Easter 1814, England

The sun, accompanied by a light breeze, made for a beautiful day. The Vanderbilt estate was abuzz with constant activity. The ladies either lounged in chaises on the verandah off the formal ballroom or broke into groups of twos or threes, strolling through the impressive gardens. The gentlemen were scattered all across the grounds—some escorting ladies, others proudly pointed out their children's accomplishments. The remaining men appeared to be enlisting groups for either an archery contest or to fish at the lake. As the younger children ran around playing their games, the older children—at or just past the cusp of puberty—were separated by gender; the boys begging to tag along with the would-be fishermen, as the girls sat on picnic blankets watching the debutantes, mere yards away, with academic concentration. The sumptuous Easter luncheon had long been forgotten, with the staff clearing away the bounty to make room for the birthday cake to come.

Chuck Bass, Marquess of Stanhope, future Duke of Rowley, couldn't help but smirk as he noticed his friend Nathaniel Archibald, Viscount Hadley, future Earl of Vanderbilt attempting to extricate himself from the young debutantes. He saw a myriad of womanly wiles being employed—the fluttering of eyelashes, the high pitched giggles, the "accidental" brushing of hands, and of course, the rapt fascination at Nate's every word and gesture.

Leaning against a tree a fair distance away from the hustle and bustle of the entertainment, Chuck lit his cheroot. At twenty, he was starting to develop into the man he would become. His style of dress almost put Beau Brummell to shame, but unlike Beau, he had the funds to back it up. Despite his relaxed pose, his eyes were narrowed, taking everything in and tucking away notes and details for future reference. Just when it looked as though his friend had finally managed to escape, a young girl tugged on his hand. Nate sighed as his eyes met Chuck's. Although exasperated, he turned towards the chit, charming Archibald smile firmly in place. Chuck frowned at the sight of this particular girl, she was comely enough, but there was something "too much" about her. He turned his eyes away from the scene, unable to watch her overt attempts to keep Nate's attention. Chuck always found it distasteful when the marriage-minded mamas pushed their daughters at too young an age to start with the come hither looks.

"Chuck! How can you stand idly by and mock me from all the way over here, instead of rescuing me from those relentless women?" Nate whined as he walked up, breaking his reverie.

"Women?" Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Surely you don't mean that child who clung to you?"

"They are women in disguise, I assure you," Nate stated. "But it's Penelope's birthday, and it wouldn't sit well with my mother if I brushed her off."

"So it's her birthday, Nathaniel, who cares? You should've just flashed your empty golden smile at her and walked away."

"Not all of us are as adverse to children as you are," Nate said tightly. "Mother must owe Lady Shafai some sort of favor. There can be no other explanation as to why we would be hosting her celebration."

"You do realize that you invited me here for the Easter break?" Chuck said condescendingly. His eyes were fixed on the sight of Penelope and another brunette girl arguing.

"Dammit!" Nate exclaimed. "How do I forget these things?"

"Easily?" Chuck mused.

Both men turned their heads at the sound of Nate's name being called from across the lawn. With a shrug, Nate snatched the cheroot from Chuck's fingers, and took a deep drag before returning it, "Duty calls."

And in a flash, Chuck was left alone—as he preferred. He had just settled into the tree again when snatches of the argument he had been watching were heard.

"Please! Everyone knows Serena's only nice to you because you make it so easy for her to shine. Your eyes are too big, your hair is such a plain colored brown and you're always going on about some book you're reading!"

"Real ladies are neither petty nor mean, and since it's your birthday, I will humor your unintelligible rantings!"

Chuck watched as the smaller of the two brunette girls turned her back on Penelope, and with a muffled cry walked away with all the dignity someone her age could hope for. She appeared to be making a beeline towards him, when she abruptly turned to her left and hid behind a large tree. After a moment of silence, he heard gasps for air followed by loud sobs. He wondered what had caused that Penelope girl to act so churlishly. Who was Serena and why did this girl even care?

Despite his preference to observe life, rather than participate, the haunting sounds of this girl's sobs were pricking holes into his almost non-existent conscience, and he felt compelled to at least attempt to soothe her pain. As he put out his cheroot and walked over, he reached in his pocket for his handkerchief. "Moppet, what has you so overwrought that you left the festivities?"

Startled, Blair snapped her head up and saw the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He had thick dark hair with a slight curl, pale skin, long eyelashes and deep brown eyes. He knelt down to her, with a smirk on his face and a hand outstretched, offering his handkerchief. With only a sob and a hiccup or two, Blair composed herself as her mother had taught her to do. Taking a deep breath she said, "Thank you, my lord, but I am quite well."

Chuck looked down at the brave little girl, and his smirk had transformed into a smile. She had long brown hair and porcelain skin. Although her nose was red, and her face tear-stained, he couldn't get over her piercing brown doe eyes. They were far too large for her face, he mused, but could see all the promise of the beauty she could become once nature took its course. "I don't think you are well at all. I'm Chuck Bass, and you are…?"

Blair looked up at him, and her heart skipped a beat. Penelope's words were ringing in her head and added to her dismay. She could just imagine how awful she looked with her tears and sniffling. With a proper curtsey, she woefully said, "Blair Waldorf, my lord."

Chuck was quite amused by this scenario, he never was one to play the hero, but there was something about watching this duckling stand up for herself. He returned her impressively respectful curtsey with an equally deferential bow. "Now, Miss Waldorf, I insist you tell me what happened."

"I am trying to offset ignorance and classlessness with grace and acuity," she returned with a shrug.

Chuck started laughing aloud. "Miss Waldorf, how old are you?"

"Eleven, my lord. And you?" She countered.

"I'm 19, moppet, but my birthday is next month," he returned. "Do you realize how mature you appear to be?"

"Happy birthday, in advance, my lord."

"Thank you. But you haven't answered my question."

"Yes, I'm aware. 'Tis a blessing and a curse to be as precocious as I am," Blair said with a sigh. "I tire of having to act as though I am not as bright as the boys. And I cannot help it if the girls my age refuse to read and educate themselves. I am one of the youngest, and so I have not developed as much as they have."

Chuck stood there in utter delight and shock. Every aversion he reserved for children—was she a child, still?—was temporarily undone by this slip of a girl. He marveled that she was far more entertaining than most of his classmates at school. In a conspiratorial tone, Chuck exaggeratedly whispered, "Are you a bluestocking in training?"

"Yes, I fear I am." Blair paused—taking a quick look around to insure no one was witnessing their conversation—before she confided, "I have just started to read Jane Austen, and I must admit, I think she is gifted beyond reason."

"Aha! And have you paid due respects to Ms. Burney?"

"Epistolary novels are not my preferred choice of prose, sir. And while I found Evelina to be somewhat compelling, I felt that the actual writing was somewhat underwhelming."

"So it has been said. And what of Behn? Manley?" Chuck continued.

"Are you intentionally leaving out Eliza Haywood?" Blair said with an eye roll. "I have heard of the Fair Triumvirate of Wit, you know. I prefer Haywood to Behn or Manley."

"Why would that be?" Chuck was almost shocked. His initial intent was to toy with her to see if any of this act was rehearsed, by referencing Frances Burney. But her access and actual knowledge of literature considered risqué was astonishing.

"Behn's writing leaves much to be desired. I remind myself of that fact whenever I read her. I fell asleep TWICE when reading Oroonoko."

"Did you ever finish reading it?"

"Of course! I couldn't bear not to. I finish everything I start reading. I abhor the idea that someone is better read than I!" Blair said passionately.

"And have you read any Samuel Richardson?"

"I find him to be quite boring, too. I do not understand the ruckus about his work. What were people in the 1740s thinking? And although Fielding's satirical works were cunning in response, I don't know if they held enough merit to command the attention that it did."

"And what does your mother think of this?"

"She feigns ire at my elbows being bruised from reading for long periods of time. But I know she approves, lest she would not allow me to have so many books!"

"And your father?"

"He quizzes me on all that I've read," Blair happily explained. "He finds it especially amusing when I quiz him back...Oomph!" Her eyes widened as she clamped her hands over her mouth. How had she allowed herself to forget where she was? Did she not realize to whom she was speaking to?

Chuck was completely enthralled—was he having an intellectual discussion with an eleven year old? "Please, continue, in fact, I insist."

"My lord, please forgive me, I forgot myself. You do not have to humor me and pretend to discuss literature. I should probably return to the picnic, Serena will be wondering where I am. It was nice to meet you Lord Bass." Blair curtseyed again, and walked away. She valiantly tried not to let the tears spill from her eyes. Her mother had warned her not to forget herself in front of men, that they preferred their women simpering and quiet, not intelligent and clever. And while Lady Waldorf encouraged Blair to be as educated as boys her age were, she had also issued strict instructions that Blair not show this side of herself in public. She was certain that Chuck Bass thought her to be the most unattractive bluestocking he had ever met. This surely was no way for her to practice the art of procuring a husband.

Chuck followed her and took her hand. As Blair swung around, he saw the newly formed tears, and used his previously ignored handkerchief to wipe the tears away from her cheeks and whispered, "Moppet—I think intelligent women are a rare and special gift. You are unique, and when you grow up, there won't be a single boy your age who will be able to refuse you."

As Blair looked up into his eyes, she threw herself in his arms and hugged him. At first, Chuck's arms hung loosely at his side, as he wondered when the last time he had been held in a comforting embrace was. Had he forgotten how to give a hug? Was it even possible to unlearn such a normal, physical action? She continued to cling to him with such innocent faith, that he found his arms naturally returning her embrace and lightly stroked her hair. His mind started to wander and his dark memories that lurked, begged to surface. He shook his head and forced himself to focus on this moment, "Now Miss Waldorf, you are to return to the party, head held up high, and no matter what anyone says—remember that you are amazing."

"Thank you, Lord Bass!" Blair's eyes were shining and bright as she ran back to the party full of confidence—it wasn't every day that one met the man they were going to marry.

Chuck returned to his stashed cheroot, re-lit it and resumed his position against the tree. He sincerely hoped that he would be around the day that Blair Waldorf went to London and set the ton on its ear.

Dedicated to the always amazing Noirreigne, who gracefully beta'd and inspired me to pen my first fic.