Tempesta di Amore by Holly

Chapter 11

Author's Notes: I know, I know, I know…I’m terrible. It’s been over a month. And I know I say this every time, but seriously…guys, I don’t blame you if you’ve stopped reading. My current track record notwithstanding, I am still VERY much into this fic. I promise. And actually, I think that might be one of the reasons it takes so long to update—the chapters of this story come much easier to me than the chapters of my other WIPs, therefore I give them more attention. I’ve decided to revert back to form, though, and take turns which WIP I work on, because I honestly hadn’t realized a month had gone by until I started getting emails. My profound apologies…and thanks to those who are sticking with me.

Many thanks to Megan, Mari, Yani, and Tam for looking over this for me. And special thanks to Claudia for everything that has been said. I haven’t forgotten you, hon. Look for an email from me here soon—once I get a chance to breathe.

Again and always, thank you so much to those of you who haven’t given up on me or my progress with this story. I hope you’re not disappointed.

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There were many aspects of married life Buffy hadn’t known to anticipate. Things she was half convinced Mrs. Kendall had attempted to warn her about. The distance William placed between them was only the beginning; after a while, the lonely halls became familiar. The whispers from the staff faded to a low hum, always nipping at her heels but eventually colliding with the wall she carefully constructed around her withering heart.

She cherished whatever time she had with William, even if it left her emotionally and physically drained. In such a short while, they had fallen into an easy routine. Buffy would wake up an hour or so before William and wander around Manderley until the sun kissed the morning sky. Mrs. Hart would phone the Morning Room and confirm the day’s meals, disregarding Buffy’s numerous assurances that she trusted her to make the meal selection without approval. Around nine, she and William would eat together and discuss meaningless things like the weather. William would smile at her and she would remember how his body felt against hers at night. How she wished so much that he would look her in the eyes just once as he moved inside her. How his whimpers for Drusilla inevitably kept her awake until the first signs of morning stretched across the English plains.

After breakfast, Buffy would pad around the halls of Manderley, convinced the hallways moved while she slept. On sunny days, she would take her sketchbook to the Happy Valley and lose herself for hours amid nature’s quiet seclusion. It was the only place on the property where she did not feel Drusilla’s touch. Where she didn’t feel Drusilla’s ghost following her around every corner. Where she could breathe without choking on Drusilla’s perfume and smile without feeling like she was purposefully fooling herself.

The Happy Valley was indeed a happy place. It was a place William had brought her, and only her. Drusilla’s ghost could not reach her there.

The routine was neither good nor bad; it simply was. Every day brought the same highs and lows. The same emotional peaks and unavoidable falls. And while she no longer felt the walls of Manderley were suffocating her, the eyes tracing her every step never forfeited their quest. She passed the disapproving frowns of William’s parents daily on the way to breakfast. His grandparents’ portrait hung near the main gallery, judging her hair and criticizing her attire and wondering why their heir had decided on such an unimpressive replacement for the beloved Drusilla. There wasn’t a corner of the manor that smiled upon her, and while the reality of her situation was chilling, Buffy was slowly growing accustomed to habit.

She wondered sometimes whatever happened to Mrs. Kendall. If the old woman thought of her at all anymore and how she would react were she to see Buffy now. Were she to see her prediction come to life. And yet, despite the nature of her life at Manderley, Buffy couldn’t summon enough regret to wish herself away from William’s side. She’d entered the marriage knowing his heart belonged to his first wife—knowing her love would have to be enough for both of them. And while she might live day to day hoping to see something more than fondness in his smile and kindness in his eyes, loving him and being near him was better than the alternative. Having even a small part of him was better than not having him at all.

Since their first walk to the Happy Valley, William had made an obvious effort to open himself to her, but there was always something holding him back. His attempts warmed her heart even if she struggled to collect her thoughts. He never spoke of what had happened—of the cottage along the beach or the memories which made the place so horrific for him. She had thought, perhaps, following what had happened that he might finally speak of Drusilla, and in so, take the last step necessary in finalizing her burial. It never happened. Occasionally, Buffy would catch William staring into nothing, his face ashen and his eyes haunted. Sometimes he stared at her as well, but always averted his gaze when her eyes met his.

Buffy would give him anything he wanted if only he would speak with her. Beyond the books in the library or the weather or the current political climate; she wanted him to speak with her. She wanted it so much.

But she was too damnably terrified of disrupting the calm that had since settled between them.

There were times when she asked him things just to hear his voice. The day following their first walk to the Happy Valley, she mentioned the man she’d seen at the bay. The man with torn gloves and a mind that wasn’t fully present. William had nodded, answering, “That was Ben.”

“Ben?”

“He lives nearby, but he’s as daft as a child.”

“He frightened me.”

William had reached across the settee and taken her hand, warming her world with a small, reassuring smile. A smile carefully structured to offset the tease in his words. “Teaches you to run off, doesn’t it?”

She’d flushed brightly, and he’d chuckled, thereafter assuring her Ben was harmless. He hadn’t any family or acquaintances—no one to care for him—and therefore William didn’t mind allowing him to wander around his stretch of property at the bay. Ben enjoyed collecting seashells, and William felt it inhuman to deny someone of Ben’s mental state such an elementary pleasure only for the sake of pride. The earth, as he put it, either belonged to everyone or no one at all. He advised her to avoid the bay, though, if Ben made her uneasy.

He didn’t meet her eyes when he spoke those words, and she knew why. His desire to keep her away from the bay had nothing to do with Ben and everything to do with the memories he wanted to banish.

She’d decided to keep everything else to herself, because she couldn’t make promises she knew she’d break. The bay was a source of infinite curiosity and eventually her will to avoid the forbidden shoreline would snap.

Similarly, she kept Ben’s concerns about the dark lady and the asylum to herself. No good could come of it, and she couldn’t face another crippling argument.

Buffy had lived at Manderley for a full month before she began receiving calls from friends of William and Drusilla’s—friends who were eager to meet the second Mrs. de Winter. William assured her it was natural curiosity and promised the visits would be light, as well as a good way to meet people outside of the home. She didn’t find it a comfort at all, but supposed that much to be her problem. The doors of Manderley opened and people came. People looked in on her. People sized her up. People wondered about how she and William had met, and told stories of the parties once held in the downstairs galleries.

People looked at her and arrived at the same conclusion—one they didn’t keep to themselves. And while there were expected differences in words and delivery, the overall theme remained unchanged.

You are not what we expected. You are so different from Drusilla.

There was, however, a notable upside to meeting with hordes of strangers who knew everything about Manderley and the de Winters, even if it meant subjecting herself to harsh judgment. Where William was mum on Drusilla, his acquaintances spoke about her without end. Drusilla was a favorite in the community. Drusilla was a famous beauty, admired for her allure and wit. Drusilla had been the spark in William’s eyes and the smile on his face, and they looked forward to seeing the William they remembered return to Manderley rather than the shell of a man in his stead. The William living here now, they said, wasn’t the William they’d known these last few years. The William living here now was a ghost.

The real William, they feared, had died with Drusilla. But they always added a sentiment hinting at their immense faith that Buffy would be able to restore both Manderley and William to their former grandeur.

Their mouths said that, at least. Their eyes told a different story.

Every meeting cut her unseen wounds a little deeper. Every meeting left her gutted and emotionally numb.

One day, after visiting for two hours with Darla Manners—a blizzard of a human being and friend of Drusilla’s—Buffy found her inner screaming could no longer be contained merely to the mocking halls of the manor. Once the horrid woman had been shown out, she collected her art supplies and practically jogged to the Happy Valley. To her special sanctuary—the place which never failed to cleanse her tired soul.

The canopy of trees kept her sheltered from the bleak terrain surrounding her. Buffy’s tired legs finally broke into a run when the trees parted, and she collapsed to her knees on the forest floor, tearing her sketchpad open. Her frantic hand fumbled through her spilled pencils and quickly began outlining a familiar face. By the time she was finished drawing him, she was blinded by tears and his image was marred with her labor of sorrow.

The Happy Valley was a haven, if only to have a place where no one heard her weep.

It took a while to collect herself, but ultimately Buffy wiped her eyes along the sleeve of her arm, gathered her supplies, and rose dutifully to her feet. If she remained absent too long, William would worry. And he would know where first to look for her. She didn’t want him to see her crying.

She was too lost in her thoughts on the way back to notice a man waving at her, and it took several calls of her name before his voice broke through her barrier and she glanced up and met Wesley’s friendly eyes.

“Buffy,” he said amiably, a warm smile brightening his face. “I was certain that was you.”

An inexplicable sense of calm washed over her and a sigh rolled off her shoulders. “Yes. I’m sorry. I was just…thinking.”

“Quite seriously, from the looks of it,” Wesley agreed. He inclined his head toward the Happy Valley. “Am I interrupting a walk?”

“No. I was just returning.”

“William loves that path. He’s never in as good a mood as he is on days when he’s allowed time enough to steal away.” He paused and sighed as though considering something significant before turning to face the manor once more with an obligatorily offer of his arm. “Will you allow me the privilege of walking you to the house?”

Buffy hesitated for a beat, then smiled and took his arm. She hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with Wesley since the luncheon with Anya and Xander, and had unknowingly anticipated a chance to converse with him alone. There was a kindness about him which couldn’t be denied. It was infectious, and she found she liked him immensely without knowing him at all.

“I must admit, I’m dreadfully curious,” Wesley mused, his voice dragging and his eyes demonstrating a search for words. An enigmatic minute passed before he continued. “Did William take you down that path, or did you stumble across it on your own?”

“William took me down the path,” Buffy replied. “The day you and I met, actually. We walked after you and the others left, and he took me there.”

A small smile tickled the man’s lips. “I was hoping as much. I’ve never known William to share that place with anyone.”

Buffy’s breath hitched and her heart leapt into her throat. “Anyone?” she repeated. She’d known Drusilla hadn’t accompanied him on his walks to the Happy Valley, but she’d never dreamed it was because no one else was welcome. As it was, she had trouble envisioning Drusilla as the sort of woman to adhere to such a demand, even if it came from her loving husband.

“Not in as many years, no. I thought, though…I thought when I met you that you might find yourself with an exclusive invitation.” He paused. “There’s something about you that seems to command that sort of peace. At least the sort of peace he seems to require whenever he makes his retreat. It’s good for him—given all that has occurred.” There was another long beat of silence, the air around them chirping with emerging nighttime critters as the sun began the slow dip under the horizon. “How are you finding life at Manderley?”

There were so many ways she knew she should answer the question, and none of them were factual. “Pleasant,” she said, ignoring the lingering scent of her tears which seemed to thicken with the weight of her lie. “The past few days have been…interesting.”

“William mentioned something of a never-ending parade of acquaintances.”

“Yes. Many people have visited.” Buffy bit her lip, her mind inevitably drawn back to the meeting which had sent her fleeing to the Happy Valley. And then, without warning, her defenses dropped and the ground around her melted into nothing. She realized she had a golden opportunity; a chance to talk with someone about William who would keep her confidence. She didn’t know how she knew; she just did. There was something about Wesley that commanded integrity. He would not repeat what she asked or what was said.

And unlike the aforementioned never-ending parade of acquaintances, he was not a friend of Drusilla’s. He would not gossip. He was here because he was William’s friend. He was someone William trusted, and for that reason, Buffy trusted him as well.

“The day we walked—the day William took me to the Happy Valley—I chased Jasper through the woods until coming across the adjoining path.”

The flicker of uncertainty in Wesley’s eyes was nearly indiscernible, but present nonetheless. “Oh?”

“There was a boathouse.”

“Yes. The boathouse and all the property along the coastline there is a part of Manderley.”

“William was…he says he never goes there anymore.”

The sudden turn of the conversation had Wesley notably uncomfortable, and while she didn’t wish to upset him, even mentioning something so seemingly taboo had her blood racing with adrenalin and her nerves tingling. She couldn’t stop now if she wished it. She’d peeked inside Pandora’s Box and there was no way to close it again.

“I wouldn’t imagine he has much reason to visit the boathouse,” Wesley agreed tentatively.

“Why?”

“William doesn’t have a taste for sailing.”

The implication in his words couldn’t be ignored. “The boathouse was Drusilla’s.”

As it always did, the ground beneath her feet seemed to coo with pleasure at the sound of its late mistress’s name. The tear-scented air around her head hummed as small shivers raced up her arms and down her spine. It was in the open again—her name. Drusilla. And it couldn’t be taken back.

“Yes. The boathouse was Drusilla’s. She spent a lot of time there…I believe. She loved the water.” Wesley cleared his throat. “Buffy, if I may—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Pardon?”

Her nerves blazed with courage and her blood rushed with intent. She couldn’t be deflected or ignored—not now. Drusilla was Manderley’s favorite topic, but she was always denied the right to know about her. To know anything about the woman whose house she lived in. There was nothing he could say to defer her line of thinking. Not when he’d given her a crumb.

“There are things I must know,” she said bravely, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I can’t mention her at all to William, do you see? He closes off from me—from everyone—whenever her name is mentioned. Do you remember that day at lunch? I…I was so foolish and hasty and I said something I oughtn’t, but he closed himself off so quickly and I don’t know how to…if I knew more about Drusilla, I think I could—”

“Buffy—”

“—accept that he will never love me as he loves her.”

The silence filling the air between them was the longest in Buffy’s life. Longer than the silence that had followed William’s proposal of marriage. Longer than the silence that had haunted her the night they first made love before the night cracked and he started whimpering for his first wife in his sleep. Wesley’s legs froze solid to the ground, his arm tightening around hers, his eyes demanding an audience. And when he saw she was serious, the sadness that followed all but broke the rest of her heart.

He knew that she knew, and he pitied her.

“My God,” he gasped. “You mustn’t say such things.”

Buffy bit back a flinch and released a long, tempered sigh. “This is something I’ve known since I married him. Please Wesley…he never speaks of her, and I can’t ask anyone else. William trusts you…do I presume too much in believing I can trust you as well?”

“No, of course not. But you mustn’t…you haven’t discussed any of this with William?” He exhaled deeply when she shook her head, the whole of him thoroughly upset. “He would hate to hear you speak of yourself like this.”

“I don’t want to upset him.” She didn’t want to upset Wesley, either, and hated putting him in such a position. However, bottling her emotions was going to send her into an early grave. She couldn’t remain silent and hope her worries would fade away; time had already proven that line of thinking erroneous. “But you don’t know what it’s like. All I hear day in and out—if not from Mrs. Hart then certainly from Drusilla’s acquaintances—is what a brilliant success she was. How beautiful and intelligent and charming. And I can’t help but wonder…” Her chest tightened under a heavy weight, but she didn’t continue. There was nothing more to say; anything else would only further Wesley’s discomfort. That was one thing she didn’t want.

A long, uncomfortable silence settled between them. “She was beautiful and captivating,” the man ultimately conceded. “There were times, looking in her eyes, you would swear you were…there was something about her. She could always draw you in…no matter how hard you resisted.”

Buffy swallowed hard and nodded, doing her level best to ignore the cold encompassing her heart. She supposed getting what one asked for was always bittersweet.

“She loved entertaining. The parties she used to throw here…” Wesley sighed and gazed wistfully into the cold face of Manderley’s exterior. “And when she wasn’t planning an extravagant event, she would entertain for her close friends at the boathouse. What she liked to call moonlight picnics, or something or other.” He blinked hard and shook his head, meeting her eyes again almost sheepishly. “I never attended the picnics. Drusilla was never…”

The last thing she wanted to do was goad him, but Buffy was literally quivering with trepidation. With a dangerous combination of excitement and dread—she was finally being allowed a glimpse on the inside. A glimpse into the mysterious world where Drusilla still walked the halls of Manderley, shadowing every stretch of sunshine with her memory. It was more than Buffy had ever been allowed—perhaps more than she ever would be allowed again. She could not back down.

For a brief second, the past was not taboo. Wesley was talking. And no matter how it pained her, she needed to hear it. She needed to hear everything.

“She sounds quite glamorous.”

“Glamour isn’t everything, Buffy,” came the sharp reply. “I sincerely believe that compassion, sincerity, and humility are worth more to a man than all the beauty in the world.”

A small smile graced her lips. The idea was romantic and lovely, but she placed little stock behind it. Beauty was a universal concept; beauty was something people spent lifetimes chasing. Beauty was something tangible—something a man could touch. And a man of William’s taste undoubtedly had a fine appreciation for beauty. For intrigue. For intelligence. For wit. Compassion, sincerity, humility…these were not words of lovers.

“As it is, Drusilla’s love of excitement was what killed her,” Wesley said a beat later. “She simply disappeared one night. We didn’t know what had happened, of course…William didn’t say a word through the ordeal. It was two months before her body was discovered along the coast. William was gone for three days to identify her. When he came back…he wasn’t the same.”

Buffy nodded slowly, the arm cradling her sketchpad suddenly crippled with weight. It was a terrifying realization—one she’d danced around since meeting William in Monte Carlo. The knowledge she was married to someone who didn’t exist anymore, at least not in the way his friends remembered him, had her questioning every facet of herself. She’d fallen in love with a William crushed by his past; a William who would never have glanced at her had their paths crossed two years prior. A William wrestling with the heavy consequences of what he had lost and what he had mistakenly thought he could replace.

She had no idea why he’d married her. Why he’d brought her here. She remembered telling him as much the day he introduced her to the Happy Valley. Her heart had been brave then, but it wasn’t now. If she was truly brave, she wouldn’t force Wesley to admissions he didn’t wish to make. But the idea of confronting William—of watching what little light lived in his eyes die entirely—was insufferable.

“I wish so much that he would talk with me,” Buffy whispered, unable to keep her tears away. “I don’t know what to do, Wesley. So often he looks like he’s seen a ghost. Like he keeps expecting her to be there…and the way he looks at me when he realizes I’m the one he’s sleeping beside at night—”

“Buffy—”

“I’m not what he wants. I want so hard to be what he wants, or to understand why he thought marrying me would bring him any measure of happiness, especially after he’s lost so much…but I can’t. I keep trying to understand and it escapes me.” She shook her head hard, shivering against the chilling wind and wrestling her other arm free from his. “All I know is I’m nothing like her. I’m nothing like her.”

“Good Lord, Buffy, you can’t do this to yourself.” Wesley’s voice was strained and insistent, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes again. “You must forget it, as William has. As everyone else has. I saw how he was after, and I’ve seen him since you brightened his life. You have done wonders on him. My God, if you only knew…”

“I can’t know. And even if that were true…he doesn’t…” She couldn’t bring herself to admit again that William didn’t love her. The more those words breathed life, the more concrete they became. The more hope she lost that he would ever love her. And she couldn’t live without hope. “You won’t tell him, will you, Wesley? What we discussed here? I couldn’t look at him knowing—”

“Of course not. I would never betray your confidence like that.” He paused. “But you should. Tell him, that is. William would want to know how you feel.”

Buffy licked her lips and said nothing, her gaze once again traveling up the terrain until she was staring into the eyes of Manderley. Tell William how she felt, when she’d known all along this was how her life would be. Tell William after it had nearly broken her to spill so little of her heart that day at the Happy Valley. Tell William…

No. That was out of the question.

Things were pleasant now. Quiet. And while the quiet could suffocate, it was better than screaming. She’d rather have this than nothing at all. If there wasn’t this, there would be nothing. She wasn’t willing to risk it. Not now.

But she wouldn’t tell Wesley as much. She’d already worried him enough.

Thus silence was the only answer she could give.

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