by Bella Bryce
“Me too, darling,” Bennett said. “But we have the added benefit of having spent two weeks in what was a proper, platonic introduction to each other. You know how my household is run, you’ve met my closest friends and my brother, and you can see the consistency across all areas of my life and how my lifestyle is practically lived out on a daily basis. More importantly, you know my expectations. At least, I have faith that you understand many of them already in the time we’ve had together. Before yesterday afternoon, you were a girl who needed a proper home and a bit of an upbringing that she lacked. I don’t quite see you as much different, except you are completely mine to protect now.”
Elisabeth showed a shy smile again and then waited until she was sure Bennett wasn’t going to continue. Interrupting was something he absolutely did not tolerate. “I don’t want anything to change,” she said quietly.
Bennett looked pleased, as he should be. “I’m happy to hear you say that,” he replied. Although pleased, he maintained his serious demeanour. “I shouldn’t like to see you unhappy, Elisabeth. Do you understand?”
Elisabeth searched his eyes and gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
“Please respond the way I’ve taught you,” he told her.
She wanted to bite her lip again but averted her eyes instead. “Yes, Sir,” she replied, the tops of her cheeks blushing slightly as she glanced away. It was delightfully nerve-wracking to hear him ask for his title.
She’d learned very quickly that Bennett was to be referred to as ‘Sir’ from the first moment he’d interviewed the girls. Elisabeth had also gotten over the discomfort of referring to him as such after Bennett spanked it right out of her, although feelings of awkwardness crept back in as they talked about their courting relationship. Elisabeth hadn’t imagined calling him ‘Sir’, but she should have known, since it hadn’t previously been a debatable subject. It didn’t quite bother her, either, it just made her blush and her insides tingle because they were now an item and the idea of referring to Bennett in such a way added a serious dose of arousal factor.
Bennett raised his eyebrows and took hold of her chin gently. “Not changing means that you will still refer to me properly.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied quietly. She was sure her toes were curling inside of her tights and patent t-strap shoes, although it was too cold to confirm that theory.
“You must remember that I am ten years your elder, my darling,” Bennett said, setting his eyes and lowering his gorgeous jawline down to her level without compromising his posture.
Elisabeth could have fallen right off the cast iron bench; Bennett had that effect on her with very little effort.
“Yes, Sir, I know,” she replied, lowering her eyes so as not to make it obvious with just how little effort it took for him to bring her to that place of divine submissive blushing.
“I don’t see you as entirely grown up. You’re barely nineteen years old and I am twwenty-nine, which means I am still your elder. And you know how I feel about respecting one’s elders,” Bennett said.
“I know,” she said quietly, looking down and running her woollen grey mittens over the grey pleats on her matching coat.
Elisabeth had no problem with their age difference or that she wouldn’t be leading their relationship – she couldn’t imagine being with Bennett without those factors. She just hadn’t spent a lot of time exploring her submissive side and therefore, consistently blushed whenever confronted with those delightful desires.
“And you know the discipline aspect will be quite central to this relationship. Perhaps we should chat about that,” Bennett suggested, folding his hands with one elbow leaning on the back of the bench as he crossed one neatly pressed trouser leg over the other.
Elisabeth bit her lip at the corner, not knowing that it was something that made Bennett a little bit weak. She was keenly aware of all the subtle things he did which made her weak and giddy, but she hadn’t a clue that whenever she bit her lip, or averted her eyes, or smiled when she looked down that he was thinking how he wanted to kiss her. Nothing more. Just to kiss her tenderly.
“I’m not very good at talking about that, Sir,” Elisabeth replied, looking up at him with a small grin.
She was shy on the subject and was still acquainting herself with it, whereas Bennett had known for a very, very long time that disciplining his future wife would be a crucial part of their relationship. There was an intense attraction to the idea that he could take her straight across his lap for speaking out of tone to him, having an untidy dress or even putting her elbows on the table. It was something he’d spent a large portion of every day since adolescence thinking about.
“We don’t have to speak about it if you don’t want to.” He looked to the side slightly to try and catch her eye again. “So long as you understand that I won’t hesitate to put you across my knee for behaviour which isn’t agreeable to me,” Bennett told her, in no uncertain tone.
Elisabeth managed to meet his eyes and the sparkle was there, the same one that he’d seen before. “Yes, Sir,” she replied shyly, with her demure brown eyes that went straight to his gut.
“Good.” He gave her a small smile.
Elisabeth was sure her heart slipped another few inches into the pit of her stomach. His words, his expressions, his posture and his smile – seemed to make even her internal organs swoon.
“Bennett?” she asked, with a coy smile forming across her lips.
“Yes?” he asked, sitting confidently with his head facing downward at her.
She could barely look at him because he used that tone of voice. The one she loved. The ‘I’m in charge all the time’, one. “I don’t want to be apart from you,” she admitted and looked up at him sweetly.
Bennett’s always serious face didn’t change, although he nodded for her to slide nearer to him. He put one arm around her and held one of her hands with the other.
“I will come to collect you each morning and we’ll spend the day together. We’ll only be apart from bedtime until morning,” he told her.
She nodded, but she didn’t like it.
“Do you understand why?” he asked.
Elisabeth looked up at him. “Because you said so?”
Bennett showed a little smile. “That is the first and most important reason,” he said, and then leant down closer to her. “The second is because you’re worth it,” he whispered in her ear.
Elisabeth’s lips formed a smile and she leant into Bennett’s suit and coat as if she couldn’t handle looking at him directly.
“We will keep things proper until we are married,” he told her quietly.
Elisabeth’s attention transferred fully to Bennett and she looked up at him with widened eyes as she hid a subtle shudder. She couldn’t imagine being loved or wanted enough to get to that point. Bennett wasn’t being arrogant by saying until we are married and Elisabeth knew that. He’d waited twenty-nine years to give his first kiss away so if that didn’t instill faith in Elisabeth that he was serious and confident in their relationship, nothing would.
“Courting is a special time, Elisabeth,” he said quietly, despite them being in a secluded garden.
Bennett didn’t want to rush their courtship or frighten Elisabeth away, so his leading would be gentle and forward moving in terms of their pace. He would kiss Elisabeth hello and goodbye and infrequently at other times, maintaining propriety as the man who held her in the highest regard. His restraint and firm leading would be Elisabeth’s reassurance, and that was something she needed plenty of.
“Uncle Brayden will take good care of you until I can do so all of the time.”
Her heart had completely disintegrated by that point. She looked up at him, completely smitten, the sparkle in her eye even more apparent.
Bennett turned Elisabeth’s face toward him and they kissed as a light snow gently greeted their affections by falling around them.
Chapter Two
Alice James wasn't amused. Not. One. Bit. “I will
not speak to her,” she insisted.
Brayden James leant against his imposing mahogany desk with his arms folded across his hunter green waistcoat. He had earlier, and very neatly, abandoned a charcoal grey blazer due to the success of the fireplace warming his study. Brayden's meticulously pressed white shirt and collar seemed as though they had been prepared for that very moment, the one where he would speak as sharply to his daughter as they had been ironed. His green and gold striped silk tie was tucked into the buttoned waistcoat and could be spied between his arms as they remained folded.
“You most certainly will speak to your mother, Alice. If nothing else, to put proper closure to where things were left the evening you moved here. She wishes to apologise and you will hear what she has to say,” Brayden told her.
Alice looked away and gritted her teeth. She looked like a doll with her curled hair falling across both shoulders and down her back, a smart black satin ribbon holding the top portion out of her face. She wore a black velveteen smocked dress with a rounded collar, white knee socks and black patent shoes. Her cheeks had a natural red blush to them that contrasted against her white porcelain-like skin. She was almost too pretty to grit her teeth and frown but she did so in any case.
“I don't care what she has to say. She's a liar - she's not sorry!” Alice retorted, looking back at Brayden with angry tears in her eyes.
“You will not call anyone a liar, my girl,” Brayden warned. His cheekbones were more pronounced when he was cross. “Have you learned nothing as my daughter thus far?” he asked, after a moment.
“Yes, Sir, I've learned that you are never on my side,” Alice said, wiping her eyes. “You care more about everybody else and whether or not I'm polite to them than whether they've upset me or how they make me feel.”
Brayden shook his head. “That hardly resembles any lesson I've taught you through my words or actions, Alice James.” He looked more displeased with her than he had in the ten months that she’d lived at Waldorf Manor thus far.
Alice returned her attention to him and noted that Brayden wasn't his usual gentle, fatherly self. Usually whenever the subject of Alice's Mum came up, he would speak soothingly and understandingly to her. The father she stood in front of now was almost unrecognisable.
“Why does it matter? I live here. I'm Alice James now,” she said.
Brayden looked down at the ground momentarily. “It matters because, as your father, I have a responsibility to ensure that you're raised properly, that your character develops and that your moral compass is calibrated. Surely you understand why it's important to end well with people regardless of the circumstances.”
Alice's face tightened and she spoke rather directly, saying, “I'm afraid I don't, Father, I'm only a ten-year-old child. I know nothing of character development just yet.”
Brayden gave her a look. “It’s rather convenient for you to embrace your implied age during this conversation,” he replied.
“Well, believe it or not, Father Dearest, I’m an eighteen-year-old who is being treated like a ten-year-old child because that’s how you wanted things. If my character was so healthily developed, I daresay you wouldn’t have regressed me. That was the point of you doing so, wasn’t it?”
Brayden uncrossed one arm and signalled with his index finger for Alice to approach him. When Alice did, she stopped in front of him, her hands in subtle fists at her sides. “Yes, you have a point, but do not speak so blatantly to me, young lady.”
“Sir,” Alice replied, wanting to roll her eyes, but knowing better.
“The lesson I'm teaching you right now is forgiveness, so pay attention – it will stand you in good stead later in life.”
“She doesn't deserve forgiveness,” Alice immediately retorted.
“And why not?” Brayden challenged her.
“Because of what she's done.”
“Do you recall when you said the same of Elisabeth Warner? What of the night you two quarrelled?”
“That was different.”
“It isn’t any different. In both situations, you were mistreated and had every right to be upset. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about overlooking the shortcomings of others because you, indeed, are not blameless. You have done and said and thought unkind things toward others.”
“Not as bad as she has!” Alice replied, frowning. “I've never treated anyone as horridly as my Mum has.”
“It does not matter to what degree. Hurting people is all the same - no matter the depth,” Brayden said.
“Why were you speaking to my Mum anyway?” Alice asked, realising it felt like a betrayal more than an act of protection over her.
Brayden raised both of his eyebrows. “I am your father, therefore I do not owe you an explanation of any kind regarding any matter. When somebody wishes to apologise, you must present yourself humbly and allow them to do so. You have no authority to deny your mother the right to regret her actions. The way she has behaved toward you is worthy of prison-time, but I will not stand by and allow her to drown in guilt. If she is courageous enough to account for her actions, then you will receive it. You, absolutely, will receive it. I will supervise this reconciliation to ensure it's done properly. If you step a toe out of line, I will show her exactly how arrogance is dealt with on my watch. Stop behaving as though your mother has no pain, because I assure you, the shame she feels cuts just as deeply as the rejection you feel.”
Alice swallowed as she searched Brayden's eyes and digested his words. It was difficult to accept, but even more difficult to imagine mercy being demonstrated toward her mother. Tears built up and after they'd reached their threshold, quietly streamed down her face.
Brayden wanted to cuddle Alice and to 'take her side' as she saw it, but he had also lived with regret. He’d lost both of his parents nearly three years prior and thought it was selfish for those who had parents to deny them any right to make mistakes. Alice may have been raised by an abusive and drunken mother until her eighteenth birthday, but Brayden had become her father now and he wouldn't allow her to be unnecessarily harsh toward the woman who gave birth to her – regardless of the circumstances.
“Don't make me see her, Father,” Alice asked, caught between angry and pleading.
Brayden removed his monogrammed handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and bent down to wipe her tears. He then took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes.
“I will be there with you,” he said adamantly, and kissed her forehead.
“Where is she, then?” Sally asked. Her gruff, chavvy drawl and careless appearance made everything that Brayden had heard about her seem infinitely true. He pushed judgmental thoughts out of his mind and refocused his attention on speaking to her factually.
“She'll be along in a moment. Would you care for some tea?” Brayden asked, eyeing Wellesley, who stood nearby, protectively watching his young master host a woman he rather thought of as a ruffian.
“Tetley,” she replied, her tangled mass of tresses falling ungracefully out of a half-hearted attempt at a bun.
Brayden hid his amusement at the request. Waldorf Manor didn't stock, nor did they drink (nor would they ever), Tetley branded tea. It hardly even counted in Brayden’s (or Wellesley’s) opinion.
“Wellesley,” Brayden said, giving his butler a knowing nod. He was sure after Wellesley prepared her tea of another persuasion, Sally Oliver would be none the wiser.
Brayden returned his attention to his guest, who was staring up at the vaulted ceilings, turning her eyes over the beautiful, ornate decoration, mouldings and furniture, which she could see throughout the foyer. It was the most impressive interior she'd seen anywhere before, and her attempts to hide her reactions to Waldorf confirmed that.
“If you'll follow me, we will wait for Alice in the sitting room,” Brayden offered, realising that the woman had very little tact and would have probably turned and made herself comfortable even before his invitation. It was clear by her behaviour that she was both impre
ssed with Waldorf Manor, yet felt a sense of entitlement.
She shrugged. “All right then,” she said, and followed Brayden.
Sally Oliver couldn't have looked more out of place on the sofa adjacent to Brayden, who sat in one of the leather wing chairs. He watched her scope out the sitting room, her silence making his observation more amusing. Brayden glanced at his watch; it would only be another two minutes before Alice was due to appear.
“What's that?” Sally asked, her head turning to Brayden.
“Alice is just finishing her piano practise over there in the music room,” Brayden said, indicating the far end of the spacious sitting room toward a set of closed double doors, behind which the faint sound of piano playing could be heard.
“Alice don't play piano,” Sally growled with a frown.
“I assure you, she does,” Brayden said, and turned as Wellesley entered through the double doors carrying a silver tray. His white gloves were immaculate as he expertly poured three cups of tea: the first for Sally, the second for Brayden and the third for Alice.
“Would you like milk, Miss Oliver?” Wellesley asked, as he stood in the open space between Sally and Brayden on their respective furnishings. Wellesley had timed his question to Alice's mother so that he interrupted the next words out of her mouth, which he was sure would have been derogatory toward her estranged daughter.
“Yeah, go on,” Sally said, one eye wandering about the room again.
Wellesley maintained his usual professional candour and only glanced at Brayden once, as if to ask if he was all right. Brayden raised an eyebrow in return. Sally helped herself to three heaping teaspoons full of sugar, leaving a small trail from the crystal sugar bowl, down the table and across her saucer. Brayden bit his tongue and reached for his teacup just as the sitting room doors entering from the foyer opened by Wellesley and Alice walked in. She had been told not to enter through the connecting doors into the sitting room. Brayden didn't like shortcuts through his estate; he preferred that the proper doors were used.
