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Forward to Time Past	By : UnbridledBrunette Category: > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 3754 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
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Chapter Eleven

The following day when Anne lay down for her afternoon rest, Buffy did not succumb to the tedious boredom of sitting in an empty parlor, she followed William to the library. He had not invited her and truthfully, she was not altogether certain of her welcome there. Though no one ever came right out and said it there was an understanding in the house that the library was William�s own personal space. Since he had come home no one else ever entered it, except on the rare occasions Buffy or Anne wanted a book to read. But when he was in there, doing whatever it was he did for long hours in the afternoon and late nights, no one ever intruded on his privacy. Buffy had never even considered such a thing until the previous night, when she left her bed to apologize to him. However even though she was not positive that he would welcome her into his sanctuary, she remained fairly confident. He had not turned her away from the music room, after all.

When she came to the heavy oak door, she hesitated just a moment just a moment before knocking. For all her self-assurance, she knew that expecting a man to permit her into his inner sanctum was much different from invitations into other parts of his life. The music room was all well and good, but suppose he became angry at her disturbing him here? For one thing, now the servants were awake to observe the impropriety of their being alone together. He might not allow her inside on the grounds it could ruin both their reputations. Yet when she remembered the night before�the strange, sweet expression on his face when he told her she was tr�s belle�she felt she had to try if for no other reason than to know.

There was a brief silence after she knocked�a moment when she began to doubt her decision. Then his voice called out uncertainly: �Yes?�

�It�s me.� Buffy raised her voice enough for him to hear her but not enough to wake Anne or attract the attention of the servants. �May I come in?�

Muffled through the thick wood, Buffy could hear the sounds of a chair scraping back, followed by the soft thump of footsteps. A moment later, he opened the door.

�Miss Elizabeth,� he said. She smiled at the way his voice caressed the name, moving it around in his mouth like a sweet to be savored. She could not imagine �Buffy� could sound any better. �Is everything all right?� he added.

�You always ask that like you expect me to say the wolf is at the door,� she told him. Her voice was playful, almost flirting, and his eyes widened. �Actually, the house is dull as ditchwater down there and I was wondering if I could join you�that is�if you aren�t busy. I don�t want to disturb you.�

�No,� he said.

�No?� echoed Buffy, more than a little surprised.

William blinked, looking as confused as she felt. Then he shook his head, smiling with some sudden realization. �Oh, ah, I meant �no, you will not be disturbing me.� The answer to the other question is yes. Please come in.� He stepped back in order to open the door wider. He gave her plenty of room, but she passed quite close to him regardless�so close that her shoulder brushed against the hand he had propped against the door and he shuddered.

He had evidently been in the middle of writing or copying something when she knocked. On the coffee table was a stack of heavy cream-colored paper, an open inkwell, and at least half a dozen books. A fountain pen lay diagonally across the topmost sheet of stationary, which was half-covered in a neat script. When he saw her glance fall to this William moved to block her view, stooping slightly so that he could gather the papers in his arms.

�I�m sorry it�s so disordered in here,� he said. �I was just�involved in some work��

�Oh, well. If you were busy I can leave��

�No! No, please stay. I�m not busy. That is�I would much rather have your company.�

There was a beautiful desk to Buffy�s left, nestled snugly between two bookshelves�the type of desk with pigeonholes for sticking papers in and a roll-top to conceal private documents and letters. William hurried over to it and began clumsily stuffing the papers into the roll-top. Meanwhile, Buffy idly wandered around the room, looking about her with a smile of contentment. Although she had spent very little time in here, the library was easily one of her favorite rooms, maybe because it was far less frilly and fussy than the rest of the house. Unlike the parlor or the drawing room, she did not have to worry about navigating around shelves of expensive knickknacks or trying to sit on bits of elegant and uncomfortable furniture. This room was big and spare and comfortable, more masculine than the rest of the house, perhaps due in part to the dark wood paneling on the walls and the boldly colored wool rug on the floor. Some of the furniture was surprisingly shabby. The sofa that sat parked in the center of the room was sagging and worn, the little cherry wood coffee table slightly scarred. But there was a beautiful antique sideboard near the fireplace, its polished ledge lined with a neat row of crystal decanters and a few glasses. And of course, there were the bookshelves, at least a dozen of them. They lined the far wall, evenly spaced between each of the five long French windows. More shelves lined the walls to the right and left of her and all of them were jam packed with books.

Buffy made pretense of admiring a dried flower arrangement on the sideboard, but what she was really doing was watching him from the corner of her eye. The shy, self-conscious movements of his body...every muscle wound as tightly as a violin string. She wondered what it would be like to touch him, to knead the rigid knotted muscles of his shoulders until he was finally able to relax. And she blushed at the thought, grateful that at least his back was turned and he could not read in her face the thoughts which were crossing her mind. And perhaps it was only nervousness that made her say, next:

�So you think I�m beautiful?�

Because, consciously, she had certainly not been planning to mention his comment from the previous night. Yet the moment the words left her lips, she realized that this was exactly why she was here; this was why she wanted to catch him alone when the servants were busy and Anne asleep. She fingered a rose petal, watching and waiting for his response.

�How did you discover the meaning of that phrase?� he asked. His head was still buried in a mound of paperwork at the desk, his back turned to her, but she could detect a hint of amusement in his tone and it surprised her. She thought he would be more flustered.

�Actually, I looked it up in one of your books,� she told him. �Last night.�

She was worried he might be angry that she entered the library late at night without asking anyone�s permission. Instead, his eyes brightened with pleasure and she understood that far from being angry he was impressed by her forethought to check the stacks for a translator.

�I�I do hope you aren�t angry with me,� he said. Buffy frowned with confusion and he added in explanation, �For being so forward with you, that is. I did not wish to offend you or�or to make you uneasy��

�I�m not uneasy. I thought it was sweet.�

�You did.� His voice was low and Buffy saw with surprise that now he did look uncomfortable. Oddly enough, he seemed more prepared to cope with rejection than the idea of her acceptance. Maybe rejection was something to which he was more accustomed. She cast about for a topic that would put him more at his ease.

�So�um�what are you reading?�

She nodded to the books scattered across the coffee table and he gestured with his hand, indicating she should look at them. Buffy made her way over to the small sofa and sat down, leaning over slightly so that she could read the covers. All of the books had rich leather bindings that appeared well worn almost to raggedness, confirming her earlier suspicions that he was a bookworm. Some of the authors� names Buffy recognized: Edgar Allen Poe, William Shakespeare, and Lord Tennyson. However, most of them were completely unfamiliar to her. One of the volumes was open and she reached for it, squinting to read the faded text.

If I were loved, as I desire to be,
What is there in the great sphere of the earth,
And range of evil between death and birth,
That I should fear,--if I were loved by thee?
All the inner, all the outer world of pain
Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine
As I have heard that, somewhere in the main,
Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine.
'T were joy, not fear, claspt hand-in-hand with thee,
To wait for death--mute--careless of all ills,
Apart upon a mountain, tho' the surge
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills
Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge
Below us, as far on as eye could see.

During all this time, William had said nothing but when Buffy looked up from the poem, she saw that he was watching her. There was a bashful yet somehow oddly hungry look on his face, which made her blush. For no accountable reason she remembered the way the muscles of his arm twitched at her touch, the warm tickle of his breath against the nape of her neck. She looked back down at the book on her lap, embarrassed to be having such thoughts.

�You like poetry?� she asked. Stupid question, given that he had obviously been reading it, but at least she was talking, breaking through that awkward silence.

�I�I enjoy reading it. Yes.� He moved around to the opposite end of the sofa, sitting down as close as etiquette would allow�which in all honesty was not very close. There was a curious brightness to his eyes as he asked, �Do you like poetry, Miss Elizabeth?�

She flushed, a little embarrassed to admit she did not. The truth was that poetry and Buffy were non-mixy things. She tried to read it and understand it in school, but most of the time the metaphors seemed way over her head. Even the poetry book Angel had once given her as a gift was at the bottom of her nightstand drawer, cherished for sentimental reasons but never actually read by her.

�I�I don�t know a lot about poetry. Always wanted to learn more�but�you know�never really got the opportunity.�

�Oh, but you don�t have to know a lot about poetry to appreciate it! It isn�t about knowledge in the mechanics of writing it. Poetry is about�feeling; it is like music for your heart to follow. Thinking too much about it tends to dull the reader�s perception and rob the verses of their beauty.�

For a moment, his bashfulness seemed forgotten in the advent of his enthusiasm and Buffy smiled. She was trying to encourage him to say more, but instead he mistook her expression for one of derision.

�Sorry,� he muttered, suddenly embarrassed. �I suppose I sounded like an overzealous university lecturer. I�I do that, sometimes, without realizing it.�

He leaned forward on the edge of the sofa, reaching to fiddle with the books scattered across the coffee table, an action Buffy knew had more to do with hiding the nervous trembling of his hands than an interest in making things tidy. On an impulse, she reached out, covering his right hand with her left one and halting his forward movement.

�Hey, why are you sorry? I like it when you talk to me about things that interest you. I like hearing about what you like. Usually you aren�t too forthcoming with the details, it�s nice when you open up a little bit.�

�It is?� He looked absolutely floored by the idea, as well as by the fact that her fingers were now lacing themselves through his own.

�Does that surprise you?� asked Buffy. He nodded. �Well, it shouldn�t. We�re friends, aren�t we?�

�Oh, yes,� he breathed, still staring down at their clasped hands.

�Well, friends talk to each other, don�t they? They don�t constantly worry that they�ll say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. You shouldn�t either.� She followed his gaze�noted the very flustered look on his face�and smiled. �And you should breathe,� she added. �Breathing is good. In fact it�s usually required.�

He laughed shakily.

�That�s better.�

�Miss Elizabeth�� His hand was sweaty in her grasp, little tremors skating up and down his arm. Buffy gave him a reassuring squeeze and he jerked his wrist spasmodically, sucking in a sharp breath. �You should not be��

�Yes. I should,� she whispered back. �We�re friends, remember? Friends touch.�

William looked a bit skeptical at this, but Buffy did not give him time to argue the point. She leaned to grab a random book from the coffee table with her free hand. �So,� she said, extending the cracked leather volume to him. �Tell me more about this poetry stuff.�

His eyes lit up.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

If she had known that something as simple as poetry would be the key to getting him to open up to her then Buffy might have done it ages ago. Her request had put him at his ease with her and the subject she picked was one about which he was truly passionate. He told her about his favorite poets, explaining the virtues of each and illustrating his points by reciting a few choice lines from their works. While Buffy could care less about iambic pentameters and Lord Byron and the like, she did enjoy listening to him talk about a subject about which he was so animated. She pretended more of an interest than she felt just to see the pleasure on his face.

Poetry was not the only thing they talked about, however. Once she got him going, Buffy found William not just willing to open up to her but almost eager as well, and he talked with the graceless enthusiasm of a man who has been very lonely for a very long time. He not only answered all of her questions but he volunteered even more. He told her about growing up in the country, spending half the year away at a boarding school where everyone wore uniforms and the teachers caned you when you couldn�t learn your lesson. His marks in school were not impressive but his father�s money and his own determination had secured him a place at Oxford University. He did well at Oxford, graduating with honors, but he never used the degree he had earned there. He never expected to use it. His father had died when he was nine and it was always known that once he was old enough William would bear the responsibility of the family�s estate and holdings. He did not mind, he claimed. He had sought education for education�s sake alone and he loved the estate dearly and missed it now that he was away. London was�quite different. Although just how it was different, he did not seem inclined to explain.

�At least there is a lot to do in London, though,� Buffy said. More in an attempt to cheer him than anything else, but it backfired and his expression darkened.

�No. Not really. Not unless you like endless chatter and parties and�� He stopped.

�But there are concerts and plays and things. You go out with friends.� She knew he didn�t, but what she didn�t know was why. She was hoping to draw him out so he would tell her but instead he just looked embarrassed.

�I suppose,� he said vaguely.

�Why aren�t you married?� she asked suddenly.

He looked startled by the question and Buffy realized she might have overstepped her bounds. Quickly, she apologized. �Sorry. I didn�t mean to pry. You just�I mean�you seem of the age to�� Her voice trailed away and there was a moment of painfully awkward silence.

After a minute William swallowed and said: �Thirty.�

�What?�

�I�m thirty. Which I suppose is what you would call �of the age.� I just�I�ve always been so busy with my work that it is hard to settle down�to meet people. And the ladies here are not really�they aren�t�appealing. Not to me.�

There was a false note in all this, but Buffy didn�t pursue the subject any further. Whatever it was that kept him apart from his kind was none of her business, anyway. And she could see it was uncomfortable for him to talk about it. She cast about for another topic but before she could find one he looked up sharply and, meeting her eyes for the first time, said: �What of you, Miss Elizabeth? Why are you not married?�

There was almost a challenge in his tone and Buffy felt herself flush. Not just that but she had no idea how to answer his question. Another lie was needed, of course. Lie, lie, lie; that was all she did anymore. It was becoming increasingly difficult now that she was beginning to see him as something of a friend but what else could she do? Certainly not tell him the truth about herself. Tell a 19th century gentleman that his mother�s nursemaid was actually a vampire slayer from over a hundred years in the future? He would think she was crazy. She figured the best she could do now was stick as close to the truth as possible.

�I haven�t really met anyone I would like to marry,� she answered. That much was truthful, at least. �In America I was pretty busy taking care of my mother when she was sick�and since I came here I haven�t really met anybody. So there hasn�t been really all that much opportunity for reeling in potential husbands if you get what I mean.�

He got it all right.

�Yes. I am sure it is quite difficult to find a suitor when you have not met�anybody.�

His tone was dull and she realized to her chagrin that he was thinking that she didn�t consider him worthy of being a suitor. Not that she did of course. Nobody here needed to be suiting if she wanted to get home. But�

�Except you,� she said suddenly. William cocked his head at her.

�Pardon me?�

�Except you,� she repeated. �I�ve met you.�

�Oh.� He looked down into his lap. �Yes. You have.�

�Would you read me that poem?� She picked up one of the volumes from the coffee table and handed it to him, adding in explanation: �The one you were reading when I came in. The love poem.� She knew it was wrong to do this, to string him along. But God help her she couldn�t stop herself. He really was kind of adorable.

Up until this point, their hands had remained entwined, but presently William pulled his from her grasp. He toyed with the book uneasily.

�I couldn�t do that,� he said. There was a dark blush creeping up his ears and neck, and his mouth was working nervously. Buffy found it incredibly sweet and she became ever more gently persistent because of this.

�Why could you not?� she asked.

�Because�because I could not hope to do Lord Tennyson�s beautiful words justice.�

�Sure you could. You have a wonderful voice.�

�I�I�m so awkward��

�I don�t think you�re awkward,� she told him. Not true, but what she wanted him to know was that it did not bother her. Underneath that self-conscious gentleman was something heated and magnetic, something that was steadily drawing her out of her comfort zone. For the second time in less than an hour, she found herself reaching out to touch him: running her hand up his arm so that her palm rested on his shoulder, her fingertips just grazing the bare skin of his neck. She wasn�t sure of what she was doing; she wasn�t even sure of why. All she knew was that when she was with him, when she was touching him, all the tensions and worries faded from her body. When she was touching him, getting home was the last thing on her mind.

The amazing thing was that now he was letting her touch him, he had always gone out of his way to avoid it before. Now he let her fingertips stroke the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, nails coaxing gooseflesh and the slightest trembling of his bottom lip. She could tell by his posture�very strained and upright�that he was holding himself back, waiting. Not just waiting to see how far she would go but waiting to see how far he would allow her to go.

Before either of them had a chance to find out there was a rap of knuckles on wood, and Buffy looked up just in time to see Livvy appear in the open doorway.

�Sorry to disturb you, Master William,� she apologized while dropping a quick curtsey. �But Mr. Edward wishes me to tell you that you�ve got visitors.�

�Visitors?� William sounded as surprised and disoriented as Buffy felt. Livvy looked from one to the other of them curiously.

�Yes, sir. Here�s their card, sir.�

William�s face paled as he read the inscription on the calling card and for a moment Buffy could have sworn she saw an expression of blind panic in his eyes, but it was gone before she could be certain. In the next instant, he was offering her his typical polite smile.

�Would you mind taking this card to my mother?� he asked. �I�I need to compose myself.�

He was up and gone before she even had time to reply.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Callers were rare in a house with an invalid. In the month she had been living with the Hartleys Buffy had not seen a single one and she had come not to expect them. The arrival of Ellen and Cecily Underwood was cause for a good deal of rushing around by the servants, who were similarly unprepared for guests but must do their best to make the Hartleys proud. Mr. Edward ushered them into the drawing room (a space rather like the parlor only rather larger and with even fancier furnishings) and served some light refreshments while the Hartleys composed themselves for company. Buffy helped Anne get dressed and groomed after her nap�not such an easy feat when one was pressed for time.

�Who are the Underwoods?� she asked Anne as she worked. Judging from William�s reaction to their arrival, she figured they must be very important or else very disagreeable.

�The Underwoods are family friends,� explained Anne. �Ellen is lady of the house; her husband is president of the Gentleman�s Literary Guild, of which William is a member. Cecily is their eldest girl, a very bright young woman she is, too. She�s just come out, you know.�

Come out? Buffy frowned, trying to figure out if this was a reference to lesbianism or just another obsolete British term that she did not understand. However, she did not have long to contemplate this because presently Anne motioned her into the hallway. William was waiting for them at the top of the stairs, but despite of Anne�s claim that the Underwoods were �family� friends, he seemed no more enthusiastic about their arrival now than he did in the library. In fact, Buffy thought he looked tense and nervous�even a little bit annoyed�at the prospect of entertaining callers.

Anne proceeded to the drawing room on her son�s arm. Buffy had thought that as a servant she would not be a required presence during this visit. Yet Anne called her forward when she would have held back in the hallway. When she stepped into the room behind William, she presented Buffy to the Underwoods proudly, introducing her as a �family friend� (lot of that going about, thought Buffy) and explaining that she was there to �help with my illness.� The two visiting women exchanged a peculiar look upon receiving this information, but they smiled quite nicely as they welcomed Buffy to London.

They sat down then and Anne fell into easy conversation with her guests. William did not seem so comfortable as his mother. Nevertheless, he managed to maintain a polite�if somewhat stilted�dialogue with Cecily. Buffy did not talk much at all. For one thing, the Underwoods did not seem very interested in talking to her and for another she was too busy looking at the two women to think about what she might say to them. After all, this was her first close up view of high society ladies other than Anne and she could not help being curious about them.

Ellen Underwood was a tall, slim woman of forty or so. Her dark, wavy hair was untouched by grey and her face, though showing the beginnings of age lines, was still quite lovely. She was wearing an elaborately trimmed dress of dark red silk and wore heavy jewels at her ears, neck, and breast. She was a somewhat overconfident woman, bordering on haughty but not unkind. She seemed genuinely affectionate of Anne and concerned for her well being, though Buffy had a feeling these warm wishes might not extend to William; for some reason Ellen�s demeanor towards him was distinctly chilly. Ellen�s daughter, Cecily, was probably a few years older than Buffy. She was quite as slender as Buffy but not so finely boned (for some reason this pleased Buffy, who glanced at the girl�s not-as-diminished corseted waist with a feeling of satisfaction in her own tiny figure). Cecily�s face was oval-shaped like Ellen�s, but it was not quite so sharply angled. She had a flawless and very fair complexion with fine black brows and big sloe-colored eyes, and her hair was a mass of tiny ringlets, pulled high on her head and held with a jeweled comb. While certainly not a ravishing beauty, she was attractive and very well turned out even for an upper class Victorian woman. She was also very refined. She asked all the correct questions, gave all the correct answers, and always deferred to William and the two elder women in all discussions. In short, she was the perfect lady.

Buffy didn�t like her.

She could not say why exactly, though it may have been due in part to the fact that William�s eyes turned to Miss Underwood quite frequently even when he was not speaking to her. For the first time it occurred to Buffy that she might not be the only woman he found attractive and for some reason the thought rankled. Yet there was something else that bothered her as well, a certain insincerity in the girl�s manner. Cecily�s side of the conversation sounded almost memorized, like lines from a play. In fact, when Buffy looked closely it was obvious that they were just lines. Composed as her expression was, Cecily�s eyes were bored, a little restless, and it was apparent that she had little interest in William�s responses to her questions. Buffy knew she was eager for the visit to draw to its close.

Still, niceties must be observed. After an appropriate length of time chatting with William, Cecily turned her big dark eyes on Buffy.

�Miss Summers, I understand you are from America are you not?�

�Yes.� Something about the girl�s gaze made Buffy uncomfortable and she looked away, her face heating self-consciously.

�What a lovely place that is. At which part did you live?�

�The western part,� answered Buffy evasively. �California,� she added when Cecily looked questioning.

�California!� Cecily�s eyes widened. �Is that not a wild and dangerous place for a woman?�

Buffy glanced at William uneasily. Up until this point, she had managed not to go into a great deal of detail about her past. She was well aware that she did not know enough about 19th century America make up a believable description of her life there, particularly if William and Cecily were as well read as she thought they might be. She was hoping he might rescue her from a slippery topic, but the suddenly animated look on his face told her he was interested in her answer, too.

�Well�it�s a little rough, I guess. But a lot of people think it�s a lot worse than it actually is. Really, the west is becoming pretty settled.� She had no idea if this was true, but it sounded well and she crossed her fingers that no one would dispute it.

They didn�t.

Cecily sighed. �I have heard that America is a most diverse and exciting place,� she said. �I have done some traveling but not to America. However, some day I should love to go, if Father says I might. What is it like there? What did your father do?�

Her mind drew a blank. God in heaven. What did people do in California in the 1800s? Vaguely she remembered a teacher at school mentioning a gold rush, but to claim her father was a prospector seemed too silly to contemplate.

�Umm�he was in the export business,� she said finally. She was not entirely certain what the export business was but California was right there on the ocean, surely he could have exported something somewhere.

It seemed an acceptable answer to Cecily, who nodded and smiled. Buffy was afraid she would ask how her parents had died, but she failed to take into account the rules of polite conversation. Cecily would have never asked her any truly personal questions at their first meeting, nor would she have alluded to such a painful subject. In fact, she changed the topic swiftly and with tact.

�I do hope you are enjoying London thus far?�

�Oh, yeah�I mean, yes, thank you. I haven�t gotten the opportunity to see a lot of the city because of the cold weather, but what I have seen is beautiful. The Hartleys have been very kind to me. They have helped me to feel right at home.�

Cecily�s smile widened in a way Buffy did not like, it seemed almost derisive. However, her tone was as moderate as ever when she answered, �I am sure they have been. The Hartleys are a lovely family. Very�generous��

What was she implying? Buffy looked to William for help, but he was now in the middle of a discussion with Anne and Ellen. Flustered and angry, she looked down at the carpet without answering, but she could feel the girl�s eyes on her for several minutes afterward.

Their conversation pretty much died on the vine after that, but fortunately, the visit was drawing to its close anyway. Only a few minutes later Ellen Underwood rose from her chair. She regretted she could not stay any longer, she said, but she had several more calls to make while the weather was fine. However, she thanked Anne for the tea and conversation, and she promised to drop in again one day soon. To Buffy, she extended warm wishes for an enjoyable stay and expressed her pleasure that she had an opportunity to meet such a charming young woman. Cecily said very little at all, save for parroting her mother�s farewells.

�Well!� said Anne, after they had seen their guests to the door. �That was quite a nice visit, wasn�t it? Very kind of them to stop in.�

Since neither woman had been overly friendly to her, Buffy�s response to this cheerful observation was less than enthusiastic. However, she was surprised to see William frown also.

�Yes,� he said thoughtfully. �I suppose it was��

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The next morning, Buffy was helping Anne dress for breakfast when Livvy knocked on the bedroom door. She entered carrying a cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax, which a messenger had just delivered. Livvy said the letter was for Miss Summers, but at first Buffy thought their must be some kind of mistake�she never got mail here. However when she looked closer she saw that indeed it was her name on the front of the envelope, addressed in a fine, feminine hand. Quickly she checked the return address.

�Miss Cecily Underwood,� she read aloud. She glanced over at Anne. �Wasn�t that the girl who was here yesterday?�

�Yes, it most certainly is,� answered Anne, who looked just as perplexed by the letter as Buffy. �Yet I can�t imagine why she would be writing to you��

Buffy shrugged. �Well, there�s only one way to find out.�

She slit the envelope with a hairpin, drawing from it a single sheet of very crisp, cream-colored paper, almost like a card. The message inside was written in a script so elaborate she could hardly read it.

Miss Cecily Underwood
Requests the Pleasure of Miss Elizabeth Summers� Company
Saturday, January Eleventh at Seven o�clock
Dinner, Dancing, and Amusements
R.S.V.P.

Buffy frowned at the card, rereading it several times before passing it over to Anne. �Okay, so am I wrong in jumping to the conclusion that this Cecily person is asking me out on a date? I hope I�m wrong�because otherwise this is a really awkward situation.�

Anne made an impatient noise.

�Honestly, Elizabeth, it is scandalous the way you talk sometimes! This is an invitation to a ball! It is quite short notice for one, however. Three weeks is the customary, and I believe William received his card over a month ago. In fact�well�I cannot imagine why she would invite you. After all�� she faltered.

�I�m a servant,� Buffy finished for her. �It�s all right, Anne. Nice as you have been to me I haven�t forgotten my place. And I�m guessing the classes don�t mix much over here, right?�

�No. They certainly do not,� Anne conceded. �But it isn�t that I�m thinking of, Elizabeth. William and I have been most discreet about your post. But it�s very odd of her to invite you when the two of you have met only once.�

�So you�re saying I shouldn�t go then?�

Anne looked surprised by the question. �Do you want to go?�

�I don�t know. Cecily and I didn�t exactly bond yesterday, but it would be nice to get out of the house for a while, meet some new people. We�ve been kind of cooped up, what with the cold weather.� Buffy shrugged. �But if I shouldn�t go��

�Of course you may go if you wish! Send a card back to them straightaway and let them know you will attend.�

�But William said�I mean�it wouldn�t be suitable for me to go without a chaperone, would it?� asked Buffy confusedly. She was remembering William�s comment on Christmas Eve. �I wouldn�t want people to think you were housing a woman of ill repute or anything.�

�Under normal circumstances you would be correct,� answered Anne thoughtfully. �It isn�t polite of young ladies to venture out at night without an older chaperone. However, you have no alternative for I cannot go with you. I shall speak to Ellen and I am sure she will look after you at the ball. It will be appropriate enough if you take care not to find yourself alone in the company of gentlemen.� She smiled brightly and patted Buffy�s hand.

�And William will be delighted to escort you, I�m sure.�

Buffy was pretty sure of that, herself.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~
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