Spotted: Mrs. Grimaldi out for a walk with the Duke of Constance. Careful, Little J. You know better than all what happens when a man and a woman are together alone sans supervision.
The pronunciation is butchered, but the demand for attention rings loud and clear in the older woman's ears. The little boy bangs his stick against the wooden wheel, chases the rolling toy down the slope of the path in front of him, and tries to keep the momentum going.
When he gets several paces in front of her, when the wheel falls pathetically at his feet, Blair offers a smile of pride and words of encouragement in their shared, secret language. Little Lord Aaron Rose beams at the praise, even if he not quite sure of the means of all the words his sister speaks. He picks up the hoop, releases the toy once again, and sets off on the chase.
"Miss Blair," Dorota cautions as a man steps out from behind a thicket of tall grasses along the path. Her words of caution do not come quickly enough for Blair to step off the path and avoid the oncoming confrontation.
"Mrs. Grimaldi," the man says with a bow. She returns his greeting with a curtsy, rises to meet his clear eyes with her dark ones. The blonde offers a smile, chuckles when the young boy by his side greets her with his own bow.
"Good afternoon," Blair replies with a shorter curtsy and an eyebrow quipped in surprise.
"Theodore Archibald," Nate informs her as he places his hand on the shoulder of blond boy. "My son."
The clarification of their relationship is unnecessary given the boy's appearance. The same blonde hair, the same eye color, and the same smile stand side by side. The young boy is taller than Aaron, clearly older than Blair's younger brother, and a wave of indignation crosses her face as she realizes how quickly the boy must have arrived after his parents' marriage to be this grown-up.
The wooden wheel rolls in the space between her and the carbon copies in front of her, stops only by the quick movements of Dorota. Aaron comes running past them in his quest to locate his hoop, stops only when Dorota's hand curls around the collar of his coat. Dorota yanks him backwards, gestures to those standing around him with an annoyed expression.
"Ouch!" Aaron cries, rubbing his hand over his neck as he comes to stand by his older sister. He greets Nate and Theo with a quick hello, ignores the sharp glare of his sister in displeasure over his manners.
"Wanna play with my hoop?" Aaron asks Theodore after introductions are made. Theodore looks to his father for permission, immediately begins chasing after the hoop when his father allows it with an agreeable nod and a ruffle of his son's hair.
"It is nice to have you back in town," Nate says as he and Blair begin walking down the path after Theo and Aaron with a cautious Dorota in tow. "We have missed you."
"Have you?" Blair asks with a view dripping in disbelief. Nate misses the tone, though, and keeps moving forward with his niceties.
"Life isn't the same without you around. Remember when we were children?"
There is another question Blair wants to ask, a question that hangs from the tip of her tongue. She wants to know what changed between them, wants to know if he remembers when they were going to marry. But she holds her tongue as Nate continues to muse about days long gone, about the exploits of Nate, Serena, Chuck, and Blair before they were separated by age and gender, by what they should and could be.
Serena and Chuck rebelled in their own ways, in tattered reputations and poor decisions. Nate and Blair, however, dove headlong into the lives their parents planned for them until Nate derailed it all, throwing her into a path leading to nothing but social ruin.
"And now?" Nate says, interrupting Blair's revere. "I don't think I've seen Chuck in the last five years as much as I have since you arrived."
Blair pauses mid-step, looks at Nate curiously as the words sink in. Chuck and Nate had been the best of friends, completely inseparable from one another even as their lives diverged in those formidable years.
"He hasn't said a word to me," Nate explains cautiously. He drops his voice, darts his eyes about to see who might be listening. "Not since the night where I found him and—"
"Miss Blair," Dorota interrupts upon seeing the uneasiness flicker across her employer's face. Blair curtly dismisses the maid, turns her attention back to the man standing in front of her.
"He was so angry. I don't think he has for—"
The shouting cries of Theodore and Aaron interrupt their conversation again, and Nate takes the interruption as a reminder that he must return home with his son. He mentions having a dinner with the four members of their childhood club before ducking away and heading in the opposite direction of Aaron and Blair.
Her fingers roam across the keys; her mind choosing a piece without conscious direction. Years of tutelage under masters of musical performance, of being told to sit up straighter and practice harder crammed so many pieces into her head that normally she can play a piece from beginning to end with little concentration. And yet all she can manage today is to drift from one piece to another, creating a restless, disjointed melody to match her mood. Taking Aaron on a walk through the park with Dorota serving as companion and chaperon was meant to distract her, meant to lend order and structure to her day.
And for a period of time her efforts had been successful.
She enjoyed watching Aaron play with his simplistic toy, enjoyed conversing and praising him in French. Nevertheless, the run in with Nate had colored the experience, soured it so badly that she spent the remainder of the walk and the hours since analyzing his words over and over again.
Despite their different stations in life, Mister Bass and the future Duke of Constance had been inseparable. The two were in many ways better friends than the former Miss Waldorf and Lady van der Woodsen, and the knowledge that Chuck has barely spoken to Nate in the last five years confounds her.
. She could not help but see Nate in a different light after his hasty marriage to Jenny Humphrey. The bitter disappointment of losing everything she thought she would be had not dissipated in the years since. But Nate being the one who discovered Blair and Chuck at the masquerade ball with the bodice of her dress puddled around her hips had been a blessing in disguise.
Having almost fallen victim to the games played by women like Jenny Humphrey, a gentlemen such as the Duke of Constance would be sympathetic to her plight, would understand how easy it would be fall victim to the games played by men like Chuck Bass. And Blair knows that is why Nate hushed up the incident, protecting her reputation until she was safely married to a reputable man
But then for Nate to say that Chuck had been angry, for Nate to place the blame for their fractured friendship solely on Chuck's shoulders muddles her thoughts and understanding of the situation. Of course, she expected Chuck to be angry over the interruption, over the prevention of him being able to take things further, but she never expected—
Her fingers slam against the keys in her distraction, slam against the keys to create a cringe worthy sound. She grits her teeth, forces herself to relax and draw in a deep breath. She moves her hands back into place, determinedly lays her fingers again the keys in preparation of playing again, and closes her eyes as she waits for the notes to come.
"And to think Master Gellert said you were the most promising pupil he has ever had the pleasure of teaching."
Her lips dip into a frown, and she does not need to open her eyes to know who the voice beckoning from the open French doors belongs to. His words are meant in jest, meant to remind her of bygone days. Or maybe, a voice deep inside her suggests, meant to wound.
She contains herself, raises her chain against him in a rejection of his words. Master Gellert said nothing of the sort. He described her as dedicated, diligent but never, ever promising. That word was attached to Master Gellert's laziest pupil, to the one who refused to practice yet seemed to have an innate gift for music.
"That was you," she replies. Her voice is firm, tainted with a hint of annoyance.
Blair lifts her fingers from the keys, gives up on the idea of music being the thing to soothe her restlessness. She remains seated on the bench, refuses to stand and greet him least he take her actions as the proper hostess as an invitation to stay. And yet he takes her seated presence as invitation enough.
Chuck comes to sit on the bench beside her, sits next to her despite the narrow length of the bench and the impropriety of their closeness. His leg brushes against hers, and she would be unsurprised to learn he did it on purpose.
His fingers replaces hers on the keys, begin to flow across the keys in the creation of hauntingly uncertain music. She watches his long fingers, watches the way they move and flex and press so masterfully against the keys. The music grows more eloquent, insistently draws her in as the song he plays changes from one she recognizes to one she does not.
Blair raises her head, sweeps her eyes from his fingers to his features. His expression is unreadable, and her frown deepens over the fact as Nate's earlier words come rushing back to her.
"Why aren't you talking to Nate?"
This time it is his fingers that slam against the keys, his fingers that create an ugly noise. Chuck turns to look at her, presses his leg against hers as he shifts on the bench beside her. His voice constricts in jealousy as he questions the familiar way she refers to the Duke. Blair ignores the tone, ignores it in the same way he chooses to ignore the fact that the four of them were childhood friends or that she and Nate had been betrothed from the time they were small children in the nursery.
"Nate said you've barely spoken two words to him since…"
She trails off uncomfortably, shifts her gaze from his face to where her hands have begun to fidget in her lap. Their knees bump through the fabric of her dress as he leans closer to her, as he breathes his words directly into her face.
"Since he walked in on us making love," Chuck fills in for her in a low voice.
Her eyes immediately flash about to make sure they are in fact alone. Her cheeks color even as her anger bubbles, as her eyes narrow and she begins to reject his application of such a term to what they had been engaged in.
"We were not making—"
"We were," Chuck interrupts firmly, tipping her head with his fingers so she has no choice but to look at him. His thumb strokes her jawline, strokes it so tenderly that she closes her eyes at the sensation. "And you know it."
Her voice catches in her throat and she finds herself unable to repeat her earlier question as Chuck traces her jawline once again. She shivers at the sensation, fights it as she forces herself to open her eyes and steady them on his. And then she shivers again at his beseeching gaze, at the depth that yanks and pulls and drags her under.
Blair raises a hand and watches curiously to see if he will flinch away, to see if he will reach out and stop her. When he does not, when he holds steady, she reaches out and touches his cheek.
He rocks at the sensation, at the intimacy of her soft fingers tracing the outline of his cheek bone. Her breath catches, her eyes widen, and she wonders how she became a woman so possessed as her fingers pass over his cheek to reach one corner of his lips. Chuck moves his head just enough to brush a kiss across her fingertip.
She shivers from the burning sensation, shivers from the warmth traveling up her fingers. She feels practically feverish, and her fingers begin to slip away from his lips in order to escape the heat. Her efforts fail, however, when Chuck's runs his thumb across the smooth curve of her jaw and cups her chin his palm.
He leans in, smiles twistedly when her eyelids immediately fall, and hears a different kind of melody when he lowers his lips to hers. She hesitates for an instant before she kisses him back, and he waits just one more beat before demanding more. Sliding his fingers further, sliding his fingers to rest at the nape of her neck, he raises his other hand and holds her face as they meet and move in a compelling rhythm.
Chuck's tongue invades her mouth with the arrogance of a conqueror claiming the spoils of war, and Blair finds herself drawn into a game she does not understand. Yet the slide of lips against lips, the glide of hot tongue against hot tongue makes her more than willing to play.
"Mon!"
A small voice shouts and the pair breaks away at the intrusion. Blair flushes with shame, flushes as her eyes dart to spy Aaron standing with his hands on his hips and a deep scowl on his lips. The little boy nearly pushes Chuck away as he clambers into his sister's lap and, in fact, Chuck is forced to slide off the bench and stand.
Normally, Blair would correct Aaron's rude behavior, force him apologize for his actions. Grateful for the excuse to put distance between her and Chuck, however, she assists Aaron as he climbs into her lap and pulls the little boy closer to her chest.
"Aaron, say hello to Mister Bass."
The little boy scowls, drapes his legs territorially over his sister's lap, and crosses his arms. His nursemaid and one of the parlor maids were gossiping about his sister as they watched him play, discussing how Blair would be leaving him once Mother found her another man to marry. He did not quite understand what they were saying, but the idea of her leaving was distressing. Even more so for Aaron after overhearing his nursemaid say Blair would no longer play with him after she moved away.
He made his escape to find his sister, laid claim to her when he found her alone with Chuck, and it falls on Blair to goad him into saying hello. She brushes her lips across and then presses her cheek to his bald head when he complies with her demand.
"Hello," Aaron greets before popping his thumb into his mouth. Chuck greets the little boy in turn with a bow, acts with more propriety and decorum around a four-year-old than he does members of the Ton.
"What were you doing?" Aaron questions as his eyes dart from Blair to Chuck and back again. Blair freezes in panic because not even she knows the answer and her eyes frantically dart to Chuck for assistance in answering the question.
They are saved, however, by the appearance of Blair's stepfather. Cyrus greets each of them in turn, begins by offering Chuck an apology for keeping him waiting and ends by asking Aaron if he is bothering his sister. Blair interjects, promises Cyrus that she enjoys having the little boy about.
"And what about you, Mister Bass?" Cyrus asks. His twinkling eyes flit from Blair to his business partner, and a teasing smile graces his lips. "Do you enjoy entertaining both Blair and my son in my absence?"
For a brief moment, the questions hang in the air answered before Cyrus sweeps them away as rhetorical in nature. He invites Chuck to join him in his study and then lifts his son off of Blair's lap, sends the little boy off to find his nursemaid before informing Blair that Lady Serena van der Woodsen is waiting for an audience with Blair in her private sitting room.
"I ran into Nathaniel Archibald in the park today while I was out with Aaron," Blair informs Serena offhandedly. She raises her cup of tea to her lips, takes a small sip before moving forward with the conversation. "He mentioned having a dinner party with the four of us – you, me, His Grace, and Mister Bass."
"Chuck?" Serena asks. Her noise wrinkles at the suggestion not in disgust but rather in surprise. The idea of Blair suggesting such a party would be more conceivable than someone who has been in the thick of things for the last five years. "I doubt he will come. It's not like he spends time with Nate anymore."
Blair tries to play off the information, but her curiosity is peaked yet again as the words ring similar to those spoken to her by Nate earlier in the day. She raises an eyebrow in question, presses Serena for information in such a way that the blonde fails to pick up on her desperate need to further clarification.
"According to Nate, they have not spent time together since he disappeared right before your wedding."
"Do you—" Blair hesitates, fights the panic welling up in her chest. "Do you know what happened between them?"
"No," Serena replies with the shake of her head sadly. "Nate wouldn't say. Just that Chuck was really angry with him over something that happened at the masquerade ball."
"Hmm," Blair replies in the most disinterested voice she can muster. She lifts the teapot and refills her and Serena's empty teacups as she changes the topic of discussion. "Have you given any more thought to what I said?"
"I am not ending my relationship with Dan," Serena replies cuttingly as she accepts the refilled teacup Blair offers her. "He's a good man. He –"
"Works for the Spectator," Blair replies. "He does not own the business. He works for it."
"He is a writer," Serena corrects. "The Spectator just pays for his bills until he can source a publisher for his novel."
"A novelist?" Blair questions derisively as though the occupation is worse than journalist. "And how do you suppose he is going to support you? Mooch off his sister for the rest of his life?"
Blair's investigative work had uncovered that Mister Daniel Humphrey and his father, Rufus, had moved in with the former Miss Humphrey following her advantageous match. The magnificent house in town and the vast estate Blair once thought she would be mistress of are now blighted by an infestation of Humphreys.
"Does it matter?" Serena questions. "The way he looks at me – I don't need all of this. I don't want to be Lady Serena van der Woodsen anymore."
"But you are," Blair interjects. "You're perfect and beautiful and—"
"Unhappy," Serena replies frankly. "Unless I am with him, I am unhappy. Do I not deserve to have the same happiness you had with the Ambassador?"
No, Blair wants to say. Because that brand of happiness comes with crushing loneliness and bitter disappointment, with loss and longing.
"What you deserve is the finest jewels, the newest fashions from Paris, and a magnificent estate to command," Blair replies. "But happiness for women such as us does not appear to be our fates."