Chapter ten

The next few days were a blur as the entire household worked themselves into a frenzy of Christmas decorations and holiday spirit. Buffy was having a hard time adjusting to the holiday, when she had left Sunnydale, it was early summer time and here she was thrust into a winter wonderland. The Victorians sure celebrated Christmas differently than Buffy's generation. Delicate and expensive decorations adorned every available surface. At Hellmouth Central a.k.a her house, the looming threat of impending apocalypse made it impossible to consider any decorations that weren't bolted down and candles on a real Christmas tree were completely out of the question. Buffy had almost fainted when she had first seen the live, dancing flames dotting the evergreen branches, Anne had tried to convince her that it was completely safe, but Buffy still had her doubts. The day before Christmas Eve, Buffy was sitting in the den, putting up the pretense of reading a book, while actually gazing at the tree, warily. Myles, one of the man-servants rushed past the room and Buffy leapt from her seat to catch him.

"Myles!" she called, rushing after him. He slowed and turned back to her, giving her a curious look. Buffy, remembering the etiquette lessons she had begun to pick up, slowed down and spoke less frantically.

"Myles, please, if you don't mind, I know that Mistress Carleton is sending you to pick up the Christmas gifts and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind picking something up for me. I'll compensate you for it." Myles nodded.

"Of course, Miss Anne, I'll see what I can do." Buffy quickly explained to the man what she wanted and deposited her hard-earned savings into his hand. Once he had left, she returned to her seat, overlooking the burning tree, and a slip of paper slipped from the pages of her book and she bent to retrieve it. It was one of William's poems. After their moment in the library, she had found them peppering the house, under her pillow, on her plate at the supper table, being used as a bookmark in her book and she had begun to collect them, treasure them. The one that had slipped out was one of her favorites.

Beset by an angel, my heart sings.

Matching the notes of the most heavenly choir.

It feels as though my heart could soar

And bring her back to Paradise, from whence she came

Though I do not for she is my Paradise and I am not eager to return her to her Heavenly throne.

Caleb and The First, in It's favorite disguise of Buffy, walked through the vineyard, deep in conversation.

"So, he admitted to sending the Slayer to a different dimension?" Caleb asked, staring at The First with unmistakable lust and hunger for power.

"Yes, he did, used an old Sumerian text. If you ask me, he was very lucky he didn't accidentally magic of his own arm." The First was visibly perturbed.

"What dimension did he send her to?" The First waved an impatient arm, watching the Bringers work on a giant piece of rock set deep into the wall.

"I don't know, you know how it is with dimensions, you can never really keep one in place long enough to send someone into it."

"But can't you sense her?"

"No, I can't" The First snapped, It's anger flowing off of It in almost physical waves, slapping Caleb in the face. He realized then why The First was so angry, It liked being in control, knowing everything and even though the Slayer couldn't physically be there to harm them, she still managed to irk them. He was going to enjoy killing her, slowly, with lots of blood. Eager not to upset The First anymore, he changed the subject.

"I still don't understand why you wouldn't let me torture him, I do miss the feeling" The First allowed a small smile to crease her borrowed face.

"I need you to keep all your bloodlust ready for the Slayer's lackeys; theirs will not be easy deaths."

"I wouldn't accept any other kind".

Miss Davies woke Buffy up early on Christmas morning with a sharp rap at her door. Buffy, still half asleep, muttered;

"Not now, Dawnie, give me ten more minutes." Miss Davies cleared her throat.

"Good morning, Miss Anne, Mistress Carleton wanted to start the day early, she expects you downstairs in a half an hour." She turned to leave but turned back and whispered, so low Buffy wasn't sure she had actually heard her;

"And Merry Christmas, Buffy." Buffy's eyes flew open. Christmas, right. The holiday only enforced the fact that Buffy had been in 1879 for over a month and was still no closer to getting home then she had been when she first landed in the rosebush outside her house. Apparently her friends really didn't care what happened to her, but she couldn't help wondering what had happened to them, if they had gone up against The First without her, despite her hurt and anger at being tossed, unceremoniously, out into the streets, she still worried about them, all of them. Catherine bustled into the room, placing a large wad of fabric on Buffy's desk.

"Rise and shine, Miss Anne, it's a lovely Christmas morning and Mistress Carleton has procured you a new dress." Reluctantly, Buffy lifted herself from her bed and moved to stand next to the young nurse. While Catherine arranged Buffy's new dress, Buffy caught a glimpse of it in the mirror. It was plain, tasteful. Christmas in this day and age was still a dominantly religious holiday so modesty was required. It was white, with earth-toned flowers embroidered on the empire waist, sleeves and bottom hem, but it brought out something special in Buffy's eyes, made them sparkle. Catherine noticed this and remarked;

"This dress is perfect for you; Master William will not be able to keep his eyes off of you." Catherine seemed to catch herself and quickly apologized.

"I'm sorry, Miss Anne, that just slipped off my tongue, please don't tell anyone I said it."

"Of course not, Catherine, don't give it a second thought." The young maid dropped into a small curtsey and quickly exited the room. Buffy took as deep a breath as her corset allowed, picked up the two small gifts she had lying on her desk and left the room.

William and Anne were already seated at the table when Buffy arrived, but William quickly stood up when she entered. Buffy could feel his eyes on her, even when she sat down. Anne's voice came, seemingly out of nowhere.

"William, she's seated, you don't have to stay on your feet." William, flushing crimson, quickly sat down and throughout the meal, refused to look at Buffy again. When they had finished their modest breakfast, Anne signaled that everyone move onto the den. Under the blazing Christmas tree was a sumptuous pile of gifts, Anne swept over to the chair closest to the fire and Myles handed her a gift. She read the label and called out;

"Miss Anne" Buffy went up to her and collected her gift. Anne continued this way, Myles handing her a gift, her calling out the name of the recipient, channeling the spirit of Santa Claus, and obviously enjoying it. The majority of the gifts were for Anne or William, but Buffy's name was called several times and she soon had a pile of gifts surrounding her. Once the gift well had run dry, Buffy rose to her feet and handed William and Anne their gifts.

"I know it's not much, but I was so grateful for your hospitality that I had to give you something." She said. Anne promptly ripped into the packaging, her early Santa Claus guise gone, now replaced by that of a young child.

"Oh, Miss Anne, it's lovely." She remarked when she finally freed it from its wrapping. It was a simple needle-point design of a large bouquet of flowers. It was simple, yes but Buffy's blood, sweat and tears had gone into that thing, literally. Anne turned to William, who had just finished unwrapping his gift and asked;

"What did you get, dear?" he lifted a dark blue leather bound book for his mother's inspection.

"It's a notebook" Buffy said, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

"I noticed that your old one was running out of space and I thought that you might appreciate a place to put all of your loose papers." Behind her, Becky and Miss Davies exchanged a bemused glance.

"It's very sweet of you. Miss Anne, but what do you mean by loose papers? I never write anywhere save for my notebook" Buffy's face creased with confusion,

"But I thought. . . . I kept finding these poems around the house."

"They were not mine, Miss Anne, perhaps one of the members of this household." Buffy nodded, feeling hot tears begin to fill up her eyes.

"Of course, Master William, I must be mistaken." Turning to Anne, she said;

"Anne, if you don't mind, I'd like to be excused, my head is paining me and I would enjoy a nap."

"Of course, darling, go right ahead." Buffy stumbled to her feet, dropped into an awkward curtsey and left the room. Anne turned to her son;

"What have you done now?"

Buffy, rushing up the stairs to her room, didn't hear Anne chastise her son, she was too preoccupied in her thoughts. She was in pain, yes, but it wasn't her head that pained her, it was her heart. She flung herself face down into her pillows and allowed the tears to spill freely over her cheeks. She began mentally berating herself; how stupid was I to think that William actually cared about me? The poems could have been left by any over hormonal male in the house, there was no guarantee that they were from William. Only the first of them was signed and even then, the name had been crossed out. Her mental lashings hurt almost as much as the fact that she had allowed herself to care deeply about someone who didn't return the feelings. In a hundred years or so, Spike would fall in love with her, but William couldn't be bothered. She had never realized until that moment, how much she wanted to prove that she could attract something other than vampires and demon fighters. There was a quiet knock at her door.

'Catherine, please, it's just a headache, don't worry about me." A soft, definitely male voice floated over to her.

"Um, it isn't Catherine." Buffy sat up quickly and wiped away the paths the tears had made on her face.

"Master William, what a surprise." Upon receiving her full attention, William looked down, suddenly very interested in the carpet at his feet.

"Yes, well, I wanted to make sure that you were alright, you fled from the den so quickly, I thought something might be wrong." Buffy forced a false smile onto her face.

"Of course not, Master William, it's just my head that pains me."

"That's what I thought." He said softly. When he didn't make a move to leave, she inquired;

"Was there something else?"

"Yes but it's of no consequence, put it out of your mind." He turned to leave but Buffy, using her Slayer speed, quickly reached him and put an arm out to keep him in place.

"Please tell me." His cheeks flushed crimson.

"I just had a gift that I didn't have a chance to give you in front of Mother and the rest of the household, it's rather personal, you see."

"May I see it?" William was shocked into looking at her, his bright blue eyes blazing with curiosity.

"Of course." He fumbled with a pocket of his jacket and removed a small gift box, handing it to Buffy. The Slayer opened it with shaking fingers. It was a small heart shaped locket. Buffy slid a nail between the clasp and it popped open. Inside there was a picture of Anne on one side and William, looking more handsome then she had ever seen him on the other side.

"It was Mother's idea; she didn't want you to forget us." Fresh tears erupted in Buffy's eyes.

"I would never forget you but it is beautiful. Would you mind putting it on for me?" Without waiting for his courtesy laced answer, Buffy turned around and lifted her hair. William falteringly draped the chain over her neck and after several minutes of missteps, managed to get the clasp closed. Turning back to him, Buffy let her hair fall back down and asked;

"How does it look?"

"Breathtaking" William answered, his cobalt eyes burning into her green ones. For once he didn't turn away when he noticed she was looking at him, just kept staring at her with his remarkable eyes.

"Master William, I . . . ." William interrupted her.

"Please, don't call me Master William, it's what the servants call me and I do not wish you to think of yourself as my servant." The unexpected closeness to William brought out Buffy's bold side that had been lying dormant, since she had arrived in Victorian London.

"Then what would you prefer I think of you as?" William swallowed hard.

"A friend, I would like it very much if we could be friends." Buffy nodded, managing to tear her eyes from his.

"We already are friends, William" His voice took on the husky tone that Buffy remembered Spike using when he was about to say something he shouldn't.

"Better friends, I mean" Buffy gazed up at him through her lashes.

"William, will you tell me something?" The man nodded.

"Was it you that wrote me those poems?" The blush that had been fading from his cheeks appeared with a sudden fury and he looked down. Buffy put a finger under his chin and lifted his head until he was looking at her, so she could see the truth in his eyes.

"I already told you. . . . ."

"I know what you told me." Buffy cut him off, "But now I want the truth" William was silent for a moment, debating, then said;

"I wrote them."

"Why?" William's face blazed with incomprehension at her lack of understanding.

"I had to let it out somehow, how I felt, how I feel"

"And how do you feel?" The heat between the two was increasing with very passing second and Buffy had to use all of her willpower not to kiss him.

"Well, I feel like. . . ." he exhaled loudly.

"I think that I am in love with you, Miss Anne." Buffy's entire body thrilled at his words, she moved closer to him, wanting to be near him. He was babbling, ignoring her advances.

"I know that it's sudden, but I can't help it, you aren't like anyone I've ever met and I understand if you never want to see me again, but I just thought you should know." Buffy kissed him on the lips, harder than the first time in the library, crushing his lips under hers; she could feel the electricity flowing between them. She pulled away.

"I love you too William".