Chapter II: A Night at the Opera
SPOTTED: Serena van der Woodsen, at the the Astors' ball, talking with Blair, smiling at Nate and dancing with everyone...
"Trust your daughter to wear royal blue to her first ball back in New York," said Eleanor Waldorf, not without a touch of admiration. She lifted the elegant silver teapot and poured out a graceful stream of hot liquid into a fine china cup.
Lady Serena's appearance had caused many disapproving stares the night before, and admiring glances in at least equal number. Most young debutantes restricted themselves to modest gowns in whites and pastels. Nor did they were much more than a string of pearls about their necks. Many stately matrons seemed to have taken Serena's brazenness as a personal affront, muttering belligerently behind their fans.
"I know," said the former Mrs van der Woodsen. Before that she been simply Miss Lillian Rhodes, and was now Mrs Bartholomew Bass. "She shall become the ruin of me. Thankfully my mother adores her."
The two women were seated in the drawing room of the Waldorfs' Upper East Side townhouse, sipping tea and nibbling small cakes. Close friends before Eleanor's marriage and Lily's first, the Waldorf household had been Lily and Serena's first morning call.
This establishment was still colloquially known as the Waldorfs', despite the well-known but unspoken fact that Harold Waldorf rarely, if ever, occupied it, and especially not during the social season. He preferred to remain with his hunting and fishing on their Hampton estate, or, a lesser known fact, in a quiet house in Paris with few for company.
"How is dear Cece?" asked Eleanor. Lily compressed a sigh. "Well, as ever. She's gone to the Hamptons for her health but I believe she means to return before the end of this season. Something tells me she's determined to see Serena married. Speaking of which, it seems you are to be congratulated. Blair is affianced to Nathaniel Archibald, I hear? They do make a handsome couple."
Eleanor smiled with a trace of smugness. "It was a complete surprise, of course. And a beneficial one. The Archibalds might not be quite in the realm of the Basses, but the Captain owns a yacht. Blair does adore sailing," she said smoothly, knowing full well that Blair refused point blank to set foot within a mile of a beach. "And there is the ring, of course."
"The ring," agreed Lily. "If only Serena would settle down. I feel I am powerless to stop her ruining her good name. Only Cece's influence saves her from total ruin, but her patience is growing thin. She has her eye on the Baizen boy for Serena, I believe, and I of all people know my mother has no scruples. If something stands in the way of her wish, she shall stop at nothing to eliminate it. "
"Carter Baizen is quite a catch, I believe," observed Eleanor. "Serena should think herself fortunate indeed if she receives a proposal from him."
"One would think so. But Serena is headstrong and quite wilful, I fear. I blame myself, of course..."
The two matrons allowed themselves a smile at the thought of their youth, the one virtuous, the other rather more adventurous, and then Lily spoke again.
"These cakes are quite delicious, Eleanor. Speaking of which, did you hear about the Buckley girl and the French cook?"
Downstairs in the parlour, Blair and Serena sat poised with delicate teacups and tiny, mouthful sized cakes. Blair cast a furtive glance at the chic cut of Serena's muslin gown. "I suppose you had all the latest fashions so close to Paris," she said enviously.
"Yes," answered Serena, although her mind seemed elsewhere. "I shall bring you some fashion plates tomorrow if you wish."
The conversation dwindled for a few moments, during which Blair sipped at her lukewarm tea in the way a young lady was supposed to do and Serena glanced around the room as if looking for a distraction. She bit her lip and then said suddenly, "There is something I must ask you, Blair."
Blair looked up, interested by the curious note in Serena's voice. "You know you can ask me anything, Serena," she said dutifully, although the words sounded hollow.
Serena took a deep breath and her saucer trembled. "Is it true that Nate Archibald proposed?"
Blair paused at the unexpectedly simple question."Yes," she answered, unable to hide the pride in her voice. "To me."
After all, all her childhood dreams were coming true.
She set her teacup down on the table nearby and straightened her left arm towards Serena, displaying the ring finger, and the gold band adorned with a generously sized - one might almost say ostentatious - diamond. "And I accepted."
"The Vanderbilt ring," said Serena. "It is certainly very shiny. Congratulations. Are we to meet Nate in Central Park this afternoon?"
"Yes. Isn't is scandalous, Serena? They say Central Park is famed for its secret trysts. One is sure to see a pickpocket there. I do believe -" Blair's excited words were interrupted by a knock on the door. A footman entered, bearing a tray in the precise centre of which was placed a folded note. "A letter for Miss Waldorf," he said, bowing extravagantly.
Blair unfolded the paper, pondering who might have written to her. Nate most likely, or Serena; but the latter was here and Nate would most likely come in person. In fact, Blair had never known him to pick up a pen.
Her curiosity growing, she quickly read the few words contained on the page.
It is imperative that we speak, as soon as possible. I presume that you shall be present in Central Park this afternoon. If you are not, be forewarned: I shall be forced to call on you at your home. ~ CB
Scowling, she savagely crumpled up the note, forgetting Serena's presence for the moment, and threw it into the fire grate.
Not even Serena was that unobservant, however. "B? Who was the note from?"
Blair huffed in unladylike irritation. "A troublesome suitor saying that he shall attend this afternoon and ruin my fun," she lied. Well, it was only partly a lie. "I have half a mind not to go after all."
"Oh B, don't you want to see Nate? Besides, I always find the most effective way to taunt suitors is with your unattainable presence." Serena smiled wickedly.
"Yes, but I, unlike you, am not a tease," said Blair primly.
"Why, thank you, B. But that doesn't matter as much anymore, does it? Now you have Nate under your spell and his ring on your finger," she coaxed.
Rolling her eyes, Blair reached for a fresh piece of paper and her ink pen from the writing table. "I am most certainly not going to lower my behaviour just because I have received a proposal. However..." she scribbled a few words onto the paper, folded it deftly and handed it to the waiting servant. "I fail to see why I should curtail my pleasure simply for the whims of others."
"Only because you love the ducks so," teased Serena. For a moment it seemed they were as they used to be.
"Quiet. Now come and help me choose what to wear."
Do not. BW
At more or less the same time, in a much less fashionable part of the same city, a young man by the name of Daniel Humphrey sat scribbling diligently with a fountain pen. He had discarded his waistcoat and rolled up his shirt sleeves to reveal ink splattered forearms.
The door to his bedroom opened without ceremony. A slight girl stood in the doorway, a few years younger than Dan, dressed in a gown several seasons out of date. Her long blonde hair was pulled into two plaits for the sake of keeping it out of the way. The Humphreys – the two siblings and their scatty father, a failed composer – received visitors rarely. They were of good family, but their father steadfastly did not believe in the gentry, though he had sent his son and heir to St Jude's, the most expensive school in the city.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" asked Dan, a sentence he uttered at least a dozen times a day.
Jennifer shrugged and settled herself on the bed. "Daniel. What are you going to do with your life?"
Dan put down his pen with a flash of irritation. He was close to finishing his latest poem, but not even Byron could write with his sister in the room.
"What do you mean?"
"Dan, you left college months ago and you're not even close to finding employment."
Before Dan could answer, the door opened again and their father entered. He was a tall man, sharing Dan's dark hair and bright blue eyes, although his hair was a little longer.
"Why yes, father, please do come in uninvited and join the family council in my bedchamber."
Both members of his family ignored him.
"I've got you a present," Rufus grinned, clearly proud of himself. He joined his daughter on Dan's bed, obviously here for the long run. Dan refrained from knocking his head on his desk, since he was clearly the only sane one in his family.
"Tickets for the opera. We're all going tonight."
Jenny simultaneously rolled her eyes and slumped back onto the bed. "Da-ad," she moaned. "I haven't got anything to wear."
"Nonsense," said Rufus brightly. "Why don't you just make something up this afternoon from one of your old dresses?"
"Not for the opera, Dad," drawled Jenny, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "All tof societywill be there. I can't turn up in some remade castoff."
"I'll let you wear the pearls."
"Really? Thank you, Daddy!"
Despite Jenny's fervent denial, she was arrayed in a suitably chic pastel yellow gown with roses at her waistline and the string of pearls, formerly belonging to her late mother, around her slim neck. She had also chastised her brother into a new cravat and more fashionable clothes. The opera had been enjoyable and Dan had seen his father and sister into a cab, but decided to walk home thanks to an overindulgence of burgundy.
He hummed a little as he walked through the cobbled streets, lit only by gas lamps. The streets were mostly empty apart from the odd hackney cab.
A muffled shout from a shadowy alleyway made him look around. He turned his head with a sort of detached interest.
A young man was pressed against the wall by several scruffier ones. "Wait –wait-" he was slurring, as one hand went to his pocket.
Dan frowned. He recognised the victim from somewhere – his days at St Jude's, perhaps. Wasn't his name Archer, or something? His clothes certainly had a good cut, his boots were gleaming and there was the glint of a signet ring on one finger.
Something inside Dan propelled him forward. It was probably the drink. A voice shouted "Hey! What are you doing?" and a moment later Dan realised that it was his own.
The pair of oiks shared a look and then scarpered. They were only young, and although Dan rarely took exercise he was lean and looked like he could throw a punch. He was also far more sober than their first victim, who was now picking himself up from the wall and brushing at his coat.
"I say – I mean – thank you," said this gentleman to Dan. "Do I know you? There is a certain familiarity of face – weren't we in the first XI together?"
Dan was certain he had never touched a rugby ball in his life. He said helpfully, "No, but we were at St Jude's together."
"Oh yes – yes! I recall. Harvey, isn't it?"
"Humphrey."
"Yes. The name's Archibald, Nathaniel Archibald. Why don't you come and look me up while you're in town? My address is – is – my card-"
He fumbled in his pocket for a moment and then produced, with a triumphant look, a bent square and handed it to Dan.
"Until soon, then – then – good night."
He tipped his hat and stumbled off into the night, leaving Dan to stare at his card.