Chapter Five

Buffy felt more than watched as Kit's valet cut, snipped, and sliced her long blond locks off. The tendrils floated along her skin, tickling her before they fluttered to the floor. She supposed she should feel some sort of… sadness at losing them; however, she just didn't. She felt no remorse over it at all, but she couldn't say she felt anything akin to liberation either. Who knew; she wouldn't until she looked in the mirror.

"Keep your eyes closed. I'd not like to get any hair in them, miss."

"Still, it's coming along beautifully, Buffy," she heard Kit say. And she had to reiterate how odd it was to hear a Giles-like voicing sound so young. "How are you going to style it? Something pulled back… a part on the side, or middle?"

She suddenly thought of Spike and his slicked back bleach blond; it didn't appeal—not on her. "Side part probably."

"I'll keep that in mind as I finish. We're nearly there now."

So, she sat there, eyes closed as she tolerated her head being moved around like she was a bobble toy on the dash of a car. And when she was certain the waiting would never cease he pulled his hands away and stilled.

"Well, I think that does it. Christopher?"

"Yes, very good, James. A little oil in the right places and she'll be set. Have you sent that message to your sister for me?"

"I have. She'll be here tomorrow. It's a good thing she lives with my mother; it's not far from here at all."

"Buffy," she heard Kit say. "You can open your eyes now."

Which was good; she was about to open her mouth to interrupt them and ask. As she lifted her lids and stared across at the mirror James ran his hands through hair one more time, touching up a part on her left side with the comb.

She stared at herself for a while. She'd always had a natural sort of volume and wave to her hair. And while she didn't have a clue about Victorian hair—specifically men's—she'd seen a few photographs in school. It was quite short around her neck and ears; what would be her sideburns were clipped to near nonexistence. However, on the top it was a little longer; the volume in it gave it some height, although not too much. Without her make-up she'd never considered how her strong her jaw was… This could work.

Did she feel librated? It felt unusual not having all that hair falling on her neck, grazing her back in a ponytail, or to feel the weight of it at all on the crown of her head. But, it didn't feel bad. She couldn't deny that the artsy side of her—something she'd always considered her mother in her more than anything else—longed to see how she would look in the full guise.

"Thank you, James," she found herself saying as she looked at the valet in the reflection of the glass.

He smiled brightly, brown eyes alight. As he did so, the moustache on his face tugged. "Not a problem at all." He looked over at Kit. "I'll go ready your clothes for tonight. Then I assume you want me to return to do the finishing touches on the lady's attire?"

Kit nodded.

"I shall see you later, my dear," James said to her before leaving the room.

With a sigh she stood and pulled the sheet off of her. This she dropped on the floor with the hair pile. Earlier, Kit assured her that a maid would be in the sweep it up. That was something she would have to get use to—not cleaning up after herself. Here, in the midst of the life of those considered upper class, people picked up after you, they dressed you, bathed you if you wanted, combed and styled your hair, made you dinner, everything. She couldn't fathom it. Even the few times she'd dared to go to Cordy's house—when her parents still had the money—she had picked up after herself. But here, in Victorian England (according to Kit), you didn't. You didn't because you could afford to expect someone else to do it; your life was centered around doing other things—whatever those were in a place lacking television, internet, amusements parks, and CDs.

She stared down at the suit she'd laid out on the bed after her bath. At least they had plumbing; well, Kit's house did. She'd been seriously worried about hot water from a faucet when she'd gotten here. Although, he had warned her against using it too much as it was a waste on water. He told her to instead to use the sink to soap up and rinse. While it wasn't home, it was at least good to know she wasn't expected to go around smelling like a pig.

"You'll do fine tonight."

She'd forgotten he was there as she'd lost herself in her own mind. It was something her friends had tried to be nice about for a while: those long minutes she went on saying nothing at all. With her luck, it was generally right in the middle of a conversation.

She smiled and looked over at him, one hand wrapped around a bedpost as she leaned into it. "I suppose I'll have to."

"It'll be good for you," he assured her, hands clasped behind his back. "We'll be sure to keep our distance from most people and watch. And that won't be hard at tonight's event."

"Oh?"

"Most of my peers refer to it at the season's true start. The combination of the Duchess of Finlake spending a lot of her husband's money on it, and that she holds it in their large city home… well… Prinny could have never done better, I assure you."

She wasn't sure who Prinny was, but Buffy got the picture. She nodded. So, it was a big party. And a big party basically meant she could go unnoticed. Something that might not have been so easy were she choosing to go as a woman.

"Will you need anything else before I leave you to dress?"

Buffy shook her head.

He smiled at her, eyes closing. "Then I'll send a maid up to clean for you… and well… leave you to it." The door shut behind him with a click and Buffy found herself turning to the clothes before her. She bit her lip.

"Here goes nothing…" she muttered, grabbing the hem of her shirt and tossing it off.

#

"And you hair, My Lord…?"

William stared hard at his features in the looking glass. It was all foppish curl around the edges, and if he were to be perfectly honest—a little too long. He looked boyish; it wasn't bad. But now, even after years of being contented with how he passed himself off, he wasn't so sure it felt right to him anymore.

"Trim it and slick it back," he said suddenly, still watching his reflection with hard eye.

"Are you certain…?"

Blue eye tilted towards Fredrick as he shifted in his chair. "Positive."

He didn't see the small smile on his valet's lips before he turned back to the mirror. In a moment he was covered in a cloth and being told to close his eyes so that he could work. He relaxed into his seat and didn't say another word. However, in his own head he dove deeply.

Confidence? He didn't feel any different. Granted, there were things about himself he was changing; although, who didn't change? Certainly, being the man he'd been for over ten years wasn't helping him when it came to Cicely. He was tired of being brow beat and tossed around. Crying in a corner, or on his sister's breast (as it had been recently), wasn't going to assist him in any way. There was hardly a reason to go around challenging anyone, but he didn't have to let life run him over. Something told him he didn't have to.

"I'll slick it back now," he heard Fredrick say just before he felt his fingers running through his hair and across his scalp. Then came the comb; it swiped through a few times before everything stilled altogether.

"There you are, My Lord." He pulled the cloth off and stepped away. "I think the effect might be better if you were to look in the larger looking glass."

So he stood, fully clothed and hair complete, and stared into the long reflective surface that produced his image.

He stilled.

With the half curled mess off of his brow, brought back and trimmed one could actually see his face; one could see his high cut cheek bones, the definition of his brow, and the cold warmth in his eyes.

It was snug; his clothing was snug and form fitting. The black flattered him rather than drowned him like the former sea of brown did. The tailcoat was not too tight, but rather just loose enough to be stylish and stand out at the same time. His slacks were the same, just barely loose enough to allow for sitting and comfortable movement. The double breasted vest beneath wasn't too dark or too bright; satin crimson just barely caught the light in the room.

"Your hat and gloves, My Lord?"

He jolted out of his reverie and smiled warmly at Fredrick. "Thank you." He took the aforementioned items.

"You'll wow them tonight, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Perhaps," William agreed and he slid his gloves on and made way for the door, top hat under his arm. "I shouldn't be too late. That is unless Reggie gets wrapped up." He opened the door and looked back at him.

Fredrick chuckled. "Don't mind me, My Lord. You know I'll be here when you come in, just as I always am."

"Reggie notwithstanding." He rolled his eyes and left, making way for the stairs where he could already hear the hum of voices from his sisters and mother. As he came down the stairs however, there was a distinct hush that came over the three most important women in his life.

Reggie's eye's bugged out in a very unladylike manner; Lilith smiled and touched her lips; and his mother appeared star struck.

"Wow… feel up for a change, did you?" Reggie said.

"It does look that way," Lilith said, still smiling. "Very dashing, Will."

He opened his mouth to respond to her but stopped short as he heard a sniffle. Blue eyes shifted to his mother just as she wiped away a tear. Her lips upturned crookedly.

"Mother?" he asked softly as he came to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

She shook her head and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'm fine. You just… you look just like your father." She smiled up at him and her laugh lines creased further. Her eye closed.

He smiled back and took her in a hug. "I can go change if you—."

"Don't you dare!" she cried out as her body jerked away from his. Bright eyes narrowed on his—his that were so full of laughter. "…You shouldn't tease your mother," she admonished, though there was little strength behind it.

He laughed softly and kissed her cheek before he placed his hat on his head. "I can only assume we're ready?" This was directed at Reggie.

She grinned and nodded, head of brown-black curls bouncing as a maid helped her into her evening coat. "Very." She turned to Lilith. "Don't be too long. I don't want to do it alone, you know."

"You won't; you'll have Will."

"It's not the same!" she hissed.

William sighed. "May we go? The carriage is waiting, and the festivities with it."

Lilith hugged and kissed them both before they slipped out the door. "Perhaps no longer that a half an hour. Alright?"

"I hope so."

"Patience is a virtue!" their mother called to her youngest daughter just as the carriage door snapped shut behind them both. "Children…" she muttered.

Lilith smiled.

#

Bumpy, bumpy, and more bumpy; Buffy was convinced—carriages were not comfortable. She was convinced that if she had to travel more than an hour in one her back would break… or something around that area.

"Are you alright?" Kit asked from where he sat across from her.

Buffy found herself adjusting her top hat as she frowned. She glared down at her gloves. "Is there a reason I have to keep these on?"

"The hat you'll remove once you go inside the home; someone will be there to take it and your coat. The gloves however, must stay on," he explained. "It's expected you wear a hat and gloves outside your home. And you should always wear gloves around women, regardless of where you're at."

She blinked. "Why?"

"Because it's considered indecent for a man's bare skin to touch a woman's he is not related or married to."

"Ah," she replied, a little surprised he didn't appear put off or bothered by the fact that she didn't do any of these things her time. "More things I'll have to get use to."

"I'm sure it's very different where you come from."

She looked up at him, trying not to slouch—as that was also considered bad. "Very. We don't wear gloves unless it's a formal party; even then it's no big deal. We wear hats indoors if we want, and a lot of us don't wear them outside."

"You appear to wear a lot less all around."

She quirked a smirk. "Well… it's a different time. We're not really hung up on religion; not all of us anyway."

"And women regularly wear men's clothes."

"For the most part." She sat back and looked out the window, watching as London's nightlife passed them by. "And we work jobs that people here only consider men's."

"Such as?"

"Lawyers, business, bankers…uh…" she trailed off as she tried to think of men-only jobs in this time and place. "Doctors."

"Interesting. And it's not considered indecent?"

"Nope. I mean, men and woman aren't really past the whole sexist thing… but, we've made leaps."

Suddenly the carriage lurched; it stopped.

"I do believe we've arrived," Kit said as he looked out the glass pane and then over at her. "Now remember, your name is Darien Clarke. You're my nephew—."

"Through your late sister Margret who died five years ago along with her husband. I had no other family in America and you only just found me with some extensive investigating. Yes, I know." She smiled at him. "Shall I recite everything else you've told me I need to know for tonight?"

"No."

"Cool. Then I'm good to go."

The door the carriage opened just as Kit spoke, "You really must be cautious of your language."

"I know, I know," she muttered, stepping out after him.

She looked up beyond the brick steps and towards the door. It was open and several people were going in. Already, she could hear the next carriage pulling after her, people milling out behind her as she followed Kit up and eventually into the home. Before she could so much as say a word someone was taking her hat and coat.

"Come on then, we've got to have them announce us and then I'll introduce you to our hosts. After which, we're essentially free to watch and wander."

She wasn't sure what he meant by that, but continued to follow him into the main area… or lobby? Ballroom? There were stairs at the top and people milling about there. A stout man who dressed like a servant was saying names aloud as couples and the like took to going down into the party.

Suddenly, it was her name and Kit's and then they were going down the steps as well. She felt like some kind of ball being rolled between children in some sort of game. She took a deep breath through nose and counted, slowly, as she'd done time and time again since coming home. She didn't have time to feel suffocated.

Instead of focusing on the people, so many of them, she looked around at the room. The high ceilings, the lighting—electric at that, the elaborate fabrics that hung from windows, the dancers… The music coming from the band set up in a corner of the room.

"Ah, Lady Finlake. So good to see you."

Buffy jerked back to find Kit leaning over a woman's hand; she was draped in expensive evening wear. Jewels hung from her neck and ears, and on her head sat a band of them. She appeared perhaps five or so years older than Kit.

"And you as well, Lord Blackwood," she replied softly and pulled her hand away as he released it. Her eyes drifted to Buffy. "And I see you've brought someone new to us, My Lord."

"Ah yes. This is my nephew from America. Darien Clarke."

Buffy mimicked Kit's earlier actions, smiling. "You host a wonderful party," Buffy said carefully, trying very hard not to throw any slang in there. Which, for her… was a trial.

"Thank you. How kind." She smiled back. "Enjoying your stay in London, I take it?"

"Very much."

"It must be very different from your home. Where are you from?"

"California."

"My, my! I hear it's absolutely vulgar there! How do you survive in the wild of the American West?"

Buffy wasn't sure what to say to that. "Carefully," she said finally, almost making it a question.

It must have been amusing because Lady Finlake laughed softly behind her fan. "You have a very interesting nephew, My Lord," she said to Kit. "You must bring him along to my next event. The one in two weeks."

"We'll see how scheduling permits for us, but we'll do our best."

"Very good."

Without much else, they bid their goodbyes and Kit led her away to the refreshments table, where oddly enough it was less crowded and little quiet.

"You did well," he murmured. "Much better than I imagined. She didn't have a clue. And believe me, I was worried about your height being a problem."

"You and me both," she said, her voice soft so no one would hear. "Do you know if… William will be here?" Don't say Spike, she told herself. Not Spike. William.

"He should be arriving soon if he isn't already. His younger sister is supposedly having her coming out tonight."

"Coming out?"

He handed her a glass of punch before going to make it own cup. "Her introduction into society and as a young woman eligible for marriage."

"Oh. Right. What you wanted me to do."

"Quite."

"I guess I'll have to wander around and find him."

"On your own?" he raised a brow at her. "That might not be a wise idea. Not yet. I'll help you look for him."

"I'd rather speak to him alone my first time. Or do I need an introduction for that?"

Kit frowned. "Not entirely…. no."

"Then I'll meet you half way. I won't wander on my own till we find him. Alright?"

Kit sighed, wondering if all Slayers were this determined to neglect good sense. "Very well."

AN :: Not sure I liked the ending for this chapter. It hangs a little. But, at any rate, if you feel up to it, review me. It's not required, but always appreciated.