Love Wanders There - Chapter 2
Love Wanders There
Rated: Pg-13 (for now)
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
No Warnings Yet
Summary: Only beginning to rebuild her life the Slayer travels abroad for the holidays. It isn't peace she finds in the English countryside, but something she thinks she's lost. (I can't summarize for the life of me)
The rest of the story can be found here in my memories.
Two
If the woman standing in front of her was her godmother she’d eat Mr. Pointy; splinters be damned. The brunette was leaning gracefully against the end of the banister staring at them with disdain. She didn’t speak, but with the flick of her wrist had two servants (who looked more like bellhops) scurrying toward the luggage.
Dawn wasn’t paying any attention to the princess standing at the foot of the stairs, instead she was viewing, mouth slightly open, and with not too much drool, the “cottage”.
Cottage her ass; unless the term cottage in England meant mansion.
“I assume since you arrived in one piece that you had an adequate trip?”
Her voice was perfectly matched to the body that it came from. Low and throaty in that way that turned men into idiots, and dripping with condescension.
“Yes, it was fine.” Buffy surveyed the princess from head to toe; she was draped expensive clothing, her nails perfectly manicured. She could even smell her perfume from where she was standing. Great.
“Rowena will be down shortly, so wait there.” With a slight narrowing of her eyes the princess dismissed both her and Dawn instantly, and turned and glided back up the stairs.
“Would you look at this place? Geez, how come we’ve never visited here before?”
Buffy shrugged off Dawn’s question and watched the ice princess disappear up the stairs.
She had to admit the house was beautiful with its high ceilings, extravagant decorations, and paintings. It was a mix between the mansion from The Haunting and Buckingham Palace.
“I can’t wait to call Xander and rub it in!” Dawn squealed, and it echoed throughout the entryway.
“Dawn….” Buffy sighed exasperated.
“I know, I know; I’m too loud if it echoes. Check.”
Buffy turned to face Dawn, and then froze. On the wall, hung a to-scale full body painting. It looked exactly like her. Even her light footsteps echoed as she approached the portrait. She stared up at the girl in the painting who, upon closer inspection didn’t look exactly like her. The girl was wearing some kind of riding habit. Buffy was too up on her history, but she knew the painting was old. Women didn’t ride in full skirts, and high-buttoned neck jackets anymore. The girl sat on a stone bench gracefully, a riding whip clutched in her right hand. She wasn’t smiling, but staring straight ahead.
“She does look a bit like you.”
Buffy jumped at the voice, and found a plump older woman was now standing directly beside her.
“I guess…”
The older woman smiled, and her eyes crinkled in amusement. She took Buffy’s hand and patted it comfortingly. “She was your great-grandmother, three times over I believe.” The woman nodded toward the painting.
Buffy stared down at the woman beside her now, instead of up at the painting.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Rowena dearie, your Godmother.”
***
The teacups on the table rattled as Rowena sat down in her chair; her plump body barely fit into the confines of the plush red armchair. Buffy stared unabashed as Rowena dropped five sugar cubes into her teacup before filling it to the brim.
“Well where should I begin?” Rowena smiled at the sisters, and Buffy shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
“How about why are we here, and who you are really?” Buffy grimaced as the words came out harsher than she intended, but Rowena just smiled and sipped her tear.
“Your mother was my goddaughter; God rest her soul.”
“I thought you were our godmother?” Dawn asked crunching on a biscuit.
“As far as the Church is concerned I’m not officially your godmother, but that really is inconsequential.”
“Wait, so why did my Dad say you were then?”
Rowena set down her teacup. “ Your father and mother both agreed it was for the best, if I would act as your godmother, in the event that something happened to them. Neither of you were baptized; so it would never really be official.”
“So where were you three years ago when Mom died and we were all alone?” Buffy didn’t try to disguise the bitterness in her voice. Her impatience for answers was beginning to show.
Rowena didn’t seem to be affected by the malice in Buffy’s voice. She remained relaxed and smiling softly in her chair. “I wasn’t informed until recently that your mother had passed.”
Dawn nodded her head swallowing the words without any exception.
“I received a letter from a Mr. Giles who explained your situation to me. It seemed that you both were comfortable and doing well in Ohio, so I felt inviting you to come and live here was unnecessary.”
“Live here? With you?” Dawn dropped a cookie in her excitement, and scrambled to pluck it from the couch.
“Yes, that was my original intention. However, since you seemed to be doing perfectly fine on your own, I surmised a holiday for the both of you would be a friendly start.”
Buffy wasn’t buying it. “Why didn’t Mom ever mention you? Ever?”
Rowena’s smile wilted slightly. “Your mother and I had row right after her and your father were divorced. Sadly, we hadn’t spoken in years; when I found out she had died, I was heart-broken.”
“And before that?”
“Your mother and I kept correspondences. I don’t suppose you would remember, both of you being so young.”
“No, I don’t remember, and I wasn’t that young.”
Rowena nodded at Buffy’s disbelief, as if she had been expecting it. “I gathered up all the old photographs of your mother and I. I had them put in your room so you could have a look at them.”
Buffy stared at Rowena; her hazel eyes locking with Rowena’s grey ones. The old woman seemed sincere, and if the pictures were real, Buffy saw no further reason to challenge her.
“Alright.”
Rowena’s smile brightened. “Well, then, now that is settled, would you like to know why your great-grandmother’s portrait is hanging in the hall?”
Buffy quietly took a sip of her tea, and nodded.
“Your mother’s maiden name was Maitland, the same as mine. My late husband, God rest his soul, was your mother’s great Uncle.”
“So we’re related?” Dawn questioned curiously.
“By marriage dearie.”
“Way cool!”
Buffy rolled her eyes. Setting down her teacup she got to her feet. “As exciting as this all is, I’m way tired. I think I’m going to go unpack and take a nap.”
“Of course Elizabeth, your quarters are the fourth door on the left. Just turn right at the top of the stairs.”
Buffy nodded curtly ignoring the misuse of her name, and exited the room. She could hear Dawn whispering behind her.
“Don’t mind her, she just wants to go check out those pictures, make sure you aren’t crazy or something.”
She didn’t hear Rowena’s response as she took the stairs two at a time, and it didn’t bother her at all.
***
The nap, turned into twelve hours; early morning sun was peeking through the heavy curtains as Buffy opened her eyes. The pictures checked out, Rowena was who she said she was, so far. She didn’t feel bad about her attitude toward the older woman; being cautious had never hurt her in the past.
The house was quiet as Buffy descended the stairs. She really had no idea where she was going, but she knew she needed coffee. No one got up this early and didn’t drink coffee.
She took a left at the bottom of the stairs and found herself in an honest to God ballroom. The ceiling must have stretched up two floors. It was beautiful, in a very daunting sort of way. She exited the ballroom through another door and found herself in the dining room. She was getting closer.
Finally fifteen minutes later Buffy found herself in the kitchen, seated on a stool, sipping a steaming cup of the best coffee she’d ever tasted. The cook, Fanny had swooped in on her before she’d had time to say a word. Never having encountered a personal cook before, Buffy had to admit; Fanny was exactly how she would have pictured one. She was tall, close to 6 feet if Buffy had to guess, and heavy, very heavy. She had rosy cheeks, and a booming voice and the closest comparison Buffy could come up with, was Santa Clause.
She’d done a little probing while sipping on her coffee. Turns out the ice princess, was actually Isabelle Maitland, Rowena’s niece by marriage. Apparently Isabelle had come for the holidays as well, although Fanny and the rest of the staff suspected it was secure her place in Rowena’s will.
Fanny had also hinted that “Miss Rowena” was planning some kind of welcoming event for Dawn and Buffy that very evening. Buffy shuddered as she thought of the ballroom. All she could picture was a slew of prim English girls in ball gowns, dance cards, and men in tuxedos. Hell would freeze over before she attended something like that.
After finishing her coffee, Buffy bundled up, and set out in the snow to explore the rest of the grounds. She followed the path at the back of the house for a bit and found herself at the stables. She was petting the nose of a safe looking brown horse, when she heard chatter outside the barn.
“Mr. Pratt’s got hiself’ a new pair, grey matched geldings. Paid a pretty penny for those I no doubt.”
“What’s he gonna do with them Tanner? His stable boy says he aint’ got no bloody carriage.”
“I imagine he’ll be gettin’ one real soon; you know them rich blokes. Emptying their pockets for no good reason. ‘Prolly doesn’t know a damned thing about horses.”
The laughter faded out as the two men drifted away from the stables. Buffy was amused by the gossip. It reminded her of something out of a movie; “grey matched geldings” “stable boy”. She didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but it sounded like it belonged back in the 18th century, or something.
She couldn’t wait to talk to Willow, and tell her all about the craziness that was England. Buffy was one hundred percent certain that London was nothing like this. London was probably like New York, modern and busy; it was too bad Rowena didn’t have a house in London.
Buffy exited the barn and began to stomp through the snow back to the house. The conversation about the allusive Mr. Pratt forgotten as the possibility of an upcoming welcoming party loomed over her head.
Author's Note: Alas, no Spike yet. I promise he'll be making an appearance (in one form or another) very soon, so bare with me. Please comment, and let me know how I'm doing, or if you are confused about anything! I don't have a beta, so all errors, are completely mine.
Rated: Pg-13 (for now)
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
No Warnings Yet
Summary: Only beginning to rebuild her life the Slayer travels abroad for the holidays. It isn't peace she finds in the English countryside, but something she thinks she's lost. (I can't summarize for the life of me)
The rest of the story can be found here in my memories.
Two
If the woman standing in front of her was her godmother she’d eat Mr. Pointy; splinters be damned. The brunette was leaning gracefully against the end of the banister staring at them with disdain. She didn’t speak, but with the flick of her wrist had two servants (who looked more like bellhops) scurrying toward the luggage.
Dawn wasn’t paying any attention to the princess standing at the foot of the stairs, instead she was viewing, mouth slightly open, and with not too much drool, the “cottage”.
Cottage her ass; unless the term cottage in England meant mansion.
“I assume since you arrived in one piece that you had an adequate trip?”
Her voice was perfectly matched to the body that it came from. Low and throaty in that way that turned men into idiots, and dripping with condescension.
“Yes, it was fine.” Buffy surveyed the princess from head to toe; she was draped expensive clothing, her nails perfectly manicured. She could even smell her perfume from where she was standing. Great.
“Rowena will be down shortly, so wait there.” With a slight narrowing of her eyes the princess dismissed both her and Dawn instantly, and turned and glided back up the stairs.
“Would you look at this place? Geez, how come we’ve never visited here before?”
Buffy shrugged off Dawn’s question and watched the ice princess disappear up the stairs.
She had to admit the house was beautiful with its high ceilings, extravagant decorations, and paintings. It was a mix between the mansion from The Haunting and Buckingham Palace.
“I can’t wait to call Xander and rub it in!” Dawn squealed, and it echoed throughout the entryway.
“Dawn….” Buffy sighed exasperated.
“I know, I know; I’m too loud if it echoes. Check.”
Buffy turned to face Dawn, and then froze. On the wall, hung a to-scale full body painting. It looked exactly like her. Even her light footsteps echoed as she approached the portrait. She stared up at the girl in the painting who, upon closer inspection didn’t look exactly like her. The girl was wearing some kind of riding habit. Buffy was too up on her history, but she knew the painting was old. Women didn’t ride in full skirts, and high-buttoned neck jackets anymore. The girl sat on a stone bench gracefully, a riding whip clutched in her right hand. She wasn’t smiling, but staring straight ahead.
“She does look a bit like you.”
Buffy jumped at the voice, and found a plump older woman was now standing directly beside her.
“I guess…”
The older woman smiled, and her eyes crinkled in amusement. She took Buffy’s hand and patted it comfortingly. “She was your great-grandmother, three times over I believe.” The woman nodded toward the painting.
Buffy stared down at the woman beside her now, instead of up at the painting.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Rowena dearie, your Godmother.”
***
The teacups on the table rattled as Rowena sat down in her chair; her plump body barely fit into the confines of the plush red armchair. Buffy stared unabashed as Rowena dropped five sugar cubes into her teacup before filling it to the brim.
“Well where should I begin?” Rowena smiled at the sisters, and Buffy shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
“How about why are we here, and who you are really?” Buffy grimaced as the words came out harsher than she intended, but Rowena just smiled and sipped her tear.
“Your mother was my goddaughter; God rest her soul.”
“I thought you were our godmother?” Dawn asked crunching on a biscuit.
“As far as the Church is concerned I’m not officially your godmother, but that really is inconsequential.”
“Wait, so why did my Dad say you were then?”
Rowena set down her teacup. “ Your father and mother both agreed it was for the best, if I would act as your godmother, in the event that something happened to them. Neither of you were baptized; so it would never really be official.”
“So where were you three years ago when Mom died and we were all alone?” Buffy didn’t try to disguise the bitterness in her voice. Her impatience for answers was beginning to show.
Rowena didn’t seem to be affected by the malice in Buffy’s voice. She remained relaxed and smiling softly in her chair. “I wasn’t informed until recently that your mother had passed.”
Dawn nodded her head swallowing the words without any exception.
“I received a letter from a Mr. Giles who explained your situation to me. It seemed that you both were comfortable and doing well in Ohio, so I felt inviting you to come and live here was unnecessary.”
“Live here? With you?” Dawn dropped a cookie in her excitement, and scrambled to pluck it from the couch.
“Yes, that was my original intention. However, since you seemed to be doing perfectly fine on your own, I surmised a holiday for the both of you would be a friendly start.”
Buffy wasn’t buying it. “Why didn’t Mom ever mention you? Ever?”
Rowena’s smile wilted slightly. “Your mother and I had row right after her and your father were divorced. Sadly, we hadn’t spoken in years; when I found out she had died, I was heart-broken.”
“And before that?”
“Your mother and I kept correspondences. I don’t suppose you would remember, both of you being so young.”
“No, I don’t remember, and I wasn’t that young.”
Rowena nodded at Buffy’s disbelief, as if she had been expecting it. “I gathered up all the old photographs of your mother and I. I had them put in your room so you could have a look at them.”
Buffy stared at Rowena; her hazel eyes locking with Rowena’s grey ones. The old woman seemed sincere, and if the pictures were real, Buffy saw no further reason to challenge her.
“Alright.”
Rowena’s smile brightened. “Well, then, now that is settled, would you like to know why your great-grandmother’s portrait is hanging in the hall?”
Buffy quietly took a sip of her tea, and nodded.
“Your mother’s maiden name was Maitland, the same as mine. My late husband, God rest his soul, was your mother’s great Uncle.”
“So we’re related?” Dawn questioned curiously.
“By marriage dearie.”
“Way cool!”
Buffy rolled her eyes. Setting down her teacup she got to her feet. “As exciting as this all is, I’m way tired. I think I’m going to go unpack and take a nap.”
“Of course Elizabeth, your quarters are the fourth door on the left. Just turn right at the top of the stairs.”
Buffy nodded curtly ignoring the misuse of her name, and exited the room. She could hear Dawn whispering behind her.
“Don’t mind her, she just wants to go check out those pictures, make sure you aren’t crazy or something.”
She didn’t hear Rowena’s response as she took the stairs two at a time, and it didn’t bother her at all.
***
The nap, turned into twelve hours; early morning sun was peeking through the heavy curtains as Buffy opened her eyes. The pictures checked out, Rowena was who she said she was, so far. She didn’t feel bad about her attitude toward the older woman; being cautious had never hurt her in the past.
The house was quiet as Buffy descended the stairs. She really had no idea where she was going, but she knew she needed coffee. No one got up this early and didn’t drink coffee.
She took a left at the bottom of the stairs and found herself in an honest to God ballroom. The ceiling must have stretched up two floors. It was beautiful, in a very daunting sort of way. She exited the ballroom through another door and found herself in the dining room. She was getting closer.
Finally fifteen minutes later Buffy found herself in the kitchen, seated on a stool, sipping a steaming cup of the best coffee she’d ever tasted. The cook, Fanny had swooped in on her before she’d had time to say a word. Never having encountered a personal cook before, Buffy had to admit; Fanny was exactly how she would have pictured one. She was tall, close to 6 feet if Buffy had to guess, and heavy, very heavy. She had rosy cheeks, and a booming voice and the closest comparison Buffy could come up with, was Santa Clause.
She’d done a little probing while sipping on her coffee. Turns out the ice princess, was actually Isabelle Maitland, Rowena’s niece by marriage. Apparently Isabelle had come for the holidays as well, although Fanny and the rest of the staff suspected it was secure her place in Rowena’s will.
Fanny had also hinted that “Miss Rowena” was planning some kind of welcoming event for Dawn and Buffy that very evening. Buffy shuddered as she thought of the ballroom. All she could picture was a slew of prim English girls in ball gowns, dance cards, and men in tuxedos. Hell would freeze over before she attended something like that.
After finishing her coffee, Buffy bundled up, and set out in the snow to explore the rest of the grounds. She followed the path at the back of the house for a bit and found herself at the stables. She was petting the nose of a safe looking brown horse, when she heard chatter outside the barn.
“Mr. Pratt’s got hiself’ a new pair, grey matched geldings. Paid a pretty penny for those I no doubt.”
“What’s he gonna do with them Tanner? His stable boy says he aint’ got no bloody carriage.”
“I imagine he’ll be gettin’ one real soon; you know them rich blokes. Emptying their pockets for no good reason. ‘Prolly doesn’t know a damned thing about horses.”
The laughter faded out as the two men drifted away from the stables. Buffy was amused by the gossip. It reminded her of something out of a movie; “grey matched geldings” “stable boy”. She didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but it sounded like it belonged back in the 18th century, or something.
She couldn’t wait to talk to Willow, and tell her all about the craziness that was England. Buffy was one hundred percent certain that London was nothing like this. London was probably like New York, modern and busy; it was too bad Rowena didn’t have a house in London.
Buffy exited the barn and began to stomp through the snow back to the house. The conversation about the allusive Mr. Pratt forgotten as the possibility of an upcoming welcoming party loomed over her head.
Author's Note: Alas, no Spike yet. I promise he'll be making an appearance (in one form or another) very soon, so bare with me. Please comment, and let me know how I'm doing, or if you are confused about anything! I don't have a beta, so all errors, are completely mine.