Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach because I am not Tite Kubo. Copyright belongs to those who legally do.

A/N: I think I've read way too much historical romances. The reviews I receive are too sweet and heart-warming! Thank you for reading, I hope you'll stay for the long journey~

The Rules of Aristocracy

Chapter 4

Byakuya Kuchiki looked out of his carriage window and to his dismay, saw red. Feigning ignorance, he tapped on the roof of his carriage with his cane. His driver better be sober enough to hear that signal. He would prefer them to depart immediately rather than be detained for a little while because the young viscount Abarai wanted a little chit-chat.

He was not known to be accommodating. Sadly, so was the viscount as the tall man managed to halt his driver's attempts at proceeding.

Impatience bubbling beneath his calm façade, he managed to nod an acknowledgment at the man's enthusiastic greeting. A few years older than his sister, Abarai had known the family since the time he saved Rukia from nearly drowning and sheltered her in his family seat to recover. He came to fetch her within several days, and after that, Abarai had been a constant visitor to their own family seat which was regrettably, only a few hours on horseback from his.

It irked him that the young viscount carried a torch for his sister yet grateful for he had once saved her life, he kept his lips shut and silently dreaded the day he'd call upon him for one specific purpose. The blazing red hair and Scottish brogue (much less pronounced for he had spent most of his years in England) was the least of his reasons for his dislike of the match.

Opening the door, he faced him.

"Your Grace, I wasn't aware you were leaving early."

I fully intended to keep it that way until you came by on another one of your whims, he thought but answered instead, "Naturally, I still have more than a day to cover to arrive at Urahara Kisuke's country house before the morrow."

"I also received an invitation." Renji patted his horse's neck, "I figured that I could arrive fashionably late, but seeing as you are on your way there…"

He thanked the Good Lord for his self-control or he would have closed the door before the other could finish his sentence.

"Would it be too much of an inconvenience if I would go there with you in your coach?"

Tolerate, more like it. He nodded once and a measure of excitement lit Renji's face. The viscount hurriedly rode the short distance to his groom, who was lingering near the townhouse's oak doors. He waited in the carriage, though he couldn't stop himself from looking at his timepiece now and then. Mayhap a few more minutes won't matter.

The carriage rocked a bit as Renji hoisted himself on the seat across from him.

"I hope you don't mind that I left instructions to your groom regarding my horse and that I sent your errand boy for a message to be sent to my valet, Your Grace."

"I don't mind." He tapped on the roof once again and it sent them on a leisurely pace. Disinterested at the sights and sounds of London, he still stared out the window in the hopes of averting any conversation his companion had in mind. He wasn't in the slightest mood for idle chatter.

"Pardon me, Your Grace, but just a few days ago, I went to your family seat. My intentions were to call upon your sister. Instead of being at Bath for the water cures, Lord Ukitake was there."

Knowing what was coming, he faced Renji with a guarded expression on his face and waited for Renji to finish what he meant to say.

"Although, I found that the purpose of my visit was nowhere to be found."

Fixing Renji with a frosty stare, he spoke, "I am not at all certain that has anything to do with you."

The young man's face flushed pink, enough to match the outrageously colored ensemble he was wearing. Wearing the latest fashions and yet being able to look drab in it was one of his many talents. Renji looked too early for Christmas. How he wanted to fling that insult directly to his face and watch as the face went from one shade of red to another. Amusing, to say the least.

"Then pardon my intrusion, Your Grace, I did not intend any disrespect."

He couldn't help but tighten his grip on the ivory head of his cane. The rather calm manner his companion exuded in spite of the flustered expression as opposed to the nervousness he had expected, was foreboding. "What do you know of it, Abarai?"

A deep sigh left Renji's lips. "I must confess, when you said she would stay at your family seat to recuperate from an illness made me concerned and not because I believed it false. A month went by, and her shadow has not touched a single cobblestone in London. It was then that I went to visit her, and found that she has been gone for all that time after speaking to Lord Ukitake. His lordship apparently, was under the impression she was, here, in London for the season."

He knew his face belied the emotions twisting his insides into horrible mush. Byakuya also knew, upon looking at the young man's visage much clearly, that they at least shared the same nightmare. Like maggots burrowing down into their bones, the worry kept them from sleep at night; when sleep did come, dreams were filled with ill visions of death, sickness and the unknown – thinking about it made him ill. The not knowing was a torture for someone a step away from their spirit's death.

He had even started praying to a God he had forgotten for so long.

Perhaps it was his own strange way of coping that he wanted everything to look well in the outside. It was his own damned luck that everyone assumed it was.

Not to mention the flurry of scandalous gossip to breach their honorable name once the ton got a whiff of the truth.

"It's been six months." He watched as the shock crept into Renji's face at his reply, "A week into March, she went to the Exchange to buy new gloves." It was for the new gown she was supposed to wear for that evening's ball; he hasn't seen her leave the town house that morning. "She never returned."

I'm sorry, Hisana.

"That long, I wouldna –" And just like that, emotions overcame Renji and his Scottish brogue slipped through, "Have ye hired some Street Bow Runners, mon? Bloody hell, ye didna tell me—"

"And what more would you have done? I've sent men, in secret, of course, to look for her yet not one had returned any news." Irritation crept into his voice, but he could only offer silent sympathy for Renji.

"Was it a kidnappin'?"

At his narrowed eyes, Renji wisely closed his mouth and swallowed his questions. He could see there was no apology forthcoming for the unbecoming outburst.

"I didn't receive any note for a ransom." At his answer, Renji's face crumpled and his shoulders slumped against the carriage seat. "Why do you ask of this now?"

"I…I did not know how to approach you. The rumors they…Rukia, she—

He held up a hand to effectively stop the stammering. It was clear the young man needed the time to gather his thoughts.

Silence wrapped them in its arms, both too deep in their own thoughts. In their minds, the same questions lingered.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Entering the kitchen, Orihime was surprised to see Elsie, a ten-year old, still cleaning the pots to a shine by the soft glow of an oil lamp. Hesitant should give away her reason of being in the kitchen when everyone has retired, she smiled at the young girl. The little girl's small, thin arms were firmly going back and forth with a small rug over a pot's soot-blackened bottom. Elsie grinned at her in return and gave a small wave of her hand.

"Orihime, what are you doing here?"

Startled, she turned around and saw Rukia behind her. "Oh, Rukia, nothin'. Just strollin' hereabouts…I mean…well…" Could she tell her that she was here because of Kurosaki?

A slender hand settled on her shoulder, "Isn't it too late for you to be out of bed?"

"But you too, Rukia.." She followed her friend into the kitchen, suddenly curious why she was here. The sounds of scraping getting louder as they neared the pantry, she saw Rukia lay out a tray.

"I don't think you have seen Ichigo eat his evening meal, have you?"

She watched, struck speechless, as Rukia proceeded to fully laden the tray with a bowl of vegetable stew, a large chunk of bread, cheese, and a glass of water all of which were seemingly left for her. Moments later, the small tray protested its load when Rukia tried to lift it with both of her hands and the contents threatened to spill. Recovering from her brief shock, she handed Rukia another bigger tray and helped move the food unto it.

Now that his lordship was back, Ichigo wasn't able to join them for meals. She knew that he sometimes skipped them altogether, having too much to do with the imminent arrival of important guests or accounting for things t the manor and the tenants or something else.

Rukia's hands moved swiftly across the air, arranging the dishes in a neat form, and she followed her lead. She wasn't aware Rukia brought him his meals. And just like that, she felt envious of the black-haired, violet-eyed girl and when their hands accidentally touched, she felt burned and found herself drawing back swiftly and avoiding large, questioning eyes.

Rukia took a step back and asked Elsie, "Where are the apples the gardener picked this afternoon?"

The scraping sounds stopped. "But Rukia, those are fer the apple pies tomorrow."

"I only need one," her brows met in contemplation, "or two."

"A'right, o'er there. But you be the one to tell Mr. Tessai why an apple or two's been missing."

Catching Rukia's gaze, she volunteered to get the apple herself and went straight to the basket right where Elsie said they would be. This was probably for Ichigo so she better get the best ones. She chose two apples which seemed healthy to her touch then handed them to Rukia.

Tentatively, she broached the subject. "Are you bringing Ichigo 'is meals?"

Rukia squinted her eyes at the poor light and examined the apples with a critical eye. Nonchalantly, she replied, "Of course." One apple got left out and she heard her mumble, 'too lumpy.'

"Why?" She bit her lip. There was no reason for her to ask.

"I wouldn't let him starve. He's been missing meals lately." At that, Rukia pursed her mouth, reminding her of sour plums and bad weather.

"Let me help you, Rukia."

"That would be lovely but it's alright. Thanks for the offer though, Orihime."

In mild wonder, she watched Rukia carry a meal contentedly out of the kitchen.

"Orihime, what do ye need?" Elsie's voice broke through her thoughts.

"E-eh? I wanted to bring Kurosaki somethin' to eat." The truth came rushing out of her lips. "I see now I didn't need to be worried." She covered the slight embarrassment she felt with a giggle.

"Aye, Rukia's gone and brung 'im meals sometimes." Elsie turned to her with a gap-toothed smile. "Not everytime but she always knows when 'e wouldn't be eatin'. So, Mr. Tessai makes certain there be some food she can take to 'im before 'e turns to bed."

Weakly, she nodded and thought about green-eyed monsters whirring their heads at her. She shook her head; it must simply be the cold getting to her and not jealousy at all.

Right?

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Rukia slipped into his room without so much as a knock and found him on his bed, an open book on his lap. The door was left ajar with the light peeking from where it could.

"You deliberately missed your meal again tonight," her tone accused him and he let out an audible sigh together with a sharp look aimed at her.

Settling the tray beside her on his bed, he stood up a little too quickly and placed both hands on his hips. He warily stared at the person making herself comfortable on his bed, among his pillows and blanket. He frowned. "That isn't part of your job."

"Nor is it the issue. I brought you your meal. Eat."

The shrew was unabashedly looking at his chest. At his naked chest. Cursing whoever thought it good to treat him like this, he sat on a stool, the only furniture of his room other than his table and bed, and crossed his legs. Her eyes didn't waver as they continued to burn a hole through him. He might be able to walk the short distance to fetch a shirt, but he won't gamble on that. Curse the idiot who decided tight breeches were the best idea for men's fashion.

"Stop staring at my chest," he gritted out, "and get out of my bed."

"I like your bed," to drive the point home, she grabbed one of his pillows and held it to her bosom. It was difficult to look away and not feel envious of his own pillow – "And don't flaunt your chest if you don't want me seeing it."

He held himself from groaning out loud. There's only so much a man can take. After a stressful day, he didn't have to be subjected to this. "Didn't I tell you to not go into my room, Rukia?"

"And since when did I listen to you? Goodness, you would probably be the only one in history to have died because you forget to eat far too many times."

He glared at her then fixed his gaze at a spot on the wall. Opting to watch the shadows on the wall, he let the sounds of their breathing fill the room. He'd rather let her stew in her annoyance than engage in another word war after going through a long day. Tomorrow, the guests would start arriving and there would be no sufficient reason to wander around and conveniently find Rukia whenever he wanted to. Patience was never one of his virtues and he'd be damned if he'd let himself worry over her for the most part of tomorrow. She can take care of herself. He just wanted to make sure she was doing the best effort at doing it.

Not that it was any concern of his.

His vision slid to the woman languidly draped over his bed. Her eyes were beginning to droop and her breaths were slowly becoming even. Frustration hit him like a ton of bricks. If she felt seconds away from sleeping, why didn't she just sleep and in her own bed? Hell and damnation, he didn't even eat his meal because he knew he would see her and then he'd just start worrying all over again. She must think of him like some prying maniac who thought of her well-being every minute of the day. Unconsciously, he frowned. That definitely sounded too on the spot for his behavior.

The point is she should just start worrying over herself for a change.

"Rukia, go back to your own quarters."

Her eyelids fluttered, yet, she remained lying on his bed. "Ichigo, I told you once. Don't make me repeat myself again. Eat. Then I'll gladly go back to my own bed."

With a smidgen of reluctance he grabbed the bread and hovered it over his mouth, saying, "Just go back to your own bed. It would be inappropriate for me to carry you to your bed like I did the other night." The night he learned that she was, indeed, an aristocrat.

He bit a large chunk from the bread Rukia being subjected to a great deal of ridicule and scandal is what bothered him more. From the little he knew of their lifestyle and most of it came from gossip and columns in the dailies he used to read back in the days, it's what destroyed these people's standing in society. There's no way he would want something like that to happen to her.

He knew he was helpless to do anything about it.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he kept silent but soon stiffened when he felt dainty hands wrap themselves around his naked torso then the warmth of a female body. "Rukia," he growled.

"What?" He could hear the feigned innocence in her voice and a smile itched to lift the corners of his mouth.

"I'm eating, already." His hand found an apple and bit into it much too enthusiastically. From behind him, he felt rather than heard, her low laughter.

"I'm worried." The hands freely roaming his torso stopped and his chewing did, too. It was the first time she had freely voiced out what she felt about her situation. All this time, he had been curious yet he stopped himself when the questions started coming. Waiting for Rukia to open up to him felt like the right thing to do. Now, he felt it was worth it. "Tomorrow, my…my brother would be coming here. I just want to see he how he's doing for myself."

Unbidden, his free hand rose to grasp Rukia's smaller one. She must miss her family. A few years ago, he tore himself from his father and sisters to seek a life for himself from society; this wasn't the same. Someone else had torn Rukia away from hers and forced her to cut all ties. He must be angry but deep inside him, his heart was selfish.

With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den,

The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion.

Our worser genius can, shall never melt

Mine honour into lust, to take away

The edge of that day's celebration

-The Tempest (IV, i), Shakespeare

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