by Bella Bryce
"Elisabeth shouldn't have slapped you across the face, but I would have let her discipline you. She was in tears when we couldn't find you."
Alice pressed her lips together and looked down momentarily. "Thank you for trying, but I hate my birthday. This was a disaster, just like every year before."
Brayden lifted her chin. "Was it really so disappointing?" He didn't show any hurt, but he certainly felt a sting. He'd done his best to ensure Alice felt especially safe and loved that day.
"The only thing I wanted for my birthday was to see you and Miss Greyson together."
Brayden closed his eyes and exhaled quietly, and then looked at Alice once more. "Come with me." When Alice slid off his lap, he took her by the hand and walked down the corridor to the staircase. When they arrived in the sitting room, he closed the door behind them and led her to the display of gifts that resembled several small mountains. Brayden let go of her hand and reached for the ivory and pink pastel striped gift with the matching ribbon in front; right where he'd told Wellesley to place it. Alice watched him carry it over to a nearby table and sofa, then indicated she was to sit beside him. She didn't feel as though she had any right to open those gifts – not after how the afternoon fell apart. Nevertheless, Brayden waited as Alice slid her fingers along the meticulously wrapped package.
With the paper removed, a cream linen box was revealed beneath. She lifted the lid and stood up, so she could see inside. There, amongst layers upon layers of decorative cotton, sat an oversized, glass globe. Alice's eyes widened as she reached down and lifted it out of the box. She let out a small gasp when she placed it on the table in front of them, realising what it was. The oversized glass globe was the size of a large fishbowl, and had a large hole in the front whereby a miniature replica of Waldorf Manor had been placed inside. The detail was exquisite to an indescribable degree. There was even a circular 'gravel' driveway with a tiered fountain in front of the manor, and shrubbery with a bit of 'lawn'.
"Father," Alice breathed.
"This is from Anabelle," was all he could say.
Ana stared at the electric fireplace as she held a glass of wine in her hand. She'd been staring at the fake flames since she got home. It had been just as painful to get out of the Rolls Royce and watch Jude drive away as it had been for her to leave Waldorf; Brayden was wrapped up in all of those details. Her notebook was blank, and she hadn't even bothered to get a pen. Her nearby den-come-office was well organised and tidy, so it had nothing to do with her being without a pen. She didn't want to. Anabelle wanted to remain on the sofa with her legs crossed and replay that afternoon with Brayden over and over and over again. And she did. Ana closed her eyes and instantly, he was there. Brayden took her securely around the waist and pulled her to him. He looked into her eyes as he took her hand. She opened her eyes and took a sip of wine. The hundredth time she thought of their dance felt like the first time. A tear escaped one eye and then the other; why had he sat her next to him if he had no intention of following through? To have placed her at his table –beside him no less – said something. It communicated that she was someone very special to him, although he had never said it in as many words.
Her phone rang, but she didn't move. She knew about the damned German who was expecting a cost analysis and pitch for his "exclusive event in the Kent countryside," at half eight the next morning. Bloody hell. Everyone loved the country, everyone loved Kent, but there was absolutely nothing exclusive about it, and she was getting tired of everyone assuming their 'parties' and 'soirees' were more important than her weekends and her sleep. Anabelle realised how angry her thoughts were, and she lay down on the sofa where she'd been since arriving home, and pulled the blanket over her head. Sometimes, that was the only solution.
Chapter Seventeen
Bennett recalled the many times over the years their chauffeur had driven Damian and him home from boarding school for the holidays and long weekends. He would step out of the limo in his school uniform, look up at the stately mansion, and inhale a deep breath, knowing one of his parents would have reason to pull him up on his behaviour. He felt no different when he arrived at his childhood home, Greystone Hall, the next afternoon. He buttoned his blazer and set his brow to confident, even though he was both very curious, and somewhat nervous, to face his father. Something was different, that was for sure.
"Your father said you are to go up to his study," Willis reported, after he closed the doors.
"Thank you," Bennett replied, his confidence all for show. He climbed the staircase feeling like that same schoolboy who was about to report to his father's study, and it didn't matter if he'd done anything wrong. It was still nerve-wracking.
Bennett knew the protocol: knock and wait for permission to enter.
"Come in," he heard Jonathan's voice through the solid wooden door.
Bennett entered and closed the door behind him. "Father," he said, as he approached.
"Good morning. Sit down." Jon nodded toward the two formal leather chairs with nail head trim in front of the desk. Bennett was a little surprised that his father didn't stand up from behind his desk, or at least walk around to shake his hand. He usually did.
Bennett sat down and straightened his blazer without thinking.
"How is Elisabeth?" Jonathan asked, as he removed his glasses from the end of his nose.
"She's well, Sir, thank you."
"Good." Jonathan folded his hands on the desk and looked across at his son. He waited a moment, finding it hard to believe that Bennett was nearly thirty. The last time he recalled seeing him sit on that side of the desk, waiting for his words, he was still a lad. Where had the time gone? Had his blink actually been a refusal to open his eyes?
"There are several things I wish to say, but before I do, I want to start with an apology."
Bennett refused to be shocked. His father wouldn't appreciate it. So, he pretended it was the most normal thing in the world for his father to admit he was wrong about something.
"I want to apologise for not being who I should have been to your mother," was how Jon started. Bennett hadn't quite expected that. "If I had been home more often to be her husband, to give her the attention I promised to give her when we married, then she wouldn't have had the time or energy to take over your life."
Bennett cleared his throat. "Sir," he replied, in acknowledgement.
"I can see that your mother's whole being and happiness has been wrapped up in her two sons, because I was not here for her to be wrapped up in."
Bennett listened to his father go on.
"Whilst I can't apologise for having a job that provided you with a top-class education and a trust fund, I do apologise for not trying hard enough to set the boundaries of that job, and protect what I'd built here. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes, Sir," Bennett replied. He was humbled, that was for sure. Of course, neither Jon nor Bennett showed much emotion. It was more like a factual, business transaction. A suit didn't lend itself well to sobbing men, in any case. Even if that's exactly how he felt inside of it.
"As a result of all this, your mother and I, understandably, have a lot of time to make up for and several matters need serious attention; at the top of the list is rebuilding proper structure in this family."
Bennett nodded. He could feel Jon's rightful place as head of the Fowler family realigning, and although that's where it belonged, for many reasons, it still felt a little awkward. Bennett had been like the head of the house for many years.
"I think it's important for you to know that I've expressed my disappointment in your mother's behaviour with regards to your wedding. I witnessed first-hand the way you and Elisabeth were pressured into certain decisions, and I spoke to her about the conversation you had recently over the phone."
It made Bennett a little uneasy to think his father had heard their telephone conversation; it hadn't been the most flattering of chats.
"She is remorseful for her behaviour, I can assure you," Jon said
, without flinching. Bennett didn't react although he was surprised by the language his father used to assure him. "However," he continued. Bennett's heart beat a little quicker. "The manner in which I heard you speaking to your mother, regardless of the circumstance, doesn't amuse me."
"Yes, Sir," Bennett replied.
"She is first and foremost my wife, and secondly, your mother. That means if you disrespect her, you disrespect me. I understand your reasoning and frustration for that conversation, but I am warning you now, son, if you speak to her in that manner again, I will remind you of your place."
"Sir," he replied, much more quietly than he'd responded in years. What a shock it was to hear Jonathan Fowler threaten his twenty-nine year old son with discipline, and only because he hadn't been around to do so for a long time. Jon Fowler used to come home from a business trip or the office, get a report from Evelyn on Bennett and Damian's behaviour, then bring them to the study to be strapped or caned before dashing off again; and that all occurred after Evelyn had already given them as much.
"Lastly, in the short time we were at Alice's birthday party yesterday afternoon, Anabelle found me and said that you're planning to have the wedding here."
Bennett cleared his throat and straightened one of his cufflinks so as to avert his eyes momentarily. "Yes, Sir. I hadn't had a chance to ask you about it, yet."
"If you wanted to have the wedding here, then I'm inclined to ask why you would cut us out of the planning in the first place."
Bennett truly felt like a chastened schoolboy, and he didn't like it.
"That is a fair question, don't you think?"
"Yes, Sir. Although, I wouldn't have had to cut Mother out if she'd have granted either of us the respect or consideration anyone should have, but especially with regards to our wedding. I don't like seeing Elisabeth upset. Mother was terribly unfair toward her."
"Things are different now," was all Jonathan offered.
Bennett swallowed. He was afraid to ask.
"If there isn't anything else, I'll excuse you until luncheon. Your mother is in her sitting room."
He knew better than to add on comments or further conversation when his father had clearly brought it to a close. Bennett left his father's study and paused after closing the door. Never in his adulthood had he ever expected to have had that kind of conversation with one of his parents. Things had been engrained one way for so long, that it hardly seemed possible for them to sway opposite. It had been a good conversation, he knew that much.
Bennett paused in the doorway of his mother's sitting room down the corridor from the study. She was sitting on her chaise lounge in a silk dressing gown and a sheer wrap about her shoulders as she looked out of the large window before her. Her long legs were curled up beneath her, and she looked almost childlike.
Evelyn sensed someone in the doorway and turned to find her eldest son watching her. "Darling," she said, pleasantly surprised to find him there.
Bennett crossed the room and bent down to kiss her cheek. "Mother," he said, then sat in the unoccupied space at the end of the chaise lounge.
She looked at him with a contentment he'd never seen in her eyes. "Is Elisabeth here?" She glanced back at the doorway.
"I came alone," he said. "Father wanted to see me."
Evelyn nodded.
"Mother," he started.
She put her hand on Bennett's pressed trouser leg and looked down. "Can you forgive me?"
Bennett frowned, although he softened the look as soon as Evelyn met his eyes again. He'd never heard his mother apologise to him. Ever.
"I just love you, Darling. Perhaps too much," she said, putting her hand on his cheek.
Bennett inhaled lightly but refused to get emotional. "I know," he replied. He took her hand off his cheek and kissed it before letting it rest in his own.
Evelyn wiped her eyes with her free hand and looked out the window again. "You must tell Elisabeth how sorry I am. Your father and I truly adore her."
Bennett looked down with a frown, trying to keep from allowing himself to reject her apology. Despite wanting to hear remorse from his mother for a long time, it wasn't easy to see her guilt. She needed to feel it in order to reconcile and move on, but it didn't make him happy to see his mother cry.
"I will. Thank you, Mother."
Evelyn turned back to him and sniffed quietly. "I need to freshen up before luncheon. I'll see you downstairs."
* * * * *
Elisabeth turned from her bedroom window when she heard Alice enter. "Close the door," she said, factually.
Alice reluctantly obeyed. They hadn't spoken to each other since the party the day before. Elisabeth looked more like a teenager that day, wearing a navy blue pleated skirt, a white button front Peter Pan collared shirt with a red cardigan. The sleeves of her blouse were neatly folded over the cuffs of the cardigan, and she wore patent navy blue flats. Her hair stopped abruptly between her shoulders and her chin, and she moved her hands to rest gently behind her back.
"I thought you were ignoring me," was Alice's first defensive claim to Elisabeth beckoning her.
"I'm not ignoring you," she replied.
Alice felt more juvenile than usual, standing before Elisabeth in a mint green, drop-waist Peter Pan collared dress with an ivory pinafore that tied into a sash at the back. She also wore white tights and patent mint green Mary Janes. If their ages had never felt particularly implied, they did at that moment. Elisabeth had never pulled rank on Alice deliberately, really only when she enjoyed teasing the girl in adoration.
"I shouldn't have helped you move the place cards yesterday, Alice." She looked over at the girl, noticing the matching mint green satin hair ribbons on either side of her long, curly hair that held back small sections from her face.
"My father said that he was going to overlook it; why are you bringing it up?"
"Your father said that he wouldn't punish for us, but that doesn't mean I can't speak to you about it."
"You aren't married yet!" Alice retorted.
"Well, I'm afraid things are going to be changing a bit before either of us wanted them to, then." Elisabeth stepped forward and looked down at Alice. "When we couldn't find you, I thought of every possibility; that you'd left Waldorf for good; that you were hiding just to wind Uncle Brayden up, maybe you'd gotten Jude to take you to Anabelle – everything – and none of those possibilities eased my mind. Something turned on when I saw you walk back into the foyer and there is nothing I intend to do about turning it off. You need a mother, badly."
Alice felt a tingle dance up her spine, and the tips of her toes went numb. What on earth did that mean?
"I should have told Bennett and Uncle Brayden that a long time ago. I also should have told them how confusing it's become for me to be both your friend, and your soon-to-be auntie. I can't do it anymore, because the boundary isn't clear. One minute I'm helping you move place cards, and the next I'm in tears because you've run off."
Her eyes dropped. Elisabeth had never spoken so directly to Alice before, and the girl felt the weight of every word like a justifiably righteous conviction. She knew Elisabeth was speaking something over her that needed to be said, and not because it was anything other than necessary for her to do so.
"Uncle Brayden may have wiped the slate clear, but I haven't," Elisabeth said, as she took Alice by the hand, and began walking across her bedroom.
"Elisabeth," she said, using her weight to try and stall.
She ignored Alice's disagreements, and pulled her to the fireplace seating area where there were several decorative chairs to choose from. Elisabeth went right for the tartan wingchair; the very one they'd sat in only a few weeks before and had a heart-to-heart. Elisabeth purposefully chose that chair, to remind Alice of their conversation. She pulled Alice in front of her and held onto her arms firmly, the way she did the night before.
"Alice, I have a responsibility to you now. You can argue that I shouldn't be this person to you until my vows, but I ca
n't help how things have evolved. This is what needs to happen, and you know how to take it. Don't fight me."
Alice frowned and sniffed, trying to prevent herself from crying. "So we aren't friends anymore, then?" Her small brows dipped with a frown.
"We're more than that; we're family." Elisabeth sat down in the tartan wing chair and pulled Alice to her side. She couldn't meet Elisabeth's eyes. It was far too humiliating to think about being across her lap; it wasn't something she thought would happen for a long time, if ever.
"Please," Alice whimpered.
"Please don't ever run off and frighten me like that again," was all she said, before she pulled Alice right over her lap. Alice felt absolutely ridiculous dressed like a doll, being forced over the knee over someone who had been almost her equal, who was equally as demurely dressed. She also knew that if she fought Elisabeth, the chances were very slim that either her father or her uncle would argue. Alice wondered if either of them even knew.
Elisabeth had never disciplined anyone, but knew the two most important rules, never in rage, and always formally. Those were the two rules Bennett's own behaviour had taught her. If it were done formally and properly, no one would be irreparably scarred. Rampantly angry and violent punishment was pointless, because it only damaged the relationship and trust. She let her instincts and experience thus far take over, and she calmly lifted Alice's pinafore and dress and laid them across her back. Elisabeth put her left arm over and held onto her, then pulled the girl's tights and bloomer shorts down. Alice closed her eyes. It felt so much heavier on her conscience as Elisabeth held her across her lap.
She thought she would have been nervous, given her and Alice's friendship and their situation. However, Elisabeth had spent a great deal of time preparing herself for how she needed to be defined as time moved on. It would be very difficult for Elisabeth to be a responsible adult in Alice's life if they carried on as they were. It was time that boundary was defined, and Elisabeth drew it across Alice's backside with the hairbrush she pulled from the floor beside the chair. Alice whimpered, thinking it was some kind of paddle. It was heinously painful, even with Elisabeth's rather conservative strikes. Alice cried 'owie' repeatedly, as tears watered the decorative rug beneath her. With every strike, it felt as though Elisabeth was distancing herself. She wasn't, but Alice didn't know the difference as she took thirty whacks with the wooden hairbrush.
