Chapter 19
“Why?” he asked.
“Why do I want to..?” She trailed off, her green eyes clouded with confusion.
“Why do you want to have sex with me?”
She gave a nervous laugh and looked at the floor. “Really, William. You know about these things. Why do people have sex?”
“For a great many reasons, I imagine. But I’m asking why you want to have sex with me.”
She didn’t respond. She just kept looking at the floor.
Cautiously, he placed his hand beneath her chin, tilting her head until she met his gaze.
“Why, love?”
She jerked her chin out of his grasp and took a step backwards.
“Fine, then. Let’s not. I…I changed my mind. Forget I said anything.” She turned from him and stalked toward the bed.
“No, please. Darling…”
He sat on the bed in front of her, taking her hands in his as she stood before him. When she didn’t make eye contact with him, he lifted her left hand to his mouth and began to kiss her fingertips tenderly, one after the other. “I want to make love with you desperately. You have to know this. It’s all I bloody think about.”
She looked at him, her eyes softening.
“I love you, Buffy. I know quite well why I want to make love with you. My question is why do you want to make love with me?”
“Can’t we just have sex without knowing why?”
“We could,” he replied. “But it’s important for me to know.”
She surveyed him, as though she were standing on the edge of a steep hill, considering the cost of that first step.
“Why, love?” His voice wavered and broke on the question.
“Because … because I want to feel something good. Because I want to feel something, to feel alive again. After George’s death and being weak and feeling like an alien in my own country – I want to feel a comfort. A connection.” She looked at him, her expression honest and her chin set firmly. “I feel a connection with you.”
“That’s a start,” he replied.
“A start?”
“A beginning for us. Well, another beginning for us.”
“But you don’t want me? You’re not saying yes.”
He placed an arm about her waist, gently pulling her closer to him, but he didn’t answer.
“We’ve had sex before. You’ve had my body many times, haven’t you, William?”
He nodded.
“And I gave myself to you willingly, just like I’m giving myself to you now. What difference does ‘why’ make?”
“The difference is … you don’t love me.”
“I want you. Isn’t that enough?”
He knew she didn’t love him even before she’d so cleverly evaded the topic, but it felt like a knife in his chest. He was shaking and felt so weak, he was grateful he was seated. Wrapping his arms about her waist, he placed his head upon her stomach and pulled her close. When her left hand came up and soothed a path through his curls, it brought such a comfort he thought he might weep.
He felt so unsteady that he couldn’t lift his head, and so, still wrapped about her in this odd embrace, he said, “I love you, Buffy. I’m in love with you. But if you’re not in love with me too, we will have to wait. I will have to wait, as much as it pains me to ask it of you.”
“Why? Out of some whacked-out old fashioned sense of how gentlemen behave?”
He pulled back from their embrace, but he did not stand. For some strange reason it seemed vitally important that he remain seated while she stood. It was a small thing, but he could at least give her that bit of control.
“Please don’t, darling. I’m not like that. This has nothing to do with the times we’re in. It has to do only with the people we are.”
She shook her head, obviously baffled.
“You’re right, Buffy. I’ve had you, many times. But I’ve had all of you – not merely your body. You were mine once. Your generous heart, your bright mind. To be given your body without those other aspects of you would be a kind of crime against what we once were.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and he felt his chest tighten unbearably at the sight.
“I don’t understand, William.”
“I desperately want to explain, love.”
He tugged his arms to bring her down to sit on his lap, holding her close against his chest. After a few moments, she wrapped her good hand around his shoulder, and he felt the tension begin to ease from her body.
“Buffy, think of the best moment in your memory. I know it won’t be of the two of us, but I know enough of your past to imagine that you’re in your old home in Sunnydale. See the faces of those who surround you. Look at the room you’re in, the furnishings, the feel of the place. Do you see it?”
He could feel her nod, her head resting near his forehead.
“Now, remove the people, those faces you love. Take away the furniture, the decorations. Place yourself in that empty room. Though you are ‘in the same place,’ you’re not home at all. You’re in the empty shell of what used to be home.”
He raised his head to look at her. “If I take you now - and believe me, every inch of me is longing to do just that - I fear we’d find ourselves in an empty shell. I couldn’t bear that kind of risk for us, darling. I’m just too weak for it. You’re … my home, my all.”
She nodded, her chin trembling. “So where do we go from here then? What if my memory doesn’t come back? What if I remain Buffy and never return to Elizabeth? Maybe it’s not me that you love at all. Maybe it’s her.”
He considered her words carefully. “I can understand how you might think that, darling. But I assure you, it’s you I love. You’re my home, and I know my home.”
“But the question remains, where do we go from here?”
He reached out to hold her hand, considering carefully before responding. After a few moments thought, he brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it tenderly. “I have a reasonable proposal to that.”
She looked at him skeptically.
“I should like very much for an opportunity to woo you.”
“To what me?”
“To woo you, my wife. To win your heart.”
She raised a brow, but the very beginnings of a smile threatened her lips. He was a very observant man, and that was all he needed to continue.
“Just for a few days. I should like permission to court you.”
“Like date?” And the grin that had been threatening burst forth, rain on a parched garden.
He leaned up and tenderly kissed the tip of her nose. “If that is the term, yes. I should very much like to date you, my darling. To have an opportunity to get to know one another. To have you fall as madly in love with me as I am with you.”
She shook her head, but the ghost of a smile remained on her lips.
“So that shaking your head no, that’s a ‘yes’, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is. I don’t get it entirely, but yeah, it’s a yes. If you’ve got a burning urge, date away.”
“Thank you.” He beamed a broad smile at her before bringing his index finger up to glide gently along her bottom lip. She shivered – a delicious sensation on his lap. Lifting his face to hers, he captured her lips in a gentle kiss. When she pressed her fingertips against the nape of his neck, he deepened the kiss, licking her bottom lip and teasing the tip of her tongue with his.
She broke off the kiss abruptly, leaning back and breathing heavily. The expression behind her green eyes was unreadable. “That’s enough for tonight, Romeo. Dates before kissage. Your rules, you live with ‘em.”
He couldn’t help but laugh as she rose from his lap and pulled the covers back from the bed. After she climbed in, William turned down the gas lamp. The city light crept through the curtains, illuminating the room with a cozy glow. She curled beneath the covers, facing the wall.
When he climbed in beside her, he placed a cautious arm about her waist. She did not remove it.
“I’m the first woman in the history of ever to be rejected because her husband loves her too much. I just wanted you to know that.”
He chuckled. “You and I never approach things in a usual manner. It’s only a small part of the wonder of us. I intend to show you more tomorrow.”
“I bet you do,” she said, failing utterly at sounding grumpy. Sounding instead, he thought hopefully, just a little bit charmed.
Snugging his arm about her waist, he spooned next to her, murmuring softly in her ear. “Good night, Buffy.”
“Hmmph,” she replied.
~*~
William’s Wooing: Day One
They made it down just in time for the eight o’clock breakfast seating. She was resplendent in her green and white striped gown, the one she’d worn the day they’d boarded The Adriatic, half a lifetime ago. She’d allowed him to style her hair simply and even gone along with his suggestion that she wear the small, green hat which matched the gown. Though she’d complained at the time, he’d seen her admire herself in the mirror and adjust her hat with a satisfied grin when she didn’t think he was looking.
Since their accommodations were on the American Plan, all their meals were included in the price of their room. The dining room was massive, bordering on intimidating. Once the diners were seated, at exactly eight-oh-five, an army of waiters marched out from the kitchens, placing their platters upon tables with military precision. As soon as the first wave of waiters retreated, the reinforcements arrived, laden with a fresh assault of food. There were sausages, ham, bacon, varieties of eggs, breads and fruits - a dizzying selection.
Buffy chose a bit of fruit and scrambled eggs, ever careful to select food that would require only one hand for consumption. She was a very proud woman, his wife.
“Mmm, coffee,” she sighed as she took a deep sip. “You’ll never know how much I missed you.” She closed her eyes, looking far too sensual than a woman had a right to that early in the morning.
William added sugar to his tea as he attempted to convince his groin to become interested in something - anything - other than how luscious his wife looked at that moment.
“So, what’s the what? Any plans for today? Because chilling in that cell they call a hotel room? Not my idea of a good time.”
“I’d thought we could go to Central Park.”
“Yeah?”
“It seemed a nice antidote to all our time at sea and all the city sounds and scents.”
“I’m all over it.”
“By being all over it, I take it that you are in agreement?” William grinned.
“It sounds like a very nice day, William. Now, what do you think I’d have to do to convince a waiter to leave a coffee pot at our table?”
~*~
Central Park Boathouse – 1880
~*~
“So, your solution to curing all that time at sea is to rent a rowboat, William?” She failed miserably at sounding stern.
“Renting a boat and rowing your lady love around a lake is terribly romantic. I was under the impression that women knew this. It’s in all the books, also several poems.”
“I’m sure it is,” she said, settling down with her back to him. She’d chosen the seat in the center of the boat and not the one further away from him. He took careful note of this minor victory.
“I thought this would be a peaceful activity for us. Also, it would be a splendid opportunity for me to show off my muscles.”
She turned to look at him, raising a dubious brow.
“And my talent for fishing,” he added hastily.
She laughed at that, mercifully, and he tried very hard not to feel a surge of happiness. If only she knew that he’d been telling her a near truth – for fishing was exactly what he’d be doing. Casting bait upon the water, hoping for a cautious nibble.
Slow and steady catches the prize, William.
They chatted amiably as he rowed about the lake, attempting to keep to the shade, though it was early enough in the day that the heat was still comfortable. A pleasant morning breeze stirred across the water, which held no more than five or six other boaters, so they were afforded plenty of privacy.
He waited until they’d been on the lake for fifteen minutes before he broached the subject. Before he brought up the real reason he’d pulled her out into the middle of the body of water, where she couldn’t dodge and slip away from the conversation.
“So, you must be curious about the story of how we fell in love,” he said at last. He sounded so calm, so even. He was more than a little impressed that he could act so well.
“Not really,” she replied, her gaze intent upon the shoreline.
It was exactly the reaction he’d anticipated. He knew her well, in both her Buffy and Elizabeth incarnations. As Buffy she avoided this kind of intimate conversation and thus far William had gone along with it. But to continue along that path would keep her at a distance, and he could not woo effectively at arms length.
“It’s probably just as well,” he lied. “You’d likely not believe me anyway. The tales of people you assaulted. Oh, look! I think there are swans at the far end of the lake. We should row over to them, don’t you think?”
“Um, sure,” she mumbled distractedly.
As he rowed, she fidgeted with her bandaged hand. He remained patient, silent. Slow and steady, William.
With a sigh of frustration, Buffy unwound her bandage. “Stupid thing. It’s about time I took it off,” she grumbled, unwrapping it completely, before stretching her fingers out cautiously. Her hand appeared much improved. The swelling was almost imperceptible now, and the bruises were beginning to fade.
But he knew she was trying to distract herself, distract him. And so he kept rowing in silence. He’d always been absolute crap at fishing. Pity that.
Just as he eased the boat near the swans, an old woman appeared on the nearby shore and began throwing bread to the birds. All the nearby waterfowl, swans included, immediately swam to shore.
Once the birds had squawked noisily away, they were left with only the sound of the waves lapping against the side of the boat. Buffy turned around to face him. The seats were so close together that he had to pull his legs apart so her knees could fit between his.
“You might as well tell me, I guess.”
He blinked at her, feigning innocence as well as he could manage. “I beg your pardon?”
She rolled her eyes. “The whole assaulting thing. You might as well tell me about that. Who did I assault?”
“Well, you nearly assaulted me with a fireplace poker, once!”
“Probably because you deserved it. And ‘nearly assaulted’ doesn’t count.”
“There was my uncle. You assaulted him. I was a witness to one occasion, though I have it on good authority that you’d threatened him several times.”
“Your uncle?”
“An older man. A man of God, truth be told. You assaulted him in our dining room.”
She squinted off into the distance and bit her bottom lip. She was so close, so very close. One tug on the line, please, Buffy. Just give me a nibble.
“So how’d I assault the old man of God, then? And why?”
A bite!
“Well, it’s a wonderful tale, actually. I replay it in my mind often. And I should start by reassuring you that the old codger had it coming. I resorted to physical violence myself in the end.”
And so he began to tell her the Story of Them, somehow managing to begin in the middle and work his way out from there. As he told the tale, he emphasized those parts of their history when she stood out as Buffy the clearest – as a protector, as leader, and when she’d encouraged him to box when no one else would.
He simply told her the truth, illuminating the woman he’d fallen in love with, the woman he still loved. Showed her that she’d always been Buffy, even when he knew her as Elizabeth.
Slowly, bit by bit, she softened around the edges. Laughing at how much she’d thrown the Pratt home into chaos in the early days, and placing a comforting hand on his when he spoke of his mother’s death.
He skimmed over everything but the most basic details of their sexual history. There was a time for that, but it was a crucial part of his courtship. He knew that cautious fishermen and wise husbands took care to tug on the line gently.
By the time he’d gotten to the part of the story where he asked her to marry him, he stopped suddenly.
“Oh, I’ve gone and lost track of time entirely. Please, forgive me. We’ve been on the lake for hours.” He began rowing toward the boathouse.
“I like being out here. No complaints from me.”
“You may say otherwise when we return to the hotel, love. Your cheeks are decidedly rosy. I’m afraid you may have taken too much sun.”
“Ha, please. California girl here. We never use the words ‘too much’ and ‘sun’ in the same sentence.”
He shook his head and continued rowing.
After they pulled into the boathouse and William settled up with the man behind the counter, they strolled over to an arched bridge where several hansom cabs were available for hire.
Even before he could offer his arm, she took it. He felt flushed with victory.
“So, William, you were telling me that you’d proposed to me. And then you got awkward and manufactured being interrupted by the position of the sun in the sky.”
He nodded. She was leading in this dance, and he knew it was crucial to allow her to continue.
“You asked and I said yes, just like that?”
“Not quite ‘just like that,’” he replied.
“Good.” She failed spectacularly at hiding a grin.
He remained silent, though it wasn’t without great effort and the insides of his cheeks hurt, just a little, from him biting them.
“Did anybody mind? Lord of the Manor marrying his maid? It’s the stuff of romcoms, but your family must have thought I was a gold digger.”
“No, darling, I was seen as the scoundrel in our relationship. The only person who cast aspersions upon your character was the uncle I told you of. And I assure you, I set him to rights.”
She looked at him questioningly.
"His jaw was almost as purple as Mr. Lovell’s was, and he lost a tooth in the fray.”
“Since Mr. Lovell didn’t need any dental work, I guess you’re one up on me, then. And people thought you were a scoundrel?”
“Of the worst sort. They thought I had seduced an innocent. If they only knew the truth of it. ‘Twas you seducing me with your wanton … OW!”
She’d kicked him in the shin, midstride, while maintaining a perfectly placid expression.
“To say nothing of the physical damage you inflicted upon my person, that you continue to inflict. If the world knew the truth of it, Buffy, I can’t imagine what they’d think of us.”
She looked to the sky and shook her head. “And on that note, how about lunch?”
William checked his pocket watch. “If we hire a cab, we could just make it back to the hotel for the one o’clock seating.”
“If you want,” Buffy shrugged, eying a line of vendor carts on the footpath near the bridge.
When he spotted an ice cream cart, he couldn’t suppress a grin. Perhaps the only advantage in this whole miserable affair of her losing her memory was that he knew exactly how she felt about lemon ices, and he’d be allowed the joy of watching her discover them again for the first time.
“Or we could,” he suggested, wriggling his eyebrows at her, “just be terribly irresponsible and forgo lunch for lemon ices.”
“Works for me. What’s a ‘lemon ice’? Like a popsicle?”
“Better,” he assured. Dear God, he hoped he brought a sufficient amount of pocket change. She was certain to go for thirds, possibly fourths.
-----------------------------
Author's Note:
The Metropolitan Hotel. I don't know the year, but the hotel was destroyed in 1895, so it has to be "around" when our couple stayed there. William and Buffy visited while it was still nice, but a bit past its prime.