Chapter five
The next few days passed in a blur. Buffy found herself settling into a new routine. Each morning, she would wake up, get dressed (a much longer ordeal then she was used to), eat breakfast with Anne and William, William then left for work, Anne and Buffy spent the day reading, sewing or doing needlepoint, (Buffy had confided in Anne that she had never actually sewn anything and they put the sewing machine in Buffy's room to good use. Anne was an enthusiastic teacher and Buffy didn't have the heart to tell her that she was never big with the household stuff.). Both women then got dressed for dinner while awaiting William's return. Anne went to bed soon after supper and Buffy and William retired to the library, often times on complete opposite ends of the room, the two only talked when courtesy demanded it. Buffy, of course, yearned to speak with him, longed to know the man Spike was before he died but William acted as though she didn't exist. Buffy, always paranoid, began to worry that, even with his soul, it wasn't the man inside of Spike that loved her, it was the demon. One night, eager to rid herself of such thinking, she addressed William, who was sitting at the desk with his back to her, scribbling furiously.
"Would you read me some?" William lifted his head, surprised, but of course, still not looking at Buffy.
"Pardon?" From where she was sitting, Buffy could see the tips of his ears redden.
"Whatever it is you're always writing, would you read me some?" From the stacks, the sound of Becky's dusting abruptly stopped as she, too, waited for his answer.
"No, I don't think that would be a good idea." Buffy nodded, hurt and realized at the last second that he couldn't see her nod. She returned to her book, trying not to show her disappointment. After a few minutes though, William packed up his things and left the room, stung, Buffy could only watch him go. Once he left the library, William went directly to his room, not bothering to check on his mother. He gently placed his precious writing supplies on his desk and sat on his bed, holding his head in his hands. He could hear his heartbeat racing wildly and he mentally willed it to slow down, When he had sufficiently relaxed, he removed his head from his hands and carefully studied the ink-stained document he had been working on in the library
'A golden wave crashing down upon porcelain skin,
Her breath more sweet than summer's breeze,
Her eyes dance and sway along to the beat of my heart, barely contained within my breast.
Every look she gives me, I sink a little lower,
Fall a little farther.
She is the fire that sets my blood aflame,
The object of all my dreams.
She is the one I have been waiting for.'
Trash, he thought, complete and utter rubbish. Crumpling it violently into a ball, he stuffed it into the trash. Flopping back onto his bed, he sighed heavily and thought of nothing but a fair haired, brown eyed maiden.
The next morning, the morning of the trip to museum, dawned bright and fair. The air, of course, was crisp but it was the best weather to be expected for a November day in London. Buffy, forewarned by both Anne and Miss Davies of the dirty streets of downtown London, dressed appropriately. The brown dress Buffy had arrived in along with the matching plaid jacket and no train was deemed suitable. After the customary torture session of getting her corset on, Buffy emerged from her room and swept down the stairs to where William and Anne were waiting.
"Oh my dear, that dress sets off your eyes beautifully" William, who was reading a small notebook gave her a cursory glance before doing a double take. Buffy laughed, not noticing his stare.
"Yes, well, it better look good, I'll be wearing it quite often, I'm running out of clothes." Anne clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
"Now that won't do. We'll have to remedy that". Buffy was quick to protest;
"No, Anne, don't worry about it, I'll be fine."
"Nonsense, I will not have you wearing just anything. Anne Carleton takes care of her friends." Buffy hid a snicker, for one fleeting moment Anne had sounded just like a mafia boss. Resolutely changing the subject, Anne turned to William who, realizing that both women were looking at him, returned to his book.
"William, what do you think of Miss Anne's dress?"
"Hmm? Oh, it's very nice." Miss Davies came up behind them pushing an old-fashioned wheel-chair and positioned herself behind Anne. Anne noticed her and sighed.
"Oh, William, do I have to? It makes me feel so old." William's voice was quietly begging, but with an undertone of exasperation.
"Mother, this was the only reason I agreed to this trip was on the condition that you use this chair. If you don't use it, maybe we should just cancel the trip." Although Anne was clearly unhealthy, she was still mentally strong and she knew how to stand her ground.
"Now, William, I didn't realize that sometime in the last ten minutes, you became the parent and I became the child." Spike had always been stubborn to the point of pig-headedness and now Buffy saw where he got it from. She knew that they would keep picking at each other until she did something. Without thinking about the consequences, Buffy jumped into the wheel chair and turning the wheels, spun herself into a series of small circles. When she turned to face the bickeringmother-son pair, they were both staring at her, open-mouthed.
"See," she said, "Its fine." Buffy jumped to her feet, well, as much as jumping as she could do in a corset. Anne smiled, bemused and without another word, lowered herself into the chair. For the first time since she had arrived, William stared at her openly.
"Miss Sum . . . . I meanAnne; you are quite unlike anyone I have ever met." Unsure how to reply, Buffy smiled uneasily;
"Um, thanks" Henry, the butler opened the door and Buffy swept past William out into the street. He stared after her, unable to move. Miss Davies pushed Anne out of the door, pausing as they went by William.
"William, darling, close your mouth, you're starting to drool." Anne said to her son, leaving him to wonder at the intricacies of the female race