Chapter 4
Author's Notes: ZOMG! Thank you so, SO MUCH to whoever nominated this story at the Spark and Burn Awards! Tempesta di Amore has been nominated for Best Fantasy and Best WIP. ZOMG IT’S UP FOR BEST FANTASY! Sorry…I’ve obviously never written a fantasy before now, so it’s all shiny and new! Really, thank you so, so much. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. *bouncy bouncy*
Buffy was quite sure she had never felt such a wealth of absolute despair as she did the morning that Mrs. Kendall informed her that their time in Monte Carlo was over. The small, happy reality she had been entertaining for days had collapsed as she had so feared it would. That emptiness that she had been dreading consumed her thoroughly, leaving the bland days of her meaningless future even more barren than even her imagination could portray.
It was the end of the world. She knew it had to be.
Parting from one’s love could be nothing less than the end of the world.
“Why?” she heard herself demanding, shocked at her own brazenness but unable to help herself. What girl could, when her heart was breaking? She had just been told that Mrs. Kendall was taking her away from the man she loved, and she would never see him again.
“Why?” Mrs. Kendall repeated, her thick brows arching. “Goodness, girl, it doesn’t matter
why. We’re leaving, and that’s all there is to it.”
Not all, Buffy thought, her insides ripping apart.
Not all.“There is no sense standing there so idly,” the old woman continued, this time with a harsher scold in her tone. “We must be off immediately. My eldest is getting married, and she absolutely can’t be without me. And, as you know, I tire so of Monte Carlo. The air is no longer agreeable.” She sighed heavily. “You’ll have an hour to pack your things.”
Buffy balked, and again her tongue interfered with her better senses. “An hour? Only an hour?”
Mrs. Kendall frowned. “Do you have a problem, Buffy?”
She glanced up sharply, her heart in her throat. “A problem?” she echoed. “Oh. No, Mrs. Kendall. There is no problem.”
No. There was no problem. No problem at all.
No problem aside from her breaking heart.
“Good,” Mrs. Kendall replied promptly, nodding. “I expect you to be ready within an hour. I’ll have one of the staff pack up your belongings.”
Buffy thought of the book that William had given her, and shook her head before thinking. “No. Allow me.”
“Whatever for?”
She swallowed hard at that. Mrs. Kendall would never believe that Buffy owned anything of value; anything that she would want hidden from eyes that were not her own. And while she suspected that anyone that happened to stumble across her book would do little more than blink at it disinterestedly, the idea alone felt like an invasion of privacy.
William had given her that book. William had given her something precious. Something sacred.
Something that Drusilla had touched.
“Please, Mrs. Kendall,” Buffy said softly. “I will not take long. I would simply prefer to pack my own belongings.”
But first—before she horded her life away—she needed to see William. She needed to look at him one more time. She needed to memorize every contour of his handsome face, so she would have something to take with her and remember as she grew older. Her first love—her only love. She needed to see William before she went away. Before she never saw him again.
Buffy made quick work of packing; she didn’t have much, after all, and other than William’s book, she didn’t care too deeply for any of her things to be cautious and methodical. As a paid companion, her wardrobe rarely strayed from the same, boring frock that William had first seen her in.
When he’d stood at the edge of a cliff, and she’d been so worried that he was going to jump.
She completed packing with more than enough time to spare. Mrs. Kendall was off, bickering with the management about the bill for their room, and likely would not return for the better part of an hour. While her employer liked the pretense that she was on a strict timetable—that she was at the demand of every high ranking member of society—the truth was far less forgiving. If Buffy waited in her room, as was expected, she might well find herself waiting for hours.
There was more than enough time to see William. More than enough time to say goodbye. Thus, collecting the book that he had placed in her care—the book from his beloved Drusilla—Buffy drew in a deep breath and left her room. She crossed the threshold from the place where she belonged and entered the long stretch of corridor that separated their worlds.
Her legs were lead. Drusilla’s book was pressed to her chest. She felt her heart thundering against the leather-bound surface. Her skin was foreign. She was not the girl he had met. No, William had changed her. Knowing William had changed her. He had awakened something within her that she was too young to understand.
The word
love was terrifying, but it did not change how she felt. She knew she was in love, just as she knew she had to say goodbye. Just as she knew that she would never see him again.
Just as she knew she would leave her heart in Monte Carlo.
Buffy pursed her lips and paused awkwardly outside his room. He had given her the number yesterday—or was it the day before?—likely thinking that she would never have use of it. It was a courtesy. A way of sharing something with her, given everything of herself that she had shared with him. She was about to invade his space—William’s space. Space where she was not welcome. Space where he lived with Drusilla’s memory.
But she had to return the book. She had to return the book, and she had to say goodbye.
She would never forgive herself if she did not say goodbye.
It was that thought that filled her with enough courage to raise her fist to the door and knock. She was certain that her heart would leap through her chest with as hard as it was pounding. The seconds that filled the empty silence were the longest of her life.
There was movement on the other side of the door. Footsteps. She pictured him swearing under his breath for the intrusion. She pictured the look that would undoubtedly storm his eyes when he opened the door—the calm restrained sort of irritation. He would wonder why the foolish child he’d spent the past few days entertaining was presuming so much as to stand at his threshold, open-faced and expectant.
Buffy was almost surprised when the door finally opened. In such a small amount of time, she had imagined this moment over and over, thus it felt that she was watching a waking illusion. The impact of his blue eyes crashing with hers knocked the wind out of her chest. If she lived a thousand years, she would never forget the raw power he commanded with a simple glance. Their gazes clashed, and the floor beneath her feet vanished.
“Buffy,” he said, blinking. The surprised note in his voice was enough to send her crashing back to earth. He hadn’t expected her. Of course he hadn’t expected her. She was very much intruding on his private time. “Is something wrong?”
“I came to return your book.”
Confusion flashed across his face, his gaze dropping to the package she had bundled against her breast. “My book,” he repeated, the light in his eyes dimming. “I see. Have you tired of it so soon? Certainly you haven’t had time to—”
“No. No, I’m so sorry. I…” She drew in a sharp breath. “Mrs. Kendall and I are leaving, you see. She has decided that…” Buffy shivered and forced her eyes away from his. If she looked at him as she spoke, if she watched his face, the dam would break and she would dissolve into a mess of foolish, girlish tears. “The air in Monte Carlo no longer agrees with her. We are to leave this very morning. I have to return your book now. I have to…say goodbye.”
There was nothing for a very long minute.
“Goodbye—”
“Come inside, Buffy.” He stepped aside and held the door open. “Join me for breakfast. I know it’s rather scandalous, but I don’t suppose the staff will talk much if I provide adequate compensation. Or perhaps that will make them talk more.” A dangerous grin flirted with his lips. “When you get to be my age, you no longer care about such matters. Come inside and eat with me.”
Buffy slowly raised her head, her incredulous eyes swallowing him whole. Had he not heard what she’d just confessed? Had he not heard her say that she was leaving?
“Mr. de Winter, I—”
“I absolutely insist. And I believe I told you to stop that
Mr. de Winter nonsense.” He held out his hand when she did not move, and like every time when she touched his skin, warmth flooded her veins. “Come inside and dine with me.”
Every logical nerve in her brain protested, even as her body turned soft and pliant under his kind, gentle touch. Buffy shook her head, but did little to stop him from leading her over the threshold. “Mrs. Kendall—” she began, but he cut her protest short with a quick, disinterested wave.
“Mrs. Kendall wouldn’t be so foolish to leave Monte Carlo without realizing that you aren’t with her, would she?”
Buffy bit her lip, and William laughed.
“Eat with me, love,” he said softly once his chuckles subsided. “And we will fix this.”
Fix this? There wasn’t anything to fix. Nevertheless, she didn’t have it within her to further her protest. Against her better judgment, she found herself following him into the forbidden area of his personal space. She realized belatedly that he was in a state of scandalous undress—the sort of undress she’d only seen in the opposite sex when Mrs. Kendall took her to places that provided a pool. He wasn’t entirely nude waist-up, but for the way his dress-shirt hung loosely off his shoulders, unbuttoned, he might as well have been.
A glance at that forbidden flesh, now that her mind was wandering out of its haze, made her cheeks hot. William lived in this room. The walls had seen him in much less.
“I have toast,” he announced, leading her to the veranda. “And coffee.”
“Oh.”
It was the only thing she could say. Her mind was still spinning.
“Not as nice as the dining room, but I hadn’t anticipated seeing you until later this afternoon.”
But he wasn’t supposed to see her that afternoon. By that afternoon, she would be gone. And by the next day, he wouldn’t remember her at all. The thought was enough to stir the commonsense that he’d banished so effortlessly, and some smidgeon of self-respect began to struggle. “Mr. de Winter, I really should be going. I only came to return your book and thank you for—”
“The book is yours, Buffy. Certainly you’re not unfamiliar with the concept of gift-giving.”
Her mind flashed to the inscription.
Spike—from Drusilla. That book did not belong to her. Drusilla had given it to him. She had given it to William, whom she called
Spike, for whatever reason. It was private. It was personal. It wasn’t something that one simply gave away. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“I absolutely insist.” William pulled out the chair for her and waited patiently until she obliged. Just as quickly, he assumed the seat across from her and settled his napkin into his lap. “Toast?”
In spite of herself, Buffy offered a numb nod.
“Coffee?”
Again, she nodded.
“Cream or sugar?”
“Cream, please.” She inhaled sharply and shifted in her seat. “Mister—” He arched a brow and her entire body rattled. “I mean, William…William, I really must be going. I only came to thank you for being so kind to me, and to tell you goodbye. I really shouldn’t keep Mrs. Kendall waiting. She—”
“Mrs. Kendall sprang this on you rather abruptly, I gather.”
Buffy nodded quickly. “Oh, yes. I had no idea she had even given thought to leaving Monte Carlo until an hour ago.”
“An hour,” William repeated.
“Yes.”
“And it took you an hour to come and see me.”
The way he spoke made the whole of her shrivel. At once, she felt all of ten years old; that she was being reprimanded by someone that demanded her obedience and loyalty. Only that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all. Mrs. Kendall was the one that paid her for her companionship. Mrs. Kendall was the one that kept her clothed, fed, and employed. Mrs. Kendall was the one she belonged with. And Mrs. Kendall thought she was in her room, and would be intensely angry when she returned and found that she had wandered off.
“I—uhh, William.” Her cheeks warmed as his name rolled off her lips. It was so improper, so unbidden. And somehow knowing that she was behaving as she shouldn’t made her enjoy it all the more. No matter how vehemently William insisted that she forgo formalities, she knew that she should adhere to society’s laws of class and division. But she didn’t. Instead, she did as he asked and addressed him by his Christian moniker, and it made her feel strangely complete. “William,” she said again. The taste of his name in her mouth would never dull. “I…I hardly know…I only knew that I had to return the book.” Only that wasn’t quite right, and she knew that he knew it for the intense way his eyes drilled into hers. “I knew…I only knew that I had to see you again and say goodbye.”
There was a short, meaningful pause. “Hmmm. Yes.” William nodded and indulged in an unhurried sip of his coffee. “I would have been most cross if you had simply wandered off without saying goodbye.”
Buffy couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or not. She felt that he was. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“Do you enjoy working for Mrs. Kendall?”
He knew the answer to that. They had discussed it at length several days ago. How much she disliked her job; how knowing that her girlhood dreams and wishes—even acknowledging how silly and frivolous as they had been—would never see fruition had encased her in sorrow. How she spent time daydreaming of what she would do as she blossomed further into adulthood, knowing all the while that her class would never elevate.
“No, Mr. de…William. No, I do not. However, I am in her care and she is the one—”
“You are paid to be her companion.”
“Yes.”
“Your duties are to care for her. To be with her in the place of actual friends or acquaintances.” The way he spoke told her plainly that he expected no answer. He was merely reciting things that he already knew to be fact. “But that is not genuine companionship, is it? She uses you to feel better about herself. She is so damnably afraid of being alone that she is not above dipping into her pocketbook to find a girl to follow her around and pretend to be someone of importance to her.”
The words were true enough, but that did not stop them from hurting. Buffy forced bit back a flinch. “I don’t understand.”
“Up until I met Mrs. Kendall, I’ll admit that I did not fully understand, either.”
“Why do you say such things?”
William smiled dryly and sipped again at his coffee. “Because, love, as irritating as it is, there are certain ways that Mrs. Kendall and I are not so different.”
That wasn’t true. That was the furthest thing from the truth. William and Mrs. Kendall were as different as day and night. Mrs. Kendall was all light—too bright, at times, for Buffy to look at without wishing for a shadow to wrap herself in. Mrs. Kendall was abrasive and brash. She was the last sort of woman that Buffy ever wished to know, or associate with.
William was darkness. He was in the shadows. He was mysterious. He was everything.
He was the man she loved.
“Oh, but you are,” Buffy insisted. “You are different.”
“In most ways, yes. Not in this.”
She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Mrs. Kendall is lonely. She seeks companionship.” He shrugged one shoulder lazily and offered her a small, almost apologetic smile. “We are not so different, see. It is simply misfortunate…or, as I see it, very
fortunate that you were the girl she selected to accompany her.” He paused and his smile widened. “I offer you a choice, Buffy.”
“A choice.”
“Yes. If you like, you may leave with Mrs. Kendall. Return to her side and rely on the charity of her pocketbook until she tires of you. Or…” William raised the cerulean mug to his perfect lips again, his mouth tugging into an even wider, however mystifying grin. “You may come home with me.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. There was no way that she hadn’t heard him wrong. Her fears had transformed suddenly into a delusion. She didn’t want to leave him, thus her mind was trying to fool her. William didn’t want her. Not as a companion. Not as a woman. Not as anything. And any second, the dream-world she had entered would vanish and she would find herself back inside reality. William would smile and touch her hand, say that he would always remember her, even if he never would. And then she would go downstairs and meet Mrs. Kendall’s disapproving glare. She would apologize and accept whatever reprimands that her employer leveled at her, and then she would move on. She would leave Monte Carlo and her heart behind.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy said, shaking her head. “I…I couldn’t have heard you properly. I don’t—”
“It’s very simple,” William replied, though his voice was in no way condescending. Rather, he was nodding gently and soothing her nerves with soft, reassuring smiles. “You may go with Mrs. Kendall, or you may come with me. You may come with me to Manderley.”
“Mr. de Winter—”
“William.”
She flushed.
“William, I really must…you can’t require my services. Mrs. Kendall needs a paid companion because she has…really, no one likes her very much. But you…people like you. You don’t need to resort to—”
The sudden impact of his rich laugh shook her to the bone. It made the walls quiver. And once again, she felt very young and very foolish.
“William?”
“You adorable little fool,” he drawled, shaking his head. “I’m not asking you to be my
paid companion. Buffy, I’m asking you to marry me.”
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ghostgirl13's prompting. Therefore, I lovingly dedicate this story to her. She kept me on my toes, even when I didn’t want to be kept.