This is the curse of life: that not
A nobler calmer train
Of wiser thoughts and feelings blot
Our passions from our brain;

But each day brings its petty dust
Our soon-chok'd souls to fill,
And we forget because we must,
And not because we will.
- from "Absence" by Matthew Arnold

Buffy burrowed further under the covers of the bed, hoping against hope that Felicity would fail to wake her up in time to keep an appointment with Lady Sees.  Ever since she and Angelus had arrived the old biddy had gone to great lengths to unsettle the Slayer, for no apparent reason other than spite.  According to Louise (and confirmed by Felicity, who was tapped into the local servant's rumor mill), Lady Sees' granddaughter was one of the few ladies in Society that Angelus had *supposedly* had a tendre for at one time.

Angelus had roared with laughter when she mentioned it.  He'd told her the granddaughter, one Miranda Hatton, was a plain, pasty-faced schoolgirl that was frightened of her own shadow.  Of course he was angered with the old woman for scorning Buffy and told her he would fix the problem.  Buffy had, in a show of pragmatism, asked him not to kill anyone.

The ton did not need anymore rumors concerning Lord and Lady Pierrepont.

Unfortunately for Buffy, Felicity was all too prompt.  The Slayer grumbled as the maid whisked about the room, opening the shades and setting out clothes.

"Come, milady, you have to get up.  You'll be late for tea with Lady Sees if you continue to dawdle in bed."  Felicity pulled back the duvets, exposing an irate Buffy.

"I don't wanna go," she whined uselessly.

The young maid grinned.  Lady Pierrepont (or Bella, as she'd insisted on being called when they were alone) was so very different from the other ladies of society.  Her mistress was more like one of the suffragettes than a member of the gentry.  Of course, her ladyship was from the Colonies and had never lived in England prior to her marriage.  Perhaps that explained her odd ways, Felicity thought.

"Well, you have to go," she told Buffy.  "If only to look her in the eye and gloat."

Buffy straightened up and smirked.  That really was an excellent idea; for all her youth and nervousness, Felicity had a wonderfully devious mind.  Right then and there Buffy resolved to make sure that Angelus never discovered this side of her young maid.  He would be too tempted to turn the girl if he knew, and Buffy didn't want this beautiful girl to lose her gentle, if mischievous soul.

Downing a cup of tea she managed to force the last bite of her muffin past the lump in her throat.  Resolutely she shoved her worries for Felicity aside and decided to concentrate on the matter at hand.  Buffy opened the enormous wardrobe and finally pulled out two Worth afternoon dresses with matching slim sleeved bolero jackets.  "So which do you think, the green or the blue?"

In the end she wore the green, which is how she came to blend in with the vast array of flora in the conservatory of the elderly Marquess of Stansington, who had graciously escorted her from Lady Sees' parlor after the inevitable occurred.  The inevitable being the utter chaos that afternoon tea with Lady Sees had become.

It started so well, or so it seemed.  She had arrived in Lady Sees' parlor, decorated in a style forty years out of fashion, promptly at half past four.  Her hostess had been polite enough as they made small talk about Buffy's first stay in Bath, and how she had enjoyed the Season in London.  Then she had introduced Lady Pierrepont to her other newly arrived tea guests.

Miranda Hatton and her cousin, Eleanor Stanley.

Miss Miranda Hatton was indeed a plain, pasty-faced schoolgirl.  Beyond that, though, it appeared that even Angelus had been fooled.  Miranda, far from being afraid of her shadow, was a bitter, vituperative young woman who clearly saw Buffy as an interloper.  Her pale gray eyes did not even try to veil her anger, and Buffy rather gleefully noted that her hair (a shade very dark blonde slash light brown that looked perpetually dirty) and pale yellow dress made her look sallow.  Miranda looked for all the world like soured milk.

Eleanor was another story.  Had Angelus' name been linked with this beauty, Buffy would have been more likely to heed to the ton's gossip.  She was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and creamy skin tinged with just the right amount of rosy color.  Miss Stanley was also quite bored, and not afraid to make her feelings known.

As Lady Sees passed a cup of tea to Buffy, Miranda made her first comment of the evening.  "I hear from friends in Town that you were quite a success, Lady Pierrepont.  How did you manage to make such an impression?"

Buffy raised her teacup to her lips.  "I was simply myself."

Miranda smiled facetiously.  "Oh, how quaint.  I'm sure your lovely colonial charm worked wonders on Society.  It did, after all, gain you a husband … one that was quite a catch."

Buffy nearly dropped the cup.  Lady Sees looked pleased.  Eleanor perked up and took an interest in the gathering for the first time.  "I mean," Miranda continued, "you simply came out of nowhere and married one of the ton's most eligible bachelors."

"It was an arrangement made by our families years ago," Buffy informed them, sticking to the story Angelus had concocted.

Miranda raked her eyes over Buffy.  "Obviously."

The insult was clear, and a quick look at Lady Sees made Buffy realize that she had been set up.  If she challenged Miranda, she would cause a scene; if she didn't she looked like a wimp.  Damned if I do, damned if I don't, she thought.  Squaring her shoulders Buffy told herself it was better to be man than a mouse.

Buffy studied Miranda and Lady Sees closely, seeing bitterness reflected in both pairs of eyes.  Bitterness and something else.  A smile split her face as she discovered her ace, so to speak.  "Funny things, arrangements.  They are useful, though.  I mean, if you leave it up to those involved who knows what might happen.  Passion can ruin a young woman's entire life."

Miranda's jaw dropped open and Lady Sees sputtered indignantly.  Eleanor tipped her head back and laughed, winking at Buffy once she caught her breath.

"Do stop laughing, Eleanor.  It doesn't behoove a young woman in your position --" Lady Sees began.

Eleanor smirked.  "What position is that?  I, unlike my cousin, have a fiancé; the only thing left is the wedding itself, everything else it settled.  And he has more money than God."

"He doesn't have a title," Lady Sees said acerbically.

"So," Eleanor shrugged.  "Titles are the reason both you and Miranda have problems in the first place."

"Eleanor!" Miranda cried, outraged at her cousin's apparent defection.

Eleanor just shook her head.  "Lady Pierrepont just came from London, Miranda.  London.  As in the city where you somehow -- God only knows how -- managed to get Viscount Blackwell in bed in an attempt to blackmail him into marriage.  Was he drunk, cousin?  Of course, Lady Pierrepont knows the gossip.  They called you Randy Miranda, if you'll recall."

The unbecoming shade of pale that Miranda had turned was an indication that she clearly remembered the attempt that had failed and the fiasco that followed.  Buffy grinned as snippets of conversations with Louise and another friend Georgina Elcott floated through her head.  Apparently trapping noblemen was a tradition in this family; the only difference was that Miranda had failed and was snubbed by the ton as a result.

Before Lady Sees and Miranda could compose themselves the butler announced new arrivals.  "Lord Stansington, Mrs. Abernathy and Viscount Blackwell, to see you milady."

As the new guests entered the parlor Miranda fainted dead away, and Lady Sees immediately had a fit of the vapors.  The house guard dog bounded into the room next, its keeper on its heels, and proceeded to knock over a horribly heavy (and just plain horrible) statue of Osiris.  The statue shattered against the polished wooden floor causing Buffy to exercise her Slayer reflexes by jerking Eleanor and herself out of harm's way.

The room was silent for a moment after the keeper managed to drag the dog out of the house, but then Viscount Blackwell planted himself in front of Lady Sees.  "Madam, I do not know what you hope to accomplish with this," he told her coldly, dropping a piece of paper onto her lap.  "My marriage to Mrs. Abernathy will not be halted by the machinations of you or your granddaughter.  Desist at once, or I will drag the authorities into this matter."

He turned sharply away and escorted Mrs. Abernathy to their waiting driver.  Lord Stansington glanced about the room until his eyes landed on Eleanor and Buffy.  "Ah, my dears it appears your afternoon tea has been ruined.  Would you care to join me, instead?"

Buffy glanced at Eleanor, who shrugged.  Why not, her eyes seemed to say.  "Thank you, Lord Stansington.  We would be delighted."

"Capital, capital," the old man said jovially as he escorted them out.  "I'll show you my newest addition to the conservatory.  Those plants come from as far away as India and South America, you know … "

Buffy flicked water across the fountain pool with her fingers and glanced over at Eleanor, who was nibbling on her third teacake as Lord Stansington rattled on about his latest acquisition for the indoor garden.  Both women had discarded their jackets within minutes of entering the humid room, and Buffy desperately wished she could loose a few more layers.  The room had to be at least eighty-five degrees, she figured.

"If you hate your cousin why were you there this afternoon?"  Buffy questioned as she stirred the inky tea with a tiny spoon.

Eleanor pursed her lips.  "My forthrightness tends to unsettle Miranda, my Uncle Jonathan's wife, Helen, and Lady Sees, so I couldn't pass up the opportunity.  Besides, I wanted to meet you as much as they did."

Buffy started.  "Well, you've met me.  What do you think?"

"That you are as original as people say, and that you have a sense of humor similar to mine," Eleanor grinned.  "You have secrets, too; I don't know what, but you do.  And your marriage is not in the least bit strained."

"Somehow I think that's already very well known," Buffy told her wryly.

Eleanor's eyes darted to their host and then she lowered her voice.  "My cousin Georgina told me a story about what happened at the last ball of the Season.  Is it true?  Did Louise Cavendish really find you in a compromising position with your husband's cousin?"

Buffy blushed scarlet.  "Ssshhh!  Keep your voice down!"

"Well?"

"Yes, it's true," Buffy sighed.  "And when I see Georgina I'm going to hurt her.  She promised not to talk about it with anyone -- even Louise!"

Eleanor patted her hand reassuringly.  "She would never have mentioned it at all, but we … well we had had a whole bottle of sherry one night and … "

"Say no more, I understand."

"Does," Eleanor chewed on her lower lip.  "Does your husband know?"

Buffy studied her new friend for a moment.  "Yes."

Brown eyes opened wide and a smile curved full lips.  "Was it … "

"Eleanor, have you," Buffy started to ask in lieu of answering the question.

The brunette shook her head.  "I know it sounds strange, considering my intended has no title … it would appear that I was unable to marry into a titled family because of some indiscretion, but no, I haven't.  Is it different with different men?"

"It can be, sometimes.  Has more to do with the way the man thinks and acts rather than the act itself, and I cannot believe I'm talking to you about this."

Both women glanced at their host, dozing beside his newest 'pet.'  The sounds of footsteps echoed in the hall, and Buffy's enhanced hearing was able to distinguish Angelus' unique gait from that of the butler.  "Perhaps we could continue this discussion another time."

"I ride every morning," Eleanor told her.  "Would you join me tomorrow?"

Buffy nodded as the door opened and Angelus swept into the room, bypassing the butler who was waking their host.  His eyes settled on her and a smile curved his mouth.  "There you are, my lady.  I received your note and have come to collect you."

Angelus turned to the now conscious Lord Stansington.  "Thank you for your kindness, sir."

Stansington waved his hand.  "Not at all, not at all.  Do come again, m'dears."

Buffy gave him a little wave as they were escorted to the waiting carriage.

Half an hour later Buffy and Angelus crossed the threshold of their townhouse to find a darkened foyer.  Angelus shrugged off his greatcoat as Buffy stripped off her gloves, raising an eyebrow at the silence.  "I gave the staff the night off," he told her.  "Andrew informed me that the cook left a cold platter for dinner or what have you, but that your usual luncheon will be ready at the regular time."

"Mmm … that's fine.  I promised Eleanor I would ride with her in the morning, though, and I don't know how to saddle a horse."

Angelus arched an eyebrow.  "Well, one of the stable lads will be about."

Buffy cocked her for a moment, studying her lover.  He didn't appear upset at her revelation of an early morning assignation, quite the contrary.  Of course, he was usually asleep at dawn … so was she, for that matter.  He raised both his eyebrows this time, silently questioning her perusal.  Unwilling to raise the subject of her rights to travel (or lack thereof), she grinned and gestured to his suit.  "You're overdressed."

A slow, wicked smile split his face.  "It does appear that way, does it not?  One might say the same of you."

Buffy smiled and slowly backed away, raising her wrist in the air and unfastening the tiny buttons of her blouse.  She repeated the gesture on her other wrist before turning her attention to the tiny mother of pearl buttons on the front.  Halfway down the front of the blouse she turned to face away from her lover, allowing the silk to slowly slide off her shoulders exposing her skin to him an inch at a time.

She spun around to face Angelus leaving the scrap of silk and pearl buttons on the floor as she advanced on her prey.  Deftly she did away with his jacket and shirt, running her hands along his marvelously sculpted chest and pinching his nipples.

Angelus growled softly, reaching down to unfasten the green linen skirt and accompanying petticoats.  His tiny Slayer did not bother with the typical underwear most ladies wore, telling him that it was too much of an inconvenience.  So when the layers of silk were crumpled about her feet, and she was clad in nothing but a corset, garters and stockings, he was unable to help himself.  He crushed her against his chest and devoured her lips, his tongue darting out to entwine with hers as he lifted her up.

Buffy locked her legs around his hips, fingers twining in his hair as her hardening nipples brushed his cold flesh.  She broke the kiss to moan as a bolt of lust shot straight to her core and rubbed herself against him shamelessly, eager for his touch.

They were not going to make it to the bed, he realized.  Buffy was writhing in his arms and both were too close to the edge, so he risked a glance to the windows and was pleased to note that the maids had forgotten to open the drapes that evening.  Tightening his hold on Buffy he strode to the nearest room, sweeping a centerpiece and candles from the elaborately carved ebony dining room table.

When her back hit the lace covered wood Buffy gasped and raked her nails over the backs of his shoulders.  Angelus hissed, his eyes turning from pale gold to saffron as he pulled at the laces on her corset, baring her breasts to his gaze.  She shrieked as he hungrily sucked on the rosy peaks while his questing fingers found the seat of her desire.  Tiny caresses fanned the flames of her passion, and she very nearly exploded when his sharp canines drew blood from her breast.

Her blood broke the last vestiges of his control, as always.  Angelus tore at his trousers, not bothering to take them off, merely pushing them past his hips as he sheathed himself inside her velvety heat.  Her sugared walls clamped down on him so hard he wondered vaguely if he could bruise from the delicious pleasure, but thoughts quickly fled as he heeded the siren call of her blood, returning yet again to the wound on her breast.

Buffy had long since realized why the ultimate pleasure was called the little death.  Indeed, somewhere deep inside she had known that since the night she told Angel that when he kissed her 'I want to die.'  And with Angelus the sensations were magnified.  He rarely held back, except to prolong and enhance their pleasure.  But now he was as frantic as she, both eager to find release.

As her walls began to spasm uncontrollably around him, Angelus sucked more of her luscious blood into his mouth, the potent elixir more intoxicating than any narcotic ever could be.

Buffy's breath came quicker as his thrusts quickened, going deeper with each penetration.  Dizzily she wondered if that odd groaning sound was Angelus or the table, but all thought vanished as fire shot through her veins causing her to scream in ecstasy.

Her screams were the last proverbial straw.  Angelus gave guttural moan as he tipped over into orgasm, spilling his essence in her molten womb.  Shakily he collapsed on top of her, licking the remaining blood from her breast.

Minutes passed in silence before they both heard a loud groan and felt a rumbling from beneath them.  A native Californian, Buffy's first thought was 'earthquake.'  Angelus, however, grasped the reality of the situation much more readily and scooped his lover into his arms as he quickly stood up …

Just in time to watch the table collapse.

Slightly shocked, Buffy twisted around to see, only to cause Angelus to loose his balance.  Both went tumbling to the floor, Buffy landing on top of her lover in a tangle of limbs.  They lay there for a moment before the hilarity of the situation set in, and then it was a toss up as to who was laughing the hardest.

"I think we should find a bed," Buffy giggled when she caught her breath.

"Mayhap you're right, sweeting" Angelus agreed with a grin, his thumb rubbing her swollen nipple.

"Then again, beds are highly overrated," she told him as she dropped down on his newly erect shaft.

Angelus growled lustily.

Buffy grinned.

The night was still young.

Fog still clung to the landscape the next morning as Buffy rode with Eleanor, and the first rays of dawn were nearly obscured.  The two young women chatted inconsequentially for awhile before the conversation turned to the subject dropped the day before.

"What is it like?" Eleanor's cheeks were flushed, but that could have been due to the chill in the early morning air.  "I mean, I know the basics, Georgina told me about that, but … "

Buffy studied her companion carefully, unsure what exactly to disclose.  It seemed like it was just yesterday that she and Louise had had a similar conversation.  "Well, it feels good, really good, once you get used to it.  And if the man's a good lover who pays attention to your pleasure, it's damn near mind blowing."

"Is it always the same?"

"Not always," Buffy admitted.  "There are many positions to try -- I love being on top -- "

No mistake this time, Eleanor was blushing but gestured for her to continue.

"And it can be slow and long and drawn out, or hard and fast.  Making love and fucking are two very different things."

For all her forthrightness, Eleanor's jaw still dropped open at Buffy's casual use of profanity.  However, her inquisitive nature compelled her onward.  "How so?"

Buffy grinned.  The girl was definitely made of sterner stuff than most of the women of the ton.  Louise was the only one Buffy had met that didn't at least frown when someone used 'fuck' in casual, private conversation.

"Like I said earlier, making love is usually slow.  You pay attention to each other, kiss and caress and nibble … lots of foreplay.  It's an art form unto itself, and under the right circumstances I can see why some people consider it a holy act."

Eleanor cocked her head to one side.  "And … fucking?"

"And fucking," Buffy smiled.  "Is raw sex, pure lust and desire.  It's hard and fast, no emotions or strings attached, usually."

"Why do you say usually?"

"Because if two people are aroused enough, that close to the edge, so to speak, then the foreplay is pretty pointless and unnecessary.  And fucking can be fun, too."

"Oh," Eleanor said.  "I read about it … and Georgina called it le petit morte, the little death … but how will I know when it happens?"

"You'll know," Buffy assured her.  "Trust me, you'll know."

The conversation turned then, to fashion and light gossip about Eleanor's ridiculously stupid cousin to Buffy's experiences in London.  As they cantered up to the road back to town, Buffy glanced over at Eleanor.  "You know, I still don't know your fiancé's name."

Eleanor laughed.  "I thought everyone knew, it's all people talk about.  I mean, it was not the romantic love at first sight that all those old gothic novels talk about, but it was clear to me that he was the one … "

"Eleanor," Buffy wheedled.

Eleanor just laughed again.  " Oh, well, I suppose since you've just arrived …  His name is Broderick, Broderick Chase."

Buffy managed to keep the slight shock from her face, and they continued chat amiably as they reached town, only to be drawn up short at a crowd gathered outside a row of houses.  Both women pulled their horses about to get a better look.  Unable to see what was happening, Buffy called to one of the crowd.  "What's happened?"

A middle aged matron looked at her in disbelief.  "You 'avent heard, yet?  Lady Sees was found dead.  It may 'ave been murder!"

Later that evening Buffy filled a newly awakened Angelus in on the events of the day.  "According to the constable it looks like a robbery gone wrong, but they're still investigating.  Apparently having married a knight gives her a bit more clout than the average person, even if she is nothing more than the daughter of solicitor."

"Never underestimate solicitors -- they're more bloodthirsty than vampires," Angelus quipped as he straightened his collar.

Buffy groaned.  "Now I know how old that one is."

"Mayhap it's even older," he grinned.

When a pillow bounced off the back of his head he turned and pounced on her, pinning her to the bed.  Buffy's giggles turned into gasps as he tickled her mercilessly, and she begged him to stop.  As the play began to seem less like a joke and actually started to hurt, Buffy pushed on his shoulders.  "Damn it, Angel, stop!"

Hearing the abbreviated version of his name pass her lips, a term she only used when referring to his Otherself, Angelus suddenly stilled.  It wasn't often that she spoke of the other him; at most it was a passing phrase when discussing something else, but tonight was different.

Buffy winced when she realized what she had done -- major faux pas.  Calling one guy's name while in bed with another was not good … even if they were the same person.  Sort of.  But not really.  They were so different, and yet so similar …

It was too confusing and at that moment, too much.  All the barriers she had built up were crumbling now, casting her adrift in a sea confusion and despair and heartache.

Angelus gazed down at Buffy's face, at her sad hazel eyes that were suddenly watery as if she were holding back tears.  A single drop of salt water dropped from her orbs and trailed down her temple into her hair, and moved by a rush of tenderness he kissed her eyes and pulled her close as her body started to tremble.

Sobs wracked her body for over an hour while he held her close, murmuring endearments and rubbing her back.  When her tears and sniffles finally ceased Angelus traced his fingertips over the mark on her neck before settling them in a more comfortable position.  "Tell me," he whispered.

And God help her, she did.

 

The End