Part 12

"My love, we're home," he said, gently shaking her awake. For a moment, she buried her face into his sleeve and rubbed her cheek against the cloth, in a movement so familiar because she often did it as they lay in bed at night.

She smiled up at him with sleepy eyes, and he saw the exact moment she felt different, because her expression transformed. Blair swallowed and made a choking noise. "My head is spinning," she told him.

The moving carriage slowed to a stop. "It is the travel on these cobbled streets. You have been too used to the rocking of the sea."

The imagery that his words recalled was of the waves, and her vision spun again. She closed her eyes to steady herself, and felt his hand close over her elbow as he helped her down the vehicle. "This is unpleasant," she told him.

"Keep your eyes closed. I want this to be a surprise." With a smile, she nodded. "Hold onto me."

She clutched at his sleeve and felt the firm ground under her feet. Blair felt the warm air on her cheeks.

"Open them."

She did, and squinted for a second at the bright sun. When her eyes adjusted, she saw the structure in front of her. The first thing she focused on was the black door, framed by two large medieval columns leading to a high stucco arched entryway. On both sides of the doors were rows of tall windows gilded by golden metal. The second storey boasted of four separate iron balconies that seemed too airy to carry the weight of a single potted plant.

She was silent as she scanned the architecture. Beside her, he shifted on his feet. "There's a garden at the back, to remind you of Florence."

Blair turned to face him, with question in her eyes. "You want me to tell you that it's beautiful," she realized out loud.

"You will be the first person, save the servants, to step inside," he told her. "This will be our London home."

She remembered the way he had recounted his means when they were in Paris. Blair said, "This is the Piccadilly townhouse that was under construction."

"I wanted it finished for your arrival. And had them add the garden specially for you."

Blair rose on tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek. "It's wonderful, Chuck."

He breathed in relief. Chuck leaned his forehead against hers. From the periphery of his vision, he noticed two women stop at the street, watching them. He stiffened, then pulled away from Blair. "Good afternoon, my ladies," he called out curtly, causing the women to nod and hurry away. Turning back to her, he told her, "It would do us well not to forget that we are no longer in the safe haven of Italia."

"Did I not tell you?" Blair whispered, feeling the loss of proximity. She had been too used to his presence, to the closeness and the touches that they had been comfortable with in their Tuscan anonymity. "We will change here."

With his hand supporting her by the elbow, he led her into his home. They stopped at the foyer, where they handed their coats to the butler. She unlaced her hat and placed it on the high table.

Blair remembered her arrival in Tuscany, and found it odd that there was no one waiting apart from the butler. "Am I to meet your staff, my lord?"

"You shall," he assured her. "But not today. As much as I would like for you to stay here, in the bedroom I have had furnished for you, you cannot."

Her face fell at the prospect of spending even a day away from him. "But this is our home."

"And it is. But for now, until we are wed, I must ask you to live in the Bass townhouse with his grace's family." He saw the disappointment in her eyes. "It will be for a very short time, my love. And then you and I will be husband and wife."

"Three weeks?" she asked.

"One."

She brightened. "But the banns?"

He gave her a self-assured smile. "I will purchase a special license for us. My stepmother, the duchess, has made arrangements. There is no need to wait."

Blair nodded. "How kind of her." And then she remembered what he had mentioned a moment ago. "You have had a bedroom furnished for me?"

He took her hand and walked with her to the stairs. The staircase was long and winding, and she ran her gloved hand over the mahogany banister. At the top step, he gestured towards the wooden doorway carved with an intricate curving pattern. "There's the bedroom of the lady of the house."

"And where is the lord's?" she asked, with a teasing glint in her eye. "I would expect to use it more."

She leaned forward for a kiss, and he answered it with a peck on her cheek. Blair bit her lip when he quickly pulled away. Chuck cleared his throat. "I must pay a visit to my father, Blair."

"And what of me, my lord? Do you wish for me to go with you now? After all, you will deposit me into his household."

He shook his head, then pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I will present you tonight at dinner, to my parents and my sister."

She gasped. "I am to meet your family tonight, my lord?" She looked frantically towards where her baggage was being carried into the house. "I have no suitable garments." They had left Paris in such rush that she had no time to take her beautiful gowns, and only had clothes she had bought from Tuscany. In their little villa, which was a world all their own, it never mattered that her gowns were not as fine as the ones she possessed in France.

He pulled her with him towards the bedroom, and pushed the door open. Blair gaped at the sight he revealed, of three women puttering around the bedroom, surrounded by riding habits, traveling suits, evening gowns, day dresses, boxes and boxes from the milliners and rows and rows of shoes. "Chuck!" she gasped. She ran to the center of the room and picked up a pair of satin gloves. She raised the accessory to her cheek, then smiled up at her fiancé. "This is… stunning. This is wonderful." She ran back to him and threw her arms around his neck. "All for me?"

"Everything for you," he murmured. Chuck nodded at the woman who stepped into the room, who Blair had not seen yet. "I have another gift for you."

"It cannot be better than a whole new wardrobe, my lord."

Chuck gestured towards the woman behind Blair. Slowly, she turned around, then squealed at the sight. "My Dorota!" she cried out. Blair rushed over to her maid and gave her a warm embrace. "Sweet Dorota, how I have missed you."

"There, there, Lady Blair. No crying now," the maid admonished in her stilted accent. Dorota gave Chuck a brief smile. "You leave now, Lord Hartington. I take care of my lady."

"Blair," Chuck called out softly. She turned around. "I need to leave now. Dorota has been here for about a week, and is familiar with the house."

"What time will you be home?"

It was the first time he had been asked the question, despite having lived with Lilly and his father for the period that his own house was constructed. Chuck was taken aback, and his first intention was to ask if she truly needed to know. "Very soon," he answered. "I wish to see you as soon as possible. Mayhap we can explore your new closet together."

Her eyes brightened at the prospect of spending more time with him. "I would like that, my lord."

Chuck was satisfied at the sight of his beautiful bride surrounded by all the fine things he could buy for her. He dared anyone who doubted whether he could make a bride happy to see her now, with her sparkling eyes and eager hands. He could, and would shower her, with tenfold the treasure she had in Paris. It would be an easy feat entirely, and she would always be happy with him in London.

Tonight, he would give her the Medici necklace and bracelet, which he had bought from the jeweler the day after he had watched her admire them, and she would look divine, perfectly fitting to be called the next duchess. "Wear the red silk dress."

"I have no—" He nodded back towards the bed, and Dorota lifted the cover off a box at the top. "Chuck, it's exquisite."

He took her hand. "Did I not tell you, Blair? You will be happy here." Chuck brushed a kiss on her knuckles. "I will return for you tonight."

~o~o~o~o~o~

"Father," he said, once he set foot in Bartholomew's library. He waited for a moment, but the duke did not look up at him. Instead, the duke raised a hand in a gesture to wait. Chuck gritted his jaw, knowing full well that Jasper had announced his presence to the duke even as Chuck made his way to the study. The action set the atmosphere of the conversation, and Chuck knew at once that Bartholomew was not going to be in a jovial mood.

Chuck walked towards the small bar set up at the end of the room, and poured himself a scotch. When finally, Bartholomew deigned to look at his son, he asked, "One for me." Chuck poured a glass for the duke and walked back to the table to hand him the glass. "You are looking no worse for wear," the duke commented. "From Mr Humphrey's news when he returned, Lilly had feared you were in ill health."

"I healed," Chuck informed his father.

"Then we shall thank our lucky stars you bothered to come home. I hear you have turned Parisian society upside down."

Chuck smirked. "Are we truly going to skirt around the elephant in the room?"

"So you do not wish to exchange pleasantries, Charles?" Bartholomew asked, with an edge sharpening in his voice. "And here I am cautious not to speak so strongly. Your stepmother does not like it when I speak to you as I should."

"Her grace is not here. You are free to speak, father, and so am I."

The duke nodded, and walked around to the front of the table. Chuck recognized the move as one he did to remove the barricade, so the opposing party in a debate, or a deal, would feel that there is a decent flow of opinions but at the same time to impose authority on the other as well. Bartholomew Bass proved to be an overwhelming figure like this. Charles prepared himself for an encounter.

"Then I wish to start with an explanation from you regarding this mess you have created between our family and the Archibalds."

"Acceptable," Chuck decided. "I wanted to ask you about your decision on that as well. Serena, father? Surely there are better families for my sister."

"She would have a better crop to choose from if you had not created such a scandal. Really, Charles, your best friend's fiancé?" Chuck bristled at the patronizing tone the duke used. "Do you really intend on trading a half decade of fast friendship with Nathaniel for a passing fancy?" Bartholomew's voice dropped. "You will not be trapped into a marriage because of a simple mistake, son."

Chuck smiled grimly. "What is it you propose, father?"

"Charles, I am well aware that you are a hot blooded young man." Bartholomew sipped his scotch. "I can accept that the situation overwhelmed you. But you are back in London now, and your options are before you. Lilly and I can manage the scandal, Charles. It will not touch you."

"This is what you and my stepmother propose? I had written to her to make arrangements for my wedding."

"I had hopes that we can change your mind. We can still salvage your relationship with the Archibald family," Bartholomew shared. "And your sister need not go through a hasty wedding to Nathaniel."

Chuck's eyes narrowed. "I can guess at your proposal, father, but without you saying the words, I will not believe you would dare."

The duke met Chuck's gaze with a stubborn one of his own. "The proposal is simple, Charles. Let us undo your mistake. We return the Waldorf girl to Nathaniel. Your friend is satisfied that you had done your part, and your stepsister goes free to flitter around parties during her debutante Season."

Chuck grew cold at the prospect, so mechanically and simply worded, that he heard from his father. He placed down his drink heavily on the table. "A favor, your grace?" Bartholomew nodded once, to allow his son to continue. "I would rather you never again refer to my bride as a mistake," Chuck said softly.

"You are a child, Charles," the duke spat out.

"I was no child when you shipped me off to America when I became too much for you to control. Trust me, father, I am no child in this. I am a grown man who can make his own choices."

"You are a child. You know nothing of this girl and her family save from what you know from Nathaniel." The duke paused. "You are a marquis, the next duke. Certain responsibilities come with the same luxuries you enjoy. Charles, you cannot do everything you want without consulting me. That is what being a grown man is at your station."

Chuck's brows furrowed in confusion. His father was red with rage, and the duke never became so involved with Chuck's escapades. Even when Chuck was being sent to America for his scandalous blunders, Bartholomew Bass had handled the situation coolly, systematically. "What is all this, father?" he asked carefully. "I need to know."

Bartholomew sighed, then massaged his temples. "Marriage is not a simple thing to us, Charles."

"I know. But, father, you can find no more perfect match here in England. She has a name of her own, her own income." But all these, Bartholomew already knew. "I have no need to tell you this, and I have no wish to discuss this further. I am taking Lady Blair to your dinner table. Tell me now, your grace. Will you respect my choice, and treat my bride with courtesy, or shall I make arrangements of my own outside your home?"

Bartholomew sighed, then shook his head. "My family is always polite."

Chuck turned to leave. Before he opened the door, he reminded his father, "This was not a mistake, father. I hope you understand that."

tbc