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Chapter Twenty-Five

The end of the week caught up with Buffy quickly. One moment it had been Tuesday and the next it was Saturday night. Her days were spent teaching Reggie how to fence; her nights with William at his house. His sister was really getting good given what Buffy was capable of showing her. She didn't think she was a bad instructor, but Giles could probably offer her more. Kit had, from time to time, taken Buffy aside and given her a few pointers to pass onto Reggie. The slayer had been grateful. It's not as if she needed such a skill set for killing the average demon, and thus wasn't entirely in practice—even if it wasn't totally unlike getting back on a bike.

Her nights with William were… well… sweet. She rarely went home until sometime past two in the morning full of tea, cakes, and words he'd penned down and asked her about. It was odd to just sit with him, share a drink, and listen to what he'd worked out between reading a book. Sometimes they just talked. He told her about his father, about how young he'd been when the man died, how devastated the whole family had been. He told her about learning to ride a horse, something Buffy was envious of. He told her stories about his sisters and he when they'd been children—about the times they'd spent on the country estate. He told her about how he'd been made fun of as a boy—his voice strained. And then he'd told her how it had all gotten worse as he got older.

There was quite a lot, it seemed, that Buffy had never taken to time to learn about Spike. And she had to ask herself, how could this man—really—be any different from her vampire? Why, at the end of it all, could he be so different from Angel?

And she hated comparing them, she really did. It was hard not to though. How could Angel be so unlike himself without a soul whereas Spike…

Internally, Buffy shook her head at the thought and blinked through the haze. Her green eyes shifted to a window, looking outside as she perched on a comfortable chair in one of the sitting rooms.

There really wasn't any point. She wasn't made of glass. And really, that's all her first lover had treated her like. It wasn't about her wanting, him wanting, a normal life for her. She wasn't glass and didn't want to be glass. And Spike… he'd always treated her like… like she was a real person. In truth, the closest she'd ever gotten to normal—grounded—had been in his arms…

And how ironic was that? The one man who exuded irresponsibility was the one man to stick around and take care of her sister after she'd died. She'd given him nothing—barely crumbs. And she'd been gone; there'd been no hope of her coming back insofar as he was concerned. He could have left. And what had her first love done? What had any of them done? Gotten a job? Taken care of Dawn?

But she wasn't going to play a blame game. It also didn't make sense to be miserable and so introspective. And yet, she'd never really had time to be. She was once again wrapped up in the fact that this was probably the longest break she'd had from her duty in… ever.

She laughed at that, thinking she'd owed Spike again. It was silly, but true. She'd gotten some weird vacation all because he'd decided to take a trip to Africa. For her.

What was she going to do when he found out? Would it all fall apart on her again?

Buffy swallowed at that, closing her eyes against the setting sun beyond the buildings and backyard foliage. She shifted so she leaned back, letting both arms moved to settle on the armrests as she exhaled. Her head dropped back into the cushion of the high-backed chair.

She wanted to go back to her house, to her sister, and to all the things she enjoyed like TV and central heat and air. Some part of her wanted it to be over, wanted to let it happen as quickly as pulling off a bandage. She wanted to feel that prick of pain so that she could ease into the ache ebbing away once it was done. Because, really, it was hard not to fear his reaction. She wasn't sure he could be mad at her for this entire… thing—the fling back in time to get him. No, maybe not. But they hadn't left on a good note, had they?

It was hard not to feel guilty.

"Dare?"

Buffy blinked then, pushing away the memories—both the ugly and bittersweet—before she looked to William. Emerald caught cold blue and she smiled, standing. "Are you ready to go?"

He took the last few steps towards her and grasped her hand in his own with a mirrored smile. She warmed when he pulled it towards his lips, pressing gently. The smiled bloomed into a grin as she reached up and pushed a few stray curls along his temple away and let her fingertips rest on his cheek while he met her gaze again.

No, maybe she didn't want to go home just yet; maybe pretending a bit longer wouldn't be awful if she only had more of this. He'd once said great love was passionate—that it burned. And yet… nothing about this moment was passionate; not really. It was soothing, gentle, and full of calming heat. The brush fire hadn't even begun; they were doing it the right way—for once. Full of lies, but right… so right.

"I may have to cancel," he admitted.

Buffy blinked at that. "Oh?"

"Mother wants to have dinner with me tonight."

"Oh…" she said again and differently, refusing to frown. "Well… we've been together every night for a few days. It's ok."

"She wants you to join us," he told her next, his own smile rueful.

Buffy's eyes widened fractionally at that. All at once, something akin to butterflies danced in her stomach. Fear laced with anticipation twisted and grew. And she found, rather suddenly, she didn't know how to reply. And thus, all she could say was, "She does?"

"You don't have to if you'd rather not," he told her softly. He lowered her hand as hers dropped from his face. He took hers in his two and squeezed it once.

"It's important to you," she told him, knowing it immediately.

"Yes… but if you're not comfortable with it…"

Buffy swallowed, thinking this was all rather silly. What was wrong with meeting his mother, after all? It's not as if the woman was going to find out she was seeing her son. At best, she'd think they were good friends—close friends. Right?

"Does she know…?" Buffy started slowly. About us, went without mention.

"She does not."

Buffy nodded. "I'm being… what word would you use? A ninny?" She grinned weakly. "I'd love to meet your mother. Dinner sounds like a good place to start."

He was smiling again and Buffy was glad for it. She reached for him then, wrapping her arms around his middle and pulling him close. The kiss was short-lived; afterwards, her head was made to rest against his shoulder. It was hard not to savor the way he wound his fingers into the hair at the base of her neck, or the way he hugged her in return.

"What was that for?" he asked in a whisper.

"Because I wanted to."

"Mmm…" he hummed, the sound vibrating just barely into her from his chest. "Well... you're not being a ninny. I promise you."

Buffy chuckled.

They stayed that way for a good minute longer. William pulled away first and pressed a kiss to her forehead as he cradled her cheeks with both hands. Buffy closed her eyes, inhaling all that he was until he pulled away entirely—releasing her.

"It should be ready in an hour. Do you want to join me in the library in the meantime?"

"I would love to."

#

Buffy shouldn't have been tense; she didn't have a reason to be. At all. She was a man; to William's mother she would be a man. Not a woman dating her son, or rather courting… or, actually, being courted by…. whatever. The point was, really, that there wasn't a stupid reason to be worried or tied in knots. His mother didn't know the nature of their relationship and she wouldn't be able tell either.

Hopefully.

Would she? Be able to tell? The English were pretty private about this kind of stuff to begin with. No PDA, not even for the regular non-hiding-their-sex couples. The only way someone probably knew two people were seeing one another was by being told they were betrothed or if they were… well, going to a lot of places together, she guessed.

Even so, Buffy stared at her hands where they settled in her lap. She focused on her thumbs, thinking she really needed to trim them when she went home. Across from her, William was quiet and that made her wonder if he was worried too.

Would she be able to tell?

Stop repeating yourself, Buffy, she told herself. You're an idiot.

And then the door to the dining room opened. All at once, both she and William stood up as the older woman stepped in.

Buffy put on her best smile as William went to his mother, and Buffy couldn't help but look at her while he took her from the maid and led her around the wooden table. Her long hair, golden-white and brownish, was woven into a braid that hung over one shoulder and fell down her chest. She had gentle age-lines in her face and her dress was obviously made more with comfort in mind rather than prettiness. It was a drab thing of grey and white with a robe partially open over it.

It wasn't until William moved to sit down that she finally did, long after his mother had.

"You are the one my son has been telling me about?" she asked immediately. "Darian Clarke, yes?"

"Uh… yes," Buffy replied. She was pretty in her own way. Buffy could see it now that they were adjacent to one another, the older woman sitting at the head of the table. Her eyes were not like any of her children's, the color a deep brown with flecks of amber and gold in them. Her eyelashes were not long, but probably had been at one point. Buffy could tell that she had been what people today would have called 'a great beauty' when she'd been younger.

She smiled. "Anne Pratt, Mr. Clarke. The Countess of Broderick, but you may call me Anne."

"It's very nice to meet you, Anne. Please call me Dare."

"Thank you for permission. My children all call you as much in my presence when they speak of you."

Buffy laughed softly. "Nothing bad, I hope."

"Is there something bad to report?" she asked, brows reaching her hairline.

"I… ah…" Was she serious? Buffy wondered.

"Nothing bad at all," William broke in, lips twitching into a smirk.

But then Anne did nothing more than laugh as she reached out and gave Buffy's hand a pat where it rested on the table. "I jest. You worry too much, my dear boy." The smile remained as she turned to William. "Do you know what we're having tonight?"

"Beef stew, I belief is the main course." William visibly paused. "The only before a light desert. Unless your appetite…?"

Anne shook head. "That sounds just fine. I'm not sure I've had the mind to work my way through five courses in at least a year." She turned to look at Buffy. "Do you Americans eat as much for supper as we do?"

"I can't speak for everyone," Buffy admitted, because she really didn't know how people ate in the Wild West of California, "But, my family eats one course—sometimes desert too. It's been hard to adjust." And get used to all the forks, knives, and spoons.

"Things must be very different here for you." Anne nodded as she reached for her wine glass and took a sip. "California has a lot of sunshine, doesn't it? A friend of mine has family in the west that she writes to regularly. She tells me the weather is golden in abundance."

"Lots," Buffy agreed, feeling at ease suddenly, "Lots of sunshine. It's much hotter there than here. I'm always in front of a fire here at night with a good book because I get too cold."

"Are you?" She nodded as if understanding. "Before the children were born Reginald took me to India for our honeymoon." She looked wistful, eyes glazing over just so as she looked down at her wine glass. "It was during the summer and agonizingly hot. I thought I might sweat through everything." And then she frowned, coming back to herself. "I don't believe that's entirely proper to mention at all."

"It's alright," Buffy told her, not minding at all. "But I guess it's the same, if not worse. Uh… Reginald was William's father…?"

"He was," William said as a few servants came in and began placing the meal before them. "I don't think I ever told you his name."

"You didn't."

"He was a good man, if there ever was one," Anne went on. "A good father while he was with us. And he always made time for the children and never begrudged William his poetry or Reggie her unusual habits."

"She was too young as the time for him to say much about it," William argued.

"Oh quiet you," she hushed him with a mock frown. "He would not have minded, certainly. He was always so proud of her arithmetic."

Buffy grinned at William. "I guess you just come from a really progressive home."

"The lords and ladies of Broderick have always been a bit… odd," Anne told her as she stirred her stew around on her plate. "In fact, there's one romantic tale of—."

"Oh God, not this one," William interrupted.

"And why not?" she asked a little loudly. "You always loved it as a boy."

William sighed as he gave Buffy a look. "She loves to tell it to guests, ones she thinks are good enough to tell it to. Why it matters I don't know. But you certainly don't have to suffer through it."

"He just doesn't want me tell you how he used to beg me to tell him—."

"Mother."

Buffy laughed. "I'd love to hear it." She had to now.

"Well, there, you see? You've been outvoted, William Ambrose Pratt."

Ambrose? And he'd made fun of Buffy? Oh yeah, she wasn't forgetting that middle name; not in a million years. The blond did nothing to hide her smile as William rolled his eyes and put a forkful of beef into his mouth.

Obviously pleased with herself, Anne turned to Buffy and began. "It happened during the 16th century."

"Supposedly," William put in.

Anne ignored her son and leaned in closer to Buffy, placing one hand over hers. "Lady Gabriella, our ancestor, was smitten with a Lord Henry. She was an heiress, and the last of the line that could hold the title Broderick and give it a husband. And she would do anything to have his hand in marriage. But…" Anne trailed off, frowning just so, "Lord Henry, as it would happen, was not the least bit interested her. At least, that's what he claimed."

"Why was that?" Buffy asked.

"Lady Gabriella was very wealthy and well adored. Or so the legend goes. But she had clout—she was outspoken. Despite this, many a lord wanted her hand. Dukes, mostly. A duchess is supposed to have clout, after all." Anne sat back and took a sip of her wine. "Henry didn't think he was good enough for her, you could say. He wasn't much more than a baron. A good title in its own right, but very below rank insofar as he was concerned. That aside, he didn't have much to offer. His pride, he claimed, was more important. He was more interested in marrying a quiet girl from a lower rank. And equal, he thought."

"I guess Gabriella didn't take this very well?"

Anne laughed. "Well enough, I suppose. She courted him to the point of annoyance and nearly risked her reputation in the process. The man became entirely flummoxed with her once she started reciting poetry outside of his bedroom window.

"Accord to the tale, he asked her that very night as she stood outside just what it would take to get her to stop. And she told him that if married her she would do whatever it took to make him happy, even if that meant never serenading for him again.

"And so he agreed."

"I suppose the moral of the story is persistence pays off?" Buffy asked, amused.

"No," William told her with a huff of annoyance, "That anyone from the family is too stubborn to know any better and too idiotic in love to have any sense."

"We're all hopeless romantics, in a way," Anne agreed. "All my children are." She was looking at William then, smiling gently before attending to her meal. "But what of you, Dare? Are you a hopeless romantic?"

It was odd; she hadn't meant to hesitate, and yet she did anyway. The question made her think back to high school, to Angel… to all of her failed romances and the crushing way in which they'd crumbled to ashes. "I used to be," she answered honestly as she poked at her meal, halfway done with it. She felt William's eyes on her and couldn't help but look at him then, meeting his gaze across the table. "But… old habits die hard, I think. It's never easy knowing who to trust with your heart. And sometimes… others are blamed for the mistakes of those who've come before them."

"You've loved and lost then?" asked Anne softly.

"Many times," Buffy told her somberly, still holding William's blue gaze.

"When the heart breaks," she heard Anne say softly still, "it fractures into a hundred or so pieces. The beautiful thing, I think, is that when it heals… it comes back stronger, if not a little guarded than the last time. But, once it learns to love again, that love is deeper than it was before—better."

"Agreed…" she saw more than heard William say.

They were all quiet for a while, Buffy unable to look away from William until his mother coughed and they went back to their meal. Soon enough, desert was called for and the odd intensity of their chat was gone.

Eventually Anne went to bed, William and she stayed up as per usual, and then Buffy went home for a good night's sleep. It had been a good day, all in all.

A good day indeed.

#

It had been a long night, Reggie decided. Not totally repugnant. She was happy for her sister, really. She was happy for her even if she still hadn't been told clearly that Lord Blackwood was courting Lily. And while she didn't mind being used as an escort for her older sister's propriety, while she was glad that it somehow released her from having to look for a husband at the moment, she still couldn't help but feel a little odd at having such a responsibility.

Since when did I become the matron?

Reggie smiled a little at that as she made her way up the stairs to her room. Maybe it would be better if she grew accustomed to it now. No matter what her sister told her, she really thought the chances of her marrying were slim at best. Would she be happier without a husband? Ha… unless Dare planned on changing his mind anytime soon, well, that wasn't going to happen. And considering the amount of time he was spending with her brother… no, it wouldn't.

There really was no denying it now. Reggie didn't need to be experienced or see infallible evidence to prove her suspicions. It hadn't stopped her from sneaking around in the library in her brother's stuff, nor had it stopped her from prodding him a little about Dare. However, even without all that she knew, she knew there was something beyond friendship going on between the two men.

At first she hadn't been sure she was happy about it. She'd asked herself what possible good could come from such a union; well, aside from the obvious prosecution should anyone find out. (William's popularity was so scarce she just didn't see that happening, as private as her family was.) It just… really wasn't her place to ask her brother about their family's financial status. If it continued… was he planning on marrying anyway? What of Dare? Well, Dare probably didn't have much to worry about; if his uncle and her sister continued on they would likely end up married by the end of the year. And really, she didn't see any reason as of yet for that not to work out. Kit would have heirs, no doubt. The Pratt women, insofar as she knew, had always been healthy enough for children—multiples in fact.

Such improper thoughts were the least of her worries. What was William thinking…

When Reggie opened the door to her room there was a maid already waiting for her to help her undress. She smiled at her. "Evening, Beth. Sorry I kept you waiting so late. What is it? After two…?"

"It's alright, my lady." The brown-haired girl came forward and took her wrap and reticule. "Do you wish for me to draw you a bath?"

Reggie shook her head. "Not tonight. I think I'll just use a basin and washcloth. Some warm water for those purposes would be nice though."

Beth nodded. "Would you like me to do that first or help you undress?"

"Water first, I think. I'll wind down with a good book in the meantime."

"Very well, my lady." She set her things aside on a small desk and bobbed a curtsy before leaving.

"Thank you," she said just before she left, just before Reggie sat down in her comfortable reading chair by the window.

It felt good to get off her feet. She'd feel much better if she could take her shoes off as well, but for now it'd be fine to just prop them up on the stool. As she glanced over at the window she moved a moment later, reaching for the curtains and pulling them open just so that she might look on the night sky.

A sigh escaped her.

She wasn't unhappy for her brother. If Dare made him happy… no, she knew Dare made him happy. She'd never seen William in such a good mood. And by God… his poetry… She knew she probably shouldn't have looked; though, she couldn't help being concerned. He was her brother after all. But, the poetry… there was such a vast difference between what he wrote now and what he'd written just weeks ago. He was smitten, dare she venture to say in love. Whatever dark cloud Cecily had enshrouded him was gone; he hadn't even been bothered by her at the house party. No, he'd been more focused on Dare or avoiding him; and that party had been the climactic point in whatever they had—the live or let die moment that this had all become the result of.

But Reggie couldn't help it. The last few days she'd been with Dare, been under his instruction… she didn't have a reason to not approve. The American made William happy; he made her brother write lovely words; he made him, for once, not become so focused on money or their mother that he seemed lost in it all.

She wanted it to last. She wanted the beauty of them to last a lifetime, for her brother to grow old with him… even if it meant that she had to marry wealthy for him to do it. Though…

She blinked.

Why had it not occurred to her? If Lily married Blackwood… The man had more money than the queen. Alright, well maybe not that much. Still… But a year… they likely wouldn't get married for a year. Reggie would have to do something in the meantime. She didn't know much, but she didn't imagine they could go on what they had for that long; not given what William had been doing thus far to stretch it out. She'd have to.

She would.

Tomorrow she would insist on seeing the books and figure out what she could. It just wasn't going to do anymore. If any of them were going to be happy she was just going to have to take charge of the finances, her future be damned—the idea of marrying for money be damned.

They were all going to be blissfully euphoric if she had to sell the good china.

"Lady Regina!"

Reggie jumped at the sound and the appearance of Beth barging into her room completely out of breath and heaving for air. Her eyes narrowed and she stood. "What? What's wrong?" she asked quickly.

"Your—," she started, voice catching.

"What is it?" she asked again, voice rising as she cross the distance to her.

"It's your mother, my lady. The doctor's being called this instant, but—."

Reggie didn't need to hear anymore. She pushed past Beth and ran out of her room and down the hall to her mother's bedroom. It was wide open, several servants in their bed attire loitering just before it. Likely, they were waiting on someone to tell them what to do—if they could do anything at all to help their mistress.

"Excuse me," Reggie told them, slipping past as the moved out of her way.

William was at her bedside as she entered, Lily on the other side. He was helping her sit up, holding a white cloth to her mouth as she coughed into it and gasped for air. Like her, neither of her siblings has undressed for bed yet; though, William's jacket was off and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, his collar undone.

"What's going on?" she asked as she stood beside him. "Is she—."

"She's having a hard time breathing," Lily told her, voice shaky. "It's… worse this time. We've called for the doctor."

Reggie swallowed, a small tremor shooting through her. She maneuvered to Lily's side so she wouldn't be in her brother's way and reached for the pillows—needing to do something. "Can you get someone to get a few more?" she asked Lily. "So he doesn't have to hold her up?"

Her sister didn't even respond. Reggie wasn't even sure Lily asked for help as she fluffed and adjusted the bedding. It was like this each and every time. They always felt helpless, unable to do anything. She wasn't even sure the doctor could. But they all tried anyway; they all occupied themselves with making her as comfortable as they could.

When Lily came back a few moments later with more pillows, ones from her own bed, Reggie fixed them so William didn't have to hold their mother up.

The youngest of the Pratts watched on as her mother hacked and sucked in breath; she watched as she spewed patches of blood into the cloth her brother had; she watched as William's jaw flexed… as unbidden tears gathered at the edges of his eyes.

She felt her heart catch at that. Even when Lily took her hand and squeezed she tensed, inhaling sharply as the fear, the agony, overwhelmed her. Was she the only one thinking it…? What they all weren't saying? That…

But she'd been getting better; their mother hadn't had a fit in weeks. Nothing beyond the occasional cough once or twice. They all thought the medication had been helping; it had, surely. But this… why…

No, it wouldn't do to get caught up before the doctor came.

"It'll be alright," she heard Lily say gently over the sound of their mother, over the sound of William's soothing and encouraging words to her.

Reggie couldn't find the strength to respond; not when every part of her didn't think it would be. And so they stood like that, consoling and hopeful until one of the footman brought the doctor in. And then everyone was asked to get out of the way so he could work. Reggie found herself pushed to the wayside, heart crippling as minutes passed on. And when the doctor delivered the news, the all regretful and awful news that there was little he could do, that they needed to make proper arrangements…

…Reggie wasn't the first to break down. No, her brother was with a crippling cry as he fell into Lily's arms in tears. Air was impossible to gather. She wanted to be held as well, to fall into her family's embrace. But instead, she stepped back and into the hallway. She found her strength the only way she knew how: by direction and willpower. Seconds later she was barking orders at the servants, ignoring their spoken fears about propriety. A woman who was about to lose her mother, who was watching her brother fall apart, had very little care for what others thought about her virtue.

Fifteen minutes later and she was in a carriage bound for Blackwood's.

#

When Reggie knocked she had a very distinct plan in mind. Hours later, perhaps a full twenty-four hours later, she'd look back on this moment and tell herself it had been a stupid idea. She would defend her reasoning and stand by it, but she wouldn't deny it hadn't been the smartest.

When a bleary-eyed footman opened the door Reggie didn't even wait for him to acknowledge her. She simply stepped in as she pulled the black of her hood down. "I am Lady Regina Pratt. Where is Mr. Darian Clarke's bedroom?"

He blinked at her several times, mouth opening and closing as if he couldn't decide what to say, as if he couldn't decide what to do with a proper young woman showing up in the middle of the night demanding to know where one of his masters bedroom was.

"Where?" Reggie demanded, voice louder. "I don't have time."

"Upstairs," he said all at once. "To the left, then right, and then three doors down on the left. But, my lady—."

"Wake Lord Blackwood and tell him my mother is dying. My sister will need his strength. Now." And then she turned, not waiting to see how he responded. Moments later as she ascended the stairs she could hear him following her, trying to get her attention. She ignored him, ignored his pleas and fears about her reputation.

Her mother was dying. Her brother was breaking. She didn't care.

When she came to Dare's door she knocked once, seeing the light leaking under it. But she didn't wait for his reply; she let herself in, not the least bit worried about his state of undress. A woman didn't have time to blush, to be shamed by a man who wasn't her family clothed in his nightgown.

"Dare, I need you to—."

She'd been on a mission. Every pour, every muscle, every ounce of her body, and forward motion had been directed and set towards one thing: getting Dare to her brother. There hadn't been much need for all else; if there had been she would have sent someone in her place to get both men. Instead, she was standing in the open doorway of a man's room in a bachelor's residence—a lady unaccompanied by even a maid. But it wasn't a bachelor she was staring at.

"You're…"

The woman before her moved passed her as she slipped on a shirt to cover her bare chest, scowling, and shut the door behind her. Reggie refrained from jumping as it clicked.

And then her eyes narrowed. She whirled on the woman, her mother forgotten briefly. "What kind of game are you playing at?" she snapped.

But she ignored her. "Why are you here, Reggie? Why are you in my room at this hour?"

Reggie, momentarily distracted, swallowed. She inhaled once and said with a soft and straightforward voice, "My mother… she's dying—we think. I… I came to get you and Kit. My brother… he's not handling it well. None of us are."

The woman's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. The doctor's been by. He says the situation doesn't look good."

Reggie watched as she turned and opened her wardrobe. "Can you help me dress? I don't think I have time to call Isabella in here."

But just like a light, it hit her once more and she demanded answers. "I'm not going to help you do anything until you answer my question, Dare. Is that even your name? What are you and Kit playing at? Does my brother know you're—."

"I'm not playing a game," she snapped back. "And no… it's not my real name, no… your brother doesn't know." She pointedly looked at Reggie as she pulled several articles of clothing out. "And you can't tell him."

"Like hell."

Reggie watched as she sighed, pausing. "Can we not do this tonight? If your mother is as bad as you're saying… I need to be there. So do you.

"Not here arguing about the fact that I have tits."

"You can't stop me from telling him," she murmured. "You don't… you don't know how hard it's been for him. He's happy now, you know. You did that. But… it's not fair that you made him think you were..."

"There's a lot more at stake than you know," the woman told her stiffly. "Trust me, please. Give me until the night is over to explain it to you.

"Please, Reggie." Her voice was softer on the last of it.

Reggie was quiet, looking down at the floor.

"I'm trying to save him," she went on. "It's… important, I promise. Please give me time."

"Save him from what?"

Another sigh. Reggie watched her sit down on a cushioned bench at the foot of her bed. "Have I given you any reason to think I'm some kind of terrible person, Reg?" she asked honestly. "Aside from this one little lie—."

"A big lie," Reggie argued.

"Fine," the woman bit off and then met her gaze. "Aside from this one thing, have I given you any reason to think badly of me? Have I hurt anyone?"

"…No."

"Then give me time. At least a day. I respect the fact that you love your brother, that you're worried about him. But, even you have to admit that telling him tonight—of all nights—is not the best idea."

"Don't try and spin this around to be something it isn't—on me being the villain."

"I'm not! I'm just…" she broke off, momentarily breaking the other woman's gaze, "I'm... worried about him. I just… I love him and I want to be there for him. All I'm asking is that you cut me some slack. I mean…" Her shoulders dropped. "Can't you do that, Reggie?"

Reggie refrained from sighing herself. One hand went to her hip. She didn't like it; any of this. It wasn't just Will. It was her too. She'd been so worried about the both of them, how they were going to work it out, and here Dare was a woman. A bloody woman! Why was she hiding it at all? Why was she hiding it, at the very least, from her brother? God, he could marry her! Her! She could save them all with the dowry her uncle would provide …if he really was her uncle.

By God, why were they hiding it?

She wanted to know. She didn't want to admit the woman was right though; she wouldn't tell William tonight. Her threats were moot. Truly. Maybe in a day or two she would, but not tonight. She just… she had to know. She had to know why they'd been lied to; why all of London had been lied to. This had the potential to hurt him terribly, this lie. She wasn't sure she could watch him go through that—something that would be so much worse than Cecily.

"Do you really love my brother?" she asked next, her voice just above a whisper. No one had ever fallen for her brother… Her beautiful brother, so full of emotion and capable of giving so much…

"I do."

"Is it a good reason…?"

"It is. I promise."

Reggie crossed her arms over her chest, finally sighing and shutting her eyes. "I know I'm going to regret this…" A pause as she shifted from one foot to the other. "What… what's your name? Your real name?"

"Buffy," she said immediately.

"Elizabeth?" Reggie asked, her nose wrinkling.

She smiled and shook her head. "No, just Buffy. Buffy Summers."

Reggie nodded slowly. "This… this doesn't mean I'm ok, alright? It doesn't mean I'm ok with any of it… But, I'll give you some time. And if your reason isn't a good one, I promise you… I will tell my brother."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she muttered as she stepped forward. "I still might tell him." She frowned as she set her things aside. "Let's get you dressed before your uncle barges in here. I think I gave your footman a fright storming through the house."

Reggie wasn't sure what to make of any of it, but she shoved it aside and got to work… all the while thinking it better be a damned good reason.

Bloody hellfire and end of the world good.

AN :: Chapter is right on time this month; in fact, it's a few hours early. Go me, yeah? I wanted to add more fluff for this go 'round. I feel like even though we're skipping over a few days that it's important to show the gushy moments; this is especially true considering how I layered on the drama in previous chapters.

Now… about Reggie. Oh… Reggie… sweet Reggie… got to be driven girl, huh? But hey, someone had to find out, right? I promise it's not random, this ending, even if I'd never fully intended it—like, at all. At least, not this soon.

Theories? Thoughts? Loves? Likes?

I'll try to bring back Tara soon. Love you guys and see you in September. -smoochies-

—Blade

P.S. I attend Dragoncon every year, volunteer for it actually. So, if next month's chapter comes out a week or so late don't think I'm going MIA again. -second round of smoochies-