up the rear.

Mrs. Fairfax was the old curmudgeon that Rawlings had found to be his niece’s chaperon. While William certainly understood that convention required her presence, he couldn’t help but wish that Rawlings had found someone a bit younger. Someone who wouldn’t mind giving he and Buffy at least two minutes alone. That woman was like a hawk, just waiting for either to misstep.

“Mrs. Fairfax, it is a pleasure to see you once again. And you as well, Miss Sumner. No man could be more fortunate to have the company of two such ladies,” William said sincerely, but neither of the women doubted as to whom those sentiments were truly spoken.

“William,” Buffy acknowledged, blushing slightly in the warmth of his gaze.

“May I escort you to the parlor?” Taking his arm, Buffy nodded her assent and the three moved to the next room and awaited William’s mother.

***

“Oh my God, you are such a liar!” Buffy exclaimed loudly, throwing a pillow in William’s general direction.

“I am telling you the absolute truth,” he countered with a rich laugh, tossing the pillow back her way.

“Yeah, right! There is no way that I would believe that you said a thing like that. To anyone. Let alone think it.”

“By what powers do you believe that you are able to state what I would or would not do? We, in truth, have not known each other very long.”

“Duh! I know you, William.”

All William could do was look on in amazement. It would seem he agreed with her statement.

“Well, I-I suppose that you do indeed,” William said, his voice regaining a stutter that all in the room had though he’d outgrown in her presence.

“I most certainly do and –”

“William, whatever do we have here?” Anne asked as she stepped out from behind the parlor door, having been observing the easy interactions between her son and the beautiful blonde. While she initially had her reservations about the young woman, thinking her intentions to match those of the young Miss Underwood, witnessing her son’s brief interaction proved quite enlightening.

She had never seen him laugh as delightfully as he did now or see his smile quite so bright. It was heartening to behold. He deserved so much from a good woman. And, it seemed as though this woman might be it.

“M-Mother, I-I…um…this is….um…?” He stopped mid sentence, realizing in horror that he had forgotten her name.

“Elizabeth Sumner.” Buffy stepped in to save William from turning a darker shade of red. “You may know my uncle, Edward Rawlings?”

“Oh, yes of course, dear. And I am Anne. Please address me as such.”

Stepping slightly away from the vivacious girl and her son, Anne took note of Mrs. Fairfax. Her son had gone on at some length to describe just how annoying the woman could be.

“And you must be Mrs. Fairfax, I presume?” Anne stretched out her hand in welcome, only to have her son’s opinions confirmed as the woman merely grunted in response. Mrs. Fairfax turned her head back to the book she was reading, appearing uninterested in the world – or polite custom.

Trying not to be put out by the old woman’s actions, Anne turned her attention back to the couple and addressed them both.

“Now, if my son could forestall his blush in order to tell me how the two of you met?” Anne asked impishly, moving over to the settee. She could clearly read from her son’s face that he was still embarrassed about his earlier blunder, but more importantly, that this girl meant the world to him. His father used to look at me the exact same way.

Finally clueing in that his mother had asked him a question, William slowly responded, his gaze turning hazy as he thought about the first moment he saw his golden-haired goddess. Not even catching on to the fact that he thought of her as his.

“But of course, Mother, I would be most pleased to tell you the happy tale. It was truly a night to remember. It all started when…”

Anne eagerly listened to the tale of how this young woman had swept her son of his feet. Although William had told her before, this time, she had the benefit of enjoying the way Buffy blushed under William’s praise. Anne could not hold back her own grin as Buffy smiled prettily for him. The young girl gained even more of Anne’s admiration when she interjected at certain points, citing that William hadn’t given himself enough credit.

Their arguing back and forth caused Anne to contemplate the childishness of both her son and his…something. Anne smiled inwardly at the delight she felt for her son’s happiness. Cecily had never brought that sort of light into William’s eyes. Anne refused to believe that love had ever entered the equation for either party. Even though William professed such affections, if he could see himself when he was with Elizabeth, his previous emotions would seem like a figment.

Turning to Buffy and placing her hand comfortingly on her arm, she said, “Well I certainly must say, you do seem to have swept my son off of his feet. I do not know whether to think you have bewitched him in some way or have simply fallen from Heaven somehow.”

“I am not sure about Heaven, Mrs. Pratt, but I should think I could charge William with the same crime.” Buffy smiled demurely.

Sitting back rather shocked at the young girl’s declaration, Anne finally started laughing, beginning with a giggle she had not lent out since her own girl-hood, and ending in a hearty chuckle.

“Mother?” William queried, “Are you quite well?”

Gaining control of her stiff upper-lip, Anne explained, “My dear girl, I have never ventured to America, but if the other young ladies are like you, then I feel I should find the country much to my liking. I do enjoy your spirit,” she ended with a warm smile.

“As do I,” William said, heart skipping a beat with surprise at his announcement.

All three of them spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying a quiet tea and learning even more about each other. They also pointedly ignored Mrs. Fairfax’s quiet snoring in the background.

Maybe having a chaperone wouldn’t be that bad after all.

***

Eight weeks later…

They were alone – completely alone.

Buffy didn’t think that she and William would ever be alone together again. Ever since that first morning when she had gone over to his house and said that she was going to monopolize all his time, they had not once been alone.

And now they were.

She was going to have to make the most of it.

Buffy and William had been enjoying a quiet moment together, mutually reading, and sharing furtive glances with one another as they listened to the rhythmic and predictable snores of Mrs. Fairfax.

The three of them had enjoyed a trip to the museum yesterday and were resting from their exertions. Buffy and William had discovered early on, that if they wanted to have a few moments to themselves, all they need to do was wear out Mrs. Fairfax. Museums and long, extended walks worked well.

However, today proved to be even more fortuitous, as Rawlings had called Mrs. Fairfax into his study, and it didn’t seem like they were going to emerge any time soon; hence the current predicament.

They were alone.

However companionable the two may have appeared to strangers, both knew that the silence was anything but comfortable.

Buffy wasn’t quite sure, but she knew that something changed between the two of them since she met Anne. And that change had progressed naturally and rapidly since that day. It made Buffy’s head spin with the knowledge that she was really in the past and he was hers.

After that tea, she had been a frequent visitor in the Pratt household, greatly enjoying spending time with a maternal figure. Anne reminded her of her own mother. Perhaps that was why Spike was so taken with Joyce?

Nevertheless, the three of them had been getting on wonderfully, and Buffy couldn’t have been happier.

Except for one thing.

She never had a chance to really talk to William, to express her feelings, not without the possibility of Mrs. Fairfax overhearing them. Although the blonde sincerely doubted that would happen, given the woman’s penchant for napping and her less than subtle snoring.

But now they were alone, and Buffy didn’t have a clue what to do.

William, on the other hand, did.

Suddenly blurting out, “Please forgive me,” William edged ever closer to her, briefly brushed his lips against hers. Too astonished to react, Buffy was barely able to acknowledge what had happened let alone prepare a proper response. Opening and closing her mouth repeatedly, her inability to respond was only heightened by William’s growing blush and increasingly indecipherable babble of apology.

“Pl-please f-forgive m-me. I-I-I am so s-s-sor-ry. I…am but a bad…rude man, to h-have p-presumed to –” His self-degradation was cut off by Buffy’s lips on his. However, she did not stop there.

Wanting desperately to have him, but knowing that she was very much dealing with William and not Spike, Buffy refrained from mauling him, and instead shared a light, but meaningful kiss. Though not as soft as the kiss she gave Spike after his beating with Glory, it was heartfelt and slightly world changing. God, if I’d only let Spike kiss me like that all the time.

Moving her lips slowly across his, she waited until he relaxed and brought his hand up to cup her face before slowly darting her tongue out to tease him, ever so tantalizingly, until he slightly opened his mouth. Using that moment to attain her goal, Buffy gave into her desire to really kiss him. Re-familiarizing herself with the feel of him, she found heaven again.

Though he no longer reminded her of whiskey and cigarettes, the underlying taste that made him, well, him was still there and she half moaned, half cried out in joy, uttering a throaty call of his name. Finally realizing that perhaps this was too much for what she assumed was William’s second kiss, she moved back, only to immediately kiss him again, too afraid to open her eyes and realize that it was all a dream. Only in her dreams did she ever feel like this.

Although she longed for their kiss to continue, she forced her eyes to open, and gasped as she did. It was there, just as it always had been. In his twinkling blue eyes, she found his unmasked adoration and awe. Buffy was fairly certain that this was what swooning felt like.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As soon as Mrs. Fairfax had left the room, William was more than aware of the fact that he was alone with his…girl…Miss Elizabeth. Ever since the two of them had the meeting with his mother, he felt as though everything in his life was falling into place. He was meant to go that disastrous party and meet this shining angel.

In the past weeks, he had learned to accept that she was really with him and not using him for such ridiculous and frivolous reasons as he had first suspected. She was with him for him and that made him feel…alive, for perhaps the first time in his existence. She brought light and laughter to his rather dull world. Buffy had delivered him from mediocrity.

Seeing her sitting there made him act on some unknown impulse; one that had been building for weeks, a desire that he didn’t have a name for. So he acted.

On instinct.

He had to know whether her thoughts mirrored his own.

But once he kissed her, all of his bravado fell away, and he was awash with doubts and insecurities. He was unbelieving of his utter stupidity, to think that a beautiful creature, such as her, would desire him, like that, would want him as more than a friend was an absurd notion.

William had never once seen her so flustered, even those times that he thought her rather forward for a lady of stature. Now he had seemingly bollixed the whole thing up, and he was to lose the only true friend he had ever made, because he acted like some foul beast that could not control its more base desires.

Though he did not even know how to begin to apologize, he started…only to become more befuddled as Buffy’s lips met his once again. Not knowing how to respond, he sat stiffly as Buffy continued her slow assault on his lips. Realizing that she in no way was going to stop, as he’d assumed this kiss was to be a friendly peck, to either reassure him that their friendship had not been lost or a goodbye kiss, he slowly relaxed and let her have her way with him.

He tentatively raised his hand to brush against the delicate skin of her face. William then felt the sinfully delicious sensation of her tongue brushing against his own. It was sure to be quite improper, but God would have to strike him down at that very moment, before he would relinquish her.

When she moaned out his name against his lips, he was sure that the world could end and he wouldn’t care, only to have this amazing creature at his side for just one moment more. When she pulled away to take a breath, he thought she had changed her mind, but as her fingers clutched at his jacket lapels and she swooped in for one more taste, he knew that she was as desperate as he.

Finally opening his eyes to peer into her green depths, he gasped in surprise as he found love shining brightly back to him. Feeling an indescribable burst of happiness, he jumped up, bringing her with him, and spun them around, delighting in her tinkling laughter. William thought that this was the emotion that other poets wrote; that elusive feeling he had never been able to catch. This was love.

Chapter 6: Lesson the First



Rigidity was something Mrs. Fairfax was more than used to. It was an experience that had marked her early childhood and continued into her girlhood and adolescence.

Her parents had unconsciously contributed to her familiarity with a structured life. They never played the role of doting mother and father. Therefore, she got used to bitter coldness and the emptiness that accompanies an unaffectionate childhood.

This emptiness was never filled. No matter how hard you would try.

Thus, the only choice left is to become someone else. To hide behind a façade that keeps the inner you from breaking down completely.

It keeps the emptiness from consuming you.

And she chose detachment.

Isolation.

A desperate, clawing need not to connect to anyone, in order to protect herself.

Ever.

So sitting there, watching the rigid posture of the man before her was not unsettling to her in the slightest. A lack of warmth was something she excelled in, so if he was using this tactic to intimidate her in some way, it wasn’t going to work.

She’d experienced far more terrible things than the likes of him.

However, when he finally turned around, the look on his face made her blood run cold.

And Mrs. Fairfax knew that she wouldn’t be a chaperon for much longer.



***



Sitting idly, William pretended to not notice, or at least not be completely undone by the fact that Miss Elizabeth seemed perfectly content to be holding his hand. Buffy confidently clutched at his fingers, as if it were something that she did every day.

William couldn’t decide exactly how he felt in this moment. Part of him felt as though he was being ripped apart, as his mind rapidly tried to catalogue all the sensations he felt during their previous kisses. On the other hand, there was another part of him that was perfectly calm, like he’d been waiting lifetimes just for her.

While his mother always insisted that he would find some nice girl to settle down with, William always feared that no such creature would ever exist for him.

But now, all he could do was sit back, with Miss Elizabeth cuddled against his side, imagining what their children would one day look like….blonde little girls with their mother’s eyes. William adopted a rather sappy grin as he thought about his future life with her. There was no way he was letting her go now.

“Miss Elizabeth?” William queried with more confidence than Buffy had heard in his voice since she arrived in this time.

“You know, William, I’m pretty sure that after your little display earlier you could drop the formalities, don’t ya’ think?” she rejoined perkily. Glancing up at him, she could see that he was opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

“I mean, we’re so totally past that whole ‘Miss Elizabeth’ part. So…do you think you could call me Buffy?” The young girl persisted.

“Y-you wish me to call you Bu-Buffy?” William stammered, quite unsure what to make of this turn in events. No woman had ever asked him to call her by her given name. He blushed at even the thought of having such liberties.

Leaning in closer to William, if that was physically possible, Buffy whispered seductively into his ear, “Well, I think it’s only fitting. I told you that only close friends have ever called me by that name. And,” she added with a dramatic flair, “just a few moments ago, we became very close.”

“Yes, in-indeed. It means the world to me, pet –” William broke off, only able to stare at the marvelous creature before him. The first woman to take notice of him, the first woman to get to know him, and now, the first woman to have kissed him. And he was the first to kiss her! Things couldn’t possibly get better than this.

He never even noticed that he’d slipped out that term of endearment. Yet when he looked up into her eyes again, he noticed her blush. A rare thing indeed.

“B-Buffy?”

“Yes, William?”

He was going to question her as to what he had said to add such color to her cheeks, but he once again became caught up in her alluring scent and luminous eyes.

Changing tracks, he asked, “M-may I…?”

“May you what?” she whispered as they drew closer and closer together.

“May I –”

“You needn’t ask –”

They spoke in unison, before their lips once again fused together. Neither knew which one began the kiss, only that they couldn’t get enough of the taste and the feel of the other. They found home in each other’s arms.

Mimicking her earlier actions, he tightly traced his tongue along Buffy’s lower lip, causing her to let out a soft moan that was more of a pleasant wisp of a happy sigh than an actual sound. Her purr of contentment traveled to William’s nether regions, making him harder than he’d possibly ever been in his life.

Buffy’s hand released its grip on his jacket lapel and lightly moved down his arm and was just about to drop lower, when William grabbed her wandering hand and placed it on his chest, palm facing his heart. Though William was untried and unpracticed in the manners of lovemaking, he was not naïve. He would not let things go farther. His love for her was far too great to disrespect her in such a fashion.

Quickly relinquishing his hold on her lips, William rested his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose when it became apparent that he’d become quite addicted to her.

The moment’s pause led him to notice his raging hard-on, and unlike the other times when his body’s physiological responses had caused him such mortified embarrassment, he couldn’t muster up even the tiniest bit of shame.

His woman – and by God she was his – had created such feelings in him that he felt no need for embarrassment. Finding that the few seconds he had refrained from kissing Buffy had nearly killed him, he removed his hands from about her waist, and almost sensually (for any sensuality on his part was quite accidental and unplanned) skimmed his hand up along her arms to cup her face.

Looking deeply in her eyes, he saw all the things that he felt for her reflected back to him, and he could only gasp in surprise. He leaned back in to kiss her again, only to be brought up short by her hands on his chest.

“Will? I –”

“Yes, Buffy?”

“Never mind. Just kiss me.” And he did, causing Buffy’s brain to short-circuit.

“Huh?” she managed rather inarticulately, as she realized William was no longer kissing her.

“Did you just call me ‘Will’?” he asked in all seriousness.

“Wha?” Hearing William chuckle brought Buffy out of her kiss-induced haze, finding her partner quite chuffed with himself for having put his girl in such a state.

“I said, ‘Did you just call me Will,’ Buffy?” he added her name quietly, waiting for her to admonish him for his familiarity.

“D-Did I? I honestly don’t…oh, I guess I did. You don’t mind do you?”

“Not at all.”

Just as William started to say something, Buffy burst out into giggles.

What the – William thought in a panic, feeling his heart beginning to shatter into a million pieces. Did I do something wrong? Has it all been some sort of ruse?

Seeing that William was getting rather upset with her unexplained laughter, Buffy finally calmed down enough to explain.

“Will, hah, Will I *gasp* just realized something.”

“What might that have been?” William tried unsuccessfully to tack down both his mounting heartbreak and disappointment.

“Kissing leads to better name calling.” Full of mirth, the young woman failed to notice that William had yet to join in her fun.

“I’m afraid that I still don’t quite understand.”

“The first time you kissed me, I said you should call me ‘Buffy’ and the second time you kissed me I started calling you ‘Will’.”

“T-that’s what you were laughing about?” William was still unsure as to how to respond to this girl’s laughter.

“Yep,” she replied, making sure to pop the ‘p’. “I guess kissing leads to better name calling,” she ended with a blush.

“I suppose so, Buffy.” While he said this, he realized that Buffy Sumner wanted to call him by the name ‘Will’. All feelings of heartbreak were instantly erased as Buffy granted him with such a gift. No one had ever given him a nickname before, as ordinary as it may be. No one had ever been as close to him as and she was now.

“Will? Where’d ya go?” Although the Slayer wanted to continue along her line of questioning, she was stopped by the odd flutters picking up speed in lower abdomen, as William bestowed her with the most beautiful look of awe.

Haltingly trying to put his swirling emotions under control, William explained, “I j-just. No one has ever called by anything other than Mr. Pratt or William. I’ve not had the pleasure of being so close with someone before.”

Placing her hand beneath his chin to bring his eyes back up to hers, Buffy told him warmly, “and you won’t get the chance to be with anyone else either, mister!” She enforced this sentiment with a quick peck on the lips, giggling softly when she saw his joy in her possessive attitude.

“No, no one else,” William cocked his head to the side, steadily gazing at her. And there never will anyone else for you, if I have anything to say about it.

Always uncomfortable any time he gazed at her for long moments, Buffy quickly spewed out, “So…you wanna have more smoochies or do something else?”

William was unable to respond to her forward question and could only stare on in amazement. I do love how she keeps me on my toes.

Seeing his rather befuddled predicament, Buffy let him off the hook with a chaste kiss and cuddled up close to him once again, tucking her head beneath his chin.

They sat there for a while, just enjoying the closeness of the moment. William thought that this was the sweetest moment he’d ever known. He never imagined that he could ever be at such peace while holding a woman at his side. Never knew he could ever feel comfortable enough to have this.

“Will?”

“Buffy?”

Chuckling at his utter adorable-ness, she responded, “I wonder if you could tell me another poem.” When he looked as though he was going to refuse her, she added a pout, “Please Will?”

“Oh! And can it be one of yours?” she added quickly, fiddling with a loose thread in her dress.

Completely gob smacked, William didn’t immediately reply. She wants to hear my poetry? Again? Why on earth?

“Miss Elizabeth –”

“BUFFY. Say it with me now Bu-ffy.”

“Yes, Buffy, I’m sorry. I just, my poetry isn’t very good and I –”

“Yes. YOUR poetry. You’ve never given me the pleasure. And as I recall, it isn’t THAT bad.” She pouted again. “Please?”

“Very well, but please do not mock me. I could not stand it if you were to mock me as well,” he intoned, not being able to bear that kind of rejection again.

“R…” William began.

“I would never mock you Will. Everything you do is wonderful.”

“Thank you, but you are too kind. You’ve only briefly heard my poetry. Mother is the only one who avidly listens or seems to appreciate what I write.” Steeling himself:

“R…”

“Well now you’ll have someone else who appreciates them,” she rejoined, hoping to give him enough confidence to share his poems with her.

“R…”

“I mean I’ll love them no matter what. What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” Buffy’s brow furrowed in question.

“Perhaps because I’ve been trying to start a poem for quite some time now,” he deadpanned with a slight ruffle of irritation. Doesn’t she know how much courage it took to begin all those times?

“Oops! Sorry.” She then made a motion of locking her lips and throwing out the key.

After raising his yet to be scarred brow, William cleared his throat and recited:

“Raven hair, coiffed to a high perfection
There being no need to look at one’s own reflection;
Skin, pale as the moon
Removed from my vision, far too soon;
Eyes, glorious and bright
I could not resist, even with all of my might;
You are, for me, my love
Even if, you flee like a dove.”

“I-I know that it isn’t much. I mean, it’s not the most original –”

“It was wonderful, Will,” Buffy responded sincerely. And it was to her because it was something that he created. After he’d been turned, his life was about destruction. It was oddly comforting and refreshing to hear him create something instead.

“I am quite sure that you are being entirely too kind,” William proclaimed with no false modesty.

“I've never been known for being too kind” Buffy said with a twinkle in her eye that caused William to blush, “but ya know what I would truly love to hear?”

“What would that be?”

“A poem not inspired by Cecily,” she offered slyly.

“I-I didn’t, I mean, how did you know?” he asked abashedly. William didn’t even try to deny it. He knew when he was caught. “I’m so sorry that I brought up a poem about Cec…her. I just –that was the first one I could think of. Do forgive me?” he offered with an unknowing pout of his own.

Unable to resist “the pout,” and knowing that he truly hadn’t meant the poem of his former love to be hurtful to his current – Friend? Love? Something? – Buffy offered kindly, “I know that. And I’d totally forgive you if…?”

“Yes?” I would do anything to ensure that she still returned whatever affections she may now harbor. Maybe she’ll ask for a kiss? he thought gleefully.

“Tell me a poem about me?” knowing that must have had some sort of poem about her fixed in his head, given his nature.

“I-I don’t. I mean, well, I haven’t had the time to compose one.” I hope she believes me.

“Oh.”

Suddenly despondent, but not wanting to seem so in front of William, she tried to change the topic of conversation. “I’d love to see your mother again.”

William didn’t know how else to respond to the abrupt shift in conversation. Everything was going so well. The heat of her kiss still burned his lips, yet he seemed to have mucked it all up just because he didn’t have the inner strength to recite any one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of poems he had written about her. Despite his devotion, he knew, his poetry, nor any other, could ever match the perfection of his girl.

Looking at her, William could see her growing despondency.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he reverted back to his original title for her, believing that he had truly made an irrevocable mistake with his lady-love, “I realize that you are disappointed –”

“No, William, I’m not. Really,” she claimed rather ineffectually. “And I believe I told you to call me Buffy,” she said with a soft smile.

Hmm, she’s gone about calling me William again. Perhaps it is too late for us. I knew I would not be enough for her. Glancing away as well, so she wouldn’t see the depth of his upset, William spent some time looking at the room. However, all he could think about was his ill-fated attempt at reciting poetry to the lady sitting so unhappily beside him. Gathering his courage:

“The sun is warm, heating the air
Yellow and bright
Full and round;
But its warmth, it cannot compare
To the heat of your eyes
When looking upon me,
With more love than one should dare.”

Unable to look up at her most assured rejection, William stood up and walked toward the window, a decided slump in his shoulders. Though he often dreamed of whispering those words to Miss…Buffy, he had not imagined it going at all like this. He always assumed that he would tell her his feelings while she was cuddled close and he was allowed to dote on her, as a man should with the woman who’s captured his heart. He did not imagine telling her as an apology after having ruined the best day of his life. I’ve lost her now for sure.

Looking at his slumped shoulders, the Slayer couldn’t help but be swept away by the man before her. Walking up cautiously behind him, stopping just inches from his back, she huffed at his lack of response, and then wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead into his back and inhaling his earthy scent, giggling a little when she heard his quickly indrawn breath.

When he continued to stand their motionless, Buffy couldn’t resist teasing him.

“I think it’s generally considered polite to respond in kind when someone gives you a hug, Will.”

Gently placing his hands over hers, William didn’t know how to respond. He’d thought he’d made the largest mistake of his life, and now, she was hugging him?

Seeing that she clearly needed more to convince him that she liked his poetry and that nothing was wrong with their relationship, she leaned up and whispered softly,” I like you, too.” hoping that was enough to fix the state that they’d put themselves in.

“Y-you do?” he got out breathlessly. Deciding to go for broke he said, “I-I,” but stopped to clear his throat and turned in the circle of her arms. “I love you, Buffy.” What did you just do you git? You’ll make her run off for sure!

His initial shock and panic turned into a swirling mass of sheer terror as he saw her eyes tear up and her bottom lip began to quiver. He watched as she pursed lips to save off a sob, and then she buried her face in his neck, whimpering out an “I love you too,” breaking off into tears as she squeezed him tighter. Just as he was about to ask her what was wrong, she started trembling in his arms.

Concerned, he gently pushed her away, cupping her chin in his hand so he could look at his weeping girl, only to discover that she had the most brilliant smile on her face that he’d ever seen and that she was, in fact, laughing with joy. William could do nothing but join in with her happiness and rain kisses down on her upturned face.

Yes, he really was addicted to her…


***


Later than night, Buffy mumbled in her sleep, not quite understanding what was going on, “William?”

“Shh, pet. I’ve got you. Just close your eyes and let me take care of you. William knows what his girl needs,” he said as he climbed up her body, tugging at her shift, and rumbling out his approval of her natural gyrations against his lithe and willing body.

Waking up, but not fully, she noticed that it really was William in her room as he nuzzled between her breasts, and she felt his rather impressive hardness press into her center, making her breath hitch. “Oh God!”

“Already, darling? I’ve hardly touched you, sweetness,” William teased, earning him a glare. Using his finger, he slightly traced around her nipple and watched in rapt fascination as it pebbled just for him. Making sure she was watching him, he leaned down just enough to taste her mounds gently, with intermittent nips to keep her on the edge. William offered up a moan of his own as he marveled at his responsive girl.

She slowly reached up, burying her hands in his unbelievably soft hair and none to gently pushed his head between her legs.

William glinted at her mischievously, and then spread her legs farther apart, amazed at the silky smoothness of her inner thighs and the strength of her want. Enjoying the view of his love spread before him, William leaned down to –

“Miss Elizabeth? Are you awake?” Bridget asked of her young mistress, jarring Buffy out of her lustful dream and catapulted her back into reality.

“Damn it,” was all the blonde could offer in response.

Chapter 7: To Make a Mockery Part I




“Have you seen Master William?” the butler, Alfred Jamison, asked in a hushed whisper to his momentary companion on the stairs.

“No, Sir. I haven’t seen him for the last three days.” Mary replied while looking up at Alfred, trying to keep the worry from seeping into her eyes. “I don’t know why. He’s never locked himself up in his room before.”

“Yes, I know. It is quite troublesome. I daren’t ask Mrs. Pratt, what with her taking a turn for the worse.”

Mary could only nod in silent understanding.

All of the household staff were beside themselves with worry for both of their employers. The young master had not been seen for at least three days, refusing calls to dinner, and begging the staff to lie to his mother about his whereabouts.

He’d never asked them to lie for him before.

Then, the Missus took ill, adamant that her son not be told. She was so pleased by his recent happiness that she couldn’t bear to be the one to change that.

Mary turned her gaze back and took in his appearance. Alfred was looking quite agitated and, quite frankly, worried about their entire situation. Then, Mary supposed, they all were. The servants, Mrs. Pratt, and William were such a tight knit little unit; they felt each other’s pain as if it were their own. The lies and deceit in the house didn’t help matters either.

“I hope he eats something soon –”

“I doubt he’ll be eating anything too soon. Stubborn is what he is,” Cook interrupted and took the tray of un-touched food from Mary as she and Alfred entered the kitchen. “We’ll have to force feed him soon enough!”

“Cook –”

“No. Don’t scold me Alfred. I love that boy as if her were my own.” Upon seeing Alfred’s raised brow at her forthright remark, Cook added, “And don’t look so surprised. I know you feel quite the same way.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right Agatha. It’s just that, well,” he stopped, trying to collect himself. “Well, that boy feels like he’s mine, too. And the Missus, of course, is family as well. We’ve been together so damn long.” Seeing the slightly shocked expressions of his two female companions, he muttered a brief apology for his etiquette.

He couldn’t help it; he just felt so helpless. Two of the people that he cared about most in this world were suffering, and he didn’t know where to begin fixing everything. In the case of the Missus, even more so because there was no helping the consumption.

Ever the optimist, Mary added, “It’ll all be all right in the end. Everything always works out for the best.”

Cook refrained from throwing the tray in Mary’s direction.


***


William sat in silence, his sightless eyes attempted to ignore the mocking shadows caused by the pulled drapes in his room. He was haphazardly settled in a chair, his hair shaggier than normal, evidence of his habit of tugging at it with his fingers when he was distressed. His shirt was half un-tucked, his tie hung limply around his collar, which in itself, was askew, and he was in the same clothes that he’d been in since that day.

The day when his world ended.

The day Buffy Sumner broke his heart.

“You’ll never be enough,” were the words that echoed in his head, gaining in volume until he was sure that he would be drowned out by them. “Never enough” was his new mantra. He’d known it. Known it since the day he first laid eyes on her. Even before that, with Cecily’s rejection and with every previous person who never deigned to know him.

He was, after all, worthless.

Not enough.

Now she knew it, too.

William let his thoughts turn darker, angrier. He’d been waiting. Waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. How could fate possible allow him this one pleasure? The love of this one girl. Bloody impossible, right? He was just a love sick fool; a poncey git with horrendous poetry.

Feeling the rage boiling inside of him, he thought about how he must have sounded to her, whimpering out his pathetic poetry, filling up her head with his nonsensical words. She must have been laughing on the inside.

*CRASH*

William looked up in astonishment. Where did all of the glass come from? Realizing finally that he had thrown a teacup against the wall made William take stock of his rampant emotions.

He shouldn’t be angry with her. It wasn’t her fault that he was so impossible to love.

His rage piddled slowly out of him, and in every second that he let go of the rage, desolation started filling in the gaps.

Of course, she doesn't want you. You pathetic git. You were never fit to stand in her shadow. Why would you think that you could even begin to touch her radiance?

Looking about the room, as if for the first time, William saw the spartan existence he led. He wondered, not for the first time, if it really was him.

There had always been a small part of him that held onto the hope that he just hadn’t found the right girl yet. She was out there, just waiting for a man like him, or rather, waiting to bring the man in him out.

Never enough.

Maybe she had it right all along; he just wasn’t enough.

William wiped at the tears that ran down his face.


***


Gazing out of her bedroom window and humming softly to herself, Buffy thought about all of the times that Spike used to sit outside of her Sunnydale bedroom window and look in on her, making sure that she was safe.

She missed him so much; William that is. He said that he had to go out of town for a couple of days and that if things went well he might not come back for two weeks. Some sort of family business she assumed. Knowing her dislike of family finances, William had kept the details to a minimum.

Although, the only thing that Buffy could think about was William’s declaration of love. She’d forgotten how his voice sounded when he said that. The deep rumbling purr that always accompanied those words and no other. He could make her melt with those three alone. And, she thought with a pout, she couldn’t hear them again for who knew how many days.

Life just wasn’t fair at times…

She wanted more William smoochies.


***


Unbeknownst to the wishful-thinking girl upstairs, Mrs. Fairfax had arrived at the Rawlings estate late that afternoon, begrudging her employer for summoning her with such short notice. She was well into her sixties for heaven’s sake.

Walking into his study, she looked at him in apprehension. Rawlings sat in his chair, looking like a veritable king, waiting for his subject to appear.

And in a way, he was.

“You called for me, Sir?”

Finally acknowledging her, Rawlings gave her a look that promised such dark deeds. “Yes, Mrs. Fairfax. It would seem that phase one is complete.” Rawlings then tipped his head back and laughed.

What a sound it was. Mrs. Fairfax could only sigh in response.

Chapter 7: To Make a Mockery Part II



Finally acknowledging her, Rawlings gave her a look that promised such dark deeds. “Yes, Mrs. Fairfax. It would seem that phase one is complete.” Rawlings then tipped his head back and laughed.

What a sound it was. Mrs. Fairfax could only sigh in response.


***


Five Days Prior…

Giggling softy to herself, Buffy spared only a glance at William’s quizzically raised brow. She was so deliriously happy. She had him back in her life and no one was going to stop her from loving him this time around.

It had been a week since their first kiss, and Buffy couldn’t help but float on a cloud.

Granted, she and William had yet to share another quite moment alone. Regardless, she was in his presence and that was all she ever wanted.

The two of them sat in the Rawlings estate, trying not to let the dreary London rain affect the mood of the interior. The weather had been surprisingly congenial toward the California native, not raining too terribly hard. Today, however, proved the exception. The rain came down in torrents, attempting to make everything awash with the despondency of the weather’s brutality.

Yet the inside of the home was filled with warmth, as the budding young couple laughed at the secret jokes that lovers alone know and enjoyed the momentary solitude brought on by the sudden thirst expressed by Mrs. Fairfax.

Buffy looked at William once again, amused at the steady look of concentration upon his face as he read his poetry anthology. She was constantly amazed by the way he studied each passage and found layers upon layers of meaning in each turn of phrase. It enthralled her. Watching him read poetry was much more fun than reading it herself.

As though William felt the heat of her gaze, he raised his eyes above the perimeter of his book and took her in. She always felt as though he would absorb her with his love.

Feeling mischievous, Buffy winked at him, wagged her eyebrows, and glanced over at a little alcove created by the imperfect joining of two armoires. Finally getting her meaning across, William refused with a warmth coloring his cheekbones. Buffy was glad; it seemed that he had been blushing less and less in her presence. She didn’t know what she would do if he lost all of his bashfulness.

Chuckling slightly at his continual refusal to join her, Buffy offered her own brand of sarcasm.

“You’re not afraid I’ll give you cooties, are you, William?” she asked with a smirk.

“I’m n-not quite sure what it is that you are im-implying that you will give me,…but I am heartedly confident that you will not. Besides, dear heart, it would be highly improper. Especially if Mrs. Fairfax were to return in an untimely manner.”

Slightly astonished at the way that he seemed to put her in her place, Buffy was about to object to his treatment of her, or at least inquire what was wrong, when Mrs. Fairfax returned with her tea.

Despite her befuddlement, Buffy still had enough sense to move slyly back to her previous position on the settee. Anytime Mrs. Fairfax left them alone, one of them unconsciously managed to move closer to the other. It had been Buffy’s turn this time.

Mrs. Fairfax lumbered back into the room, cup of tea precariously held in her gnarled hands. The briefest of smiles graced her features, turning her demeanor into that of a kindly grandmother rather than that of a disapproving elder. However, upon seeing her two charges glance at her, one by payment, and the other by proxy, her grin faltered, and she sat down on her chair, ignoring the room’s occupants.

Attempting to return to her previous question, Buffy began to ask what had happened to William when he interrupted.

“I’m afraid that I’m going to have to go out of town for a few days,” William announced rather quietly, seemingly unsure of his words’ reception. His hands fidgeted uncomfortably in his lap, plucking at imaginary lint and rubbing out the crease in his trousers.

“You’re leaving?” Buffy asked with a frown, hands unconsciously mimicking the restless state of her companion.

“Yes, unfortunately, I have to take care of a few business affairs,” He added quietly, under his breath, “I hope to not be gone from you long.” At this, color returned to his cheeks.

Internally jumping up and down at his softly voiced confession, Buffy unthinkingly asked what kind of business he had.

Somewhat taken aback by such a question from his female companion, William haltingly explained that he needed to check up on some older family accounts.

Satisfied with his answer, her lower lip jutted out petulantly as she realized that this trip also meant that he would be away from her for seven whole days. “Can you come home earlier?”

“Perhaps, if everything is readily in order. I wouldn’t plan for it,” he stated regretfully, taking her hand in his own. Gently rubbing the pad of his thumb over the smooth skin of her hand, he found an outlet to his continual fidgeting.

Perking up at her sudden thought, she said, “Well, alright. But only if you promise to come straight here when you get back –”

“Buffy –”

“Nope. Straight here when you get back. And no buts, mister,” she ended impishly, slyly moving closer to him so as not to alert Mrs. Fairfax of her movements.

Not realizing how desperate she sounded, Buffy tried once again to get him to stay, or at least shorten his trip. “But a week is like forever.”

“I know. It will be most long, but don’t worry; if we think of one another often, the time will pass more quickly.” William tired to comfort her as much as possible. His compassionate words might have had a better affect, however, if it appeared as though he too believed in them.

Observing how little his words had helped the situation, William offered, “Please, let us speak of more pleasant things. A week will come and go quite quickly.”

It was lost on neither of them how connected they had become. So much so, that a week’s time seemed an eternity to them. While they were saddened at the prospect of being without one another, a part of each of them warmed at the thought that they were so saddened. Obviously, their emotions ran deep.

“I guess,” was all that Buffy could manage.

“The Underwood Ball is coming up soon. That promises to be a pleasant affair.”

“Pleasant! How can you say that anything to do with the Underwoods would be pleasant?” Buffy exclaimed, waving her hands about in indignation. However, she soon regretted her hasty remark as she realized that she had unconsciously reminded him of that rather lackluster night.

“You mean the best night of my life?” William managed without a blush and with a certain earnestness that gave Buffy pause.

“B-Best night of your life? But how? I mean…” Buffy began, until it dawned on her that he wished to pay her a compliment. “Oh, well, it was a rather delightful night, wasn’t it, Will?” she ended with a smile that she knew would make him somewhat weak in the knees.

“Indeed it was,” he said, returning to his favorite pass time of staring into her jade eyes.

Lost in the moment, they jumped at the chiming of the afternoon hour.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late,” William said regretfully. “I really must take my leave of you. I only wanted to stop by and see you before I left.”

Rising and making short work of the distance between them, he offered a hand to help her from the settee. She loved it when he took her hand. It was something that she had never allowed him in the past. Always too afraid that one of her friends would see and too afraid that their relationship would mean something.

“Would you be so kind as to see me to the door, pet?” He added the last quietly, so as not to alert the surprisingly awake chaperon.

“Of course, kind sir,” Buffy responded coquettishly, giving his hand a warm squeeze.

Giggling, the two made it out into the landing, both fully aware that they were still under the watchful eyes of Mrs. Fairfax. William discreetly pulled Buffy’s hand to rest against his heart. “I won’t be gone from you long,” he whispered in promise, telling her without words that his heart beat for her alone.

“I know,” she replied with a suspicious sniffle, only to brighten when she felt William slide a folded piece of paper into her other hand. He always knew how to make her feel better.

His eyes seemed to twinkle in amusement as she slowly hid the note into her dress pocket.

Earning a glare from Mrs. Fairfax for the length of their goodbye, William further aggravated the woman as he reached down and kissed Buffy’s hand before departing for the day and the week.

With a romantic sigh, Buffy flounced back into the sitting room and sat there dreamily whilst patting the note concealed in her dress. She would read it after the others had gone to bed, there would be no interruptions then. She could read his, what she assumed was a poem, repeatedly without risk of being observed.


***


It is a shame, really. Mrs. Fairfax thought. What roles we play in the affairs of others.

She couldn’t believe how thoroughly terrible her situation at the Rawlings estate had become. She desperately wanted to leave his employment, but she had no other options available to her. A woman of her age had to take advantage of the slim opportunities available.

Despite what one’s heart may tell you.

Thus, she agreed to Rawlings’s dastardly deeds and ignored the part of her that wished the young Mr. Pratt and Miss Elizabeth all the luck they deserved. It seemed that while Rawlings did not yet know of Mr. Pratt’s financial standing, he wanted to plant a few seeds of doubt so that the couple could easily be broken apart, if necessary.

However, it had unfortunately fallen to her to be the metaphorical gardener.

Or else.

Hearing the young girl sigh once again, “You know, Miss Elizabeth, I really think that you shouldn’t put all of your faith in the young William.” She tried to offer casually. Subterfuge was never her forte.

Upon seeing that she had the girl’s attention, she said, “I mean, the hearts of young men are so easily swayed.”

“Not William’s,” Buffy hastily responded.

“Are you sure, dear? You are not yet so far into your courtship that a man would not yet choose to find someone to…oh how shall I say it?”

Pretending that Master Rawlings had not coached this conversation, Mrs. Fairfax paused for dramatics, and then continued, “Men require certain things that a young girl such as yourself would not yet know about. He would dare not risk taking such privileges with you. He’ll be off with some trollop and, well, with him being out of London, he might even forget all about you, dear. Probably will.”

Mrs. Fairfax leaned forward in her chair and faux whispered, as if she was keeping a great secret for Buffy, “He may write you words from his heart now, but it is merely a pass time to keep you fawning over him. He’ll write pretty words for someone else before you know it.”

Seeing the bumbling outrage Buffy presented to her, Mrs. Fairfax continued despite how much it twisted her own heart, “And you know, child, I’m not quite sure what it is like in America, but even after marriage, you should continue to expect such…trips from time to time. Men have no concern for a woman’s heart.”

“Not William,” Buffy stated indigently. “He’s a better man than that. And he loves me.”

“Love! Is that what he told you? That is the truest sign that he has no feelings for you. If he actually loved you then he would have made an official announcement to the public. Instead, the two of you skulk in shadows, trading visits to one another’s home. That is not the proper way to admit one’s love. You are simply a passing fancy.”

“William loves me. He’s not like the other men of this time. He’s so caring and-and, just not like that. And I don’t think you should speak to me like that anymore. Not if you want to stay in Rawlings’s employment.”

Smiling a secret smile at the young girl who did not know just how wrong she was, the old woman said, “No, dear, my employment will not be in jeopardy because of my words today. Master Rawlings understands the way of the world. He understands all to well.”

Seeing the confusion marring the young girl’s face, Mrs. Fairfax attempted to emphasize the discontent a young man’s heart often feels.

“William is quite old to have not yet married. Granted, older men than he have wed, but knowing William’s place in society, I sincerely doubt that he would be of good marriageable stock for a young maiden such as yourself. The only thing left for such a man to do is to have his pick of the woman he can have and then move on. Surely that makes the most sense, don’t you agree?”

“I-I don’t know. I mean, no. He loves me and that is final. Good day Mrs. Fairfax. William has left for the week and I sincerely doubt that we will need your immediate services.”

“Dear, I was only trying to help –”

“Go Away!” Buffy said as she left the room and practically flew up the stairs.

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Fairfax said to herself, “Poor her; poor me! God will never forgive my transgressions. But what other choice do I have?”

Mrs. Fairfax lumbered to her feet and made her way to Rawlings’s office to report her supposed triumphs.


***


Buffy’s robust entrance broke the quiet solitude of her room. The paintings on the walls shook with the force of her slammed door and two of her perfume bottles, delicately placed on her vanity, toppled over in silent testimony to the blonde’s anger.

The Slayer’s quick reflexes and the good quality of the perfume stoppers held the liquid at bay and worked slightly to calm the raging inferno Mrs. Fairfax’s words had caused.

Although, only slightly.

“What does that old woman know anyway,” Buffy stormed about her room, trying to get Mrs. Fairfax’s words out of her mind. “It’s not like she even knows William. I mean, all she does is fall asleep the moment she begins ‘chaperoning’ us. Well, I guess that’s not so true anymore…maybe we’re growing on her.” Buffy shrugged her shoulders in a helpless response to the woman’s behavior.

However, thinking back on the woman’s words gave Buffy pause. Men were different in this time and so were women, in fact. She had to compete with the whole angel in the household mentality and the fact that men would keep business decisions, and well, all decisions away from their wives. Maybe Mrs. Fairfax wasn’t so far off base after all.

“No, Will would never do that,” Buffy said once again to the quiet room. Another thought struck, causing her to slowly sink down onto the chair beside her vanity. “But, then, there was…Anya?”

Buffy remembered how much that had hurt to see him and Anya in the Magic Box, to see her legs wrapped about him, to see him – with someone else.

It had broken her heart anew.

The heart she had thought she no longer possessed.

It had been cracked, irreparable.

And the onslaught of the two of them had done nothing to mend the tattered pieces.

The image of the two of them began to replay in Buffy’s mind, over and over again, in a continuous circle. The sounds that she made, the sounds that he made. Sounds that Buffy had thought were for her alone. Instead were created by any pleasure brought to his person.

Anya’s legs wrapped around him.

Cracked, irreparable.

“No!” she said aloud. That was a different time, a different situation. We moved past that, beyond that. We technically weren’t together anyway.

The question of whether they were even together now floated out of her subconscious before Buffy could stop it. Mrs. Fairfax did say that he hadn’t spoken for me, per se. We only really meet in each other’s houses. What if…

No.

It wasn’t possible.

Buffy didn’t know what the crazy old bat was trying to do by saying William was going to be or hadn’t been faithful to her, but she wasn’t going to let it affect her.

She loved him and he loved her, and that was all there was to it.

But, Parker…he got what he wanted, and then, look what happened. Okay, Parker was a-a poop-head, but still, same principle, right?

No.

Gah! I’m going crazy as Dru ever was. Got to get this out of my head. William would never do that to me and that whole thing with Anya was just a special circumstance. We weren’t technically together. Besides, he’s like the epitome of virginal in this time period. He just wouldn’t.

Anya’s legs wrapped around him.

Books crashing to the floor.

His growing moans of pleasure.

Her shirt landing in a bundled heap.

Just days after they broke up. No apology.

Maybe it was the same after all.


***


Four Days Prior…

“I see,” Rawlings said with a glower. “No, no. Nothing to do with you. I just had expected more. Thank you for your time.” Rawlings sat back down at his desk chair, effectively ending the conversation with his younger associate. The man turned to leave, more than used to the brusque way that Rawlings conducted business.

As it turned out, the Pratt family was not as financially secure as Rawlings had suspected. Even though he desperately wanted to get Elizabeth out of his house, he still wanted to make a profit off her.

Far more sizable than what the Pratts could offer.

Turning back to observe the now empty room, he let off a sigh. Oh how he didn’t want to deal with the machinations of the young, or rather the un-machinations.

He really just didn’t care.

It was all such a bore.

However, now it would seem that he would have to care, just a little. Especially since the Pratt boy had gone off on his little business trip.

It was now the time to really strike. If he could plan this bloody thing out correctly, he could make Elizabeth unknowingly break off the relationship and no one would be the wiser about his involvement.

Perhaps even make it seem like it was her idea.

After all, it had been more than proven that Mrs. Fairfax was reliable. She had passed her test yesterday swimmingly. Rawlings had heard the slammed door that proceeded Fairfax’s entrance to his office. Even though he had not known of the Pratt finances, he had wanted to make sure that he had an ace in his pocket, so to speak. Fairfax was clearly reliable and his young charge was clearly so uncertain of her beau’s affections that she could be swayed by the old woman.

So, yes, make it think it was her idea to break off their relationship.

If his temper didn’t get a hold of him. She was fairly stubborn.

His young charge must have been upset about something. Perhaps William had even done something to upset her. He must, to have caused such a violent reaction from the girl.

Even though Fairfax was in the room with them, her hearing wasn’t as good as it could have been. She could have missed some aspect of the conversation.

Anyway, what’s done is done.

Now all he had to do was move a few more pawn pieces, before declaring mate.



***


Three Days Prior…

Buffy paced outside of Rawlings’s study. He had left word with their cook that he wished to see Elizabeth sometime before supper. She had delayed going to this meeting all day.

Besides, ten minutes before supper was still before.

Technically.

Even though Rawlings was rather irrelevant to her life, he still could create some significant roadblocks for her.

Thus, she worried when he summoned her. Ordinary, she only saw him in passing; the odd occasion when they walked by each other in the long halls of his home.

Gathering her courage, she knocked on the door. The hallow knock far more poignant than Buffy had yet to realize. “Uncle, are you in here?”

“Yes, Elizabeth. Come in here and shut the door. There is something that we need to discuss.” Rawlings sat perched on the corner of his enormous desk, his left leg, straight, supporting his weight on the floor, and his right leg was hitched over the corner, swinging slightly.

If Buffy had found him like this at any other time, she would have thought that he looked almost at peace in his home. As it was, his nonchalant air made her slayer senses kick in.

Discuss? “What’s that?”

“It’s about you and the young Mr. Pratt. ” He paused at seeing her rather pronounced gulp. “Are the two of you getting on well?” He lowered his crossed arms to fold his hands gently in his lap, appearing deceitfully unobtrusive.

“Y-yes. I mean, yes. The two of us are very agreeable to one another.” Ug! What now? First Fairfax and now Rawlings? Why does everyone care about who I date? Buffy took the seat that Rawlings had gestured her. Sitting down, she smoothed out the ruffles in her dress, trying to pretend she wasn’t nervous.

“Mmmm. I’m sorry to hear that.” Rawlings stoked the short length of his goatee, his voice, the sound of innocence.

“Sorry?” Buffy’s head snapped up.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Yes, I was hoping that the two of you had yet to become… too attached.” He paused dramatically. “I feel that he is not a good match for you.” Rawlings plastered on the most concerned look that he could muster.

“Why?” was all the young girl could manage, fingernails digging into her palms.

“Nothing that you need to worry your pretty little head about, dear –”

“I think I have the right to know.”

“Stop it, child,” he said, rising from his desk to make himself taller in her presence. “You’ll not take that tone of voice with me. You’ll stop seeing Mr. Pratt immediately.” He turned around as if to close the subject.

“You can’t make me do that,” she replied, chin jutted out in defiance.

Realizing that this approach was getting him nowhere, Rawlings came closer and settled down on the hassock at Buffy’s feet. Trying a different approach, he said, “Elizabeth, I feel that his attentions are not in your best interest.” Seeing that she was about to protest again, he emphasized, “And, your mother would not approve. She would want you well cared for.”

“Mother,” Buffy choked out with a barely concealed sob, “would like him.” Buffy added quietly under her breath, “Always liked him, even when I didn’t.”

“What was that?” Rawlings asked with a finely arched brow.

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

“I should hope not. It isn’t beneath me to forbid the privileges you’ve enjoyed in this house. I feel I’ve rather let you run a muck.”

“I don’t care what privileges you take from me; I won’t break off my relationship with
William.” Buffy stood and it was her turn to present her back to the conversation.

Quickly losing his temper, Rawlings swung her back around and grasped her upper arms. “You do know of course, dear, that those privileges would include the right to accept male callers or the ability to leave the house without my permission.” He shook her briefly as if to physically extract the correct response.

“I could climb out a window!” she finally responded to his grip that was just this side of painful. “Then you couldn’t stop me.”

“THAT’S IT!” Rawlings spat out, dropping his hands, “You are forbidden to be in a relationship with him. The next time that you see him you will break it off.”

“You can’t make me.” Buffy resisted the urge to stomp her foot.

Raising a hand as if to strike her, Rawlings visibly reigned in his mounting anger, dropped his hand, and said, “If you don’t do as I have asked of you, I will tell all of London what a scoundrel your Mr. Pratt really is. I am highly respected in the community, and no one will fault my word.”

Realizing that Buffy was about to respond again, Rawlings continued, “And that would ruin him.” Buffy’s face fell and Rawlings knew he had won. “When I looked into his financial background, it was obvious that he and his mother are just holding on. One word from me and no one would back him on any ventures.”

Buffy nodded slowly in acceptance, holding her tears at bay. She would not give this man the satisfaction.

“You will make your rejection of him clean, clear, and in public,” his tone daring her to protest.

She dared.

“Public! No I can’t –”

“In public,” Rawlings’s voiced lorded over hers, “His humiliation must match that of what happened between him and the young Miss Underwood. So he will not try to reclaim you, so his pride will not allow it.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Buffy queried with a dejected slump. Any of the light that had returned to her eyes after her reunion with Spike petered out and died.


***


Upset could not even begin to describe how William was feeling. His business trip had been cancelled. This meant that he would return home only to say goodbye to Buffy again. While he was delighted at seeing her again, he didn’t think his heart could take another goodbye like the one they’d shared yesterday.

His trip had been halted a day out. Just as he was finding lodging for the night, word reached him that the extremely brutal weather had washed out the bridge and an alternate route would add far too many days to his journey. At first light the next day, he had set back out for home.

And to her.

He would go straight to her home and beg an audience with her. Hopefully Mrs. Fairfax wouldn’t be there and he could spend a quiet moment with his ladylove.

Perhaps steal a kiss or two.

It had been far too long since he had felt the velvet heat of her kiss, far too long since he’d encompassed her delicate hand in his own, and far too long since he’d bathed in the glory of her presence, enjoyed the musical sound of her laugh.

Far too long.

It was late in the day when he finally arrived at the Rawlings’s estate. Normally William would not think to present himself to Buffy without a proper announcement, but he did have strict orders from her to come straight home to her upon his return.

He bounded up the front walk and was admitted entrance by the Rawlings butler, Roland, a great old chap who’d taken an immediate liking to William. Roland let William in without question, and pointed in Miss Elizabeth’s general direction. He let William continue inside, unescorted. Roland did warn him, however, that Master Rawlings and Miss Elizabeth were in conference, so it would be best for him to wait before knocking on the study door.

Nodding his head in thanks, William proceeded with a bounce in his step.

He had a girl to see.

His girl.


***


“You will fashion your rejection on that of Miss Underwood’s wonderful words,” seeing Buffy’s look, “Yes, I’m well aware of what went on that evening. Now, proceed.”

“You’re beneath me.”

“Do try for a little more conviction, dear,” Rawlings offered in his most patronizing tone. Now that he was getting what he wanted, he felt no need to continue with his practiced compassion from earlier.

Gathering courage and imagining that she was speaking to Rawlings rather than rehearsing her torment for William, Buffy began.

“I hate you.”

“Somehow I think you’re coming on too strong. Think of some good things, and then I’ll coach you on how to make it a fabulous rejection,” he said in a tone of voice that one could misconstrue as a sneer, if it not for that time period and Buffy’s notion of Victorian propriety.

“I violently dislike you.”

“That could work, but I don’t think that ‘violently’ is very good verbiage. Might give the people the wrong idea about you. Try another,” Rawlings replied, completely missing the fact that Buffy was directing her comments toward him and not practicing her ‘break up’ speech.

Finally losing her own temper, Buffy jumped out of her chair and shouted, “What am I supposed to say to him, huh? Am I supposed to tell him that his feelings for me mean nothing? That I don’t love him? That the moments we’ve spent together have been revolting for me, that I only continued to see him out of pity?”

“Should I tell him that he's worthless, that his poetry’s bad, and that he’s not good enough?” Buffy raged at Rawlings.

“Yes, dear, that should work in order to get you out of the unseemly relationship,” Rawlings said, dismissively waving his hand, having become bored in the middle of her rant.

He’d have to write her out a script later. Mrs. Fairfax had performed hers so well.

Buffy, unbelieving of the man’s utter audacity, turned and fled out of the room, her hasty actions so jerky and uncoordinated that to the unfocused eye looked to be more angry than distraught.

As she ran up the stairs at slayer speed, she never noticed William in the background, silent tears running down his face, having heard her shouted revulsion.

William left the estate without a word, traveled the slight bit to his own home, climbed the stairs to his room, and locked himself in.

He always knew he wasn’t good enough for her.

And now, she knew it too.


***


Present Day…

Walking into Rawlings’s study, Mrs. Fairfax looked at him in apprehension. He sat in his chair, looking like a veritable king, waiting for his subject to appear.

And in a way, he was.

“You called for me, Sir?”

Finally acknowledging her, Rawlings gave her a look that promised such dark deeds. “Yes, Mrs. Fairfax. It would seem that phase one is complete.” Rawlings then tipped his head back and laughed.

What a sound it was. Mrs. Fairfax could only sigh in response.