Author's note: Hey all... I am certian that you all think I disappeared somewhere since I am have been silent for a long while. But, I have had an utter lack of inspiration and initiative. But, recently I have read some amazing novels and they have given me both of those essential elements back. So, I give you a new story...
This is drastically different than what I have written about C & B in the past. Primarily, it is a historical romance. I was always dead set against any fanfiction that strayed from the main cannon of the story, but I really couldn't help myself. I found awesome authors that brought the period and characters alive, like Julia Quinn, Stephanie Laurens, Nicole Jordan, Lisa Kleypas, & Julie Garwood. Through them I found new breath in my strangled imagination.
Please give this a shot... If you like it and want me to continue, please let me know. If you think that it isn't worth my time, let me know that too. Thanks so much for reading! xoxo
14 January 1817
My Dearest Serena,
I received your missive just moments ago and I felt quite compelled to write you. I am most relieved that your journey was swift and comfortable. The weather is much the same here, though, the dreariness gives me an odd sense of rightness. Without your presence in London, the rain is fitting with my mood. I miss you terribly and wish that circumstances were not as they are and I could accompany you to Hamptonshire. After your departure, I confess that I sometimes feel abandoned. It is as though my father was here just yesterday, even if the calendar insists it has been nearly two and one half years. With my mother and Baron Rose off in Scotland until March, I am beginning to experience a impatient loneliness . I tell myself that such sentimentality is remiss of me and holds no purpose. But you, dear cousin, are the one that can appreciate my outlook. Losing so many men in your life, you can sympathize with the loss of my one. I know you do not vividly remember your father, nor did you love either of your two stepfathers as I love the Baron, yet the grief was present nonetheless.
Pay you no mind to my meanderings, your absence is of the utmost importance and I pray that Eric is on the mend. Did you ever get the story in its entirety? Was he truly thrown from his horse? I cannot bring myself to believe that such an accomplished horseman could be thrown so easily. He was taught by my father, just as I was. How could such a thing be possible? Give him my best wishes for a speedy recovery. Do not fret over him, God would not be so cruel to steal my beloved cousin along with both our fathers. Please send word of Eric's condition with all possible haste.
I hope, quite selfishly, that you will return to me before the Season is to begin. I do not relish in the thought of facing the ton without you. The other young ladies of our acquaintance are barely tolerable and have little in the way of gumption or intelligence. That of course does not even include the matrons. Already some of the worst ladies have invited me for tea. I would be pleased to decline, but sometimes I know I have little choice in the matter. I should be accustom to not having any choices in my life, though. We young misses have little choice in anything. I pray I can hold my tongue in these calls. But, you know how very difficult I find the task. God keep you safe.
Your Cousin, Blair
Three Weeks Later…
Lady Blair Waldorf, daughter of the late Earl of Waldorf and the current Baroness of Rose, sat on a stiff settee in the dowager Countess of Willoughby's green drawing room. The tea was tepid and bitter, much like the conversation.
"I do not comprehend your continued relation with the Van Der Woodsen side of your family." the dowager remarked unsubtly over the rim of her tea cup.
The countess was an old, frail thing with white hair and a beak nose. She had a glare that could only come from aristocratic origins. Since she was so highly respected in polite circles, Blair could not turn down such an invite no matter how repugnant the company. And repugnant it was. More than anything, Blair resented the strictures of propriety. She was a young and unmarried lady, those three facts gave her a fine line to tow. Her recent restlessness was only compounded in situations like her current one.
When the Countess did not get a response from Blair, she continued on, "Their family is mired in scandal, my dear. You are not so and it would greatly increase your chances for an excellent match if you would simply give them the cut direct."
She paused as if in deep thought, placing her cup on the saucer, then began anew, much to Blair's chagrin. "I dare say, your dowry will attract many a suitor regardless. But, think if you were untainted by even the barest whiff of scandal, just imagine what husband you could catch. A duke, perhaps." A superiorly benevolent smile passed fleetingly on the old woman's mouth.
Blair bit her tongue. She gave a bland smile and a noncommittal nod in the countess' direction. The countess was attempting to ferret out any gossip she could, disguising it- however thinly- as concerned advice. Like most women of the ton, Lady Willoughby lived for scandalous tales; knowing the latest on dit before the masses caught wind of it was the sport of choice amongst the ladies, and to be forthright most gentlemen as well. Blair was once intrigued by such posturing, but she had seen the damage it had done to the Van Der Woodsens. A malicious word in the ear of a garrulous matron was enough to socially ruin a person's life. Now, the countess was trying her level best to use Blair as an instrument of destruction a propos her aunt's already spotty reputation.
Why, oh why did she agree to take tea with this insufferable woman? It went against her entire nature to sit demurely while she was dictated to by a wretched busy body. Her throat ached from choking back her responses to the old bitty's attacks.
More than anything she wanted to defend her aunt and cousins. Serena and Eric's father, the late Viscount of Van Der Woodsen, was mostly to blame for the scandalous past that Lady Willoughby indicated. The viscount and Blair's maternal aunt Lily were wed out of necessity after getting caught in a compromising position. Their hasty marriage was enough to placate society, but unfortunately scandal was not through with them. Lord Van Der Woodsen was a intense gambler and kept multiple mistresses. He gambled away nearly all of the family money, then died shortly after when he drunkenly fell down the stairs at a gambling hell. Lily had to quickly remarry due to the fact that her late husband had left them destitute. Eric inherited the title and lands, but not much else.
In desperation, Lily married a supposedly rich third son of a duke more than twenty years her senior without observing the proper mourning time of one year. As it turned out, he had a failing liver and empty pockets. Upon his death two years later, Lily found herself in an eerily familiar position. She took the only recourse available to a poor lady of quality, she married for a third time. He was the second son of the Earl of Klous. He was fantastically wealthy, having invested heartily in the East India Company. But, Klous could be disturbingly unkind and was a violent drunk. Serena and Eric often took up residence at the Waldorf estate in Hamptonshire to escape. Serena and Blair shared their lessons and Eric became a son to Earl Waldorf. Fortunately for the Van Der Woodsens, Klous met his maker five years later after he succumbed to lung fever. Lily finally found herself a wealthy widow, but her respectability was tarnished, along with that of her children.
"What say you my dear?" The countess prompted, trying to ascertain if Blair was actually listening… which she was not.
"I beg your pardon?" Blair asked in as respectful voice as she could manage, focusing her dazed eyes once again on the countess's self-important visage.
"Woolgathering like that will get you nowhere, gel. Men do not favor ladies lost in their own thoughts." She chided, as if offering some highly valuable advisement. Blair almost pulled a face, but then realized none to soon that the Countess was indeed serious. She could not be rude or impertinent, though the idea of being so was almost distractingly tempting. So, cowardly though it might be, she resorted to the only course of action that would allow her freedom from this discussion.
"It's not that. Suddenly, I seem to have a touch of a headache, possibly the beginnings of a head cold as well." She stated, giving her fib credence by affecting a weak strain in her voice. "Would you mind if I took my leave early?"
"It is this weather I tell you, too wet for this time of year." The Countess stated with the authority of a member of the Royal College of Physicians. "I know you go out riding in the park every morning. You should curb those activities at once. Not only does it increase your chances of illness, it makes you appear too adventuresome. No husband wants a wife gallivanting around town." She warned with a supercilious stare.
"I will take your advice under consideration, Lady Willoughby." Blair acquiesced through gritted teeth. If the crusty aged bat gave her one more opinion on husband-hunting, she would scream. "If I may-"
"Yes, yes," the Countess interrupted, "Be gone with you then." She dismissed Blair with a regal wave of her hand.
Blair's relief was thinly veiled as she curtsied and made her way to the door. The butler appeared with her cape, bonnet and reticule. She thanked him and though he looked stunned by the gesture, he also appeared pleased.
"Good day to you, Lady Blair." The butler said as he opened the door.
"And to you as well, Hobbs."
After bidding farewell, she made haste through the ever-present rain to her waiting carriage that promised peace from the Countess.
"I'm thinking of taking a wife this year." Charles Westwick, the Duke of Bass, stated nonchalantly as he motioned to the server for another glass of brandy.
His companion, Nathanial Crawford, the Marquess of Archibald, studied him with a look that indicted he thought Charles might need to be taken to Bedlam.
"Well, I cannot hide my surprise, old chap. Why the sudden change of heart?" Nate questioned, leaning back in his chair while surveying the room to see if any of White's other members overheard his friend's declaration.
Men could gossip with an much vigor and tenacity as women, especially at a gentleman's club. White's actually had a gambling book for wagers on perspective marriages. If one had the inside tract, he could make a sizable sum.
"The usual reasons I assure you. Begetting heirs and the like." Charles replied lazily as another brandy was brought before him.
"Yes, I am much in the same situation myself. But, my nagging mother is another driving factor in my decision." The marquess added, "We are but nine and twenty though. There is still time 'fore we yield to the shackles."
"Quite." Charles murmured noncommittally.
If he was 'quite' honest with his friend he could offer more swaying information to his decidedly unexpected plan. He knew he had nothing to fear in Nate's confidence. They had been inseparable since the age of eight when they first attended Eton. Then, being of a certain age, they continued onto Cambridge where they lived hard and fast as only unruly youths could do. The women, gambling and frivolity they indulged in together had entertained them for years. Charles took his debauchery to a higher level than his friend, even after he inherited the dukedom at one and twenty. Decadence and pleasure had been his only focus, leaving his responsibilities to his solicitors and respective estate managers. He never wanted to relent to his duty or more the point, his father.
The former Duke of Bass was a cold and distant man with little or no affection for Charles. He had loved Charles' mother so entirely that upon Charles' birth and consequently her death, the duke buried anything resembling kindness or tenderness. He bordered on cruelty with his dispassionate response regarding his son. He made it known that Charles would never amount to anything resembling a future duke. He constantly reminded Charles that his life of excess was unacceptable and irresponsible, but what else could be expected of his wastrel son? Never one to argue with his father's low opinion, Charles gave himself over to his lifestyle wholeheartedly. He took every willing opera singer and courtesan to his bed (and they were all willing), drank every drop of liquor within his grasp and stayed at the Fargo table long past the point of reason. Then suddenly, his father died in a carriage accident. And Charles was the Duke of Bass. Charles railed against the responsibilities he never wanted and went deeper into his depravity. Yet, lately the self-indulgence of his existence had lost its proverbial luster after more than a decade.
Charles did not want marriage specifically, particularly not a love match. He just wanted something… different. And as much as he might want to end his father's bloodlines with him, just in spite of the late duke, he knew his duty. Besides, if he did not produce an heir, his uncle Jack would take over the dukedom. And there was no way in hell Charles would allow that to happen. So, Charles would marry some unimaginative chit of the ton and produce and heir and a spare. He would choose a wife society would expect, one he could pay little attention to, one who would be so enamored with his title and vast wealth, she would not care. And in London, there was no shortage of well bred ladies looking to become a duchess. But, all that was not readily explainable, even to Nate.
"Your reputation could be an issue." Nate hedged, trying to pull Charles from his reverie.
Charles mentally shook his head at the statement, bringing himself back to the conversation.
Nate continued with a lopsided smile, "Even the most desperate marriage minded mamas will be wary."
"You put too much weight on that facet. Women are easily won. Why do you think I have avoided ton events so adamantly? I despise the pretenses of the marriage mart. Dancing with empty-headed debutants and conversing with avaricious mamas is hardly my idea of diversion." Charles countered coolly.
"Ah…" Nate began, fighting a smile, "But now you will suffer through the mindless and greedy to marry one of them?" Upon pointing this out he could no longer hide his amusement and grinned widely.
"Touché." Charles allowed, raising his glass in salute, "However, the fact remains, I will have to suffer through to find a wife."
"Best of luck to you then." Nate offered, raising his own glass in return.
"I believe I will need it." Charles replied before they both took a hearty gulp.