VI. Etiquette

The next morning, Blair did not think she had ever looked worse. Her face was reminiscent of sour milk and dark shadows hung under her eyes. In between crying and drifting asleep, Blair was tortured with the continuous nightmare of her and Chuck naked and entwined together as flames consumed their bodies and their flesh blackened and charred; ecstasy and pain in one.

She tried to push back the image of Chuck's hands on her body and his mouth on her lips and neck, but it was virtually impossible. She dreaded seeing him and briefly wondered whether it was worth compromising herself just to live in luxury for the rest of her life.

After splashing her face with chilled water and dressing in a sober black dress with a v-neck cut and lace around the edge, she went over to Ruby's room to awake her. However, Vanessa accosted her in the hallway.

"Mr. Bass wants to see you in the breakfast room," Vanessa dully said.

Blair stiffened.

"Mr. Bart Bass, that is."

"Thank-you, Vanessa. Do you know what he wants?"

For an instant, Blair saw the smallest of smirks cross Vanessa's face. "I have no idea. I will see to Ruby."

Blair blandly nodded and made her way to the breakfast room. This was the first time she was to meet Bart Bass since her employment commenced and she feared what he wanted to see her about.

Had Chuck told him about their decidedly sordid encounters and Bart was planning to fire her? Was she about to be disgraced and have all her dreams destroyed?

Blair swallowed and composed herself. If that indeed was to be the case, Blair was not planning to be a simpering, blubbering ninny. She smartly rapped on the door.

"Come in," came the perfectly modulated voice of Bart that betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

Blair said a silent prayer and pushed the door open. She found Bart standing at the head of the breakfast table with one arm holding onto the back of the chair and the other in his pants pocket. Bart's stance reminded Blair of an eighteenth century autocratic Prussian emperor. His face was like looking into a winter chill. If his son was all fire, then Bart was surely ice with his grey-blue eyes, razor sharp features and closely cropped white hair.

"You asked to see me, sir?"

"Please sit, Miss Waldorf," said Bart, gesturing to the chair next to him.

Blair gracefully lowered herself into the chair while Bart continued to stand over her.

"Now, Miss Waldorf, I have just been informed of some rather unusual activities committed by you."

Blair's cheeks became hot. "What do you mean by 'unusual'?"

Bart coolly raised an eyebrow. "Why, your liaison with Nathaniel Archibald. Miss Abrams informed me of it last night. She thought it decidedly improper for the governess to diddle with someone above her station."

"I haven't done anything improper. My association with Mr. Archibald has not gone beyond one dinner which he himself initiated."

"Ah."

"And besides, it is none of your business to whom I decide to attach myself to," said Blair defiantly.

Bart smirked. "Really?"

"Yes. I haven't compromised myself. You don't need to worry about me sullying your family name."

"Is that so?" he malevolently breathed.

Blair did not like the rather unpleasant expression on Bart's features that was like a hunter reigning in his prey to make the final kill.

"Did you know my son left again at first light?" Bart asked, abruptly changing the topic. Suspicion filled Blair at Bart's suddenly neutral tone.

He was up to something.

"No, I didn't," replied Blair with equal nonchalance.

"He seemed not up to his usual spirits," continued Bart, his blue eyes piercing hers. "He was most eager to head up to Rhode Island to close a new deal for me."

"And why does your son's odd behaviour concern me?"

"Because of what else Miss Abrams deigned to divulge."

Blair involuntarily took a sharp intake of breath. "Sir?"

Bart did not bat an eyelid. "She told me you're fucking my son."

All colour drained from Blair's face. "That's vicious slander."

"Is it?"

"Yes. I haven't—as you so boldly stated—'fucked' your son. You can ask him yourself."

"You needn't be so prudish—I'm not judging you, Miss Waldorf. All I ask that if you are indeed spreading your legs for my son, please act with discretion. I hardly want my granddaughter to witness loose behaviour from a woman or have to fund a Bass bastard's education."

Blair nearly choked. "Pardon?"

Bart pulled a chair in front of Blair. "Miss Waldorf, my son has had few joys—if any—in his barren marital life, so I hardly begrudge him seeking pleasure in more attractive, pleasing female companions. However, I must insist that you behave discretely and do not flaunt his favour—especially in front of Penelope who will not be around us for too much longer, thank Christ."

Blair was not sure whether she was more shocked at Bart's blunt disregard for sexual morality and his daughter-in-law, or more humiliated that Bart thought she was a whore bedding his son.

"Also, if you do become with child, I'll have no hesitation tossing you out onto the street without a dime to your name and spread the rumour that the baby is Nathaniel's. My son will hardly protest."

Before Blair could reply, Dan and Vanessa bustled in with Bart's breakfast. Blair did not miss Vanessa's satisfied look, and knew that Vanessa was hoping that Bart would reprimand her.

"You can go now, Miss Waldorf," said Bart, as if he was bored by the mere sight of her.

Blair flushed and rose to leave. She did not want to see Vanessa's smug look. Yet, before she turned the doorknob, Bart drawled with obvious relish: "You have done great progress with my granddaughter, by the way, Miss Waldorf. Keep up the good work."

"Thank-you, sir," answered a very surprised Blair, and was secretly delighted by Vanessa's flabbergasted expression.

Nate came visiting at four pm. He courteously kissed her cheek and expressed appropriate—and feigned—disappointment that Chuck was not able to join them.

"You look unwell, Blair. Are you ill?"

Blair forced a smile. She could not exactly inform Nate that the reason she was haggard was because she had been fretting over whether Chuck would divulge their 'bargain' to Nate. "Nothing. I'm just weary."

His brow creased in concern, and he said softly, "Well, somehow I think that you won't have to continue this life of servitude forever."

Blair's heart jumped. Was he insinuating what she thought he was? Marriage? She feigned modesty and tilted her head down so she could coyly look up at him through her long eyelashes. "Oh Nate…I wish…"

Nate captured her hands in his, his eyes intense. "What do you wish?" he whispered.

"I wish—"

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" interrupted Bart, calmly striding into the room with a pile of papers and a glass of wine.

Nathaniel immediately dropped Blair's hands as if they were scalding. He shot up. "Mr. Bass."

"Nathaniel."

Blair wanted to castigate Bart at interrupting at such a crucial moment. If only he had come in a few minutes later…

"Sir," she said through stiff lips.

"Miss Waldorf."

Bart then proceeded to set himself down in the lounge chair, placed his feet on a sumptuous footstool, and started to peruse through his documents. "Don't mind me. I know you're both adults, but as to avoid any malicious gossip, I feel it's my duty to chaperone you."

"Mr. Bass, I hardly think that it's necessary for you to—"

"Nathaniel, the last time I checked, you're a visitor in my house. If you wish to continue your association with Miss Waldorf without me, then you must do it outside of my domain and outside of Miss Waldorf's working hours. I'm not going to pay Miss Waldorf just to enjoy your moon-eyed looks and lovelorn poetry when she's supposed to be working."

Nathaniel blanched at Bart's steely voice while Blair had never seen Nate lost for words until now.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Mr. Bass. I didn't mean…"

Bart's gaze was unnerving. "What did you mean then, Nathaniel?"

Nate flushed and he pulled at the neck of his shirt. "Don't worry."

"I'll hardly lose any sleep over you, Nathaniel."

Then Bart focused on his papers like Blair and Nate did not exist. Nate exchanged an embarrassed look with Blair. "I better go."

"I think that's a good idea, Nathaniel," drolly concurred Bart without raising his eyes.

To Blair, Nate now seemed like a truant schoolchild being chastised by a stern headmaster. She did not think she had observed a man so emasculated before.

"Good-bye, Nate."

"Bye, Blair," hurriedly returned Nate and without a second glance, departed.

Blair was left dumbstruck on the couch.

"I think it best if you get back to my granddaughter now and do what I'm paying you for—don't you?" asked Bart.

Blair pursed her lips and fought down the urge to retort. Instead, she said with artificial sweetness, "Of course, sir."

Blair then passed two weeks without seeing Chuck (who, she learnt from Ruby's old nursemaid, Dorota, was in Boston), though his absence did not abate her fears that he would seek to destroy her. She saw Nate sporadically over that period and received dozen of epistles from Nate that declared his undying love and other such trite sentiments. As much as she appreciated Nate's safeness and the fact that he was her meal ticket out of servitude, dissatisfaction silently lurked in the recesses of her heart and mind.

Much to her chagrin, Blair found herself missing the thrill of danger and uncertainty that occurred whenever Chuck walked into the room. She missed the way he drawled, "Miss Waldorf" as if her name was some sort of sensual, erotic notion. Neither could she forget the ragged way he gasped her Christian name as she straddled him those two weeks ago in the darkness of Lysander. But she simultaneously chided herself for thinking those lascivious thoughts when she full well knew that Chuck embodied all the vices she was taught to abhor and avoid and that he would only bring her ruin.

A couple of days later, Blair received an invitation from Nate to join him at an exclusive evening party at his residence where the cream of society was to gather.

Panic rose in her gut. She had no appropriate dress to wear that would not invite derision. She could hardly wear the same dress that she wore on their first evening at the Agora—though if Blair was honest, she could never ever wear that black gown again because it would be forever associated with the feverish embraces of her and Chuck that night in Lysander. If she wore it, she felt as if she would be garbing herself in sin. But she also did not have enough money to buy anything that would match the standards of the Upper East Side heiresses.

She delayed over replying to the invitation for two days, weighing up whether to accept or not. She had no idea what to do.

"Miss Blair, here is a package for you," said Dorota, interrupting Blair's train of thought.

"Oh. Right…thanks, Dorota," murmured Blair distractedly. "Do you know who it's from?"

"No, Miss Blair. Perhaps from Master Archibald?" Dorota suggested, winking.

Blair smiled. She was warming to Dorota who was a plump sixty-eight year old and treated Blair like she was her daughter. According to Dan (in one of the few conversations Blair ever had with him), Dorota had been the personal maid of Evelyn Bass since Evelyn was a teenage-age girl and had been instrumental in aiding Evelyn and Bart to elope before Evelyn's parents could put a stop to their union.

"Perhaps," replied Blair. Dorota, sensing Blair's desire for privacy, prudently left her alone.

The package was large and oblong. Blair unwrapped the pearl packaging to reveal a matching pearl box. Blair had a sinking feeling as to who the mystery package sender was. She lifted the lid and found a blood red gown made of silk, with a small folded piece of crisp white stationary.

Blair shakily opened the letter. It simply read:

My Persephone,

This dress will ensure your future and lure the rich bait right into your snare.

Blair was torn between gratitude (that she was supplied with a brilliant gown that would eclipse everyone else and thus avoid humiliation) and repulsion (that Chuck somehow thought he owned her and she was his little whore to dress-up).

Yet her pragmatism quickly overrode her outrage and she sent a message to Nate that she would attend his exclusive soiree.

The night of Nate's soiree quickly sped around, and Chuck had now been away for three weeks. Bart heard of her acceptance with no demur and insisted that she share his chauffeured Rolls to the Archibalds.

Blair was relieved that Nate met her at the entrance as Bart immediately abandoned her to join a cigar-smoking group of men out in the garden.

"You look resplendent, Blair," Nate whispered in her ear. "How did you afford that beautiful gown?"

"I scrimped and saved," lied Blair.

"You are a wonder," he said admiringly.

Blair affected modesty as Nate led her through the room to where Serena was giggling with a group of other beauties. Blair observed the whispers and barely disguised contempt directed at her. She heard people mutter 'upstart' and 'tart', but Blair did not cower. She merely lifted her head like she was a queen and tried to quash the sensation of inadequacy that threatened to surge through her.

Serena smiled widely in supposed welcome but Blair smelt her artifice a mile away as Serena pecked her on the cheek, and greeted her with: "I'm so happy you could make it, Blair. Nate has talked of nothing else!"

"As am I," said Blair politely.

The girl wearing a green dress and a hideous feather head piece who Nate identified as Isabel, tittered. "How did you afford such an item? You're a governess, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure whether you're aware, but the method with which I managed to purchase this dress is called saving. Unfortunately, I'm not blessed with a trust fund," curtly replied Blair.

"It's so quaint that you're giving an overworked governess an enjoyable treat out, Nate," cooed Serena. "You're always the noble knight in our little group."

"I'm hardly overworked. In fact, I would say that the Basses are the least—"

"Blair," warned Nate, "There's no need to be touchy."

Blair managed to disguise her shock at the fact that Nate was not supporting her. She saw his flushed face and realised he was embarrassed by Isabel and Serena's comments and wanted to hasten over the fact that he had brought a governess as his date. Blair's throat tightened.

"Why don't you get your little governess a drink? She seems flushed," said Isabel snidely.

Nate went even a brighter shade of red. "Come on, Blair. Would you like champagne?"

Blair was not able to respond before Nate practically dragged her away from Isabel and Serena. Humiliatingly, she found she could not articulate any words. Shame made her mute.

The room now seemed suffocating and constricting, and Blair felt as if she was slowly disintegrating under the harsh glare of the guests' mocking stares, pointed whispers and titters.

She had to get out.

"I'm just going to the bathroom," she muttered in Nate's ear. 'Where is it?"

"Up the stairs to your left," he answered, not able to disguise his relief.

It took all Blair's inner poise not to run up the stairs.

Once she was in the safety of the marble bathroom that she locked, Blair gripped the gold plated sink, and bowed her head as she took deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm herself and prevent an onslaught of tears.

She was humiliated that Nate did not even attempt to speak up on her behalf. He was no longer Lancelot. He was more like a flimsy paper knight that blew over at the first sight of turbulence. She should have known that someone like Nate could never withstand the contempt of his peers.

Why hadn't she thought of social disapproval? She had been so focused on ensnaring Nate that she had completely forgotten about social pressure. Then another thought assailed her: did Chuck know this all along? Was his promise to help her win Nate a perverse scheme to ultimately humiliate her because he knew Nate's family and friends would never accept a governess as the Archibald heir's wife? Was Bart sniggering behind his hand with his powerbroker friends?

Rage curled up in her—both at Chuck and at herself for even trusting the Lucifer prince. She should have known better. He probably only wanted to satisfy his own twisted desires by having her under his complete control and touch her anyway he liked.

Blair had no coherent idea on how to extricate herself from this mess. However, the only thing she could do now was to pretend that she did not care that Nate's party guests thought her little better than a jumped up tramp. She would have to formulate her future plans after this ordeal was over.

She took one more sharp intake of breath, checked that her make-up had not run askew, and then she prepared herself to endure the rest of the party.

As she made her way down the stairs, she could not find Nate in the crowd. She could not regard one friendly face in the crowd that would not mind being seen publicly talking to a governess. Only Serena in her gold dress stuck out in the crowd.

Blair steeled herself and walked up to Serena, Isabel, and a gaggle of other society butterflies as if she had no care in the world. "How are you, Serena?"

Serena's lip curled. "Don't talk to me. You may be a passing fancy of Nate's, but you have no standing with me. You're like a stray dog—or should I say bitch?—that Nate picked up off the street and will soon cast off. Pure pedigrees don't mate with homeless dogs."

Blair's tongue thickened in her mouth and her gut twisted sharply. She was about to snap back when she saw Serena's face whiten.

"Chuck!" gasped Serena.

Blair turned around. Chuck was indeed behind her. His face was grim and his eyes were hard. "You're the one to talk about pedigrees and rabble, Serena. Before you degrade my governess, you should look to your own family—I believe your mother is currently allowing my chauffeur, Rufus Humphrey, to merrily have his way with her, if the gossips are to be believed?"

"How dare you!" exclaimed Serena while her companions eyed each other uneasily.

Chuck smirked. "The truth is usually difficult, my dear Serena."

"I'm not going to listen to another word of this! Come on, ladies!" ordered Serena to her minions, who all immediately obeyed and departed Blair and Chuck.

Blair's chest heaved and she wanted to weep. She could not believe that Chuck of all people had defended her. She stumbled back but Chuck steadied her, sending an electric jolt through her.

"Come on, Miss Waldorf. Don't let everyone see your weakness," he murmured in her ear.

His words somehow imparted strength to her and she straightened herself up just as Bart joined them.

"Father, I think Miss Waldorf should return home. Will I escort her back?"

Bart's eyes coolly flickered to Blair. "I don't think so, Charles. Rufus is quite capable of delivering her safely home. Besides, I have need of you here, and you will share my car back."

Chuck inclined his head. "As you wish, father. I'll show her to the car."

Both Blair and Chuck missed the mere shimmer of brightness that graced Bart's eyes like a ray of sun peeking through murky grey clouds. "You do that, Charles."

Thank-you to all my lovely and amazing reviewers—you all have provided me with so much motivation and support! The next chapter will be some intense C/B-I promise!