Chapter Seven

"Why in the hell do you people have so many damned forks? Spoons? This is ridiculous! How am I supposed to remember all this stuff?"

"Language."

Buffy frowned from where she sat at the breakfast table, glaring down at her meal. "There aren't any 'women' about, Kit." Buffy blinked as Emily, one of the maids, poured her a cup of tea. "Sorry, Em." She smiled apologetically.

The girl snorted. "No need to apologize. My brothers speak worse. Promise you that, My Lad—ah… My Lord." She grinned and stepped back.

"Still," he stated as he folded the paper back and set it down, "It would do you well to get use to curbing your tongue. Now and then among friends is one thing. But, it is generally frowned upon." He nodded a thank you to Emily and began to process of putting cream and sugar in his drink.

Buffy found herself pouting. "I don't see how I'm going to remember all this." She indicated once more to the silverware.

"Well, firstly, you need to know that you shouldn't eat all of your courses. Grand meals can be several; I believe the most I had in one seating served to me was seven. And if you eat all of your food you won't have room for the next."

"Great." She sighed and she slouched and crossed her arms over her chest. When he opened his mouth she sat back up again and dropped her arms. "I know! I know! No slouching or grumbling… or anything other than perfect.

"You people are wound too tight. Do you know that? No wonder Spike turned into such a rebel." She caught herself before she put her elbows on the table. "Forget all this stuff," she mulled out slowly. "How am I supposed to figure this out? Just hang out with William until something dawns on me?"

Kit sighed just before taking a sip of his tea. "That I can't tell you until I've done some more research. But… somehow I don't think this is something I'll find in my books."

"What do you mean?" That gave her a start.

"It may all come down to you making him remember somehow. Perhaps just being around him right now is the best thing."

Buffy frowned. "He's got to split and then... I guess Whistler brings us back home. Even if he does remember, Kit. How do we split him apart? There's two people in one body and right now William is driving the car."

"The… ah… car?"

She shook her head and reached for a fork.

"The other one." He pointed.

"Thanks… Sorry, cars haven't been invented yet. The point is William is in control. Not Spike. They're the same person right now. Which, stands to reason that they'd need to be separated… physically, right?"

Kit nodded. "Logically speaking.

She took a bite and then swallowed as gracefully as she could manage. When he didn't scold her she went on, "I need to know about this. I need more information. What if Spike comes back to himself in the middle of a dinner party and they… split bodies? You know?"

Kit nodded and began cutting up his eggs. "Quite, yes. I'll look into it. Whistler did give me some information on this demon that William—ah… Spike visited. Perhaps if I can learn more about him that will lead to some more information.

"However, in the meantime, you should stay close."

"I was thinking about seeing him today."

"That might be good. Do you know where he lives?"

"Actually no…"

Kit gave her a small smile. "Not to worry. I do. Just let my driver know when you're ready to go and he'll take you over. Oh! And one more thing… if you are ever to visit a woman for whatever reason you must send a calling card ahead of time. The rules regarding one man to another are a bit more lax. But, with women… you must send a card ahead of time. And expect to be receiving some as well."

Buffy blinked. "Calling… cards?"

He took another sip of his tea. "It's proper to let someone know you're visiting so that they can prepare for it. I'm sure it'll be fine with William in this instance. He'll know that you're American and still learning, after all."

Buddy sighed and slouched, not bothering to stop herself despite Kit's 'look'. "So much to learn."

"You'll have time enough or that." He glanced at his pocket watch. "It's near one now. I'd advise waiting until about three before arriving. The drive is about fifteen minutes. You could walk if you wanted, but I wouldn't." He snapped it shut. "I'll be sure to have those calling cards made for you today at posthaste. I need to send them ahead soon so that others know you're in town."

Her head was still swimming from her eating lessons when he chuckled.

"You'll do just fine. The dinner party isn't for another few days. By then you'll have mastered the table settings, greetings, all of it much more efficiently. You're already doing very well."

"If you say so." But, her mind wasn't just occupied on all that; she was still trying to figure out how to really get close to William… find Spike underneath it all. He recognized her last night. She knew it. Some part of him deep down felt the connection.

That's what scared her.

Eveytime she loved something… it just burned to ashes.

How could she possibly avoid getting too close while trying to do the opposite? How could she save Spike from herself? Did she want to?

Why did you ever fall in love with me? Why?

"Buffy…? Are you quite alright?"

She forced a brilliant smile. "Quite. Just thinking. That's all." She pushed food around on her plate, no longer really eating.

He gave her a little frown and stilled. "I never did ask the nature of your relationship with… ah… Spike."

"Whistler didn't tell you?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "Not entirely… no. Just that… Spike procured a soul. That he was… a 'white hat'?"

Buffy chuckled. "You could say that."

"He did say you were friends."

You'll never be friends… Right? She sighed, still staring down. "It was more… but, I'm not up to talking about it, Kit. Nothing personal. I might. Eventually. Just not right now."

He nodded. "Well… best go get ready to see him then, hm?"

"Yeah, I'm done eating anyway." She stood up then and tucked her chair back, not looking at Kit as he reopened his paper.

"Isabella, your personal maid, should be waiting for you."

"Thanks." And then she was gone.

#

His eyes blurred over the lines; his mind a haze of numbers. No matter how he sliced it they were cutting something somewhere. All it did was hurt. There had to be a way to increase the flow. He just didn't have a head for stocks; never had. His father had held it all up very well, but he'd always taken more after his mother.

William pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing the light of day he'd not inherited some of his father's talent for such matters. If he didn't come up with something soon he might very well run his whole family into the ground without even trying.

He should ask Lilith to help, but he just didn't have it in him. Even if she offered…

He sighed and threw down his pen, watching as it landed with a clatter and rolled to one side of the desk. Their country properties just weren't making enough from the agriculture to support it all. In fact, his solicitor tried to urge him to pull out from that entirely. He'd told him to sell some of the properties to buy some time until they could both figure out a decent business venture. He just wasn't sure how well that would go over with his mother. He didn't want to upset her any more than she was already.

"My Lord?"

He looked up to his open study door and blinked once. "I'm sorry… deep in thought. Yes?"

"You have a visitor. I've placed them in the drawing room, but I can send them away if you're too busy."

"Who?"

"Darian Clarke, My Lord."

William stilled a moment at the name, easily recalling it from the night before. How could he forget? Did he want to see him?

Blue eyes glanced back over at the mess of papers to still go through, to figure who to pay and who to stall. He could certainly use some tea and conversation… a reprieve from all this. "I'm not busy right now… no. Thank you. I'll see him. Have tea sent down…"

He nodded and left just as sure as he'd come in.

With a short sigh William got up and stepped away from it all, heading for the stairs and downward. It didn't take him long to get to the drawing room.

Darian was sitting on one of the couches and staring out a window, looking quite comfortable in the dark-toned tweed.

"You're unexpected," he said, pulling his attention immediately.

"Not unwelcome?" his visitor asked, smirking.

"Not at all. You're a welcome distraction from all the paperwork I've been sorting through."

Darian raised a brow as he took a seat in the chair adjacent to him. "More poetry?"

William chuckled softly. "Not at all. I could one day hope to only have to ever busy myself with that."

"Ah…" he said. "Bills?"

"I have people I need to pay, yes. Things that need paying. Not that we really need to talk about it. What does bring you?"

"You," he replied, smiling softly. "I wanted to see what you were… up to? Boring stuff, right?"

"Correct. Very boring."

It was then a maid came in with a tray of tea and goodies and set it down on the short table in front of them.

"No need to service us, Helen. You may go."

The woman bobbed a curtsy and left quickly without a word.

William paid her almost no mind as he began to pour their drinks. "Do you prefer to put your own sugar and cream in?"

"Um… two lumps of sugar, no cream."

He nodded and did so just before handing him the cup and saucer.

"Thank you."

"You're most welcome," the brunette replied as he managed his own cup and sat back to relax. "You're new to England then?"

"Very… I got here a few days ago."

"Must be quite the change from The States."

"Big time," he replied.

"I'm sorry?"

"Ah…" he replied with a grimace. "More slang. I'm sorry. Yes, it's very different from my home. But, I'll get used to it." He took another sip. "I'm not really sure what there is to do for fun around here, aside from all those parties."

"You don't sound very fond of them."

The man next to him frowned. "It's not that… it's all the rules."

"Yes, you did say you didn't like those." William found himself smiling as he placed his elbow on the armrest and cheek on his knuckles; his teacup was left in his other hand. "There are things aside from parties, yes.

"A lot of people go to the park to ride or walk, the theater, shopping. In the winter there's ice skating." He shrugged. "There's also the gambling halls, gentlemen's clubs, some boxing clubs."

"I don't think I've ever been to a theater," Darian said with a blink.

"You should go then. They've got a good show for Hamlet this coming weekend. Your uncle should have a box there."

"Perhaps you'd go with me?"

William's brow rose curiously.

Darian himself looked worried. "Is there something wrong with asking you to come with me?"

Williams smile was lopsided as he set down his teacup on the saucer and grabbed a sandwich. "Not at all. I just would have assumed you would prefer to take a lady with you. You're handsome enough to court, you know? And with your uncle's fortune backing you, with eventual title inheritance if he never marries or has any children, you wouldn't do too badly."

William didn't see the way the 'man' colored next to him, but he did look just in time to see the laughter escaping him. "I just got into town. I think I'm good on the ladies, Will.

"Oh, wait… can I call you Will?" He frowned and touched his chin as if thinking.

A warmth spread around William's chest as he asked, not entirely sure why. Still, it was comfortable.

"I know we don't know each that well—."

"It's fine. And, I'd love to join you at the theater." He was still smiling.

Darian smiled back. "Great… because I'm terrible at Shakespeare-speak."

"You're an odd fellow aren't you, Dare?"

"The oddest." He was smiling again, teacup and saucer in hand in his lap. "Makes for good company though, right?"

"Much better than many of my peers, yes." He took a bite of his sandwich.

"Why do you let them pick on you, Will?"

"Let them?"

"Yes, bully you." He was frowning again. "Don't you want to stand up for yourself?"

He sighed. "You don't seem to understand. It's not that I'm simply unpopular with a few of them—it's all of them. I'm something of a joke. I was before my father passed away. The incident with Cecily just made it all worse.

"It wasn't simply her refusal; it was the poorly written words."

Darian seemed to get quiet then and William could tell her was thinking something over, but he wasn't sure if it would be rude to ask about it.

Suddenly, the man next to him sighed. "Can I see some of it? The poetry?"

"It's good for nothing more than a laugh…"

Darian snorted, making the brunette raise his brows. "You've got no spirit at all, do you? Come on, I want to see it. I doubt it's that bad."

"Very well." He stood. "I'll have Helen move the tea into the library."

The maid trailed after them as he directed Darian to the far back of the house. Two doors were opened, leading into a room that was easily three drawing rooms put together. The shelves reached the ceiling and were completely stocked with books. There was a feinting couch and several chairs to one side and a table to another. Directly to the left were doors leading out to the garden. Large windows let in sunlight between the shelves.

"It's beautiful, Will," he heard the young man say as Helen set the tray on the table and discretely left the room.

He closed the doors behind them. "It's my quiet place… this and the study. But, I prefer it down here more." He moved towards one the windows, there a small desk sat. It was there he pulled out a stack of papers sandwiched between leather bindings from a drawer. "Here you are," he handed them to Dare. "My heart. Take care with it." He smirked slightly.

#

Buffy found those words poignant; not simply because of what he said… but, how he said. The look on his face, in his eyes. In a way, it was purely Spike. What he said was a joke in its own way, and yet if he only really knew. Did he? Was there some part of him that knew her? That made the comment because it recognized her?

"You made a funny," she found herself saying as she took them.

"A joke, yes," he agreed as he dropped his hand. "I appear to be at ease around you enough to do so.

"Well," he went on quickly, as if nervous, "read on."

She nodded and shook it all off, taking a seat at the table. The binding was loosened, opened carefully, and the pages revealed. Her hazel eyes roved over the refined script, the careful hand which marked the pages so eloquently. Had she never seen Spike's handwriting before? It was lovely.

And then she started to read.

Time went on, perhaps a half an hour or more in the quiet as she went from one page to another. Some lines she read three or four times, trying to understand. She was sure by Victorian standards it was… simplistic. She'd barely recalled reading Byron in English, mostly because she liked his one poem She Walks in Beauty. The one thing she could tell, based on the dates, is that it got better… not by much, but it was there. It just seemed like Spike—William—was too concerned with one thing. And she was amazed she could see it, not being school-crazy.

Thanks, Willow… I think.

"I think I know what your problem is," she finally announced.

"I didn't hear any laughter," he said, coming to sit next to her. "I imagine that's a good thing."

She was frowning at him—again. "I would never laugh at you, Will. With you, sure… but not at you." Her eyes were holding his carefully, earnestly. In turn, he held it, quietly… as quietly as her admission had been.

And then he coughed slightly. "Well, at any rate… problem?"

She nodded. "I'm not by any means… a poetry expert. I promise. Really. But… uh… I think you try too hard to rhyme. You focus more on the rules and less on the meaning. It's ok to rhyme, but if you're getting lost in being so literal about it…

"Does that make sense?"

"In a way, yes."

Buffy bit her lower lip and scratched her head. "For instance, you'd likely put the two words cool and fool together to rhyme. Even if it didn't fit the feel of the poem. But, like… what about words like death and wreck? They have the same sound, but the rhyme isn't so in your face. And you might not have to sacrifice the meaning of the poem to make it flow well."

And then it was like a light went off above his head. His eyes came to show some kind of clarity and she watched as he looked through a few of his poems, skimming the lines, the words. "You're brilliant, you know that?"

She laughed. "Well, you know you could probably learn this if you went to a poetry group or something. You guys have those here, right?"

"Yes… well, I'm not exactly accepted… but, you've helped immensely."

She was grinning. "I'm glad, Will." And she was, truly. "I'd like to read more… once you've written a few more."

"Nothing would make me happier." He was smiling again. "Thank you, Darian."

"Dare," she corrected, wishing she could say Buffy instead.

"Yes, Dare…" he said softly. "Thank you, Dare."

"You're welcome, Will." Spike.