Excentryke's Musings

Title: Vampire Trick
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Pairings: Bella/Owestry, (side) Buckingham/Gladys
Fandoms: The Gilded Age/The Twilight Saga/(Pride & Prejudice)
Word Count: 3k
Rating: PG
Warnings: favoritism, time travel, classism, vampires
Prompt for Fany who wanted Bella as Mrs. Russell’s daughter.

Vampire Trick

Bella gasped.  Opening her eyes, she saw she was no longer in the Volturi throne room.  She was lying on her back in what appeared to be a four poster bed, the bedchamber open and wide with windows that went from the floor to the ceiling, curtains fluttering on either side, obstructing the view.

Sitting up, Bella’s breath hitched.  There was something halting her breathing.  She looked down and saw that she was wearing a gown of gauze and silks that fluttered down past her feet.  Hesitantly, Bella reached out and tapped her stomach.  Whalebone, she was certain of it.  She was wearing a corset.

Confused, Bella slid off the bed.  The thick carpet sank beneath her stockinged feet.  Reaching down, Bella pulled up her skirts and saw that her silk stockings were held up by actual garters.

What on earth was happening?

She carefully went to one of the windows and pulled back the blush curtain.  It was raining.  She could see the drops of water on the glass.  It was grey outside, as grey as Forks ever was—but this clearly wasn’t Forks.

And not two minutes ago, she had been in Volterra.

There was a slight ache in the back of her head, and she reached out and touched it.  Aro had taken her face between his hands and slammed it into the wall, if she remembered correctly—before she had woken up on the bed.

Perhaps this was a hallucination.

Perhaps this was a vampire trick.

Perhaps she had died and this is what the waiting room to get into heaven looked like.

For several minutes, Bella just stood at the window and looked out at the rain.  Pressing herself up against the window, she tried to see past it. There were some balls of light in the distance, and if she really squinted, she could tell she was on the second or third floor of a building, a street down beneath her.

A knock on the door startled her.

Bella looked over.

A maid—because she was clearly a maid—popped in and looked at her before entering and shutting the door.  “Miss Isabella,” she chided.  “Mrs. Russell was most particular that you should be ready in half an hour.  It has been half an hour.”

Bella was dumbstruck.  She had no idea who Mrs. Russell was.  She also seemed to be ready except for her shoes, which could certainly be put on.

The maid sighed and came over.  “Your hair, mum,” she explained, taking her by the shoulders and leading her to a vanity that Bella hadn’t even noticed.  “You cannot wear it down as if we are still in Brooklyn.”

Brooklyn.  Brooklyn.  They were in America then—possibly New York City or somewhere thereabouts.

“Of course,” Bella whispered, glancing at herself in the mirror.

She was certainly wearing a silk dress in dark blue, lace around the higher bodice, with what Bella believed was called a blusher, hiding her modesty.  “Is everyone here?” she asked carefully as the maid quickly took Bella’s hair out of a braid and began to brush it.

“The Duke of Buckingham is not yet present.  We still have time,” the maid assured her, squeezing her shoulder in camaraderie.  Bella was friends with this maid then, although she appeared not to be a servant herself.  “Shall we try the pearls, mum?”

Pearls, pearls?

Bella opened her mouth to answer, but found she couldn’t make a sound.

“The pearls,” the maid decided, nodding to herself.  She was now sweeping Bella’s hair up expertly onto her head and pinning it in place.  “It would not do to catch the duke’s eye, but we must make ourselves lovely.”

Bella started chewing her lip at this.

She really did not understand what was happening—or where or who she was supposed to be.  This really must be a vampire trick.  She wondered if one of the Volturi guard had the ability to create fantasies or dreams.

As soon as her hair was done, the maid started placing pearl pins artfully in the arrangement.  They had come from a box on the vanity.  Then she drew out a small string of pearls and placed in around Bella’s neck, clipping it, and then slipping it underneath the blusher.  It just showed out at Bella’s throat.

The pearl clips looked well with the pearls around her neck.

The maid had done well.

“I—I don’t know where my shoes are,” Bella apologized.

“Let me fetch them, mum,” the maid told her, squeezing her shoulders once more before flitting away.  Bella was presented with dark blue slippers with only the slightest of heels.  The maid actually helped her put them on, which surprised Bella.

“What—what’s the date?” Bella asked carefully.  “It seems to have gone quite out of my head.”

“June twelfth, Miss Isabella,” the maid answered kindly.

Bella gave her a long look.

At first the maid did not notice, but at Bella’s continued stare, she looked over at Bella curiously.  “—1886.”

Bella let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  She had either travelled back in time one hundred and nine years—or this was the strangest ability a vampire could possibly have.  The illusion of the entire room, down to the rain on the windows, seemed quite real.  The candles were even flickering.

“I think I hit my head,” Bella murmured to herself, and she reached up to touch the back of her hair.  The ache was still there.

“Hit your head, mum?” the maid asked worriedly.

“Yes,” Bella said quite firmly.  “I certainly hit my head—” she waited.

The maid stared at her and then realization came into her eyes.  “Charlotte, mum.  You call me ‘Carrie.’”  She was definitely looking worried now.  “Should I tell your mother you are indisposed?  Mrs. Russell will be most displeased.”

Mrs. Russell was her mother then.

Bella chewed on her lip in worry.  Then, making a decision, she reached out and took Charlotte’s hand in her own.  “Carrie, is my name ‘Isabella Russell’?”

Now Charlotte looked devastated.  “No, mum,” she told her.  “You are a product of Mrs. Russell’s first marriage to Mr. Swan—”

Bella’s posture almost sagged in relief.  At least her name hadn’t changed.

“And the Duke of Buckingham has come to dinner,” Bella prodded.  “Please, Carrie, help me.”  She caught Charlotte’s blue gaze.  “We seem to be friends—I can trust you, can’t I?”

At this, Charlotte squeezed her hand back.  “You can always trust me, mum,” she promised.  She walked over to the vanity and took out evening gloves from a drawer, handing them to Bella.  It seemed she was supposed to put them on.  “Miss Gladys Russell is meant to catch the Duke of Buckingham.”

“My little sister then,” Bella guessed.

“Quite, mum,” Charlotte assured her.  “Then there’s Mr. Larry, your younger half-brother.”

“How does Mr. Russell like me?” Bella asked carefully, turning to look at herself one last time in the mirror.  She stood up and went to cross the room, but Charlotte quickly produced a fan and handed it to her.  Bella thanked her.

“Mr. Russell ignores you,” Charlotte told her.  “You find that to be quite acceptable.”

“I take it I call him ‘Mr. Russell,’” Bella guessed wryly, slipping the fan over her left wrist.

“You call Mrs. Russell, ‘Mama,’” Charlotte confirmed.

Bella nodded.  “A family dinner?”

“A family dinner.”

“Me, Mama, Mr. Russell, Gladys whose cause I must advance, and Larry.”  She looked at Charlotte to see if she had gotten it right.

Charlotte still looked slightly worried.

Bella leaned toward her.

Leaning to whisper in her ear, although there was no one but them in the bedroom, Charlotte told her, “You need to be finding yourself a husband, mum.  I know you are still just nineteen, but Mrs. Russell seems to have forgotten about you in favor of Gladys.”

She was the unwanted daughter from a first marriage then.  Well, it wasn’t like Bella wasn’t used to being an afterthought.  Renee forgot to feed her most nights.  It’s how Bella learned to cook and do the marketing.  It was out of necessity.

Bella nodded and took a deep breath.

Walking to the door, Charlotte hurried over and opened it for her.  Bella smiled at her kindly, and went through into the hallway.

There was gold inlaid in the staircase.

The house—mansion—was absolutely decadent.  Bella had seen nothing like it.  Mr. Russell must be very wealthy.  It was clear by spending barely two seconds in his hallway.

She made her way down the stairs and followed the voices into what appeared to be a drawing room.  She stood in the door for a moment, taking everyone in.  Yes, the woman in silks was undoubtedly Mrs. Russell—mama.  There was Gladys, a timid little thing.  Larry—he looked about the right age to be her brother—was standing by the mantle in white tie.  No Mr. Russell though.  He hadn’t seemed to have come down yet.

“Ah, Bella,” Mrs. Russell greeted casually.  “You look quite demure.  Go sit in the corner.”  She indicated a chair off to the side. 

If Bella hadn’t realized it before, she now certainly was being shown her place.

She walked across the room toward the chair. 

Larry turned toward her and winked.

Gladys seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with their mother.  “I do not see why I should like him, Mama,” she complained.  “He is so—”

“Wealthy?  Aristocratic?” Mrs. Russell supplied for her.  “You shall be a duchess, darling.  It shall be my greatest triumph.”

Gladys deflated.  Bella was watching her closely.  They looked nothing alike as far as Bella could tell, though she resembled Larry with their dark hair, darker eyes, and tall frames.  They both rather resembled Mrs. Russell.  Gladys was a nondescript child not even quite on the cusp of womanhood, with dishwater hair and watery eyes.  Bella felt sorry for her.  How was she meant to catch a duke except with her fortune?  She looked like an ugly duckling that could never grow into a swan.

The door opened and a man, old enough to be Bella’s father, with dark hair and a full beard walked in.  Ah, this was Mr. Russell then.  He came over and offered his wife a kiss on the cheek before going to the mantle.

Bella just sat and observed the family.  They seemed quite perfect without her.

When the Duke of Buckingham was announced, she stood along with everyone else, but stayed in her corner, not going up to meet him.  A second later the Viscount of Owestry was announced, clearly a side thought to the duke.

Where the duke was tall with a firm build, with a head of fine brunet hair and a mustache, the viscount looked quite forgettable beside him.  He was clean shaven, with wisping blond hair, watery eyes, and weak shoulders.  He looked quite out of place in his white tie, as if he were a child playing dress up.  Bella supposed that made two of them.

The duke was very much occupied by Mrs. Russell and Bella went back to sitting in her corner, ignored and not even introduced.

She had gone back to looking out the window, when someone right next to her asked, “Is it letting up?”

Not bothering to look over, Bella asked, “The rain?—I don’t think it will let up any time soon.  I can tell it’s going to last the night.”

“And can you read the heavens, Miss Russell?” the voice asked and Bella turned to correct him.  However, as soon as she caught Owestry’s blue gaze, she was suddenly struck dumb, this time a fluttering in her heart.  She did not know why, but Owestry was suddenly more compelling than Edward ever had been, and Edward had ripped Bella’s heart out.  Owestry, without meaning to, had just started her heart back up, when she thought it was nothing but a bleeding hole.

If Bella was struck silent, then so equally was Owestry.  He was gazing at her completely, a small, silly smile slowly forming on his lips.

“What’s so funny?” Bella asked him, confused.

“Nothing, Miss Russell.  It is only you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on, and your mother failed to introduce us.”

Bella blushed, looking down at her hands.  “Miss Swan,” she corrected, glancing up carefully only to see the smile wider on Owestry’s face.  “I am Isabella Marie Swan.”

“Miss Swan,” Owestry amended.  “It is only that you look so like Mrs. Russell.”

Bella glanced over at the small gathering, and saw that Mrs. Russell was still speaking to the duke, trying to draw Gladys into conversation. 

“She is my mother,” Bella told him, glad she had gotten this information out of Charlotte.  “Mr. Russell, however, is not my father.  My dad is—gone.”  The words sounded stupid to her ears, but Charlie was quite gone.  He was a century away and she had no way to get back to him.

“I am quite sorry, Miss Swan,” Owestry commiserated.  He took a few steps away and went to fetch a chair so that he could sit near her.  Bella noticed that Mrs. Russell definitely clocked him. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Bella lied, warmed by the kindness in Owestry’s eyes. 

He settled into his chair, crossing his legs while being decidedly turned toward her, and he asked, “Your mother is not desirous for you to have an advantageous marriage then?”

They both glanced toward the duke and Gladys.

“My father is not nearly as wealthy as Mr. Russell,” Bella demurred, thinking of Charlie and his small house in Forks, barely big enough for the both of them.  “Gladys is the belle of the ball.”

“Not from where I’m sitting,” Owestry informed her.  “Is she even of age?”

Bella hesitated.  She honestly had no idea.

“I quite see the way of it.”  Owestry took her in unapologetically.  “My father quite ignores my younger brother, but for different reasons, I’m sure.”

“Is it that he is a younger son?” Bella asked, drawing on her knowledge of Jane Austen.  Not that this was the early eighteen hundreds.  They were half a century past that.

Owestry shrugged.  “That is only part of it.  If you ever meet him, you will see exactly what I mean.”

Confused by his statement, Bella looked back down at her hands and how her gloves bunched slightly at her fingertips.  “I don’t suppose I’ll be meeting him,” Bella guessed.  “He must be in England.”

“True,” Owestry admitted casually, as if it didn’t bother him one way or the other.  “I only came to New York to get away from my father’s endless pestering to marry again.”

This certainly caught Bella’s attention.  “You’ve been married?”  He looked like he was in his mid-thirties.  It was certainly possible.

“I am a widower,” Owestry explained carefully, waiting for Bella’s reaction.

Bella kept her face perfectly blank.

Owestry waited several moments longer, but when Bella didn’t comment, his shoulders seemed to relax. Bella hadn’t realized they were holding any tension.  “It does not bother you then.”

Bella was surprised.  If she knew anything about the nineteenth century, she knew that rules and etiquette dictated society, even in New York.  Owestry would only be asking her if it bothered her if he—if he wanted—

She blushed her horrible blush, which stretched over her cheeks, down her neck, and into her blusher.  After a moment, she questioned: “I thought you came to America to—escape such—” here she searched for the word “—entanglements.”

Owestry didn’t even blink.  “You are not an entanglement, Miss Swan.”  He regarded her carefully.

Bella didn’t know what he meant by that, and looked at him in confusion.

Was this meant to be a harmless flirtation then?

Worry crossed his face, and he leaned carefully toward her.  “That is—What I meant to say, Miss Swan—dammit.”  He glanced over toward Buckingham and then returned his attention to Bella.  “I like my own choice other than my father’s many suggestions.”  His intense gaze caught hers and Bella’s breath hitched.

“It’s not—I’m not,” Bella tried to explain, a little uncertain of her position in the household and if she even had a dowry, “that is—Gladys—”

Owestry didn’t even look in Gladys’s direction.

“—she has the fortune,” Owestry guessed, “as Mr. Russell’s daughter.”

Bella wrang her fingers together in worry. 

Not an hour ago she had been held prisoner by the Volturi, worried for Edward’s future, not knowing if he were dead or alive—and now she was transported in time and absolutely smitten with a man that was easily Charlie’s age.  She quite wondered at herself.

“Miss Swan,” Owestry told her plainly, “I am not shopping for an American heiress.”

“Is that what the Duke of Buckingham is doing?” Bella asked carefully.

“That is most certainly what he is doing,” Owestry confirmed, “and I pity him for it.”  Once again, he didn’t bother to look over.  He still regarded Bella, who couldn’t help but blush under his intense gaze.  Leaning forward, he wondered, “I don’t suppose we’ll be dinner partners.”

Bella honestly had no idea.  “I don’t suggest you go changing place cards,” she warned.  “There’s no way to sneak out.”

“I could do it in the open,” he suggested unabashedly.  “In fact, I will go make inquiries now.”  He smiled dopily at her and stood to go speak to Mrs. Russell.  Bella almost called him back, but he seemed so determined.

Perhaps, whatever this vampire trick was, it wasn’t so bad after all.

The End.