Last time in the Cageverse: Chuck and Blair were blissfully happy on their faux honeymoon, until Chuck asked Blair to become his wife in reality. She couldn't say yes, and he stormed out of their room.
Chapter 10
Blair lay there on the bed, sobbing until there were no tears left. If only she could make him see, make him understand why she could not be his wife in truth.
How much time passed, she could not have said, but eventually a quiet clarity stole over her. She had to make this right. She couldn't waste another second of their time together. With that in mind, she rose and dressed in her new peignoir from Worth's. It had just been delivered that afternoon and Chuck had not yet seen it. It was stunning, made of the finest midnight silk that draped softly down her body and pooled at her feet in a slight train. Embroidered circles emblazoned the neck and bodice of the gown, trailing down the open front. There was no belt. Sheer panels with a flocked scrollwork design accented the upper back and sides of the robe, as well as the short sleeves. The effect was dramatic, breathtaking…and just a little racy.
Then she splashed her poor swollen eyes with water from basin and brushed her hair until it shone. With a final glance into the pier glass, she determined she was ready.
It was dim in the hall with only a few gaslights illuminating the staircase. Blair took her time, careful not to trip over the flowing silk hem. She would find him and talk to him…provided he was still in the house.
As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she heard the faint strains of music. She followed the beautiful notes into the parlor and there was Chuck, seated at the baby grand, playing Beethoven with such verve and style that the composer himself would have been impressed.
He stopped playing when he looked up and saw her standing there.
"Don't stop," she implored. "Your playing is beautiful. I had no idea you were so skilled. However did you listen to my amateur tickling of the keys?"
"I loved listening to you play. I did not love that there was an entire company of eligible bachelors in Mrs. Rhodes' parlor doing the same," he ground out.
She laughed and sat down beside him on the piano bench. "How did I not know you play, and that you play like you do?"
"I do not play often. We don't even have a piano at our place in New York."
"Why ever not?" That someone should play so well but have such little opportunity to do so saddened her.
"We had a piano once, when I was very young. It was my mother's piano. When I started tapping at the keys and eventually playing songs, my father could not bear it. He sold it and bought some bronze statuary instead."
"You are self-taught?" Her admiration deepened.
"At first," he admitted. "Later, I took some music classes at school."
"But you play with such passion and understanding of the music. That is something which cannot be taught."
"Mmm," his reply was noncommittal.
She put her hand on his sleeve. "Chuck, please don't let us quarrel anymore. I cannot bear for you to be angry with me." There were tears in her eyes.
"And I cannot bear to be your temporary lover when I want to be your husband," he bit the words out. "Always. Forever. Why can't you give us that, Blair?"
"I—I…." The lump in her throat made it hard for Blair to speak.
"I love you. I thought you loved me too. I have never loved anyone before now. Perhaps I am mistaken in your feelings?"
She sighed. "Believe me, Chuck, if there were any way possible…I would never leave you. I love you, and I will always be your family…in my heart. But I cannot marry you." Her voice broke.
"But why? Tell me, Blair. Surely you owe me that much," he argued.
She fumbled, so overwhelmed that she didn't know where to begin. "I do not even know how to put it into words."
"Try," he begged.
"I will have to show you. Tomorrow, if you can be spared, I will take you and you will see. But it will break your heart as surely as it has broken mine," she warned.
"I fail to see how my heart could be any more broken than by the silence and the tears when I asked you to be my wife again tonight." Was he speaking to her or to himself?
"Oh, my darling, if you only knew how very much I wish I could say yes. That is why this time we have is so precious. Please, dearest, can't we just go back to being Chuck and Blair…Blair and Chuck?" She took both his hands in hers as she pleaded.
He silently sat staring at the keys.
She could see he was going to make her work for it, and time was not something she had. She was prepared to beg. "Please?" She used her most persuasive tone of voice.
He started playing again, Chopin this time, so he wouldn't have to face the temptation.
Time to make her proposition even more tempting. "You do realize this is our very first fight?" She gave him her sunniest smile.
He played on.
"And I hate it. It makes me feel all sick inside. All tense. Especially right here," she pushed her hair over her shoulder, revealing the tender, pale column of her neck. Her fingers came up to massage away the tension that had built up there. She gave a low moan.
His eyes were drawn to that beloved spot and for the merest fraction of a second, he stopped playing.
She moved closer to him and crossed her legs, which caused the peignoir to gape and exposed a delicate ankle and shapely calf to his view.
He could almost see part of the silky expanse of her thigh and the sight of that creamy, seductive skin was driving him mad. It didn't matter that they'd already made love that evening. Once was never, ever enough, not where she was concerned.
He stopped playing.
"You are not playing fair," he accused. "You know I cannot deny you anything." He pulled her close, breathing in the scent of her skin and glorying in the silkiness of her gown and flowing hair. "Especially when you are dressed like this," he ran a hand over the delicate fabric and heard her sharp intake of breath.
"Do you like it?" She sounded happy again then, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than for her to keep on being so. "I ordered it in the hope of pleasing you."
He pulled her to her feet. "Oh, it most certainly pleases me. It makes me want to do this." Without warning, he picked her up and deposited her on the lid of the piano, allowing the robe to fall open and away, exposing her graceful neck to his kisses.
The combination of her sudden elevation and the whoosh of cool air that came into the negligee and the feel of his lips and tongue grazing, nuzzling, worshipping her nape was too much. She gave a breathless giggle and wrapped her legs around him to steady herself.
"Chuck?" came her shaky whisper a few moments later.
"Hmm?" He sounded blissfully preoccupied.
"Take me upstairs and make love to me again," she pulled him even closer.
He picked her up and mounted the staircase, her legs still wrapped around his waist and her voice still whispering in his ear.
They were together again, as they should always be.
Chuck awakened the following morning feeling optimistic. He and Blair were together, and today he would find out why she believed they could not be permanently. Now he would learn what he was up against; it was hard to fight a shadow. And he was prepared to fight. Alone, he and Blair were formidable opponents. Together, they were unstoppable, unbeatable, inevitable.
He rushed through the breakfast Arthur brought up for them and fretted while waiting for the maid to finish helping Blair make her toilette. Then his patience was sorely tried when Blair rang for Arthur to deliver a message for her. She wouldn't even tell Chuck the identity of the recipient. It was all very mysterious…and time-consuming.
Finally, they were dressed and in the carriage. "Where to, Mrs. Bass?" he inquired, kissing her hand. At last Chuck was going to be getting the first clue!
"I am going to take you where my mother took me that day—well, the Paris counterparts, that is. First stop is the showroom of Waldorf Textiles."
It was but a short trip to the business district of the city and they soon pulled up outside a relatively modest looking shop with a striped awning and a tasteful sign with fancy gold letters reading Waldorf Textiles, Fine Fabrics & High Quality Cloth Goods.
Though it was still fairly early in the day, the shop was already bustling with activity. Still, Blair's arrival was noticed and recognized by the employees with a warm welcome for their employer's daughter. There were nods and smiles and Chuck was pleased to see that the workers were clearly fond of his Blair.
Blair led him around the shop, past row upon row of bolts of every material one could possibly imagine: silk, linen, muslin, cotton, twill, velvet. The array of textures and colors was staggering; it was a virtual rainbow of fabric selections. He paused by a length of patterned purple damask.
"Do you make and sell any kind of garments or finished products?" He really would like a waistcoat in that fabric.
"No, we never have. We do sell to private citizens, and to seamstresses, tailors, upholsterers, anyone who needs fabric for their wares. When we lost my father, my mother was at loose ends for a time. Then a friend needed some special silk for a wedding gown and my mother helped her find an imports dealer who could provide it. She was grateful, and she called upon my mother for help again, then she told all her friends. My mother saw that she had an opportunity here, that people would pay, and pay well, to find just the right fabric. She started with one store in New York. Now there are branches here in Paris and also in London.
"It is very impressive." Chuck had never before contemplated the source of the material for his garments or upholstery, but he could see that it was something for which demand would be consistent, and new opportunities would be available all the time. The growing popularity of catalogs, such as Montgomery Ward and Sears, Roebuck & Co., showed that new avenues for shopping were creating new customers and even more business. Oh, yes, there was certainly growth potential in the field.
"You should see all the activity at the warehouse down by the docks. It is a veritable hive. It will certainly be hard for my mother to give this all up," Blair's voice interrupted Chuck's contemplation as they exited the shop.
"Give it up? Why would she be giving it up?" He was completely confused as to why anyone would abandon a clearly thriving enterprise.
"She is selling the business…," Blair stated quietly. "To pay my dowry."
"But that's foolish!" Chuck argued, before her words fully sank in. He knew how the game was played. Many American heiresses had married into the English aristocracy in recent years, earning themselves the moniker of Dollar Princesses, for it was their large dowries that provided the real love in those love matches. You played the hand you were given. For impoverished Englishmen, it was their titles and estates; for American debutantes, it was their family's wealth. "Cash for class," some said. In Blair's case, it seemed entirely unnecessary.
"Blair, I don't need your dowry. I just need you. You don't have to sacrifice yourself for a title and some drafty old pile of bricks in Kent," he argued.
She smiled sadly at him and squeezed his hand. "I know, dearest, but my mother would be selling in any case. Remember how I told you that she fainted when I refused to go to England with her? I thought she was malingering for my sympathy," Blair swallowed, "but it turns out she really is ill. She has a heart complaint and the pressures of running a business of this scale are too much for her now."
"But you could run the business! Have you considered that?"
She sighed. "Of course I have, Chuck. It was the very first thing I suggested when she told me of her illness. But, as she pointed out, I know nothing about running a business."
"You are the smartest and most powerful woman I know. You could learn. I could help you. We could run it together as part of Bass Enterprises." His faith in her, in them, was unshakable.
"She says that she worked too hard and too long to make Waldorf Textiles a success, only to endanger it and the livelihoods of those who work for us. She believes the experiment would be too much of a risk."
"How is it less of a risk to sell to some unknown buyer who could do heaven knows what with the business and the employees?"
"I have made all these arguments. Several times over, in fact. She will not budge. She does not want me to become a businesswoman. She wants me to become a society hostess and a wife and mother." She made it sound like the most dreadful of curses.
"Why can you not do all of those things? What is most important is that you are doing what you want. What will make you happy, Blair?"
Blair just looked at him with sad dark eyes.
"I simply do not understand why you should not marry me. You would never want for anything, Blair. Surely your mother must see that?"
"Chuck, I can think of nothing better than becoming Mrs. Bass, but my mother believes if I marry a wealthy man, then that is all I will ever be: a wealthy man's wife. She thinks that by marrying someone titled that I will gain influence and power in my own right." Blair herself sounded dubious.
Chuck openly scoffed. "If she cannot see that you are already a woman of power and influence, then she is an idiot!"
Blair smiled in spite of herself. "There is another reason she wants me to go to England," she said cryptically.
Chuck couldn't wait to hear what this was!
"Where are we headed now?" Chuck asked, as their carriage left the city limits.
"To a little vineyard not far from here. I have never been there, but I would like you to meet the owner."
Things were just getting curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would have said.
Eventually they arrived at a small stone farmhouse, surrounded by acres of grape arbors. They were shown into a parlor, where they waited for the owner to appear. Chuck noticed that Blair looked excited but nervous. He squeezed her gloved hand, and was about to say something reassuring when the door opened and a gentleman walked inside.
He was middle-aged, with still dark hair, snapping dark eyes and a charming manner. And to Chuck's surprise, he was American!
"Blair-bear! Oh, my darling, I am so very glad to see you again!" He kissed her on both cheeks before enfolding her in an expansive hug. "I was thrilled to get your message this morning."
Her face lit up. "As I am overjoyed to see you! I have brought someone I want you to meet. This is Mr. Charles Bass," she stepped aside as the two men shook hands. "And Chuck, this is my father, Harold Waldorf."
Her what?! Chuck had always believed Blair's father to be deceased. No one in the family ever spoke of him, nor did anyone in society. Just that very morning Blair herself had mentioned the loss of her father. Now it appeared that he was not so much lost as misplaced.
They were interrupted by another dark gentleman coming into the room. This one was a very handsome and charming Frenchman. "Harold, mon cher, I have a question about the vines in the south field."
Suddenly Chuck understood. Harold Waldorf had not left his wife and daughter for the great beyond; he'd left the Waldorf women for this man standing in front of them. And to Eleanor Waldorf, death would have been the preferred exit, so that was the story she was telling.
"Roman!" Harold beamed, "Come meet my daughter and her friend."
This was followed by another round of cheek kissing, hand shaking and a pleasant lunch eaten al fresco on the terrace. The couple showed them around the property, describing with pride how everything worked. It was obviously a successful venture, though certainly quite a step down from a high society life on Manhattan's Upper East Side.
Chuck enjoyed sitting back and watching Blair interact with her father, listening to her chat and laugh. It was a night and day difference from her relationship with her mother. It only strengthened his belief that she should always be happy. He never wanted to see that smile leave her face.
Still, as the afternoon shadows lengthened, signifying the approach of evening, Blair's conversation grew less animated and a slight wistfulness crept into her expression. "We shall have to go soon, I am afraid. It has been so wonderful to spend time with you again."
"Oh, Blair-bear, I feel the same. Our doors are always open to you. You are welcome anytime, both of you," Harold spared a smile for Chuck.
"That is very kind of you, sir. We have enjoyed our afternoon here with you and Roman. You are gracious hosts," he rose to shake the men's hands.
Harold gave him a discerning look. "Please look after my daughter, Mr. Bass. I am happy with my life here, but not being able to be in her life is my one regret."
"Please call me Chuck, sir," he was quick to respond. "Blair's happiness is all I care about. No matter where life takes us, I shall be at her side at a moment's notice, should she need me."
It seemed a rather odd thing to say, and Harold saw the sadness in the younger man's eyes as they met his daughter's tear-filled gaze. Clearly there was some heartbreak here, but in the flurry of goodbyes he was unable to investigate further.
As the coach drew away from the house, Roman turned to Harold with a smile. "They are so much in love."
"Yes." The corners of Harold's mouth turned down as he remembered the announcement he'd read just last week about the Duke of Archibald's engagement to Miss Blair Waldorf. "I'm very much afraid that they are."
"Now you understand," Blair turned to Chuck once they were alone in the moving carriage.
"That your father is living in France with another man, yes. What this has to do with a marriage between us, no. You know, I honestly believed your father was deceased. No one ever speaks of him." There were implied questions in Chuck's comments.
"No, and that makes me sad. You know, when my father came to see my mother and me in London, it was the first time I had seen him in all the years since he left. He really has been lost to me. I've missed him terribly."
"But why all the secrecy?"
"My mother wanted it this way. To be separated is shocking enough, to be left for another man…." Her voice trailed off. "You are not shocked by my family situation?"
"Blair, I have traveled all over the world, and seen many things. Do you really believe I could be shocked by two gentlemen living together in a small vineyard outside Paris?"
"I wanted to tell you, but I did not know how," she confessed. "It is so awkward, you see."
Chuck understood. His own family situation was complicated as well.
"I liked your father. And Roman. They will get no judgment from me."
She smiled at him. "Oh, how I wish everyone felt that way. When my father left, my mother and I were barred from the upper circles of Manhattan society. That is why she wanted me to make my debut in Europe. We are not received by the old society New York families," she confided.
"But years have passed," Chuck reminded her. "Surely the scandal has died down. No one speaks of it any longer."
"Because my mother has taken great pains that they should not. When we were ostracized, she decided that she would focus on her business and make plans to make a brilliant match for me, somewhere other than in New York."
"But you are rich and very beautiful," he kissed her hand. "I'm sure there are hundreds, if not thousands of gentlemen in New York who would love to make you their bride."
"Maybe, but the scandal is always there, you see. If I married someone in New York, the gossip would follow. If I marry a nobleman in Europe, then no one would dare mention my origins."
"Blair, I will say it again. I do not want your dowry. I do not want your pedigree. And I care not in the slightest about some old gossip about your parents. I just want you."
A sob burst forth from her then. "You have no idea what that means to me, Chuck, but it's too late. The business is for sale, the banns have been read and it has been decided that I will save the family name. I am trapped, Chuck, and it matters not that the cage is shiny and attractive—it is a cage all the same."
He pulled her close. "Don't cry, darling. Please don't cry." His mind raced to think of something he could say, something he could do to overcome their obstacles. There were just so damn many of them: her stubborn but ailing mother, her scandal-plagued father, the threat of gossip, the loss of Waldorf Textiles…it was all too much. He understood now why Blair had come back to Archibald Priory looking pale and ill.
"That is why I need this, Chuck. I need this time to be with you. Before the door swings shut on my gilded cage, I want to be free to be with you, to fly."
He sighed. "Then that is what you will be, dearest. For the time that we have, we will just be Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck," he promised.
She looked up at him through her tears. "Love me?"
"Always." It was like a vow.
They returned home with a renewed commitment to seizing joy for as long as they possibly could.
Chuck had been shocked to learn the weight of the burden his beloved was bearing. It was overwhelming, but still she had managed to fight against her fate, to escape and join him, to grasp whatever moments of happiness were possible. If she could do this, then so could he.
Not that he was giving up—oh, no indeed. The very next morning he sent a cable to his father, detailing why Waldorf Textiles would make a profitable investment and an excellent addition to the Bass Enterprises family of companies. He requested that his father look further into the possibilities of an acquisition. He even offered to forego his plans of opening a club in Manhattan.
He said nothing of this to Blair, not wanting to get her hopes up. By tacit agreement, the couple chose to focus on savoring every single moment they had left together. Every shared meal and conversation, every morning waking in each other's arms, every time they made love, every time their fingertips touched and entwined was its own unique celebration. So much so that Chuck decided to plan an even bigger celebration…
It was a couple of days later that Blair descended the stairs for dinner only to gasp at what she found there. Chuck was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in his very best. Candles burned brightly and dozens of bouquets of peonies filled the hall and dining room. Chuck was holding a single peony that he slipped in her hair.
"Happy Birthday, Blair," he whispered as he took her arm and led her into the dining room. The table was covered with the finest lace-trimmed linen tablecloth and all her favorite dishes. A large cake awaited on the buffet.
She was shocked. She was overcome, especially since….
"Oh, Chuck, this is amazing," she looked around, trying to take it all in, "but my birthday-."
"Is in November. Yes, I know, but I wanted us to have a special celebration. For all those special times like your birthday, Christmas, Valentine's Day, and the like - I wanted this just for us. Maybe this will make it more special," he slipped a flat, oblong box out of his suit coat and presented it to her.
Though she grasped it in her fingers, she stood looking at him in wonder.
"Go on, open it," he took it back and opened the box, revealing its contents.
She gasped. It was the most beautiful necklace she had ever seen. Eleven carats of diamonds sparkled in a setting of white gold, or was it platinum? Pendant drops in the shape of small blossoms alternated with chevrons meant to depict open petals. Out of the chevrons dangled single tiny stones like little drops of dew. In the center was an intricate heart, filled with swirls and blooms. Within the heart was another, smaller heart with a stone in the middle. It was exquisite, an Art Nouveau masterpiece that was truly a work of art.
Her eyes grew big and her fingers reflexively came out to tentatively touch the new treasure. Her lips made a soundless 'oh' before curving into a wide smile.
"Come, let's get this on you." Chuck had been watching her face the whole time and was delighted with her reaction. His fingers worked on releasing the pendant from its case and putting it around her neck.
"Oh, Chuck, it is magnificent. So grand…," she fumbled for words as his fingers fumbled with the clasp. "So beautiful…."
He leaned closer to her and whispered, "Something this beautiful should be seen on someone worthy of its beauty." He squeezed her hand and gently placed a kiss on her shoulder.
A little voice inside Blair reminded her that she should not be accepting such a gift from a man who was not her husband. But another voice, coming from deep inside herself where some might say her heart was, argued that she would never belong to anyone the way she and Chuck belonged to each other and that this night was unique. He would never again be able to give her something so personal. All they had was here and now, and that must be embraced.
She smiled back at him and squeezed his hand in return. "Thank you," she looked up at him as she said it, her eyes trying to convey that she was grateful for so much more than the necklace he'd just given her. Her lips brushed his in a reverent kiss, which like so many of their kisses progressed into a deeper one, until he was ready to forego dinner altogether and just carry her upstairs.
A discreet cough and inquiry from Arthur about serving the next course brought them back to reality, and they were able to enjoy their dinner and dessert, then go into the parlor and play the piano together for a bit.
"If only there were some way we could play and still dance together," Blair sighed.
"Maybe there is," Chuck mused. He got up from the piano and went to a corner of the room, indicating the exotic looking machine sitting on a small cabinet.
"Is that…? Can it be…?"
"A phonograph, yes, it is." It was composed of a large brass horn mounted on a decorative wooden box that housed the mechanical equipment of the device, which apparently "read" the grooves on a flat disc to reproduce sound. It was powered by a crank on one side of the box.
"I'm afraid I haven't much music for it here, but if Mrs. Bass wishes to dance…," he held his arms out to her and they whirled around and around the room.
"I doubt anything will ever truly replace the sound of live music, but it is rather wonderful, isn't it?" she sighed.
"Perhaps we shall go to a concert later this week," he offered.
"That would be lovely," she agreed. "Do you know what else would be lovely?" She whispered something deliciously naughty in his ear.
And that was all the invitation he needed.
When they awoke the next morning, she was wearing her necklace, a smile and very little else. With her dark curls tousled and her lips swollen from kisses, she had never been more beautiful to Chuck. And then she gave him the locket with the eye miniature she had crafted. He was so moved that she had done this just for him. He felt he couldn't love or want her any more than he did at this very minute.
Naturally, they were very late for breakfast.
After their morning meal, they decided to take advantage of the beautiful day by going for a morning drive in the park, before Parisian society was out and about to spot them. They enjoyed a pleasant hour in the fresh air before returning back home.
They slipped in the front door, arm in arm with Chuck's other arm around her waist. They were laughing at some private joke between the two of them when they suddenly realized they were not alone in the foyer.
Serena van der Woodsen expected them to be somewhat surprised by her unannounced arrival, but she hadn't expected them to be thunderstruck. The shock wiped the smiles off their faces, even as their arms instinctively tightened around each other.
Serena didn't waste time or words. "Blair, your mother is on her way to Grandmother CeCe's even as we speak. She apparently believes you are there, as I believed you were with her." Serena clearly disapproved of Blair's actions. "I took a guess where you might be, and it seems I was right. I've come to fetch you home."
But Blair wasn't looking her friend; she was looking at Chuck, who likewise couldn't look away. Her fingers sank more deeply into his arm.
Chuck seemed to find his voice first. "Arthur?" he called.
"Yes, Mister Charles?" Arthur was suspiciously quick to arrive.
"Can you ring for Aurelie to ready Miss Blair's things, please?" The words sounded forced from him.
Serena noticed that Blair flinched when he referred to her as Miss Blair. When Arthur assented and said that Aurelie was already at work doing so for Miss Blair, she flinched again, as if she were in pain.
"Chuck, no!" The cry sounded as if it were being wrung out of her. "We are supposed to have three more days together. I cannot leave you now, I cannot!"
He rubbed her hand in what was meant to be a soothing way, even though he was obviously just as upset as she was.
She began to cry and it looked like Chuck might cry as well.
Serena stood in the foyer, silently hoping that the floor might swallow her. She'd envisioned it might be awkward, her arriving like this, when Blair had clearly been staying with Mr. Bass, but this was excruciating. On the drive over, Serena had been quite cross with Blair for putting her in this predicament. Ladies never visited the homes of single gentlemen, much less became their houseguests. Blair had a fiancé, the perfect fiancé as far as Serena was concerned. Why, oh, why could Blair not appreciate what she had? Why, if Serena herself had been engaged to Nate..er, the Duke….then…, her thoughts trailed off as she was consumed by the tableau playing out in front of her.
Chuck and Blair seemed to have forgotten that anyone else was in the room. Chuck was holding both her hands tightly in his, their foreheads touching.
"Shh, sweetheart, please, you mustn't cry. How else am I to bear this if you do? We knew this day was coming. It is just earlier than we had hoped. It was never going to be easy to say goodbye. Even if we spent a hundred years together, it would not be enough."
Serena felt a strange pain in her chest that she suspected might be her heart breaking.
"Never enough," Blair agreed as she tried to control her tears. "I have been so happy here with you. I would not trade a single second," she whispered.
"Nor would I," he shook his head.
She swallowed and tried to speak again. "I drew some plans for your Veranda. They are in the desk in your office." She pulled off a glove and stared down at the ring on her left hand.
Serena gaped at the ring on her finger. Blair hadn't…she wouldn't have…would she?!
"Here," she tugged and the ring slid into her other hand. She then gently placed it in his.
He tried to give it back. "No, you keep it. Please. It was made for you, with love."
"No, you know I cannot. Let me know that it is safe with you," she begged.
Serena shifted her weight from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable, had anyone noticed she was there.
Arthur carried the last of Blair's bags down to the foot of the staircase. "Would you like these in the carriage, Miss Blair?"
She cleared her throat and tried to compose herself. "Thank you, Arthur. You are the very best of caretakers."
She did not verbally implore him to take care of her Chuck, but he understood what she meant all the same and his eyes were suspiciously moist as he gruffly nodded.
Serena was startled by a sudden movement at the top of the stairs. A young Frenchwoman was there, looking down and openly weeping. Serena presumed this was the aforementioned Aurelie, who had clearly served as Blair's maid.
Blair missed all of those things, unable to tear her eyes away from Chuck. She only dimly heard Serena remind her it was time to go.
"I want you know, Blair," Chuck was still holding her hands, "that I have not given up, that I never will. If there is anything I could do…?"
"Just kiss me, Chuck Bass," she whispered as he pressed his lips to hers.
As kisses went, it was neither their most passionate nor most chaste, Rather, it fell somewhere in between, but it was what it was meant to be: a kiss to remember.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Bass," his voice seemed to come from very far away.
She tried to respond, but no sound came. Instead, she took his hand and brought it to her chest.
Was she trying to show him that her heart beat only for him? Or was she instead revealing something pinned under her clothing? Whichever it was, it caused them both to smile for a brief second.
Serena looked at the floor. She had come here with the very best of purposes and intentions, and now she felt like the vilest of villains. It seemed terribly wrong and cruel to separate two people who clearly loved each other so much.
Right or wrong, Serena had a duty to fulfill. And she reminded herself of that as she led Blair to the door, watching her friend's fingers lingering on Mr. Bass's until the last possible second. Blair seemed impossibly calm until the coach took off, and then silent sobs began to shake through her body. Serena could think of nothing to say; she just held her friend and let her cry.
Chuck Bass spent the remainder of the day in a flurry of activity. Which was fine. He was fine.
He went into the office and met with the employees there. And he was fine.
He stopped and secured his return ticket home to New York on the first available steamer. And he was fine.
He met with the household staff and made plans to ready the house for Jack and Georgina's return from their honeymoon. And he was fine. Even after little Aurelie cried in gratitude when she was told she'd be kept on staff as a general maid.
He ate his dinner in solitude and tried to ignore that Arthur had prepared some of his favorite dishes, surely to cheer him. He didn't need cheer, however, because he was fine.
After dinner, he went into his office and looked over the drawings she had made for the club. He objectively admired her artistic skill, absentmindedly stroking the locket that now graced the watch fob in his pocket. He dared not open it, but he did not need to. He could see her clearly enough in his mind's eye. The plans were lovely, as was the folded note atop them that contained those three words/eight letters. A lesser man might have been toppled by those things, but he was fine.
It was not until he went upstairs and got into bed that doubt began to seep in. The bed was empty and cold. Her pillow still bore her scent and a slight impression where her head had lain. Clearly Aurelie would need to be taught how to plump pillows. And then he realized that Blair was really gone, that these little traces were all he had left of the woman he loved more than life itself. He could feel his heart—the one that many had previously doubted he had-break as he let the sobs come.
He was most certainly not fine.
To Be Continued in Chapter 11
Author's Note: Do you need some tissues? I confess that when I finished this chapter, I did. I've never really pegged myself as a writer of angst, but clearly Chrys1130 has been a bad influence on me.
This chapter is dedicated to one of my best friends, the lovely and talented SnowedUnderNJ, on the occasion of her birthday. Happy Birthday, S, with much love. If you have not read her stories, especially the wonderful White Lies and Dark Secrets, make sure you do!
Writing about Blair and Harold was painful for me, as I am very close to a relative who has experienced estrangement and prejudice due to his sexual orientation. No one should have to go through that. Everyone should be loved and accepted for who they are, just as they are (as Bridget Jones' Mark Darcy would say).
Me (to Fic Police Officer): Are you impressed? I updated within a month!
Fic Police: Only by 4 days, ma'am. Don't get cocky.
Me: It was a difficult chapter to write. And Secretverse Chuck and Blair needed me. Besides, I think readers really missed you anyway.
FP: What makes you say that, ma'am?
Me: Well, Mahnaz "might have developed some feelings" (air quotes) for you and wants to know if you're single. And CarolinaGirl said she enjoys your conversation.
FP: Everyone's crazy about a sharp-dressed literary authority figure. It's my curse.
Me: So…are you single?
FP: *drives away in a cloud of dust, leaving skid marks*
Me: I think he's shy. Don't be shy, readers; review and tell me your thoughts on this chapter. I'll try to duck if you want to throw something at me.
Special thanks to all my readers, and to my beta buddies Chairship, Almaloney33 and rayj829.
Until next time,
XOXO