Disclaimer:
I'm not writing Elijah as he is on the show, but how he was two hundred years ago. It's 1812, and he has had some distance from Klaus, but they have not yet - in my head anyway - schismed. I want to write the lead up to that schism, to Kol getting daggered, to Elijah turning against Klaus and Klaus fleeing with Rebekah to the New World. If there are discrepancies, I put it down to not actually owning the dvds yet (come on Christmas), so I can't rewatch over and over yet! But also, if something seems a bit out of character, trust me, I'm working towards a character arc!
She says...
I hope you enjoy! It's been a while since i wrote straight up fanfic so bear with me, and tell me what you'd like to read! And if there's any Georgette Heyer fans out there, I apologise for blatant plagiarism!
Chapter One - The Dandy:
A dandy was not simply a fashionable man, or even a leader of fashion. A dandy was to fashion what a 'corinthian' was to hunting, riding, boxing and other such masculine sports and pursuits they undertook in their artfully careless attire. The word had fallen into disrepute, consigned to the macaronis who wore silks and powdered wigs and painted their faces far more than the women. Fortunately, the tide had turned in time for a gentleman called George Brummell to take London's society by storm with his trousers, his simple but elegant coats, and his famous snubs. He could make or break a young woman coming into society, he could ruin a man with just a look.
Though society bowed to his conquest, many hostesses secretly thought that as magnificent Beau Brummell could be, he would never quite match the docile charm of Beau Michaels. A man of exquisite dress, inscrutable charm and honour to equal Arthurian legend, his approval might not make someone, but it was certainly sought. Such a shame about his wild, corinthian brother! He was considered above reproach, and so much of society would be horrified to know he had a mistress who frequently invited him to her fashionable house in Brook Street when her chaperone had retired to bed and even more shocking, invited him to her chamber for the night!
"How many of those neckclothes are you going to need?"
Vera's italian accent would always be strong, no matter how perfectly she spoke the language of the country they were in. He was merely glad to have brought her to England, away from the turmoil on the continent.
"Not above seven or eight, I daresay. Every detail must be perfect, Vera!"
She puffed out a dismissive breath, making a lock of her hair bob away from her face before falling featherlight against her skin once more.
"Don't mock," he chided. "Did I chide you for the hours it took you to get ready in the fifteen hundreds?"
Vera watched him, lying on her stomach, the light he needed for his dressing streaming across the sheets and over her naked back and the smooth curve of her buttocks.
"Yes," she answered after a moment. In truth, she had not seen much of him that century.
"And now she's gone, vanished, and we assumed she would make for Bulgaria, but there is no trace of her and he...Klaus...I promised him I would find her but..."
But... He always stopped at 'but'. He could not bring himself to criticise Klaus. Not even now, when his brother's false love was displayed, when Elijah himself who had loved Katarina far more than he loved Vera had not been able to set her free and rescue her, but instead hunted her because someone else had loved her that much. He was loyal to Klaus, and he would never question why, or how far that loyalty might be taken. He had wept when he first saw her, and she knew he was weeping for the loss of the brother he had grown up with, the brother he had challenged and squabbled with, even the brother he had fought with over Tatia. Far, far more than he wept for Katarina.
"It is all right, caro mio," she had stroked his hair, gentle, loving, reassuring. Sometimes he was angry, cold, aloof, distant. He could be as calculating as his brother and when he got into that mood she would stamp her feet, slap his face, do anything to ruffle his calm exterior and bring out the passionate man she loved. But when he was like this, when he was almost broken, he needed her to be loving and tender, so that he could rebuild his defence.
He had gone the next day, not returning for fifty years, and he had not spoken of Klaus or Katarina until Klaus brought Rebekah to stay with them, and Kol returned from Kievan Rus with his report from there.
His valet, a servitor compelled to loyalty and discretion, helped him into his coat. Not even a vampire could merely shrug himself into one of Scott's form-fitting coats. By now Vera had put on her under dress and her maid was combing out her hair.
"Will you be at Lady Sefton's this evening, Elijah?"
"My dear Vera," he turned on his heel, his hands gently spreading through the air, "as though I could resist such an invitation knowing that you will be there." He came to her, and kissed her hand, and she resisted the urge to scramble the hair that had taken such precision and care to arrange perfectly. From his mirror-shone boots to that carefully swept hair, he was every inch the perfect gentleman. He tapped his breast pocket. "Now, where is my quizzing glass."
"Downstairs," she told him. "You left it by the port."
"Ah! Of course!"
He was already out the door, even though he was politely awaiting dismissal. He had come across war torn Europe, fought an entire unit of French dragoons to bring her safely through the Savoy region, and used considerable funds to establish her in the centre of London society, and yet at times she got no more than everyone else. The glassy distance in his smiling eyes, the polite curve of his lips, and a hand waved in fond farewell.
"Bene, go, before I drag you back to bed and we have to start all over again!" She flushed pleasantly. Even after centuries his touch, the raw reality of the man who lay beside, on top and sometimes inside her threw her up to heaven and scorched her with hellfire all at once. He bowed, calm, cool, unfluttered.
"Until tonight!"
"I have a new dress!" She called after him. "You will be amazed!"
"I always am, Vera!" He called jovially back. His valet moved around the room, gathering his discarded clothes from the night before and folding them into a cloakbag. By the time this neat individual had bowed out of the room, Vera had finished her morning hot chocolate, her hair was once again under control, and she was ready to dress and begin her morning calls.
Once outside, Elijah went not home but straight to his club. Whites would be low of company this morning, but he had no interest in being hidden away when the inevitable word came that Kol had ended up in a debtors' prison. Contrary to expectation, the man on the door informed him that his brother had already called for him and was in the billiards room. As ever, though, Elijah's face betrayed not the slightest sign of his surprise. He walked with calm purpose to where his visitor awaited him.
And this time surprise was too quick for him, robbing his eyes of their distant, reflective calm and even stretching the line of his jaw a little.
"Niklaus."
"Elijah," Klaus bent over the table and deftly pocketed a brightly coloured ivory ball. He straightened as it rattled in the net, and sauntered around the table, the cue in one hand, the other outstretched. "Well, don't you look fine! There was not a single man in Paris to match you!"
"You've been in Paris?" Elijah said, playing for time, trying to gauge Klaus' mood. "Is Rebekah with you? Kol is in London."
"I know," after a pause he must have known was dramatic, he laid down the long, wooden cue and inspected Elijah humorously. For his own part, he was dressed with respectability, but none of his brother's flair or tight neatness. Still, he would look like the smartest of dandies next to Kol. Everyone did. "We've been in France, stirring up trouble for the republicans, you know how it is. I thought it was time we all lived in the same town. As a family!"
"Almost a family," Elijah reminded him. "What about-"
"Well," Klaus cut across him, "it's partly that and partly that a book came out last year that Rebekah has fallen for and she wants to come and be a proper lady and have her season in London. You know our sister!"
"Not as well as you," Elijah inclined his head. A compliment always went down well. He mistrusted Klaus' benevolent tone. Quickly, he changed the subject to one he knew his brother would appreciate. "Some of our greek tablets have surfaced by the by. They're in the museum, I'll take you to see the throng of London marvelling at our handiwork. You always were a better artist than the artists themselves."
"Not a single shop in all of Bond Street had a hat to match the chip one you bought me in Paris, Nick," Rebekah was dressed beautifully, and Elijah had not a single fault with her attire, though he hoped she would tone down her manner before she was formally introduced. Kol was lazing in a chair, one leg thrown over the arm. Every time he moved the pistol in his large greatcoat pocket knocked against the wood of the chair leg, and he was fiddling with some weighted dice he'd taken out of a gaming hell after beating the owner to death for trying to cheat him.
"Only the best for you, dear sister!" Klaus toasted her with a fine goblet, one of a set given to Elijah by Lord Petersham. "Speaking of which, this is all very fine, brother! How do you afford all of this?"
"Luck!" Kol interjected.
"Commerce and investment," Elijah countered. "Now is an excellent time for a wealthy man to become more so!"
"Boring!" Rebekah turned away from the mirror and sat down. "What great parties are we going to first?"
"Lady Sefton-"
"Boring!" Mimicked Kol. "I'll take you to Vauxhall Gardens, sister, and we'll drink our fill of the pretties that go there, intoxicated and oh such easy prey!"
"Don't be vulgar, Kol," Rebekah told him, before turning a smiling face to Elijah. "Tell me about Lady Sefton's. Will there be waltzing? We were in Vienna earlier this year and oh, the waltz!"
"In some circles it is considered improper still," Elijah cautioned her, looking at her and trying not to think of his beautifully ordered life being turned upside down. "Since the dancers are so close, and so exclusively dance with each other. At Lady Sefton's though, yes, there will be waltzing. If you were in Vienna, you know the Countess Lieven..."
"Intimately," Klaus replied, taking a cigarette case from his pocket.
"Not in here," Elijah begged. "If you do, Kol will and his cigars turn my stomach!"
"Anyway, Lady Snor-ton's it is," Kol got to his feet. "Come on, Bekah, I'll take you up in my phaeton and we'll get you seen! Shame the fashion is for brunettes, sister, otherwise people might be tricked into thinking you're quite pretty."
"One happy family," Klaus mocked, as they went bickering outside. "Now, why are you frowning at me. Aren't you pleased to see us?"
"Of course," running a hand down his sleeve, Elijah crossed to the window to watch Kol take command of his phaeton carriage and half throw Rebekah up into the seat. "But- Klaus, Vera is here."
"I know," Klaus replied. "I also know about the pack of dancing girls Kol has acting as his personal banquet. What of it?"
Elijah smiled blythely.
"Nothing, I just wanted you to know. Now, the museum!"
He held back the resentment that boiled inside him. Klaus being here, tearing his world until it fit the pattern the half brother wanted it to fit. He held back his anger at the way Vera was dismissed, all the more angry because part of him knew Niklaus was right, that he used her just as much as Kol used his ballerinas. He was angry because when Klaus was nearby he could not ignore that they had fought over Tatia, and that he had knuckled under even though he knew he loved her more than his brother did. He was angry because he had to admit that he had almost taken Katarina's part, and would have let her die for his brother's curse to be lifted, even though he loved her too. And he was angry because Kol didn't give a shit, but Klaus would make him face that he did not love Vera, and that their make believe here in London, he the dandy, she the lady, their secrets and trysts were all as fake as one of Klaus' drawings.
It had been nice, pleasant, to be nothing more than a gentleman for a while. Now he was once more an Original, one of a family, and unlike Klaus, he was not sure that was what he wanted to be. He was not sure that family was as vital to him as it had once been.