Chapter 5
Author's Notes: Tempesta di Amore has been nominated at LLGA! SQUEE! ZOMG TEMPESTA'S BEEN NOMINATED AGAIN! MY FIRST AU! SQUEE!
Thank you SO MUCH to whoever nominated me! *glomps*
There was a grandfather-clock in William’s room unlike any clock that Buffy had ever seen. Not that she made a habit of studying clocks, but she found this particular model fascinating, if not a pleasant distraction from the loud thundering in her chest. It was intricately hand-carved and touched with whitewash finish. There were worn areas around corners where it had been bumped or neglected, but one would only notice its faults if determined to find them. The long sides were aligned with carvings of flowers, and at the head were two childlike angels that met on either side of a rose bush. The decoration was just lovely. She wished for a blind second that she had her sketchbook with her, so that she could at least attempt to document its beauty for her memory.
Perhaps the reason she’d noticed the clock was due to its ticking being perfectly in tune with the stormy palpitations of her frantic, disbelieving heart. She kept waiting for the words to vanish—for something to happen that would tell her definitively that she’d heard wrong. That William had not asked what she’d heard him ask.
“It was made in Italy,” William said pleasantly, nodding to the clock.
“It’s lovely,” Buffy agreed. There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t numb.
“You have a special interest in clocks?”
Had he forgotten that he’d asked her to marry him? Had she truly heard him wrong? She chilled then and shivered, her eyes falling to her coffee. She didn’t like coffee all that much. It was very much an American drink, and she’d never truly understood the appeal. Mrs. Kendall possessed a vehement dislike of coffee. She would be absolutely horrified when she learned that Buffy had shared coffee with William that morning.
“I don’t, no.”
“You don’t know?” he replied, arching a brow. “Or no, you don’t.”
“Mister—”
“By the grace of God, Buffy, if you call me Mr. de Winter one more time, I’m going to take a switch to you.” His eyes were set with amusement, which served both to ease and hurt in the same beat. Was he making fun of her? He hadn’t yet—not in the time she’d known him. And he’d been rather affronted at every assumption that she’d voiced in that vein. “Besides…you shouldn’t speak so formally with the man you’re going to marry.”
There were those words again. Her eyes went wide.
Marry William de Winter. “William,” she forced out, catching herself before she slipped into formalities again, blushing furiously. “It’s not necessary to propose marriage if you’re in need of…whatever work there is that I can do for you.”
“I’m quite aware of that.”
“Then you understand how imprudent it would be to—”
William waved a hand dismissively, sipping at his coffee. Then, as though he’d crept inside her mind, he frowned and set the cup on the table. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever understand why the Yanks are so enamored with that drink,” he observed, shaking his head. “As for prudence, Ms. Summers, am I to understand that you’re concerned about my reputation?”
“I’m not in your world, William.” It was important that he understood that. That he grasped just how far apart they truly were. He had elegance and mystery about him. Even sitting, as he was, immodestly attired, he still exuded the presence of one of great fortune and importance. Whereas Buffy, in her blandly simple gray dress, represented everything that men like William de Winter typically scoffed at. Men like William de Winter did not propose marriage. Not to paid companions. “I don’t…”
“My world?” he repeated, arching one cool brow with interest. “And what, daresay, is
my world?” Buffy frowned, her heart leaping into her throat. The last thing she’d wanted was to anger him. But certainly, a man as intelligent and worldly as Mr. William de Winter couldn’t be blind to the reality of their situation. She was merely a girl. A child, really. Perhaps they were only separated by a decade; it might as well have been a millennia. William was everything she wasn’t. He was wealthy, educated, and devilishly handsome. He’d already lived. He’d lived and loved, and the love of his life had died. He might be fond of her, but there was little more besides that to snag his interest.
Unless she’d misjudged him. Buffy blinked dumbly, her eyes settling on her half-sipped coffee. Was it possible that she’d misjudged him?
Was it possible that he loved her as desperately as she loved him?
No. Impossible. It was a romantic’s notion. An idle fantasy.
As was the hope that he’d ever ask her to marry him.
“Buffy, it is rude to remain silent when one has asked you a question,” William said, his voice tempered. “Would you like a piece of toast?”
“Yes, please.”
He obliged her in his gentlemanly fashion, sliding a single plate doctored with a tanned slice of bread to her side of the table. “What did you mean when you said you are not in my world?” he asked.
“Exactly that. I’m not in your world. The women in your world wear black silk.” Because they could afford it. Because they thought it made them appealing. Mrs. Kendall, for example, was a woman in William’s world. And she’d shown nothing but raw, naked interest in him since they arrived at Monte Carlo. Even though Mrs. Kendall had several years to the advantage on William, she remained a prime example of the sort of woman that William would want. Someone of stature and importance. Someone of wealth and class. Someone who wasn’t so poor that she had to rely on the borrowed kindness of a woman who, at the end of the day, didn’t care for her at all. “The women in your world wear black silk,” she repeated after a moment’s silence. “And I have nothing.”
William’s eyes darkened. “I would not have you in black silk,” he replied, a raw edge to his voice. “I would not have you in any way other than how you are right now.”
She doubted that was true. If he could, William would move the heavens and the earth to have her as Drusilla was. To replace her plain likeness with the winning smile of his late wife. She did not blame him, nor did she feel sorry for herself. It was simply a truth. A piece of silver knowledge that kept her grounded. That reminded her who she was.
And more importantly, who she was not.
“If you do not come to Manderley with me,” William said softly when she did not reply. “What will you do?”
Buffy was silent for a long minute. The words
come to Manderley with me sent shivers down her spine. He spoke as though it was actually an option. Something he wanted. Something genuine.
Again, she wondered if it was possible that he loved her, after all. Ridiculous as it was.
“I will go with Mrs. Kendall.”
“And when Mrs. Kendall tires of you?”
There was harshness in his voice that she didn’t care for, but it was a fair enough question. Certainly, Mrs. Kendall wouldn’t spend the rest of her days carting her around as though there was actually any familial obligation between them. No, some morning, Buffy would awake and find—very much as she had today—that the world she knew was changing again. That everything she’d known was no longer reliable.
“There will be other Mrs. Kendalls,” she replied.
And that was it. The story of her life. Buffy Summers, orphaned, poor, and passed from one employer to the other. Given wages to act the part of a companion so that the wealthy didn’t have to be so lonely.
“I want you to marry me, Buffy. I don’t know how to make this clearer for you.” William sighed and wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin, rising dutifully to his feet. “We can be married swiftly. Very quickly. Here in Monte Carlo. And I will take you to Florence for our honeymoon. All the fine dining and shopping that a young woman could ask for.”
The idea was, at last, beginning to sink in. This was real. This was a real possibility. William de Winter was actually asking her to marry him. “Quickly?”
“Yes. Here. We can have the magistrate do it for us.”
“No church?” Buffy replied, her throat dry and her head light. “No choir? No flowers? No music?”
The look on William’s face was grim. “No. No, I had one of those weddings before.”
She inhaled sharply but didn’t reply. If she was to seriously consider the proposal, the last thing she needed was to be reminded, yet again, of Drusilla. There were enough reminders of her as it was. Every time she met William’s eyes, she found herself drowning in a helpless sea of loss and heartache. If she was going to be his wife, she needed to establish her own footing.
And yet, the idea was simply too overwhelming to grasp. William wanted to marry her, and he wanted it done in a courtroom. Gone were her girlish fantasies of white veils and rose petals. Of smiling faces and music composed by the gods themselves. She’d known for a long time, of course, that she would never be the sort of woman to earn such a celebration, but the desire remained nonetheless.
“I’m not asking you properly,” William said a second later, his eyes going wide as though reading her thoughts. “You want white lace and music. I suppose I should have taken you to some remote hillside, dropped to one knee, and then made love to you in a rose garden. I’m sorry, love, but this is all I can do in the time allotted.”
Buffy’s cheeks reddened. “William—”
He smiled and reclaimed his seat. “Good girl.”
“You really want to marry me?”
For a fleeting instant, she thought he was going to reprimand her for making him repeat it. Or worse, he was going to laugh at her and let her know, in no uncertain terms, what a fool she was and what a good game he’d made of it. But William did neither. Instead, he offered a solemn nod and said, “I do,” while taking a healthy bite out of his toast.
“You want me to be Mrs. de Winter?”
The implication alone just sounded foreign and wrong. She wasn’t Mrs. de Winter. She could never be Mrs. de Winter. Mrs. de Winter was dead.
But William did not contradict her. He nodded again. “I do.”
“Oh.”
“Buffy?”
“Marry you.”
William arched one of his perfect brows again and cocked his head. “Are you accepting my proposal, or simply restating what we’ve been discussing for the past twenty minutes?”
Accept. If she did not accept, she would never see him again. And this was more than seeing him again. This was her deepest desire, her deepest yearning, come to life. William de Winter wanted her to be his wife.
He made a sound of mild amusement, which jarred her again from her musings. “I admit, love, I hadn’t expected you to make such hard work out of my proposal. I’d rather thought you were in love with me.”
Buffy’s heart thundered. “Oh, but I am!” The words were out before she could stop them. “I do love you, William. Very much.”
She waited for him to return her sentiments. After all, he’d been the one to mention love. That had to mean something, didn’t it? William would not toss love into the conversation without feeling it. He simply wasn’t that sort of man. Any second now, he would leap to his feet, profess how much she meant to him, and seal their betrothal with a kiss that would rewrite the history on kisses.
But he did none of those things. Instead, he smiled a half-smile and nodded again. “And you will marry me.”
It wasn’t a question. He already knew the answer. “Yes.”
A small smile broke across William’s handsome face. “Thank you,” he said, and it struck her as immeasurably odd that he would be thanking her for anything. However, before she could muse on the notion that he owed her gratitude when he was the one marrying
her, he spoke again. “Don’t worry with Mrs. Kendall. After breakfast, I will dress and we will go speak with her together. You don’t need to be in the room, if you wish. I will take care of everything.”
Buffy worried a lip between her teeth, the image of Mrs. Kendall’s astonished, betrayed face floating upward. She suddenly felt ill. “I would much prefer that,” she agreed readily. “Yes, please.”
It occurred to her only seconds after she agreed that he deal with Mrs. Kendall that she was in no way performing the role of a woman who was about to be married. There was no loyalty to keep her tied to Mrs. Kendall. There was nothing at all. Why she should fear speaking with her employer was beyond her.
However, if William thought ill of her for so readily accepting his method of escape, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he merely smiled and rose slowly to his feet. “Well, then,” he said softly, and there was an air of tenderness in his eyes that she had never seen before. Perhaps she was imagining it. Perhaps. “If you’ll wait for a second, love, I’ll make myself presentable. Then we’ll face the old crone together.”
Together. She and William were going to be together.
She was going to be Mrs. de Winter.
She was going to live at Manderley.
And any second, she was certain she was going to wake up.
*~*~*
Just as he promised, William handled the awkward situation with Mrs. Kendall. What he said, Buffy did not know. She remained in the waiting room, her hands splayed neatly over the volume of poetry that William had given her just days before. She heard muffled conversation, but no raised voices. Mrs. Kendall didn’t yell or throw things, or do any of the dramatic things that she had envisioned on the seemingly endless trek from William’s quarters to hers.
Nothing happened at all. Nothing. A few minutes later, William emerged from Mrs. Kendall’s room and his eyes immediately found hers. There was nothing calming about the way he looked at her. Rather than the smile she expected and the warmth that she craved, he merely nodded at the door and said, “It’s taken care of. Mrs. Kendall would like a few words with you.”
Buffy’s heart leapt into her throat. “She would?”
William smiled gently at hearing the tension in her voice, and a part of her relaxed. A very small part. “It’s fine, love,” he said. “Mrs. Kendall has no claim on you. She is not blood, nor is she truly a friend. If anything, she’s a little bitter that you’re the one leaving with me…a right she clearly believes is hers alone.”
She offered a weak smile at that. “I will see her, then.”
“Should I have a maid pack your things for you?”
Buffy flustered. Just a little while ago, she had made such a fuss about someone else touching her things. It was quite uncharacteristic of her. After all, Mrs. Kendall had carted her around the country for a little over a year now, and not once had she cared at all about whether or not her belongings were packed by her hands or someone else’s. She knew, logically, that she had only insisted to such a point to stall for time. She’d needed to see William before she left. And now she was leaving
with William, because they were getting married.
Because she was going to be Mrs. de Winter.
How odd that Mrs. Kendall’s last impression of her would be their quarrel over how to pack her things.
“I packed earlier,” Buffy replied, rising to her feet and placing the book aside. “But you might have her rearrange some things for me. I…I sort of threw everything in my suitcase in my hurry to see you. I’m sure it’s a mess.”
William’s smile grew, and before she knew what was happening, he had moved forward and brushed a tender kiss across her brow. It wasn’t the sort of kiss she expected a husband would give her, but the feel of his lips against her skin made her shiver with a rush of unanticipated happiness. “Deep breaths,” he whispered. “All will be well.”
Then he was gone. The strong comfort he offered moved aside and she was left facing an open doorway. Inside, on a long sofa, was Mrs. Kendall, and she looked ready to strangle anything that moved.
It did not surprise her, but Buffy felt a rush of trepidation nonetheless.
“Well, well, well,” Mrs. Kendall drawled, lighting a cigarette. She leaned carelessly against the pillows at the arm of the chaise. The look in her eyes was almost threatening. “It appears that I’ve underestimated you.”
Buffy wet her lips and did not reply.
“Game, set, match to you, huh, honey?”
“Mrs. Kendall—”
The old woman frowned and waved dismissively. “I’m not going to be difficult. I’m not going to scream and cry
unfair, though now I know where you snuck off to while I was ill, right?” An unkind smile crossed her lips. “I do wish you luck, Buffy, though I fear you’re making a horrible mistake.”
Logically, Buffy knew that Mrs. Kendall was speaking out of jealous disappointment, but the words couldn’t help but strike the intended barb with skilled perfection. There was a sense of horrible apprehension surrounding the events that had unfolded over the past hour. While she very much wanted to marry William, she knew that she was leaving a world where she was comfortable. Where she knew exactly where she belonged. Having been orphaned at such a young age hadn’t privileged Buffy in having too many close relations, but she knew what to expect from Mrs. Kendall. She didn’t know what to expect from William, or Manderley. All she knew was that she loved him.
And that was all that mattered. She loved him.
“He likes you,” Mrs. Kendall continued, tapping her cigarette so that flecks of dust scattered along the carpet. “No doubt about that. And why wouldn’t he? He is a man, after all. And you’re a young, pretty thing. A nice little distraction from Drusilla. Did I ever tell you how she died?” She puffed on her cigarette again and shook her head. “She drowned, you see. She drowned in the bay at Manderley.”
Buffy frowned, her stomach rolling. “Stop it,” she said shortly.
If anything, her antagonistic response only egged Mrs. Kendall on. “They found her body several months later, washed along the shore miles from where her boat reportedly capsized. Poor William had to identify her. And from what I’ve heard, her body was battered and broken, and thoroughly naked.”
Bile rose in her throat. Buffy waved a hand and shook her head, a desperate, pleading note striking her voice. “Please.”
“Do you think he’s in love with you?” Mrs. Kendall studied her for a minute before cooing her sympathy and tilting her head. “Oh, Buffy. How naïve you are. It has only been a few months since the poor fellow had to identify the remains of his beloved Drusilla. He’s lonely, dear, and nothing more. He doesn’t want to return to Manderley alone. Why do you think he’s spent so much time here? Why do you think he balks every time Manderley is mentioned?”
Because Drusilla was dead. Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. Because he didn’t want to go home to a hollow house and an empty bed. Because she was nothing like Drusilla, thus there was no concern for an emotional entanglement. Drusilla, undoubtedly, had been the sort of woman to wear black lace. She’d been everything that Buffy was not. Brazen, glamorous, confident, beautiful, and a thousand other things.
“Do you really think you’re up to running Manderley?” Mrs. Kendall asked. “You’re just a child.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“And that darkness. Certainly, with all the time you’ve spent with him, you’ve seen the darkness in his eyes. How will you feel when you have that darkness in your bed?”
“Mrs. Kendall!” The thought of what would happen in bed with William de Winter was enough to make her melt into the floorboards. “Please!”
“I simply feel it is my obligation to tell you that you are making a terrible mistake, Buffy.”
Mistake. Mrs. Kendall nodded, as though needing to punctuate her point. “A mistake that you will bitterly regret.”
Buffy just sat there and stared.
But I’m going to be Mrs. de Winter. And that was what this was about. In the end, that was exactly what this was about. Buffy Summers, plain and awkward, was marrying the infamously wealthy Mr. William de Winter, and every woman in the country was going to hate her for it.
But she was the one marrying William. She was the one that he’d asked. She was the one.
And maybe he didn’t love her now. Maybe he never would. But she loved him enough for both of them, and that would be enough. She had nothing else. Nothing but love for William, and soon, a ring on her finger.
Her love for him would be enough.
It had to be.
TBC
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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.