by Bella Bryce
"And you don't want to be at Greystone either, so what is the solution, Damian?"
"That's the ten million pound question." He finally looked at his brother.
"Why don't you take that ten million and buy yourself a home?" Bennett asked.
"It wouldn't fill the void."
He looked at Damian for a long, quiet moment. "Money doesn't. It never has and it never will," Bennett replied, eventually.
"Is this where we left off last night? I don't remember much of our conversation, only that I was in your study and you thought I had a crisis."
"You told me there was no crisis," Bennett answered.
"I had a lot to drink. I'm just confused."
"What about?" Bennett asked.
"What to do with myself. Where I should be, what I should be doing."
"This goes back to the conversation we had in October, when I told you that if you trusted the natural inclinations of your namesake, things might fall into place."
"You mean like living up the expectations of being a Fowler."
"Yes," Bennett replied.
"The same pressurising expectations you just told Elisabeth you no longer care about?" Damian challenged.
Bennett exhaled. "Of course I care. It's different when someone you love is being affected negatively."
"Well, I have nobody to love, so it's different for me."
"Damian, don't twist my words. You ought to have your mouth washed out with soap when you do that – you're better at twisting words than anyone I know. Stop it."
He stared back at Bennett.
"I can turn my back on expectation when it comes from someone other than the one with whom I am about to promise to spend the rest of my life. Elisabeth is my priority; she is the only one to whom I owe that kind of loyalty. You, however, still live at home. I wouldn't be surprised if you felt the weight of expectation and to follow through with it. If you do, and then find you're terribly unhappy, well then, that's the time to re-evaluate and make changes, but Damian, you haven't even tried. You haven't looked at property. You haven't considered hiring staff. You haven't thought about trying to make a life for yourself."
"I did consider it, and you bit my bloody head off."
"Mind your language," Bennett frowned. "That wasn't the life I was referring to. Call me ridiculous, but I was trying to save you from disappointment. You've been raised in a very particular way, and I didn't want to see you living such a vastly different life that you became terribly unhappy. I still don't. That whole conversation we had months ago was because I was worried for you, if you can believe it."
"You realise it didn't come out as worry. It was more dictator-style."
Bennett sat back in the chair. "I apologise." He wasn't entirely sorry. He knew what Damian needed, if he would only listen.
"Thank you," Damian said, finding his brother's quick apology unexpected.
"I stand by my word that you're welcome to stay here until the wedding because I know you're not ready to withdraw your trust fund, and you don't want to be at Greystone right now either. However, I expect you to behave how you've been raised. Don't walk out during meals, and don't drive home after having more than a few drinks with friends. The next time it happens in this house, I will seriously come down on you. I don't want that kind of behaviour here."
Damian couldn't help but look down. He felt like a schoolboy, and although he didn't like it, Bennett had every right to say so. Barton-Court was his home after all.
"I understand," he replied, with a hesitant glance upward.
He did indeed. Damian couldn't believe he found himself agreeing in a rather ashamed manner. Perhaps he realised that he'd been a complete git the last six months, and it was time to grow up. Perhaps, he thought to himself. He pushed his head back into the wingchair after Bennett left the room and stared up at the ceiling.
Bennett's approach had changed. He had changed. A lot. His manner was firm and caring. Damian knew precisely where Bennett was coming from. Their last conversation on the topic of expectation and 'Fowler-hood' had been an utter disaster, with Bennett threatening to cut Damian off completely if he didn't shape up. Now Bennett was telling him, with as much compassion as was possible, that finally taking his trust fund out of its current obscurity, buying a home, and hiring a few staff to begin running it and making it what he was used to – well – it didn't offend him so much. Not anymore, after spending a few weeks at sea, alone, without friends or family and then returning to the comforts of his upbringing.
He might not like wearing a three-piece suit the way his father and brother did, but it was indeed familiar to him. He knew dress code and late afternoon tea extremely well. Damian's thoughts rolled over to Jade and how he'd exchanged a rather awkward conversation with her in the middle of London, late at night and how expectant her attitude had been. In his circle, and whilst the females he'd socialised with outside of his all-male boarding school were by no means perfectly behaved, he found a certain unspoken rule of basic mutual respect was demonstrated.
Chapter Nine
Brayden knew how to tie a bowtie. Of course. He could have done it blindfolded, hanging upside down with several fingers missing; an entire upbringing of attending formal events and parties had made sure of it.
"There you are, Sir," Wellesley said, as he stepped away.
Yet, Brayden still preferred his butler to tie them.
"Perfect, as always. Thank you, Wellesley," Brayden replied, after looking in the mirror. He also checked his hair. Again. Brayden's thick brown hair was always obediently tamed by his Mason Pearson comb; parted to the side and the front swooped down stylishly across his forehead. He was the kind of handsome that was extremely rare. Bennett was a very close second.
"Miss Alice, stop fussing won't you? You'll be late going down the stairs, and I won't be to blame for your father's upset."
Alice rolled her eyes. "What does Father know about hair anyway?" she asked, slumping her elbows on the dressing table.
"Hold that tongue and sit up, my girl." Celia tapped Alice's arm twice, firmly.
Alice frowned but obeyed. It was a fine line between the head housekeeper and her; Celia was elder than Alice, but she was also an employee of Brayden. It took a while for Alice to become accustomed to the boundaries between herself and the domestic staff, but regardless of those boundaries, Brayden never allowed Alice to mistreat them. He'd soundly demonstrated his irritation on her backside on the few occasions she tried to insist that they weren't rightfully her elders because they were staff.
Celia finished curling Alice's hair into long ringlets as she did every day.
"Can't we bypass the ribbons today?" Alice asked, looking up at Celia in the mirror.
"Whilst you might only receive a smack on the bottom for your disobedience, little miss, I would be out of a job for mine," Celia replied, and reached for the pastel pink satin ribbon.
"Only a smack?" Alice exclaimed.
"Yes, Miss Alice, only."
Celia tied the ribbon around a handful of loosely arranged ringlets so they hung naturally down her back. Alice's porcelain-like skin and blue eyes did most of the work for her sweet, child-like face more than anything.
"Right, come stand here. Your father doesn't like an untidy sash," Celia said, standing back from the dressing table as she nodded at the floor in front of her.
Alice stood up but not without an exasperated sigh.
"Stand still for me," Celia said, as she undid the purposefully crinkled material of the satin sash from her small waist and pulled the ends evenly before retying it.
Alice's wore a black velveteen dress with a drop waist that fell to just above her small knees, and featured an ivory lace collar, with a small satin ribbon at the neck. She wore ivory tights and black patent shoes with three gold buckles. Alice was quite pretty and very charming without looking ridiculous. Brayden had done a very good job of choosing a style that suited her features, with a nod to juvenile distinction to suit her pla
ce as his ten-year-old daughter.
"All right, that's you done. Run along to the foyer, then," Celia said, glancing at the timepiece on her black and white domestic uniform.
Alice took one last look in the mirror before smoothing down the loose pleats of the velveteen dress and then crossed her bedroom to the heavy wooden door.
"There she is," Brayden said, facing the grand staircase as Wellesley brushed the shoulders of his topcoat.
"It isn't a ball gown, Father," Alice remarked, as her shoes touched down onto the marbled foyer floor.
"This isn't a ball, my darling. It's Uncle Bennett and Elisabeth's engagement party."
"Which coat for Miss Alice, Sir?"
"The black one with brass buttons, please, and her beret and mittens too," Brayden said, straightening his cufflinks beneath his topcoat.
"Yes, Sir," Wellesley replied, before leaving the foyer and walking to the back corridor.
"Father?"
"Hmm?" Brayden asked, glancing up from his sleeves.
"Who will be there tonight?"
"Lots of people you know, and some you don't," he replied, changing the time on his watch by one minute after glancing at his iPhone.
"Is Aunty Evelyn really having a massive strop because she can't control the wedding?"
Wellesley stopped behind Alice and held out the woollen pea coat, which she slipped her arms into.
"Where did you hear that?" Brayden asked, glancing up at Wellesley.
"One interprets these things through various channels of communications and overhearings, Father," Alice explained, as Wellesley straightened the shoulders of her coat and then brushed the material gently.
"One certainly does not hear such things from any person who speaks properly of others. I'll thank you not to repeat unkind things about other people, young lady, especially your elders," Brayden warned, as he leaned forward and began buttoning her coat, albeit looking at her until she blushed.
"Mind your tights and shoes, Alice. It rained this afternoon, and I don't want you splashing about down the stairs or on the gravel," Brayden said, as he straightened the beret on her head.
When they arrived at Greystone Hall, Willis, the butler, directed them to go down to the ballroom.
"Doesn't Aunty Elisabeth look lovely?" Evelyn asked, when she'd greeted Alice and turned to her soon to be daughter-in-law.
Alice smiled and nodded, completely able to ignore Evelyn's ridiculous tone when she saw how beautiful Elisabeth looked. "You do look really pretty," Alice said, shyly. She was taken aback by how gorgeous Elisabeth looked as she gave her a hug.
"Thank you, Alice." Elisabeth bent down and hugged her.
Elisabeth had done a very rare thing and worn a pair of heels – although they were very low heels, especially compared to some of the female guests – and it was only because Evelyn gave them to her as a gift. Bennett wouldn't have otherwise wanted her to wear them. They were red patent kitten heels that went beautifully with her sleeveless, red satin dress with three layers of ruffles beneath the waist. A wide, black satin ribbon was wrapped twice around her waist and tied into a perfect bow on her left hip. Her hair, which had grown a good inch past her chin since being cut back in November, was curled into loose waves, with one side held back by an antique jewelled comb – one of Evelyn's heirlooms. Bennett couldn't keep his eyes off her.
Bennett wore a meticulously tailored black tuxedo with white shirt, black bowtie and black waistcoat. Elisabeth had to ration her glances at him to avoid getting too excited. He wore a tuxedo unlike any man she'd ever seen, although her experiences of men in tuxedos prior to Bennett Fowler had only been in films.
"Elisabeth," Brayden said, immediately turning his attention when she returned to Bennett's arm. "You look absolutely lovely, darling." He planted a kiss on each cheek.
"Thank you, Uncle Brayden," she said, with every bit of a blushing bride's crimson as she kissed him back.
"She does," Bennett said, in a straight tone as he kissed her hand.
Elisabeth looked down and smiled. It had been a whirlwind day for her and the party had only just begun. Evelyn had showered her with gifts that morning, after collecting her for spa appointments and then helped her dress in the custom made frock. Everything had been entirely beyond her expectations, and she couldn't remember the last time anyone had made a fuss over her. She could hardly believe she was there on Bennett's arm, his bride to be with the security of his formal and firm direction always at the front of her mind. There were precisely one hundred fifty-six guests, some of whom Bennett made a note to tell his mother would be cut from the wedding guest list. He had let his mother take over the engagement party completely, so he expected to see the ladies from her weekly luncheon and personal social circle, since they had known Bennett as a little boy, but he had opinions about inviting everyone and their spouse to a wedding if he didn't personally like them. Or know them. It was a conversation he would have in private with her and only her, because he knew his father had nothing to do with it. Of course not. Jonathan Fowler would have been in his London office or his study at Greystone through Evelyn's planning. There were at least another fifty friends who lived abroad that weren't present for the party but would come for the wedding.
Elisabeth needn't worry, considering she wouldn't know many of the guests at her own wedding, and it didn't bother her – she was happy to inherit the Fowlers' friends, for the most part. The only guests Elisabeth wanted to be invited were her three friends Emma, Aggie and Lucy, and she had no idea what to do about her parents. Jon and Evelyn still hadn't met them and Elisabeth was slightly embarrassed of their situation, so she made no effort to rush the get-together. Interestingly enough, her parents was one subject Evelyn had never pushed.
A small orchestra played background music to the hum of conversation amongst tuxedos and ball gowns and floating waiters carrying endless trays of champagne. Brayden turned down several offers of bubbly before he realised Alice was out of his sight. He looked about the ballroom for Evelyn, figuring she'd taken the girl by the hand and was showing Alice off to some of her friends. Brayden spotted Evelyn, but Alice wasn't at her side. He frowned as he looked over the ballroom once more and his heart skipped a beat when he couldn't find her, but it skipped three beats when he saw her speaking to a lad who looked to be about eighteen years old. Brayden set his eye contact on the pair of them standing against the far wall of the ballroom, chatting, and his eye contact didn't move as he approached them.
"Father," Alice said, her smile fading as he approached.
Brayden stopped between them with a hand in his trouser pocket. He looked at the boy.
"Hello," the boy said, his confidence synonymous with teenage privilege.
"You are?" Brayden asked, offering his hand.
"Bradley," he replied, shaking his hand loosely.
"I'm Alice's father, Mr. James. How old are you?"
Alice closed her eyes as they parted shaking hands.
"I'm eighteen," Bradley replied, as he raised his champagne glass and took a sip.
"Where are your parents?" Brayden inquired, with polite authority.
Bradley glanced at Alice before nodding. Brayden turned and spied a well-known social climber in Evelyn's circle, standing beside her husband. He knew exactly who they were and that was enough to end the conversation.
"My daughter is ten years old," he said as he turned back to Bradley.
"That's not what I heard," Bradley replied, much too confidently.
Brayden raised an eyebrow.
"A word of advice young man; don't believe everything you hear. Come along, Alice." Brayden took her by the hand and walked away.
Alice exhaled as they crossed the ballroom, leaving Bradley to finish his champagne alone.
"We'll speak about this at home," Brayden said.
She looked at the floor, feeling her face flush warm and red.
"Alice."
"Yes, Sir," she replied, to confirm she understood he would in
deed address the situation later, and by the tone of his voice, it sounded like it would be a serious addressing.
Brayden led Alice back to where Evelyn and Jon Fowler stood and received questioning looks from them.
"Would you mind? I need a glass of champagne." Brayden gave Alice's hand over to Evelyn.
"Of course not, Darling. Now then, pet," Evelyn immediately said, crouching down slightly to Alice as she watched Brayden walk away.
"Thank you," Brayden said, as he took a glass from the silver tray the waiter offered to him.
He hadn't put the glass to his lips long before Anabelle appeared on the other side of the waiter and whispered something to him. The waiter nodded, then departed, leaving Brayden staring at Anabelle in his place.
"Anabelle," he said, pulling his champagne glass away from his mouth.
"Mr. James." She smiled, pleasantly surprised to see him.
"How are you?" he asked, equally as surprised, but he hid it as he leant forward to politely kiss her twice.
Anabelle reciprocated and then stepped back.
"I'm well, thank you," she said, looking down with a smile.
"Are you?" he asked, unsure if she was well or if she was just being polite.
"I will be soon enough; I booked a holiday."
"You did? I'm very pleased to hear that."
"I thought you might be." She nodded, tucking some of her brown wavy hair behind one ear. "I know you think I work too much."
"I know you do." Brayden looked around the room. "It shows."
"Thank you. You seem to be the only one who thinks so. I've only heard complaints," she said, with a nervous chuckle.
"From whom?" Brayden frowned.
Ana politely cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows in the direction of Evelyn Fowler. Brayden turned to meet her indication momentarily, then looked back at Ana and took a sip of champagne in place of speaking.
She laughed quietly, then inquired, "How is Alice?"
"Giving her father an early heart attack," he replied, nodding past Anabelle toward Bradley.
It was Ana's turn to look round at his subtle indication, before meeting his eye contact again. "Oh dear," she said.
