Chapter Twenty-Six




He watched her ceaselessly.

Had it been anyone else, Buffy might have chafed beneath the endless stare; it might have been annoying. Not him, though. Never him. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, as he watched her. She pretended she didn’t notice the way his gaze followed her as she ate her lunch, read a novel, or climbed the stairs to bed. She pretended not to notice, yet each time, she consciously slowed her movements, made them more graceful for his benefit. Trailing one finger along the cutlery, the book, the banister. She enjoyed her role. The Victorian archetype, sexualized. She liked how good she was at it.

William’s love was equal parts passion and paranoia. Having found happiness, he was now suspicious of it, jealous of it. He was so close to having everything he ever wanted, and he felt certain that Fate was waiting to snatch it all away. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop; because when it did, he wanted to be there to catch it. He was reluctant to leave the house without her, reluctant even to leave her side. He hadn’t been to work in four days. There was a meeting, long arranged, that he kept putting off. He and the accountant were supposed to go over the books together, to see to it that everything was as it should be. Afterward, they were to take inventory at the warehouses for the same reason. They did this quarterly, as a measure against thievery, and it had been four months since the last count. Yet financial reconciliation held no charms for William now, if it ever did, and he kept postponing it. Buffy knew why, but she didn’t say anything. She could see the anxiety in his eyes. She couldn’t really blame him for it.

Nor did she blame him for his obsession with finding the perfect engagement ring. He thought that it was bad luck to tell anyone about their plans before she had her ring, yet he was, she quickly realized, very hard to please in that respect. Three days in a row, he left the house in the early afternoon and returned only a little while later with a ring. Yet each one he returned almost immediately, insisting that it wasn’t right for her, after all. The first ring, he said, was too large. It was an emerald set in heavy gold and encircled by a cluster of small diamonds. He had purchased it because he thought green might be nice with her eyes, but the stones were too large, the setting too heavy; it weighed down her hand. When he noted this, it was with a barely contained sense of disgust. He should have known better, he said, and the next day he returned it and bought a narrow silver band with an oval cut diamond in the center and two smaller ones on either side. That one he would not even let her try on. It was too pale, he decided. It didn’t suit. He should have seen it before. Her brilliance, her fire, deserved something equally vivid. The ring went back to the jeweler’s the following day.

The third ring, again, was gold. The stone was a circular sapphire in a plain band. Too plain, William thought. Buffy rather liked it, but again, he insisted it was not right. Amused by this, she allowed him to return it to the box. She knew another would inevitably arrive in its wake. Anyway, the ring itself was of little importance to her; it was just a piece of jewelry. Their relationship seemed to her to be far more significant than any outward symbol of it, and their relationship was perfect.

Almost.

True, William bordered on the obsessive when it came to spending time with her, but he tried hard not to smother her. Each day, for a few hours after lunch, he went into the library, alone, to give her time to herself. She always got the sense that this duty was a torturous one for him to fulfill, and one that he would have avoided had he felt able to. She also got the sense that when he stayed up there, it was with one ear cocked to the door, listening intently for some reassurance that she was all right. She always took pity on him and joined him after an hour or so. After all, she wanted to be with him, as well.

At night, he crept out of his room to be with her. Every night now, he came, and earlier each time. On the third night, he barely even waited for Anne’s door to close before slipping down the hallway. He came for her, not for sex. At first, there was no sex. At first, he buried his face in her hair and murmured poetry and love-words into her ear. If she kissed him (and she always did), he kissed her back feverishly, his body edging its way across the mattress until it was on top of her. Starving. Starved. Kissing her until they were both so aroused, it almost hurt. Yet it was at this point that he always rolled off her and slid a respectable distance away, contenting himself, for the rest of the night, with merely holding her.

Each night, the same performance. Yet it was different from before. Now she knew that he pulled away not because he was ashamed, but because, in his mind, there was something ungentlemanly about demonstrating too great an interest in such things. He thought he was showing her respect by holding back. He thought he was sparing her something that—if not unpleasant—at the very least, was unnecessary to her. The first two nights, she allowed him the luxury of choosing; for two nights, she left him to struggle. On the third night, however, she did not. On the third night, she took matters into her own hands. Literally. She grabbed him by his shirtfront and held him to her. Once he read her intent and began to respond, she realized just how hungry he was for it. He was so needful that she didn’t even try to make him wait. They made love half-dressed, her nightdress unbuttoned and his trousers pushed down to his knees.

Afterward, he acted curiously shy, as if he felt embarrassed by his loss of control. When he started to button his fly, Buffy caught his hand in her own.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Relax, stay a while.”

“I—I am—”

That, she already knew. He always did stay. He never undressed; he rarely slept. But he stayed. She doubted he could leave now even if he wanted to. Tonight, however, she was determined that he would not only stay but that he would actually rest, as well.

She undressed him, pulled him under the bedclothes with her. He let her do it without objection. In a way, he seemed almost relieved to have her do it. When she rested her head on his shoulder, he reached up to stroke her hair.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was dreamy, a little drowsy.

Thank you for what? Buffy wondered. Did he mean the sex? She asked him, but he shook his head.

“No. Naturally, that was quite nice as well. However, what I meant...what I wanted to say…was thank you, just for being here with me.”

“Um, you really don’t have to thank me for that. I’m enjoying it as much as you are…what with the being in love with you and all.”

She expected him to chuckle at that—he did smile—but his expression sobered quickly. He frowned in a thoughtful, regretful sort of way.

“You should have a ring.”

Buffy couldn’t help but laugh at him, then. “The eternal search for the ring,” she said teasingly. “I’m going to start calling you Frodo.”

William looked baffled.

“Frodo—?”

“Never mind. Somehow, I don’t think that’s a literary reference you’re going to get anytime soon. What I mean is the ring is so important to you. Why are you so fixated with it?”

“You will wear it for the rest of your life.”

“Yeah, I will. And I’ll wear it no matter what it looks like. I’ll like it no matter what it looks like, because you gave it to me. It’s a part of that whole loving you thing I was talking about earlier.”

“But I want it to be perfect,” he insisted. She picked up his hand, kissed each knuckle.

“It will be perfect, William. It already is. Everything is…and you don’t have to follow me around twenty-four hours a day for it to stay that way.”

Her tone was gentle, but his head shot up and around as if she had just slapped him.

“What?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” she asked softly. “Staying here—putting off that meeting—because you’re afraid if you leave, I won’t be here when you get back?”

He looked embarrassed. “It isn’t that—”

“What, then? You have responsibilities, and lately it seems like you’re just ignoring them in order to stay home with me.”

In a way, Buffy hated herself for even opening that can of worms. In all honesty, she didn’t even want to make him go to the damn meeting. However, she did realize that the more she allowed him to indulge in those paranoid fantasies of his, the harder it would be for him to leave her at all. She would have to show him that a few hours of separation would not kill him. She had to teach herself that, as well.

Naturally, her plan of getting him to talk about his fear in order to overcome it met with some opposition.

“Must we discuss this now?” William mumbled, turning his head away. “I—I don’t—”

“William, what do you think is going to happen?” She leaned up on one elbow so that she could stroke his hair, his forehead.

“Nothing,” he insisted. “Nothing at all. Truly, I just—I find that I am disinterested with business, presently. The meeting can wait—”

Her eyes searched his, discovering the truth as easily as if he had just whispered it into her ear.

“I’ll still be here when you get back, William.”

“I know that. I do. It—it is only that—I have never had anything,” he whispered. Enough feeling in those words to break her heart, yet she steeled herself against them. He couldn’t be this possessive of her forever, and she couldn’t keep enjoying it so much, or else they would both go crazy.

“You have me, William. You’ll have me when you come back. What do you think I am? Some sort of prisoner that will climb the fence the moment the guard’s back is turned?”

“I—I keep thinking—I keep dreaming that one day I shall wake up and you will have disappeared.”

A chill skated down her spine, at that. Still, she pushed the concern away and stated firmly, “Dreams don’t mean anything, so stop worrying about them. I am never going to leave you.”

And she believed it.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~




The following day, with some coaxing from Buffy, William did finally meet with his accountant. When he left, he looked for all the world as if he were heading for the gallows instead of an office building downtown. Going over the books would take all day, he said, and taking inventory would be another full day or possibly even more. The idea of being away from her so long, two days in a row, made him miserable.

In truth, Buffy was pretty miserable, herself. Despite the fact that this had been her idea, she missed him terribly once he was gone. She had become so accustomed to his constant presence; she had become so accustomed to her own need for it. The realization of just how much she did only strengthened her belief that this day would be good for both of them.

Nonetheless, it couldn’t possibly hurt matters to take him some lunch. Could it?

The idea came to Buffy while she was having her own lunch with Anne in the dining room. They were having Cornish hen, vegetables, and some kind of herb bread that made her mouth water. As she ate, it occurred to her that since William had not come home for lunch, it was possible he wasn’t going to eat at all. Another man would go to a restaurant, but she had the feeling that dining out was not something he would want to do alone. And chicken kept well, and it tasted good even when it got cold…

She looked up at Anne with a mischievous smile.

“So, where exactly is this accountant located?”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~




“I am having no part of this,” said Matthew.

“And just why not?” Buffy demanded. “You’re a servant, and I’m William’s—we’re—he’s, uh, my close personal friend. So that means you have to do what I say!”

Matthew smirked at that.

“Even were it so that I must obey you—which it isn’t—Master William is the head of the household, and his orders take precedent over anyone else’s. And his orders are that none of us are to let you out of the house, alone.”

Buffy made a frustrated sound. Trust William to go around telling the servants to baby-sit her when he wasn’t home.

“Actually, what he told me was not to walk around outside, alone. He didn’t say one single thing about not riding by myself.”

“And do you honestly think he would approve of you doing that?” Matthew asked brusquely. “My God, he won’t even—if he knew that Mrs. Anne agreed to this—

“She didn’t. I got her to tell me where the accountant’s office is, but once she figured out what I was doing, she got kind upset,” Buffy admitted. She lifted her chin stubbornly. “And if you think I’m going to listen to you, when I don’t even listen to her, you’re in for a nasty disappointment.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my horse.”

She brushed past him and walked into the dusty small stable. Two short rows of loose boxes lined either side of a narrow aisle. Buffy’s gray pony was hanging its head over the bars of a stall about halfway down. She grabbed a halter from the wall and headed toward it, Matthew trailing behind her.

“If you aren’t the damndest, most stubborn woman—!” he swore. He snatched the halter from her hand. “That won’t even fit her!”

“Well, then, get me one that does.” He hesitated, and she added, “I’m going whether you want me to or not, so you might as well help me. It’s not like I know how to saddle the darn thing myself, anyway.”

“If something should happen to you…” he began.

“What’s going to happen in broad daylight when I’m on a horse?”

“If something were to happen,” he insisted. “I would be held responsible.”

“Oh, you would not. Anyway, nothing is going to happen. Anne told me where the place is, and it won’t be hard to find. If I have any problems going, or I’m afraid to come back on my own, I’ll just wait until William is finished with his business and ride back with him tonight. See? Nothing to worry about.”

“Bloody hell,” Matthew sighed, but he lifted the pony’s head collar from a hook next to its stall.

Buffy hid her smile of triumph until Matthew had unlatched the stall door and stepped inside.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~




William studied the tray of jewels before him with a critical eye. Beside him, the thin, balding shopkeeper hovered nervously, pointing out the virtues of this or that particular piece.

His accountant had gone home for lunch at noon, and this gave William a good hour or so before he could continue working. He was reluctant to dine in any of the nearby restaurants or hotels for fear he might meet someone he knew. This was not because he was afraid of confrontation. He felt perfectly willing to have another go at Charles Archer. But it was such a lovely day; it seemed a shame to ruin it with more unpleasantness. Also, there was the matter of the ring. The shops might be closed by the time he finished his business that evening, and William was determined to bring home her ring tonight. He had waited long enough. He wanted to tell his mother about their plans; he wanted to show off his fiancée (what a wonderful word that was!) to all of London. However, in order to do that, she must have a ring.

There was a jewelry shop near to the accountant’s office, and this was where he now stood, holding various jewels up to the light that he might inspect their quality.

“These are all so large,” he complained, after thoroughly examining the contents of the tray. “I want something expensive—something of quality—but I don’t want something so heavy. The lady in question is quite small and delicate; such a large piece would not suit.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes lit up with sudden understanding. “Ah! I see, now. And I do think I may have the perfect ring for you, sir. If you will be so kind as to wait a moment while I fetch it…”

He hurried out of the room, returning a moment later with a small box. The moment he opened it, William realized that at last he had found it, the ring. Her ring. It was just right for her, from its delicate band of scrolled silver, to the jewels it held. There was a round ruby, hugged on either side by two small pearls. The stones were good-sized but not overly large or vulgar; they would not burden Elizabeth’s small hand.

“Well, what do you think of it, sir?” The jeweler’s voice was hushed, as though he were afraid that speaking normally might break the spell. William looked up at him with bright eyes.

“I think it is the one,” he said.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~




It was a beautiful spring day. Still rather chilly, being only early April, but bright and full of sunshine. The sky overhead was deep blue, untouched by clouds or by the smog that rose from the coal-chimneys of London. Buffy handled her horse with an inexperienced but competent enough hand, and she navigated the busy London traffic with ease. William’s lunch was in a small bundle at the back of her saddle, and she smiled to herself when she imagined what his reaction would be when she brought it to him.

As she became more confident, and the traffic began to thin somewhat, Buffy put her heel into the left side of the horse and pressed her crop into the right side in order to urge it forward. The little mare broke into a brisk trot, her hooves tapping pleasantly against the cobbled streets. She was a little more than halfway to her destination. It seemed nothing at all could go wrong, now.

She was sitting with a relaxed seat and a loose rein when something suddenly struck her. The blow was so violent that she began to feel herself flying sideways and backwards from the saddle. She groped for the balance strap and tried to right herself, but it was impossible. It almost felt as if something was pulling on her—

Oh, shit, she thought, as the mare spooked and broke into a canter. I’m going to fall off the horse.

She braced herself for the fall, the pain. But it never came. Instead, there was a flash of blinding white light—painfully familiar—and then she knew.

No, she screamed to herself. God, please not—

But she never finished the thought, because suddenly the light overtook her. There was only the feeling of time slowing, moving her steadily forward into the place she thought she’d left forever.

The gray pony turned around and trotted home with an empty saddle.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~