by Bella Bryce
Brayden glanced at his watch and then up at the double doors at the opposite side of the dining room. Spot on time, Celia appeared with Alice in tow, who had no choice but to wear the same shirt, pinafore knee socks and shoes she had worn for her interview the previous day, although Celia had taken her clothes and had them washed and pressed before Alice wore them again. Brayden was anxious to get Alice established properly in his household and a new wardrobe was the first practical way of doing so.
“Good morning,” Brayden said, when Celia and Alice reached him at the head of the long dining room table.
“Morning,” Alice said, quietly.
Celia put a firm hand on Alice’s back and pushed her toward Brayden. “Greet him properly,” Celia said, not amused to see over a decade’s worth of respect she had shown the young man nearly disappear in a few moments with the new girl.
“She doesn’t know any better just yet, Celia. Thank you,” he said, and nodded at her. Celia acknowledged his comment and went through to the kitchen.
“Come and give me a kiss and say a proper good morning, please, Alice,” Brayden said, looking at the girl in a slightly more serious way than he had so far.
Alice leant over and kissed Brayden’s cheek. “Good morning,” she said, rather quietly. It was strange to her to be told to greet him with a kiss rather than to have done so naturally.
“Good morning, Sir,” he corrected her.
“Good morning, Sir,” Alice repeated.
“Good girl. You may sit down,” he said, nodding toward her chair.
Alice took her seat, albeit sheepishly. She hadn’t anything to say and couldn’t think of how to begin a conversation. So she didn’t. Things felt differently now that the other girls had left, she was there alone with Brayden, and she would be expected to get on with the new arrangement.
“You’re very quiet for a birthday girl,” Brayden said, after she had stared at her empty linen placemat for a few moments.
“I don’t care about my birthday,” Alice said, gently.
“You mustn’t worry about the past, darling. Look at me please,” Brayden said.
Alice obeyed, not hiding the look of inconvenience it caused on her face.
“This isn’t the Alice I met yesterday,” Brayden said, meeting her eyes.
“I don’t want to be eighteen. How depressing,” she said.
“Your age doesn’t really matter, darling. You will be treated the same regardless of your age. There are rules and if they are broken you will be punished, aged eighteen, nineteen, or twenty. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll have no more of that sulking. Sit up properly and put your napkin in your lap, please,” he said.
Alice did as Brayden told her, and she had been slightly surprised to hear the no-nonsense tone of voice. He hadn’t spoken in such a tone with her yesterday; although, she hadn’t otherwise challenged him, either. She found Brayden’s mixture of fair and firmness thus far to be bittersweet. It was something she hadn’t properly experienced by anyone in authority over her. She both loved and loathed it the moment he had spoken.
“I’m sorry you’re not very happy about today, Alice, but I’ve asked the chefs to do you a special breakfast. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” he said, watching as Wellesley placed a covered tray in front of her. Wellesley removed the cover to reveal a very attractive plate of eggs Benedict with a miniature strand of bunting held up by toothpicks in each egg reading, “Happy Birthday, Alice” in script. She smiled and looked up at Brayden.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, and quickly vacated her seat and kissed his cheek.
“You’re welcome, my darling,” he said, hiding every ounce of pleased expression besides a smile.
Whatever it was that made his inside flush when Alice kissed him in graciousness had gone from the head to toe. Brayden was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with him; why a 28-year-old wealthy orphan would rather bypass this independent stage of life to play a fatherly role for a girl he had only just met, was beyond him. He couldn’t understand, despite he felt he had always been quite self-aware. Brayden often did a lot of self-reflection, yet this major longing in his life, this thing he had been craving for so long was directly in front of him and there he was still trying to figure it out. “Best reflected on another time,” he thought to himself when he realised Alice was staring at her place setting.
“The first fork, darling,” Brayden said, without hesitation.
“Oh,” she said, and picked it up.
“There won’t be a second course at breakfast today so you can ignore the second fork. I’m afraid I changed my mind as to how I wanted yours to be presented and Wellesley wasn’t about the room at the time to remove it. Otherwise, you would eat your first course with your first fork, and the second with your second, and so on.”
“How do you remember all those things?” Alice asked, as she began to cut into the eggs Benedict (and she declined to say it was her first time trying it or that it was like some kind of sunrise disco in her mouth).
“My parents raised me that way,” he said, and nodded to Wellesley in acknowledgement upon his cup and saucer being placed down in front of him filled with hot, fresh coffee.
“Where are they now?” Alice asked, taking a big forkful of her breakfast and hiding another reaction of divine enjoyment.
“They passed away over two years ago, I’m afraid,” he said, replacing his cup onto the saucer.
Alice suddenly stopped chewing.
“We can speak more about these things later, darling. For the time being, I’d like you to cut your breakfast up into smaller pieces. Have you never been taught to hold a knife properly?” he asked, in more of an informational tone than an insulted one.
“I don’t remember being taught. I think I just copied what I’ve seen other people do,” Alice said, and took a sip of orange juice from the goblet in front of her plate.
“Hold it downward, please, with your index finger along the top, before you give me grey hairs. And eat a bit more slowly, we aren’t in any rush,” Brayden said.
Alice nodded, trying not to laugh at how serious Brayden had been upon explaining how to properly hold her knife whilst cutting.
“Yes, Sir,” Brayden suggested to Alice, glancing at her.
“Yes, Sir,” she repeated, and then went on to control herself in finishing her breakfast, when all she wanted to do was shove it in her gob to match how delicious she found it to be. How she had managed to live eighteen years without eggs Benedict played on her mind.
Brayden and Alice enjoyed light, intermittent conversation. He could see that she was taking in every moment of dining she’d obviously never experienced. It must be strange, he figured, for someone who hadn’t been raised to eat formal meals, to have staff waiting on them, for cups and goblets to be refilled in the moment when one blinked. He had friends from boarding school who hadn’t come from families who could afford such luxuries, although they had always hid their amusement of those situations. Alice didn’t.
When breakfast had finished, Wellesley took their two empty plates and was immediately assisted by two other female staff in uniform who appeared from the connecting kitchen door and quickly replenished the tea and coffee on the serving table. They left as quickly as they had come and Alice’s eyes followed their every move. Brayden placed his napkin on the table and allowed himself a small smile as he observed her.
“Where did you find those people?” Alice asked, in a quiet voice as if not wanting to offend them if they knew she had inquired.
“From an agency. My parents hired many of them before I was born. My mother hired more here and there whilst I was growing up. Some have stayed and some have moved on. I hired more staff just last year,” Brayden said, sipping his coffee and replacing the cup into the saucer.
“Oh,” Alice said, glancing at the kitchen door, wondering if at any moment it would open again.
“The best way to adjust to living with domestic staff if you’ve not before is t
o ignore them. Let them get on with the work that they are paid to do, and then you must get on with what I’ve told you to do, and you won’t find it so strange. You must always be polite and friendly to them, remembering that they are my salaried employees and have a daily routine to keep,” Brayden said.
“Am I allowed to speak to them?” Alice asked.
“As a rule of thumb, you will get on with life and they will get on with life. When you cross paths, be courteous. Those are the boundaries,” Brayden said, finishing his coffee.
Alice didn’t feel Brayden’s response completely answered her question, but figured she would understand once she had settled into Waldorf Manor properly. Alice made a point of avoiding eye contact completely the next time staff entered the dining room through the swinging door. She couldn’t very clearly understand the boundary so she decided to avoid it. It was just as well because Brayden escorted Alice up to his study straight after he finished his coffee.
“Let’s have a proper chat, shall we?” he said, as he closed the door behind Alice and indicated she was to take the same chair she sat in for her interview the previous day. Brayden walked around and sat behind his desk.
“Now then, I would firstly like to make you aware of my expectations and the house rules. You can ask me questions at the end, so I would appreciate you just listening for the moment. Alright?” he asked, folding his hands.
“Yes, Sir,” Alice said.
Brayden’s perfect posture looked so natural as he sat in a high-backed, leather office chair with gold studs in formation up and down both of the rolled arms. Alice instinctively sat up a little straighter and narrowed her eyes in concentration.
“Today, my priorities are to get you a new wardrobe; my late mother’s personal seamstress has very kindly offered to come here and take your measurements. After that, I will have Celia run you a bath and she’ll give you a good scrub. Your nails need to be trimmed and filed. I daresay your hair hasn’t had a proper cut in several months so we shall take care of that as well. By tomorrow you should look like you belong at Waldorf Manor and I think you will feel very different as well,” Brayden started. He had to control himself because the urgency with which he felt those things needing addressed could have come across as offensive. Despite his position as head of the house he in no way wanted to behave in such a way deliberately.
Alice nodded. She wanted to remember all the things that were going to occur. And she had no problem with being pampered. Especially as it was obvious the routine of it was very important to Brayden.
“That is the schedule for today. Now, I quite realise that I cannot explain everything to you outright, darling. Some things you will have to learn through day-to-day living with me. Perhaps I’ve taken for granted what it’s been like being raised here when I can see that you will need some time to adjust. Things that are perfectly normal and second nature to myself will not be so for you. If that is the case, ask me politely to explain anything to you.”
Brayden paused.
“Yes, Sir,” Alice said, indicating she had heard and understood him thus far.
“Good girl. As you can see, I run this house in a very particular way. Everyone has a place and they know exactly where that is. I don’t condone mistreatment of anyone below me, although I have certain behavioural expectations for everyone; the very same I have for you now. You are the youngest family member in this house beneath me, and therefore, you are considered to have more authority than the staff. However, they will not be mistreated or looked down upon in any way. Wellesley has been our butler for my entire lifetime and he is elder than you, although he is staff. So there is a very, very fine line drawn between your position in this house and his.”
“Yes, Sir,” Alice said, although feeling slightly confused at the boundary. Still.
“My rules are very black and white: you will do as I tell you to do and any refusal to do so is considered willful disobedience, which you will be promptly punished for. I punish by telling you to come here to my study and I will explain my disappointment in your behaviour and then you will either face the wall, or you will go across my knee to be smacked. In most cases, it will be both,” Brayden informed her.
Alice could hardly believe he had spoken so openly and casually about the situation she would find herself in should she cross him. It was more like Brayden had been speaking about the weather!
“Willful disobedience, lying, answering back, swearing, being disrespectful or rude, lateness and being untidy in your appearance are all punishable offences, and I will deal with them immediately. But I may not always bring you to my study, if I don’t feel it necessary. I take no issue with putting you across my knee if you are being difficult whilst we are elsewhere in the house or on the property.”
“Yes, Sir,” Alice said, feeling as though her voice had become slightly more meek during his last paragraph.
“Did your mother ever punish you in that way?” Brayden asked.
“No, she just hit whatever part of me was closest and with whatever she could find when she was drunk or cross with me,” Alice said, quite casually.
Brayden detested the way Alice had been raised and it only deepened his longing to ensure she had the chance to feel valued and loved in a disciplined environment before too long.
“That is not how I do things,” Brayden responded flatly. “The only place you will ever receive a sound smack is to your backside and it will be for misbehaving and nothing else. I will not mistreat you, Alice,” Brayden said, looking directly into her eyes.
Alice looked away momentarily. Somehow being at Waldorf Manor with Brayden and hearing both his concern and firm objections (albeit very respectfully) to her previous situation made her realise she had indeed been deprived of proper structure.
“I have already told you that you are to respond to me as ‘Sir’, and that remains. You are sometimes missing my title from your sentences so I will remind you now that you are to include it whenever you speak to me. I will consider it blatant disrespect for you to call me by my name from this point forward. I am not your friend, I am your . . .” Brayden stopped himself. He realised that whilst he had indeed made the decision that he would formally become Alice’s father, he hadn’t yet told her.
“My what, Sir?” Alice asked, innocently.
“Alice,” he said, as he adjusted his posture, which mirrored the adjustment in his tone of voice. “It’s very important to me that you are happy here, and that we can get on with life. But I think it would be unfair to move forward without clearly defined roles,” he said.
Alice felt her heart beat picking up its pace. Instinct told her Brayden might say something significant.
“I cannot be this person in your life without being the most obvious thing, which is your father,” he said, as though he had verbally just let go of a thousand balloons and wondered whether they would pop or continue floating upward.
Alice felt her face go warm all over. Somehow she had known Brayden was going to say something along those lines but it hadn’t become reality until the word ‘father’ was properly spoken.
“I never intended to become so,” Brayden added, when the silence had thickened.
“My intention was to be strictly a loving, ambiguous, authority figure. Perhaps maybe like an elder brother, or an Uncle, of some kind. But I feel you need a father. And I want to be that person to you. I have everything I need to do so, and the protection of this estate to ensure you can thrive under my care without worrying about the judgment of others. No one can get through the gates without my permission,” he finished.
Regardless of how Alice felt, Brayden had decided he would become her father. But he desperately needed her to reciprocate feelings of love and acceptance of the roles.
Alice hadn’t heard the last few sentences Brayden spoke because she felt she was still attempting to get over the shock of him explaining that he was going to become her father. He certainly hadn’t asked her permission. He had told her. Alice wasn’t
sure why, but a supply of annoyance began pumping its way through her blood.
“I don’t really need a father,” Alice declared, keeping her voice even and deliberately dropping the ‘Sir’ at the end of her sentence.
Brayden raised his eyebrows in amusement at Alice.
“No?” he asked.
“No. My mother is the one who has been horrible to me. Perhaps it’s a mother I need,” she said, growing impatient with her own discomfort of the conversation.
“Alice, there is no need to become cross. Surely you can explain your indifference to me without that tone,” Brayden said. He felt more and more fatherly toward her and he couldn’t halt his preference to become so.
“So you want me to call you Daddy then? Is that it?” Alice asked, utterly disgusted at the idea.
“Absolutely not. You will refer to me as ‘father’. This is a formal household, my girl,” Brayden corrected the absurd suggestion.
“You’re twenty-eight years old, you can’t be my father,” Alice shot back at him, as if it were the most ridiculous idea she'd ever heard.
“I can be anything I want to be in my own home,” he immediately responded.
“Why can’t I just call you ‘Sir’ and leave it at that?” Alice asked, beginning to feel defeated.
“Because I am master of this estate and I have the final say, besides the fact that as I’ve already pointed out, you need one. I don’t believe doing otherwise would be good for you,” Brayden said.
“I’m not going to call you father,” Alice said, with a confidence he hadn’t known she had inside of her.
“You will do as I tell you to do,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Alice changed her posture, folded her arms across her chest and sat back in the club chair as an outward mark of indifference.
“I understand you have a serious issue with the role and name associated with it, Alice. It’s quite obvious - ,” he began.
“No, he’s the one who had a serious issue with me since he left a week after I was born!” Alice blurted out.
Brayden was again surprised by her response, although it was obvious that the pain of rejection had just spoken, and not Alice Jayne Oliver.
