Disclaimer: Yeah I don't own Hellsing...
IV.
Seras made it a point to slam her bedroom door extra loud, just in case her family wasn't totally sure of her opinion on the subject. The sound was followed by the click of a lock and then a frantic rapping, a frantic tapping at her chamber door.
"Seras! Seras, open the door!" It was Edith.
Seras tore at the buttons on the back of her dress in a mad attempt to get ready for bed by herself, but just couldn't reach that one on the bloody top. And she-
"I need to speak with you Seras. It's important, you must hear me! Please!"
-would be damned if she left her room before she could sort out this mess in her head, let alone see or speak with anyone. She was going to have the rest of the night to herself if it killed her. After she properly calmed down a bit, Seras planned to sort the ordeal out in her mind before retiring to bed.
Ah yes, bed. What a marvelous idea.
The knocking subsided for a moment, and Seras looked up from her night drawer. Had Edith really given up so quickly?
"You are acting such the child, Seras! You should be thankful, not angry!" Edith suddenly screeched from the other side of the door, simultaneously resuming her barrage.
Seras' eyes widened. But wait, no, she wasn't going to take such obvious bait. If previous endeavors served for any study, Edith would tire and give up eventually. It was only a matter-
"Why do I have to act more mature when you're supposedly the eldest?"
-of time.
Seras clenched her fists, her nails indenting little half-crescents in her palms as she stalked across her room. She unlocked and threw open the door. Edith stood there, momentarily frozen with an angry grimace and her fist poised to knock on the door.
"Childish? Me, childish! You hypocrite! How dare you call me childish when you manipulated them in to forcing me to decline!" Seras snapped, flicking an accusing finger in Edith's face. Edith, still done up in her pretty pastel pink visiting dress, took an offended step back.
"I did so only with your best interest in mind!" She said, clutching her hand to her chest with – what Seras could deduce to be – a sincere expression. But then again, Edith hadn't gotten to be one of the most promising up-and-coming young ladies in the ton with bad acting.
"Yes, I suppose it would be in my best interest to be the sister-in-law of a Count, wouldn't it?" Seras hissed back, wincing when she realized just how harsh she sounded. Edith narrowed her eyes and took a step forward, made defiant by the accusation.
"You know my true heart, so stop lording what I said at the ball over me!" Edith snapped, pushing Seras back in to her bedroom and quietly shutting the door behind her. "I know you haven't been well lately, but I will not tolerate you taking it out on me!" She pulled off her gloves and hastily slammed them on Seras' nightstand.
At the mention of her affliction, Seras felt her limbs grow heavy and her mind get a bit foggy. It was Friday evening, but she had been feeling ill since waking up the Monday morning after the ball. Of course, it wasn't a horribly worrisome illness. She hadn't been feverish, coughing, vomiting, or shivering, so Seras had learned to work with it even though it made her every waking hour incoherently miserable.
Seras absentmindedly rubbed her dry eyes. Her body felt as heavy as lead and she could barely focus long enough to read a page of Anna Karenina, let alone humor the irritatingly prying women the Victorias had visited with for the past few evenings.
How did you ever meet the Count, Seras?
What is he like, Seras?
I've heard you've befriended him, Seras.
Is he courting you, Seras?
It was all anyone could even think to talk about, and it was all her mother seemed to care to talk about. Nevermind Edith and her wonderful, Oxford alum suitors; Seras had gained the interest of an exotic nobleman. Of course, whenever they had to tell these ladies that no, she was not officially being courted by the Count, there was a slight pause and an inaudible breath of relief from the other women. Then they would try to comfort her, as if there had never any real possibility of him taking an interest in her, and remind her that Mr. Thornsbury had always had his eye on her.
There was never any mention of the jewelry or the rose outside of the Victoria household. By accepting his forward gifts, Seras herself had been too forward, and to admit such a fault could end catastrophicly. Seras wasn't entirely sure how or why it would be, but knew better than to say anything about it.
Throughout all this constant gabbing and gossiping about the Count, Seras had found him to be constantly on her mind, and most recently in her dreams. Some of them had been embarrassing to remember afterward, and had usually involved light kisses and tender caresses… and sometimes things that could never, ever be spoken of outside the bedroom. But they were now engrained in her consciousness, and she found that it didn't her surprise her as much as it would have before.
They had had a very good conversation when he escorted her and Edith home on Sunday. It had been one of those conversations where there was so much hadn't needed to be spoken to be understood – and not to mention he had the same literary tastes as her. His gifts were nothing to scoff at either, but Seras had never been very materialistic.
His untoward manners in the library could easily be attributed to cultural differences, and he hadn't outright told her not to join the Force after all. He had even called her Police Girl! But then, perhaps she was only grasping at straws.
On the other hand, he was probably the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Sometimes Seras went reeling, trying to figure out what could've possibly attracted someone as ethereally beautiful as him to someone like her. She knew that she wasn't ugly per say, but the Count was on an entirely different level.
Through no new action on his behalf, Seras found that she had begun to take a rather keen interest in the Count.
So with all these new emotions and circumstances, imagine her excitement when an invitation from the Count arrived just at twilight requesting Seras' accompaniment to a delightfully exclusive upcoming ball. Finally, they could get to know each other without worrying about causing a scandal! Then imagine her surprise when, after reading the letter to family after supper, Edith blatantly protested against Seras' accompanying him. Her father was quick to agree.
It was much too forward an invitation, Edith said. To accept it would give him, and thus everyone else, the wrong opinion of her especially after his previous gifts. Her father, all too wary of the ills of man, had wasted no time in agreeing even though he had met the Count on several occasions and didn't particularly like or dislike him.
Seras had girst thought she heard them wrong. And then she absorbed what had happened, and became angry.
"You accuse me of being childish when you allow your jealousy to tamper with your own sister's prospects!" Seras snapped, taking a step back to lean on the doorframe. She had found that fatigue was a major player in her mystery illness.
"I only try to protect you! He is not to be trusted, he, he-" Edith's voice grew shriller and more frustrated with every word. How badly she wanted to warn her sister of the monster, of what he could be and what he could do! But Sir Hellsing's warning from the Church rang clear in her mind, and it took everything she had to bite her tongue.
"What is he, Edith?" She was now putting her entire weight on to the doorframe. She was so tired, much too tired to argue anymore. Her skin was a ghastly shade of grey.
Edith made a face, and both sisters stared at each other for a tense moment.
Edith sighed and shook her head. "No, I… I apologize, Seras. I should not have interfered. Sometimes I find it difficult to follow in such a wonderful elder sister's footsteps, and get a bit sour." Edith apologized, forcing a small smile. She was surprised when Seras actually seemed to believe her lame excuse.
"Oh, I'm sorry too, Edith." Seras said with a little laugh, somehow finding the strength to push herself off the doorframe to pull Edith in for an impromptu hug. Edith held on to her embrace for a moment, burying her face into the shoulder of her sister's nightgown. She smelled of soap and lilac.
"Edith…" Seras murmured when her sister's grip tightened, and her shoulders began to shake. "Edith, dear, are you alright? I-I'm sorry that I was cross… I really shouldn't have been so harsh! Oh, nothing I said I meant at all! Edith?"
Edith took another deep breath before finally pulling out of the embrace, meeting her sister's concerned face with another forced, bright smile. "I'm so silly sometimes, Seras, I… it's quite late, you should be in bed with your illness!" Edith switched the topic with a cheery laugh, grabbing her sister's shoulders and pushing her back in to the bedroom.
"Off to bed with you!" Edith laughed, pushing Seras all the way in to the room to the edge of her bed. "How embarrassing it would be to fall asleep as you ate scones at Mr. Thornsbury's tea!"
"Oh, don't remind me! Say, why don't you have to suffer alongside me?" Seras groaned, flopping on to the goose-down blankets.
"I've already made plans for the afternoon, thank you very much!" Edith chirped, skipping toward the door and dodging the pillow aimed for her head.
"Good night, Seras."
"Oh, good night, Edith."
As Edith pulled the door closed she watched Seras put out the lamp, and watched darkness take over. She quickly clicked it shut, and pulled her hand off the doorknob as if burned. She did not put out her own lamp that night.
The morning seemed to come as go as quickly as the sun rose, and by a quarter to noon the entire household was as hectic as a Persian bazaar. The Victoria ladies stood in the entry hall, fans and bonnets in hand, the younger two patiently waiting for their mother to finish making last minute preparations before they set out.
"And yes, have him know that if anything goes wrong I shall place blame wholeheartedly on him." Mrs. Victoria explained to Nora, her favorite servant. "Oh, I do think he enjoys torturing me so! Leaving your family to answer the invitation of a colleague – oh, what cruelty! Oh, my poor nerves!" She fanned her face dramatically, effectively misplacing her bangs and making her appear even more flustered.
Usually the sisters would have been sharing a laugh at their mother's expense (because living with such a character required a good sense of humor,) but this morning neither expressed such a thought. They stood beside each other, though not together, and merely watched their mother get on. They had spoken to one another and had laughed with one another already this morning, but there was still a lingering feeling of discontent from the night before.
Mrs. Victoria finally seemed to realize that if they didn't get on now they wouldn't be getting anywhere, and turned away from Nora with an aggrieved sigh before placing her bonnet on her head and heading out the front door. The sisters followed suit, always the obedient daughters.
"I tell you girls, the life of a lady never ceases." For what it was worth, Mrs. Victoria could tie a bow better than anyone in London. Edith thought it came in handy to have such an able, fashionable mother, especially given that she was about to meet with the young matriarch of one of England's most noble and respected families.
The invitation to tea had arrived several days after she had originally sent her note, and had been delivered by a less than savory fellow who would've been better suited as a mercenary than a messenger. Perhaps he really had been a mercenary - you never knew about aristocrats, especially those as eccentric as Sir Integra Hellsing.
Her family had been very surprised, to say the least, and Edith had been forced to fabricate a story about Father Alexander introducing them (true), them hitting it off as fast friends (maybe slightly untrue), and Integra allowing Edith to call on her any time she wished (sort of true). No one had really believed her, and Edith couldn't blame them. She was a terrible liar. But they couldn't just have her reject Sir Hellsing's request, no matter how out of the blue it had seemed to be.
As their modest carriage was escorted through thick wrought iron gates, along a mile drive, and finally the main drive of the Hellsing Manor, Edith suddenly felt so anxious that she wished that her family had disagreed with the whole thing. The mansion was gothic in design, and as intimidating and elegant as its current heir. When the carriage finally reached the main entrance they were greeted by a stately, salt and pepper gentleman who had apparently met her mother and Seras before.
"It was the Duke's last ball, I believe." He had said.
"Oh yes, it is nice to see you again!" Seras had responded, perfectly masking her suspicion of what business Edith had to do with such people with practiced, cheery politeness.
Edith was helped out of the carriage and eventually into the mansion, even though her mother and Seras had suggested that they pay their respects to Sir Hellsing as well. Edith was thankful that Walter was as blunt as he was tactical when he plainly stated that the aristocrat did not see people she did not send for. At this point all Edith had to think was merely based on intuition and hunches, terrible foreboding feelings and malicious thoughts.
But, Edith thought as they passed through the regal estate, she would know for certain after this meeting. Sir Hellsing and her retainer wouldn't let themselves be bothered any longer than need be, so hopefully Sir Hellsing could put her mind at ease and Edith could get home and finish her embroidery. She was falling very far behind in it.
The pair passed through a long, stately hallway lined with portraits of whom Edith supposed were Sir Integra's predecessors. Walter didn't slow his pace for any admiration, so she only had a moment to glance over each portrait as she passed. The collection struck her as… off. What she found odd was that the first half of portraits expectedly portrayed fair, elegant gentlemen who held themselves with the usual smug happiness that all noblemen seemed to be born with.
The third to last portrait was rather somber compared to its predecessor, bathed in solemn tones and giving light to a tight-lipped old gentleman. The next two paintings continued to lose any sort of pleasure or frivolity as they continued down the line, each Hellsing heir seemingly growing colder and guarded as the generations passed. Strangely, there was not yet one of Integra. Perhaps she thought herself too young for a portrait, or perhaps she thought the tradition too old-fashioned to continue. Or, perhaps she hadn't earned her right to one yet.
Finally, they came to a large set of Moroccan wood doors. Walter knocked twice before fluidly pushing one open, holding the door for her.
The office was rather plain and practical, with large sets of windows behind a varnished oak business desk and oversized leather chair. Edith shuffled toward the desk, where Sir Integra seemed to be very busy with writing reports and chewing cigars. A cloud of sweet smoke choked the air like the incense Father Anderson used at mass, and Edith found it rather hard to breathe until she took one of the padded chairs opposite the desk and effectively pulled her down and out of the cloud.
They sat there like that for a bit, Sir Integra working, Edith watching her continue to work, and Walter dutifully standing off in the corner behind Sir Integra's desk. Edith didn't dare say anything, for to be invited to such a private room was a great honor in itself.
It was only was Sir Integra had to reach for a new cigar did she seem to take notice of Edith's presence. She regarded Edith coolly as she held up her cigar for Walter to light, as if checking her over for something in particular.
"Miss Victoria." A white puff of smoke flew from her lips, and Edith tried her hardest not to cough.
"I greatly appreciate-" Edith coughed. "-your hospitality, Sir Hellsing." Sir Integra was still watching her with those emotionless eyes, seeming to see her very soul and pass heavenly judgment. Edith thought it was justified. After all, she had made quite preposterous claims; a malicious red-eyed nobleman? Ridiculous!
Edith had been surprised that Sir Integra had decided to see her, let alone finish her letter after making such a claim.
Sir Hellsing merely nodded and pushed the stack of paperwork aside, giving her full attention to her uncomfortable client. "Please further explain the peculiarities you mentioned in the letter, and why they trouble you." She said, leaning back in to her red leather chair with a surprisingly blatant disregard for posture.
Edith quickly nodded. "Of course."
And so she told Sir Hellsing about how strange she found the man, how rude he and forward he had been, how he had shown such an uncomfortably obvious affection for her Seras, and those terrifying red eyes. But when she spoke of the incidents out loud, the more silly and paranoid she thought she sounded. And judging by Sir Hellsing's irritated expression, the noble thought the same.
"And how fares your family?" It was one of those questions that signaled an end to a conversation. Although Sir Integra regarded the Count as some kind of threat, Edith had not apparently given her enough information to go by. Edith bit her lip. No, no that wouldn't do! She knew the Count was dangerous, and Sir Hellsing knew he was as well!
"Seras fell ill shortly after making the Count's acquaintance in the library the Sunday last." Edith quickly piped up, her voice hasty and desperate. Sir Hellsing's head snapped from the crystal clock on the corner of her desk to Edith once again.
"Indiscriminately describe your sister's ailment." She said as she crushed the butt of her cigar in to the marble ashtray before reaching for a new one.
"Seras has been…" Edith thought back to her sister's earlier outburst, "not herself. I can infer that's she's been very sluggish and inattentive these past few days, and rarely touches her meals. She's much too pale, and just the other morning had to lie down for fear of a swoon."
Edith jumped over her words, feeling her heart race when the noble shared a look with her retainer. Truth be told, Edith hadn't thought that Seras was made ill by the Count. All she had known was that she couldn't let this meeting go to waste.
"You've accurately described the symptoms of anemia, Miss. Victoria." Walter explained as he placed a light under Sir Integra's waiting cigar.
Edith blinked, surprised. "Anemia! Why, my sister is not anemic in the slightest!"
"She apparently is now." Sir Hellsing sighed as she rolled the cigar through her fingers, surveying Edith with an unreadable expression. "Exactly what happened after the Count revealed his eyes to you?"
"Seras invited him inside, where he met my mother, father, and my father's colleague, Mr. Thornsbury. He left quite promptly afterward."
Integra set down her cigar for the first time in the meeting and exchanged it for what seemed to be a small crystal glass of scotch. Her lips were pulled back in to a taunt, bitter smile. Walter seemed to take the news with less humor, and remained standing behind Sir Integra's chair with a grave expression.
"You must understand, Miss Victoria, that my organization operates almost solely on secrecy and discretion. As such I am not at liberty to fully explain your sister's predicament, but rest assured that you were quite justified in seeking my assistance. From the information you've given me, I am able to discern the situation. These events are indeed linked." Sir Integra deadpanned, resting her folded hands next to the green marble ashtray.
Edith leaned forward in her chair, forcing herself not to smile. Yes! Now hopefully Sir Hellsing could help Seras, send the Count back to whatever awful little village he sprung from, and Seras could move on to follow her dreams or whatever.
"Sir Integra… you will help me help Seras, won't you?" Edith asked all too hopefully, thinking she already knew the answer. Her heart caught a chill when she saw the heiress' expression.
"You know not what you ask, Miss." She said after a moment, her eyes narrowed and voice cold. Edith bit back a gulp. She still had another question.
"And... what exactly is the Count… Sir Hellsing?" Edith managed to whisper even though the sudden silence made it feel like a scream. Both Sir Hellsing and Walter regarded her for a tense moment, analyzing her, checking her. After a long moment, Sir Hellsing finally heaved a sigh.
"He is not a child of God like you and I, Miss Victoria."
Edith gawked at her, wringing her hands together. Never had she felt so uncertain, so helpless, so afraid. Indirect answers always hinted at the full truth. This Count… this monster… was exactly what she had feared, perhaps even worse, and as of right now Edith had no way of saving her sister.
"What will he do to her? Why does he want her? How can I save her?' Edith cried, standing so suddenly that she flipped her chair. Sir Hellsing stood as well and opened one of her desk drawers, reaching inside to pull out two simple silver crosses on silver chains. She offered them to Edith over the table, her arm as stiff and unjointed as a steel rod.
"Both you and she are to wear these at all times. Never remove them, not even to bathe." Sir Integra warned her as she made her way around the desk, crossing her arms behind her. Her navy men's suit was freshly ironed with not a crease to be seen, and her footsteps were silent on the thick Persian rug.
"When you see the Count next… and you most definitely will see him again… blatantly rebuke his invitation in to your home." Sir Hellsing said with the utmost seriousness, casting a glance over her shoulder at her butler.
"What? But that'd only anger him! What if he decided to… to… kill us in our beds! Mere words would not deter him!" Edith blanched. She hadn't intended to use such a cliché, but it was very well tuned for her situation.
But Sir Hellsing only smirked, which in turn made Edith feel a little relieved and a little foolish.
"Oh yes, he may very well become angry, but he will not be able to harm you there unless you allow him to."
Edith frowned. "I don't see why that would matter to someone as awful as he."
Sir Hellsing matched her frown, but chose to ignore her comment. "You mustn't tell anyone of our meeting, especially your sister. Sometimes ignorance is not only bliss, but also safety. Her innocence may save her, and we must keep such an advantage."
Seras had always favored High Tea over Low Tea, and she had always preferred Oolong over Darjeeling. But, of course Mr. Thornsbury was only serving Darjeeling at his Low Tea, she was starving, and his invitation had specifically called for hats. She hated hats, especially the one she was wearing now.
The finely woven, circular white straw bonnet was trimmed with sky blue silk flowers and bows that managed to collect so much dust from her armoire that it was effectively giving her a cold. The silky blue streamers tickled the back of neck to the point of causing the skin to break out in irritation, and once again her corset was too tight. She was hungry and wanted to eat, but it was an unwritten rule that ladies didn't eat more than a teacake in public. All in all, Seras was having a miserable time.
It was a rather large get-together filled with lesser aristocrats and higher-ranking gentry, other high-end attorneys and their higher-end clients, and of course every man had brought his wife. But for a tea so large, it was rather more informal than most; but Mr. Thornsbury's uncle had recently been named the Duke of Hampshire*, catapulting his own social status by several degrees. He now had the leverage to do whatever he wanted to at his tea.
Seras and her mother were in the middle of a round of croquet in the back garden with the wife of one of Mr. Victoria's acquaintances and her daughter. The older women never seemed to stop to take a breath in between streams of gossip while their daughters struggled to maintain conversation about the weather. Seras also had the worst score, which she contributed to her foul health. The only thing was that she couldn't let anyone know just how foul it really was. Illness was a disgusting and only to be spoken of in the privacy of one's own home, and not in polite society.
Mr. Thornsbury seemed to notice something was off when she and her mother had greeted him, but was polite enough not to mention it. And now she awkwardly stood with her mother and her mother's friend's daughter, trying her best to stomach the Darjeeling tea that had been served and survive this last damn game of croquet. They were going to be leaving soon – they had to be leaving soon, right? Seras hoped so. She really, really hoped so.
"Oh!" The friend suddenly stopped her flow of gossip to look at something well behind Seras' shoulder, probably at someone on the patio. Seras leaned her weight on her racket, not bothering to see who it was. She felt like she barely had the energy to stand anymore, let alone make small talk.
"Good afternoon, My Lord!" Mrs. Victoria practically yelled as she and the other ladies dipped into deep curtsies.
Seras felt like her insides froze. The Count, here? But she hadn't mentally prepared herself for meeting him yet! She had sent her note of declination yesterday morning, and for the sake of avoiding awkward conversation she really hoped he hadn't read it yet. She forced herself to turn around and saw that yes, he had most definitely had gotten her letter.
He nodded to the group before continuing to advance toward them, toward her, like a falcon descending on its prey. He wore the usual gentleman's attire accented with bits of red here and there, and his eyeglasses were still irritatingly dark. His steps were as heavy as his expression, and his frown was bitter enough to make the Darjeeling seem sweet.
He stopped just in front of her to look down on her, making it painfully obvious just why he seemed so bothered. Seras gulped, unsure of whether to feel guilty, afraid, or angry at the unfairness of it all. After all, it hadn't been her idea to reject his offer!
The other three women wisely made their way to a hole farther down the line, just out of hearing distance but certainly well in sight. This would make the gossip mill go in to overdrive.
"I wanted to tell you that I received your note, and will have you know that I have found another suitable companion to accompany me to the ball. You mustn't worry for my sake, Miss Victoria." His words weren't biting or snappish, but cool and calm. It seemed to make them all the crueler.
Seras felt her throat constricting and her eyes prickling as her mind begged her tears not to fall, to only wait a moment more. But she couldn't speak, she couldn't think of something smart or ladylike to say. She had wanted to go with him! It wasn't her fault that she couldn't attend; her father had practically hovered over her shoulder as she wrote the note, and explicitly disallowed her from mentioning her rejection stemmed from the wishes of her family.
Seras took in a shaky breathe. And now, because of her family's overprotectiveness, she had been replaced for what could've been such a magical night! Oh, what could have been! It was almost too painful to think about.
"I, I swear to you that I would have accepted you." Seras managed to blurt out, her voice cracking here and there and her mind too taken by emotion to filter her words. The Count seemed unchanged
"I would have accepted you had my family allowed it!" Seras' face burned in shame and embarrassment as she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks and her throat clog, making her words come out in pathetic, disgusting sobs. Why was she getting so emotional? She looked at the ground, wishing so hard that she could suddenly disappear and never be found.
She was pathetic, crying like a baby in front of the Count. He would now likely never want to see her ever again. No strong, important man like him would want anything to do with a weak excuse for a woman like her. God, she couldn't even face him without crying! How would she ever face the crime or death that came with police work?
The Count hadn't said anything, and his shoes hadn't yet moved. Seras harshly wiped at her cheeks with her gloved hands and began to walk away, hoping to save what little dignity she had left. She was weak, she was so, so disgusting, she-
She…
….
And then the next thing she knew was that she could not see, but heard different voices yelling her name and the names of others. She foggily braced herself for impact against unforgiving ground, but instead felt strong arms around her and her face brush against crisp, sweet-smelling fabric. The arms lowered her to the grassy ground and she felt something soft being placed under her legs. The nice, strong arms were still secure around her. A gloved hand lightly caressed her check and untied her bonnet, fingers brushed through her hair.
This made her happy.
Then she felt her eyes fluttered open, and at first there was nothing except for black and a flurry of disembodied voices and sounds. Slowly, ever so slowly, colors returned, shapes formed and lines sharpened to reveal worried faces and concerned and angry voices. Her mother, her mother's friend, and Mr. Thornsbury, were looking down at her, saying things that she couldn't quite yet decipher.
Seras looked down to see her legs slightly elevated by cushions too fine to be out on the grass, and even stranger yet, two gloved hands clasped firmly around her waist.
"You're defeating the purpose, Count. The blood won't get to her head in that manner; it's a stroke of good luck she even woke up a t'all." It was Mr. Thornsbury who was angry. Seras blinked, confused, and leaned back in to…
Oh my god.
"It seems our Sleeping Beauty has finally been awakened. As such I see no reason to change our position and risk worsening her sensitive state." The Count's voice reverberated against her back through their clothing. Seras immediately stiffened and tried to sit up, but his grip on her only tightened. She fidgeted and tried to speak, but everyone else was beating her to it. She felt his heat radiate from him to her, cocooning her in to a sense of security. She stopped fidgeting, and instinctively leaned in to the embrace.
"You may think so, but it'd be best to see her home and to a doctor." Mr. Thornsbury sniffed with an ill hidden sneer, undoubtedly itching to land a well-placed punch in the Count's perfectly symmetrical face.
"Yes sir, you are quite right." The Count agreed with a grave face, finally relinquishing his hold on Seras to gently lay her on the ground. Mr. Thornsbury seemed to be smugly satisfied for a moment before watching the Count bend down to sweep Seras into his arms as if she weighed nothing more than a kitten.
Seras' mouth fell open and her cheeks burned redder than she previously thought possible, stuttering and fidgeting in his iron grip. "E-excuse me!" She called out, though didn't bother to restate when she was blatantly ignored. This was a special circumstance, after all, so the rules of etiquette could look the other way just this once… and it wasn't as if she particularly disliked her situation…
It was just good to keep up appearances. The more shocked, insulted, and unwilling the lady, and the more chivalrous the gentleman the more accepted such an intimate action could be. After all, such a breach was only being made in dire circumstances, and what could be direr than an ailing lady?
"Madam," The Count called out to Seras' mother, who at this point was also close to swooning, "we shall take my carriage." It was not a question or a recommendation. If her mother hadn't given her consent almost before he stopped speaking, it could have been regarded as a kidnapping! Mr. Thornsbury was certainly saying it could have been as much, what with the Count so blatantly walking away with a lady without the lady's consent.
"You… you will ruin me." Seras muttered in embarrassment and a bit of amusement as he pushed their way out of the well-furnished townhome and down the expertly-laid stone staircase. She didn't have to look up to know he was wearing that awful smile, that same smile that used to haunt her.
"Only if you allow it to be so." The Count laughed dryly as he helped her in to the carriage before turning to her mother, who had been following them all this time. The ride back to the Victoria household was rather uneventful, but the respects paid afterward were quite the spectacle.
"You are truly a gracious man, My Lord. How might I ever repay you for the help you have given?" Mr. Victoria had said, albeit a bit begrudgingly once Seras had been escorted to her chambers and a doctor had been sent for. He didn't trust the man, the man who had taken an all too quick and eager interest in his daughter.
And the Count had only smiled, and Mr. Victoria instantly regretted his choice of words.
"My friend, I fear you have come to believe me to be too forward. So it is with great humbleness that I ask your permission to court your daughter."
And what could Mr. Victoria say to one who he was obligated to address as "My Lord?"
Edith stepped out of her carriage, clutching her silver crucifix close to her bosom, and replaying her visit at the Hellsing Estate over and over. She looked up to the front door, and her heart sank.
And then… there he was. Coming out of her home, of all places!
When had he gotten in? Who had let him in? How long had the beast been here?
Edith felt sick to her stomach… and then something else.
A strange, steely resolve. Looking back, Edith wasn't sure what exactly made her do it. Perhaps her courage had been stirred from her visit with the assertive Sir Hellsing, or perhaps she had just finally had enough of the constant fear for herself and for her sister. It was time that she faced the monster.
They met at the bottom of the step, Edith cutting him off just as he was about to make for his own polished coach. He regarded her with disinterest, and asked her to get out of the way.
"I rebuke your invitation to this house." She hissed, clenching her fists and not able to meet his hidden gaze. "You are no longer welcome here." There. It was done. She grasped at her necklace again, only to be harshly shouldered aside- practically pushed on to her own stoop!
The Count left in stormy huff, and for the rest of the evening Edith wondered if she hadn't just let her fear get the better of her and insulted an innocent man.
But when Seras recovered from her illness in a matter of days, Edith knew she had made the right choice. It was a thought she needed when night after night she was kept awake by awful, sharp scraping and scratching outside her first-floor window accompanied by the ungodly growls of some demented creature.
{A/N}
Notes:
- Low Tea was traditionally held by the upper class and generally consisted of different types of tea, sweets, and small sandwiches that would not spoil their appetite for supper. Being able to afford high-quality foods in large quantities, for the upper classes' Low Tea was more of a high-end social snack than a meal. High Tea was enjoyed by the lower class and generally made to be the most important meal of day. As such more substantial foods were served with the tea such as vegetables, fruits, heavier sandwiches, soups, etc.
- There's no actual dukedom of Hampshire lol.
Sorry for the delay – we just finished our summer class finals. Whoo!
Until next time,
Della