Author's Note: Our boys will finally reach Dalton Abbey in this chapter, which borrows heavily from Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey…although Kurt is a bit more sophisticated than Catherine and Blaine isn't quite as inventive a storyteller as Henry. There are specific allusions to three particular Gothic novels, The Abbess by William Henry Ireland, The Monk by Matthew Gregory Lewis, and The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe, although if you've read Northanger Abbey you probably have a pretty good idea what these sorts of books were like!

The town of Dalton is fictional, but I imagine it to be located west of Salisbury near Wilton and Dinton. I don't know enough about architecture to imagine a wholly original country house, so Dalton Abbey itself is based loosely on Philipps House in Dinton.

As some of you have guessed, Blaine's aunt, Lady Dalton, is a canon Glee character. When Blaine first mentioned his aunt in passing many chapters back I really had Lady Bertram (and her pug!) from Mansfield Park in mind, with a dash of Mrs. Norris, but when I decided she would actually play a part in the story it occurred to me that there was a Glee character who would fit the role pretty well. You will soon find out who she is! She will be a fairly minor character though, so don't expect any plot twists based on what happened with her on the show. Some cousins are also mentioned in passing, but they're non-canon and probably won't be showing up in this story.

The verse of a poem Blaine sings in this chapter is by the 17th century poet Thomas Carew, one of the "Cavalier poets". I don't know that this poem was ever set to music, but I wanted to use it and I figure Blaine is musical enough to come up with a tune on his own. Kurt sings "Miss Bailey's Ghost" (also known as "The Unfortunate Miss Bailey"), a comic folk song about a ghost who haunts her former lover.

When they stopped in Hindon to change horses, Blaine suggested a rearrangement of their traveling party. "I have a fancy to drive myself the rest of the way home," he said. "Would you care to join me in the curricle, Mr. Hummel? The day is fair enough, and you have seen little of this part of the country."

Kurt readily agreed. He would have been hardly less eager had they been in the middle of a blizzard. Lord Dalton made no objection to this plan, other than to warn Blaine not to drive too fast. The two young men took their seats in the curricle while Lord Dalton's valet joined his master in the coach. A few moments later they were on the road again, heading east towards Salisbury.

The curricle soon outpaced the larger, heavier vehicle. Kurt turned his head to look back at it, remembering the first time he had seen that grand liveried coach pass by. He had wondered then what sort of family had a singing bird on their crest and what sort of place Dalton Abbey might be. Little had he known that six weeks later he would be on his way to that noble residence, the guest and intimate friend of its heir. Even a week before he had not hoped for such a thing. Yet here he was, riding beside the most charming gentleman in the world in an open carriage bound for Dalton Abbey.

The sequence of events that had led him to this point were so absurd, so wonderful, that Kurt had to laugh. Blaine looked over at him, puzzled. This only caused Kurt to laugh harder. Blaine chuckled, and then began to laugh as well. They laughed until they were both gasping for breath. When at last their mirth subsided, Blaine said "Will you explain the joke to me now? I confess I do not know why we have been laughing."

"We have been laughing because we are so happy," Kurt replied. "At least, that is why I have been laughing."

"I am glad to hear it," Blaine said with a smile. "I feared that perhaps there was something comical about my driving."

"Of course not. You drive very well," Kurt said, and this was no empty praise. He admired Blaine's skill with the reins and his firm yet gentle handling of the horses. Under his control they moved as lightly and gracefully as a pair of dancers. While the interior of the coach had been warmer and the seats more comfortable, Kurt thought the curricle an altogether more pleasant means of transportation. Here he could breath the fresh air and see the landscape all around them, not merely the small patch visible through the coach window. Though the curricle was not as spacious as the coach, this meant that he was seated even closer to Blaine. Surely the only experience more delightful than being driven by Blaine on a fine autumn day was being kissed by Blaine, and once their journey came to an end there would be ample opportunity for that.

Or so Kurt had thought, before they had learned they were to have a chaperone. He had seen how disappointed Blaine had been by this news. "Does driving so well require your full attention, or can you speak with me at the same time?" Kurt asked.

"I can speak, though you must not expect anything brilliant of me," Blaine replied. "Do you have some topic in mind?"

"Tell me about Lady Dalton. Is she a terrible old tiger?"

"Well, she is not so very old," said Blaine. "She was my uncle's second wife, and much younger than he was. Nor would I call her terrible, though I am afraid my uncle did not choose as wisely as your father did when it came to his second union."

"She was a fortune hunter?"

"A bit of that, I suspect, though she did seem genuinely fond of my uncle. I think that she must have been one of those pretty women who expects to marry well and so does not concern herself with the pursuit of other accomplishments. She was probably happy enough while the old man was still around to dote on her. After he died…well, I suppose she hardly knew what to do with herself."

"How sad." Kurt could easily picture the beautiful widow, all veiled in black, wandering the gloomy halls of Dalton Abbey. It was like something from one of Miss Cohen-Chang's novels. "There were no children, I suppose?"

"Not exactly. My uncle had four from his first marriage, a son and three daughters. They were all grown by the time he remarried. Cousin Philip was killed at sea just two years later. I gather that everyone expected my uncle's new bride to provide him with another son. My father certainly was not sitting idly by waiting to inherit. He had a blockade to maintain. His luck against the French was better than Philip's, the poor devil." Blaine fell silent, and for a long moment they both sat listening only to the sound of the carriage wheels and the clip-clop of the horses' hooves. "I have often thought how different things might have been had Philip lived," he said at last. "Or had there been another son after all. Aunt Teresa was with child when my uncle died. The situation for my family was complicated, you understand. The title passed to my father upon his brother's death. We would not know for months whether he would be displaced as heir, but the estate could not be left unattended in the meantime. So we left Devon and moved into the Abbey, not knowing whether it was truly to be ours."

"Aunt Teresa had said that if the baby were a boy then we would be welcome to stay on as her guests," Blaine continued. "And she has never allowed us to forget it. She miscarried more than ten years ago, and nothing my family has done for her since can equal the generosity she imagines she would have shown us had she been mother to the next Lord Dalton. She will be pleased to have an excuse to stay at the Abbey for several weeks. She still likes to think herself mistress of the place."

"I suppose she will be a strict chaperone," Kurt said, thinking he would have preferred the tragic figure he had pictured earlier.

"I imagine we will be able to manage her," said Blaine. "She will expect our deference, and a bit of flattery would not go amiss, but she will not wish to keep us always beside her. She prefers the company of her pugs. They do not trouble her nerves. When I was a boy she often complained that I troubled her nerves with my noise and running about. I am afraid she found me very tiresome."

Kurt pictured now a motherless boy, his hair a tangle of dark curls. A boy like himself in many ways, and yet so different. The world of Kurt's childhood had been small, and often lonely, but he had not felt himself unwanted. "I cannot think that you were tiresome."

"You did not know me then. Perhaps you would have found me quite dull."

"Impossible," Kurt said lightly. "No one who lives in an abbey could be dull. Did you live at a Dalton House, Dalton Hall, or Dalton Court then I might feel differently towards you, but I am helpless to resist the allure of an abbey."

"I am glad to hear it, though I cannot think why that particular name should intrigue you so."

"Could there be a name more intriguing? It suggests everything that is romantic and thrilling. Even a Dalton Castle could not possess so much ancient, mysterious grandeur as a Dalton Abbey."

"You imagine some majestic Gothic pile, I gather."

"Is it not a fine old place, just like what one reads about?" Kurt asked innocently. "You must have towers and tapestries and great arched windows. I cannot believe it to be otherwise."

"Though we have a few tapestries, I am sorry to say that you will find the house itself to be quite modern," said Blaine. "Much of it was rebuilt by my uncle."

"Yet surely there remains some forgotten crypt or secret passageway. I could content myself with a decaying chapel, if need be."

"We have nothing like that, I fear," Blaine said. "Of the old abbey there is nothing left. Well, nothing except...the North Tower."

Kurt was gratified to see a sparkle of humor in Blaine's eyes once more. Their time together would be short enough; he did not want Blaine to spend it dwelling on unhappy thoughts of the past. In an open carriage they could not kiss or embrace one another, nor even speak with complete freedom, but he could amuse Blaine with nonsense without shocking Lord Dalton's driver. Though the coach was well behind them, it was not yet out of sight.

"A tower sounds promising," Kurt said. "I trust that it is windswept and gloomy."

"There is not a spot in Wiltshire more swept by the wind or full of gloom."

"Such a forbidding place seems likely to be haunted," prompted Kurt.

"Indeed it is, by the ghost of the abbess herself," Blaine declared. "They say she was murdered by a secret lover. Her name is lost to history, but we call her the Bleeding Nun."

"An epithet you borrowed from The Monk, I take it."

"On the contrary, where do you think the author got the idea? He must have been a guest at Dalton Abbey at some point. We house all our guests in the North Tower, of course. That is where you will be staying. I requested that the darkest, most cavernous chamber be reserved for you."

"You are a considerate host. Will I sleep shivering upon the bare stone floor?"

"Only if you are too terrified to draw back the heavy velvet drapes of the bed and enclose yourself within. Whichever you choose, your slumber will be brief and troubled. A violent storm will awaken you in the dark hours after midnight. You will open your eyes to the sight of a strange, ethereal figure."

"The Bleeding Nun?"

"The very same. She will beckon to you silently before disappearing through a black curtain hung in the far corner of the room. So the question I must pose to you now is whether you would have the courage to lift up the curtain, or if you would instead lie in your bed—"

"Or on the floor," Kurt interjected.

"—trembling with fear until dawn?"

"That is quite a conundrum," said Kurt. "I would of course be frightened to find myself in such an eerie situation, but I think that I would manage to steel my nerves and pull back the dreadful black veil. In fact, I have a strong suspicion as to what I would find there."

"Do you? You must tell me then, for I had not yet thought of it."

"It is quite obvious. The Bleeding Nun haunts the tower because that is where her own chamber was located. If she had a secret lover, they must have had some way of meeting. The black curtain conceals the staircase that she used to steal away from the abbey in the dead of night."

"A clever deduction," Blaine said. "I have no doubt that you are correct. However, this does raise another question. Having found the hidden stairs, would you then be bold enough to traverse them?"

"That would depend," Kurt replied. "On whether I had a secret lover waiting for me at the bottom."

Blaine looked over at him, and when he spoke the jesting tone was gone from his voice. "You would be bold then, for the sake of love?"

"Yes," Kurt said. He knew that there was much for them to fear, things both more ordinary and more dangerous than mysterious passages and haunted towers, but he felt he might brave much for a man like Blaine. "Yes, I believe I could be."

Blaine's only reply was to sing the words of the old poet:

So shalt thou thrive in love, fond boy!
If thy tears and sighs discover
Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy
The just reward of a bold lover.
But when with moving accents thou
Shalt constant faith and service vow,
Thy Celia shall receive those charms
With open ears, and with unfolded arms.

Kurt, never one to pass up an opportunity to sing, followed this performance with a rendition of "Miss Bailey's Ghost". They continued taking turns singing these quaint old songs to one another and thus passed the last miles of their journey most pleasantly. Sooner than Kurt expected, Blaine steered the curricle onto a narrow lane and announced that they would soon reach Dalton Abbey.

They passed through the gates of the lodge and continued along a winding avenue sheltered by linden trees. The golden leaves, illuminated by the warm light of the setting sun, formed a rustling canopy over their heads. Then suddenly the open parkland was before them, and Kurt laid eyes upon Dalton Abbey for the first time.

The house was, as Blaine had said, quite modern in appearance: straight and square, with walls of smooth, pale limestone. The building's chief ornament was a Grecian style temple-front. The four towering columns seemed unlikely guardians for the set of French windows that served as the main entrance. Yet though Dalton Abbey was completely lacking in arches, spires, and colored glass, Kurt could not feel disappointed with it. The house was larger than any he had seen in Lima, its proportions were elegant, and the many windows gave it a welcoming appearance. Most importantly, this was Blaine's home. Such an inhabitant would make even the crudest shack in all of England seem dear to Kurt.

Still, he could not hold back a quip. "The North Tower has crumbled away during your absence, I see." Dalton Abbey had no towers, although there appeared to be some sort of cupola on top of the building.

"So it has," Blaine said. "The wind must have swept a bit too hard. Well, there is nothing to be done for it. You must endure one of our spare bedrooms, no matter how bright and comfortable. There is a charming room right beside my own."

Agreeable though this plan was to both the young gentlemen, they soon learned that other arrangements had been made. Upon entering the house they were greeted by the housekeeper, who expressed her surprise at seeing them without Lord Dalton. "We raced ahead in my curricle," Blaine explained. "Father will be along shortly in the coach. We have only these small bags so there is no need to trouble the footmen on our account, though you might warn them that the trunks will arrive soon. I'll show Mr. Hummel to his room myself."

"Certainly, Mr. Anderson. You will find that the green bedroom has been made up for him."

"The green bedroom?" Blaine asked, surprised. "Why on earth should he be put there?"

"I do apologize, Mr. Anderson. When His Lordship wrote with his instructions he did not say which room Mr. Hummel was to have. I selected the green bedroom myself, but there are many fine rooms in the East Wing. I can have the maids prepare whichever one you think is best."

"Mrs. Reynolds," Blaine said slowly. "Why is Mr. Hummel to be housed in the East Wing?"

"His Lordship wrote that this was what your friend would prefer," the housekeeper replied. "Is that not right?"

She looked so concerned that Kurt felt embarrassed. "Yes, that is quite right," he said. "I like to have the morning light. I am sure the green bedroom is lovely."

This matter settled, they left Mrs. Reynolds to attend to her other duties. Blaine led Kurt up the grand staircase to the upper floor of the house. When they reached the top, Kurt paused to look up at the interior of the cupola ceiling directly above. The windows of the cupola allowed him to see up to the sky, which was fading from pink to purple already. After admiring the effect, Kurt hurried to catch up with Blaine.

"You did not need to agree to this," Blaine said softly as they walked along the eastern corridor. "There is no reason you should not be in the West Wing with the family. We have spare bedrooms aplenty, even with Lady Dalton visiting. It is not right for Father to banish you to the East Wing alone. I will speak to him about it."

"No, I do not mind, honestly," said Kurt. "If Lord Dalton does not trust me, his suspicions will hardly be allayed by our objecting to his room arrangements."

"It is I he does not trust," said Blaine. "If he regarded you as an unhealthy influence, he would not put you in the green bedroom but rather on the next mail coach." He stopped to open the door of a room that, true to its name, had carpets, drapes, and bedclothes all in shades of green. They stepped inside and Blaine closed the door behind them. "By sending you off to the farthest corner of the house he means to keep you as our guest while putting as much distance between the two of us as possible," he continued. "All in the vain hope that this will aid me in resisting your many allurements."

Kurt set his bag down on the dressing table. "Have I many allurements?" he asked with feigned casualness. He reminded himself that he was a bold lover. He must not be frightened by the strange stirring in the pit of his stomach or the pounding of his own heart.

"Scores," said Blaine behind him. "Multitudes."

He turned and found that Blaine was standing closer than before. "Name one," Kurt said. "Not my complexion or my voice. Something different."

"Your lips," Blaine said, close enough now that they were nearly touching. "Look delicious."

Hearing this, Kurt had neither the will nor the inclination to deny him a taste. When Blaine leaned forward to close the last inches between them, Kurt received him with unfolded arms.