AN: One callout for this part. The Marcus and Emma portion here was inspired as a response to delphin4ik's comment.

Part 24

Vanessa had fallen asleep inside the hackney after her long day working. Nathaniel looked down at her when they arrived at the Pembroke country home the next morning. She appeared exhausted, and it could not be comfortable sleeping inside a moving hackney. The hackney finally stopped at the gate, and Nathaniel shook Vanessa awake.

"Good morning," he greeted with her smile.

She blinked up at him, then flushed when she realized she had been sleeping on his shoulder. Her hand flew to her mouth as she consciously checked for moisture, which tended to seep when she was tired. The day before had been stressful at the pub, and it did not help that she had stayed up the whole night before fixing the leak on her ceiling.

"We are at Pembroke manor," he announced. "Thank you for coming."

Vanessa's flush turned a deeper red, and she wondered how it was that Nathaniel still seemed to have no clue of her feelings when she blushed so readily with him. "If this is what you want me to do my lord, I will do it."

She allowed Nathaniel to help him out of the hackney, and released all her breath when he held her by her arms as he lifted her out. For a brief moment, he held her close to his chest. She saw the flicker in his eyes, and took the chance that she had repeatedly urged Daniel to do. If she could encourage others, then it would be best if she took her own advice.

She took a deep breath for courage, then laid her lips on his for a swift kiss. He responded, and for those moments, it was heaven. And then as swiftly as it started, he ended the kiss.

"Vanessa," he said, his brows furrowed. "I am engaged."

"To Miss van der Woodsen," Vanessa provided. "I know this, but I know other things as well."

"I cannot begin anything with you."

She stepped back and declared her frustration. "You take me here and tell me to trust you. What is it you want from me? For once in your life Nathaniel, be honest. I come running to you every time. I do not understand what you want."

"I thought it was clear," Nathaniel argued. "I did tell you, so I am certain you could not have misunderstood. I need you to take care of Lady Blair, like you did me."

Vanessa set her jaw, her eyes now brimming with tears at his rejection. "Fine. Take me to Lady Blair. All the world revolves around her, why not I as well."

"Vanessa, you and I—"

She held up her hand. "From your stabbing, to Lord Charles' betrayal, even to Daniel Humphrey's bum leg—all because of this woman I have always heard of but have never seen. And now here I am, in the country, to be a nursemaid when I had no real desire to."

"I asked if you wanted to help, and you agreed." She closed her eyes and turned her face away.

I know. "Wait," he said. "Did you think this meant more?"

"I do not know what to think," she said curtly.

He grabbed her arm, and she was quite certain he had never grabbed the arm of Lady Blair, or Miss van der Woodsen. "Vanessa, you could not have thought it. My world…"

"Stop throwing that in my face," she hissed. "When you were in my home recuperating, how you freely looked at my body as if I had no right to shame." He started to protest, but she interrupted him. "I saw you. And when you took me with you, it was to a mistress' townhouse that we went to. All those balls that Daniel Humphrey could attend, I had never been. Always you slap me with reminders of how I am not from your world, and I am tired of it."

Nathaniel watched as she crumbled in front of him. She had saved his life, and all along, he had set her aside and ignored any sign of hope from her. And now, seeing her weep for the first time, his heart went out to her.

"I have never thought you beneath me," Nathaniel told her.

"A girl cannot help but think, my lord," she sobbed. "You have taken me from London to be your former fiance's maid," she spat the word, "and I say yes. I say yes every time that it has now turned pathetic." She looked up at him with her teary eyes. "Next you would ask me to hem Miss van der Woodsen's bridal gown and still I would say yes, because it was you that asked."

He laid his palm on her cheek. "Vanessa, I had no idea."

"I swear, Lord Nathaniel, you are slow in the head at times," she said laughingly through her tears.

"I do not care about the money," he told her. "But my parents, Vanessa, are not used to a life of poverty. I cannot abandon their happiness." Even to his ears, she supposed that his words sounded hollow.

"You keep watching for their joy, but who is watching after yours?" she asked.

Nathaniel took her hand and pulled her back towards the hackney. "Come."

"Where are we going?" she gasped breathlessly as they broke into a run.

"Gretna Green!" he exclaimed.

Her eyes widened, and her feet picked up. "Wait. What about Lady Blair?" she yelled into the wind, concerned, yet happy to be fleeing.

Nathaniel smirked, then flagged the hired hackney back. He lifted her up into the vehicle. "Let Chuck take care of it. I have my own life to live," he said, unconcerned about his friend. "He has already taken the girl who was supposed to be my wife. I think I have done him enough service for one lifetime." And then he raised Vanessa's hand to his lips. "Ms Abrams, will you marry a gentleman with an empty title and no money, to face a life with disapproving parents who will likely forever despise you? I shall endeavor to defend you at every turn, but there will always be those that will escape me."

Vanessa could not remove the large smile that now broke her face. "I will if you will marry a woman who will likely forever ask you to take a job." He wrinkled his nose at the thought, because the lords of the Archibald family never worked apart from keeping up the estate. "Lord Charles has businesses and investments. I know gentlemen work."

"As long as you will not make me work in the pub," he muttered. "And you cannot work in the pub either."

"We will die poor and hungry!" she mourned.

Nathaniel pulled her against him, and she laid her head on his shoulder, not unlike where she was when he woke her up. "I shall ask help from Chuck," he managed. It had always been a possibility, but he never took any of the possibilities that his friend offered. "He had told me about an investment he will make in America, and has mentioned that I can manage the operations from there."

Vanessa's eyes widened. "You will leave London society?"

He shrugged. "If it is the way to earn enough," he told her.

"That is a great sacrifice, my lord," she said, knowing how Nathaniel was the continent and old money personified. "Mr Archibald," she said, dropping the title to test it for America.

"From you, I need a sacrifice if you will become Mrs Archibald." She cocked her head. "You must stop working. You will be occupied making little Archibalds."

Vanessa laughed. "We shall see." The odd concept of the dandy working while she, the common woman, sat at home and hearth barefoot and pregnant was one thing she had not considered. And despite the fact that it sat ill with her to allow it, she found it a tad tempting to observe. "We shall see if you are any good at work. And if we find that you are draining Lord Charles' capital with ineptness, I shall take the wheel but you can be the masthead. You shall make a pretty masthead, Mr Archibald."

~o~o~o~o~o~

"Darling," Lady Catherine greeted. She raised her hand, and Marcus gave her stepmother a slight smile ad kissed her knuckles. "And little Emma, no longer little. Such a young woman now." She kissed Emma's cheeks. "Very soon, Emma, you will be the toast of the ton, an original."

Emma blushed. "I cannot wait, my lady!"

Lady Catherine patted her cheek. "The gentlemen will fight over you. We just need to put more meat on your bones." Her gaze fell to Emma's chest. "Wait, tell me again, Emma, how old are you now?"

"Fifteen."

"Oh." Catherine's face fell, and then she brightened. "I am certain you will blossom by next year."

Emma threw a worried look at her uncle. Marcus cleared his throat. "My lady, we are here for the gathering."

"Oh of course, of course." Catherine led the way to the living area and threw open the door to reveal several older lords and ladies from the ton milling about. "Here they are," she announced. "Lord Pembroke and Lady Emma Beaton."

Marcus looked around in confusion as he noted none of his generation present, or at least any of his brother's old friends. "Your friends, my lady?" he inquired.

"Yes. They have come to share my grief in remembering your dear brother."

The earl placed a hand on Emma's shoulder. "None of these people have met John."

"Oh that is just silly," Catherine told him. She pointed to the pair of gentlemen swilling port by the fireplace. "There are Lord Adams and Baronet Schmidt. Their sons went to school with John, and they met him when John graduated." She then picked up a glass of wine, and gestured with it towards a group of women by the window. "And those are Lady Castlemaigne and her friends Mrs Roberts and Kitty Addison. They know everybody."

To Marcus, it sounded like another description for being busybodies.

"Here." She led them to a distinguished older lady. "Lady Danvers, you have met Marcus and Emma?"

Lady Danvers turned to the two and nodded. "Yes, yes! I saw this one," Lady Danvers nodded towards Emma, "when she was but a babe. We have not seen Lord Marcus for so long. Why do you not visit London anymore, my lord?"

"I am a country gentleman, my lady," Lord Marcus told her.

"Well, do not let this one turn into such a country girl. She needs some sophistication to be a good debutante. What will she learn from farmers and fishermen?"

"Oh." Emma stood up straighter, the way Beatrice had taught her. "My lady, I assure you I am getting a proper education from my teacher. She's from France," Emma claimed proudly.

"You speak French now?"

"Mais oui," she answered smoothly.

"Well," Lady Danvers said, impressed, "I am pleased your uncle is ensuring your education. I am certain your father would have been so proud."

Beside them stopped Lady Castlemaigne, who had picked up a plate of scones. She turned to Lady Danvers, and then squinted at Emma. "Is that young Emma Beaton?"

"Yes, my lady," Emma answered.

"Oh poor child!" Lady Castlemaigne took Emma in her arms and gave her an embrace. "To have lost your father so soon. And he was taken so young too."

And where Lady Castlemaigne went, so did Mrs Roberts and Kitty Addison. Mrs Roberts said, once Lady Castlemaigne released Emma. "Speaking of untimely deaths like that, did you hear the latest one? Mr Cooper, that gentleman banker who arrived from Pennsylvania a week ago. Shot dead at the docks two days ago."

"Oh! They say he left Miss Dandridge pregnant," Kitty shared.

Emma's eyes widened. Marcus turned to his niece and advised, "Go on to your room, Emma. The day grows late."

Obediently, Emma curtsied and hurried away.

"And did you hear about Lord Liam Abbott's fatal accident?" Lady Castlemaigne asked.

Marcus found the conversation growing morbid, and so he was about to excuse himself. But then, the next words made him stop.

"It was a murder on the highway," Kitty added. "I do declare, too many people seem to perish there. Do you remember the tragic accident that claimed Lord Hartington's wife six months ago? Imagine being on your way to the country to have your carriage fall off into the water like that?"

"On the road to Hartington?" Marcus interrupted.

The women looked up at him with surprise, as if they had forgotten his presence. "Yes. Right after their wedding. For the life of me I cannot imagine why she was traveling without him so soon."

Mrs Roberts leaned closer, then dropped her voice. "Well my kitchen maid learned from a chambermaid in Lord Hartington's townhouse that apparently, the late marchioness was carrying and starting to show even before the wedding. And rumors abound about the illness starting as soon as the day they arrived in London."

Catherine sighed. "Well no one will ever know," Lady Castlemaigne said. "Thankfully for her, she avoided more scandal by flying off a cliff. If she had not, she would probably be giving birth right around now."

Marcus sucked in his breath.

"They said a piano arrived in Lord Hartington's home the day she died."

"Poor girl," Catherine commented. "If you think of it, she did not get to spend any time at all as Lord Charles' wife. John was earl for two years, was he not, Marcus? Still too short a time."

But Kitty Addison remained fascinated with her topic. With a grin, she told Catherine. "From what everyone said, the French girl spent enough time as Lord Hartington's wife while they were in Tuscany."

Beatrice.

Lord Charles' breathless exclamation, the way he was reluctant to look her in the eye, even the way he watched her. To Marcus it had seemed like an infatuation brought about by a reminder, but now, it seemed like the women around him were forcing puzzle pieces into place, when he did not even want to view the picture it presented.

E quand'io vi son presso, i' sento Amore, Lord Charles had said over the dinner table. When I am near you, I feel love. Marcus had understood and translated it for Beatrice.

Still, it was possible that it was all coincidence, and this was nothing but his brain playing tricks with him. Perhaps it was mere chance and Beatrice was someone else. He prayed for that, selfishly it seemed. If she were Lady Hartington, then her search would have ended and it seemed her husband still longed for her. If she were not, then perhaps, one day, she would give up the search and remain. For Emma.

"I need to see a portrait," he managed.

Lady Catherine looked at him askance. "Of your brother? In the hallway upstairs."

"No, my lady," he answered. "The marchioness of Hartington. I wish to see a portrait."

Catherine frowned, then shook her head. "Where will we find a portrait of Lady Blair?"

Marcus licked his lips, then said, "Give me the address of the marquis' townhouse."

~o~o~o~o~o~

Her entire body ached. That was the first sensation that she felt when she came into consciousness. She opened her eyes and her vision remained foggy and surreal. She drew a deep breath, then another. Slowly, her focus returned and she saw the figure sitting on a wooden rocking chair by the window.

Against the sunlight, it was a silhouette. The chair rocked and figure moved. She realized it was a man, and he was holding something close to his heart. And then she heard the soft voice singing. "I sent thee late a rosy wreath not so much honoring thee, as giving it hope that there it could not withered be."

And it was as if she was having a waking dream, that faceless man who made her heart jump at his presence, at the sound of his voice. He was here, right there a few yards away. Her hand fell on her stomach, and she noticed the lack. She sucked in her breath.

The audible gasp alerted him to her wakefulness and he stood. Her lips parted and her heart thundered. She was about to see his face. Once he stepped out of the light, she would see his face. She held her breath, because this was the moment when the dream ended and she woke remembering her heart rising for a faceless man.

The first that she noticed was the child that he held. Suddenly, she grew scared and panicked at the prospect, and she closed her eyes tightly, afraid that in this dream she would see him then lose him almost immediately by waking. This was by far the cruelest visitor to her sleep, because she felt the bed dip and she knew he was beside her.

"Open your eyes," he urged, and she thought he almost sounded like the man she kissed. "Meet your son."

Slowly, her eyes opened, and her lashes were wet with tears. She kept her eyes trained on the child, because in the dream, she was supposed to experience all that was amazing except for him. And when she looked at the face of the little human being that almost ripped her body apart, she could not help the tears from raining down her cheeks. With a stifled sob, she recognized those brows, the strong jaw. When her son opened his eyes, she drowned in those familiar narrow eyes.

"Chuck," she breathed.

"Yes?" he said, his throat tightened in watching Blair study their son. And then he realized what she had said, and he held his breath. Beatrice had only ever called him by his title, or Lord Charles.

She raised tearful eyes at him. "He looks like you, my lord."

And he had not once cried, not even in those mournful moments when he had thought her dead. Now, his nostrils flared at the effort to keep his tears at bay, in vain. "Blair?" he choked out, gazing down at her as she lay on the bed that had only hours before been soaked with her blood. His entire body trembled. He laid the child down beside her on the bed, then picked up her hand. When she smiled at him, it was as if his world stopped. He raised her hand to his lips, then breathed in deep.

She nuzzled her nose against her son's cheek. And then she looked up at Chuck and said, "Like butterfly wings." In response, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Help me sit. Hold the baby. I want to feed him."

"I have sent for a wet nurse," he told her in his hoarse voice. "You are too weak to let him suckle."

When she struggled to sit up on her own, he sighed and helped her. And then, he waited until she loosened the ribbons of her gown. He swallowed when she bared her shoulder and her breast, and he helped her guide their son's mouth. The baby latched onto the nipple fiercely, and Blair gasped at the initial pain.

And he watched, mesmerized, as his son fed from Blair. He whispered, "How?"

"I don't know faces, or names, but I remember feelings," she reminded him. "I remember the music. You've sung for me before. I cannot explain."

His throat worked, and she could see the veins throbbing in his temples as he squeezed his eyes shut. And then, he opened his eyes and looked up at her.

"I do not remember everything, my lord. Some things are clearer, and some are not."

"We will find a way," he vowed. "I will help you remember everything."

"I do not care. I remember you. I have two men who I will always love. That is all I will ever need," she said. And she raised her lips to meet his as their son fed.

"What shall we name him?"

"I want to call him Charles Bass," she said decisively. "This way it will be harder to forget two Charles Basses." She laughed softly at the light that she could make of it.

He smiled. "Lord Charlie. I like it. And I want to name him after your father too," he said quietly. It was one of those memories that he hoped she would never recover, how their fathers were connected in an extreme and painful past. Then again, he needed to start this life with a clean slate, secrets opened. "Your father was Harold Gregory Waldorf."

She nodded. "Lord Charles Gregory Bass, are you not full yet?" she whispered into the infant's ear, causing him to suckle more fiercely. She smiled and leaned back against the pillows. Finding the incline too low for the child to feed, she sat up again. Wordlessly, Chuck stood and placed two more pillows behind her, allowing her to lean back comfortably.

She was about to fall asleep when she felt him take the now sleeping child from her arms and gather her dress up to cover her breast. Blair smiled and murmured her thank you. Chuck placed the baby beside her on the bed.

"What if I crush him?" she protested sleepily.

"You will not," he assured her. "I will be watching." And then he took her hand and slipped on her missing ring. She bit her lip, recalling her nightmares of handing the very diamond to her dear companion. Dorota, she remembered now. Blair looked up at him and he slid the ring in place. "A promise is a promise," he told her.

"Je t'aime," she breathed as she sank slowly back into sleep.

tbc

AN: The name is also in honor of the sad childhood that Gregory had in Progeny. I think I should make it up to him.