by Bella Bryce
She visibly pouted as she clamoured back down the stairs. Brayden had his hands in his closely tailored trouser pockets, his lean and masculine frame filled the suit nicely. He was so terribly handsome that Alice almost didn’t want to wrinkle her face at him.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Why did she have to leave?”
“Because,” he said with a firm voice, looking down at her. “Miss Greyson is neither my wife nor your mother and it is not appropriate for her to remain here past your bedtime. Come along,” he said, his eyes on the staircase as he approached them.
“But she stayed last night,” Alice protested, turning and watching Brayden approach the stairs.
He raised his eyebrows unbelievingly as he turned back to Alice. “Miss Greyson stayed the night in a guest room far from mine, might I remind you. And she stayed because she was working and the trains had stopped. I offer that information to you because, as your father, I am accountable for all behaviour taking place under this roof, although I am not accountable to you, young lady, and if you wish me to remind you of that you will be reminded facing the floor.”
Alice exhaled. “Don’t you like her?”
Brayden’s expression went straight. “That is quite enough. Bedtime. Come along.”
Alice’s eyes fell to the floor as she approached the staircase. Brayden had one hand on the railing as he waited for her to walk ahead. She stared at the burgundy carpeted grand staircase and kept her eyes there until they reached her bedroom.
“Brush your teeth.”
“I know, Father,” Alice mumbled.
“Pardon?” he asked.
She immediately regretted her words and winced. He snapped his fingers and signalled for her to go to him, which Alice did immediately.
“When I tell you to do something, I expect first time obedience, without backchat, without commentary and without attitude.”
“Yes, Sir,” Alice replied, fully knowing she was in for it.
“You’ve stepped over the line more than once this evening.”
Alice lowered her eyes and let them fall to the floor.
“Go and ready for bed and then I want a word with you. Run along,” he nodded, toward the opposite side of the room
“Sir,” Alice replied. She was surprised she hadn’t already been yanked across his knee and she wondered if the ‘word’ he wanted to have would be a conversation at all. She didn’t expect it to be.
Alice went behind the changing screen and untied her navy blue pleated pinafore at her sides, which had been secured by sashes tied into bows. She laid it neatly across the upholstered chair and unbuttoned her sky blue Peter Pan collared shirt and did the same. She washed her face and brushed her teeth and took her time. She wasn’t hoping for a word with her father. She wanted to hide under the duvet and fall asleep quickly.
“It is not your place to question me on personal matters,” he started, once he’d sat on her bedside.
Alice’s face straightened. It was one of those chats.
“I know you want to ask questions about Miss Greyson, but there is absolutely nothing for you to be curious about. Miss Greyson was hired to do a job and she did it, and it’s over.”
Alice blinked and her eyebrows furrowed. “And you want it that way?”
Brayden straightened his cufflinks and looked back up at Alice. “This is not appropriate conversation,” he said, standing up.
Alice frowned and angrily turned over onto her side with her back to Brayden.
“You always do that,” she accused. “When I asked you about your parents, you cut off the conversation. You’re doing the same thing now.”
“Alice, we are not on equal ground. Hold your tongue or I shall do it for you.”
“You never listen to me,” she mumbled.
Brayden leant over the bed and took Alice firmly by the arm. “This is not your concern.”
Alice looked over her shoulder at Brayden. “Of course it isn’t, it doesn’t concern me at all.”
Brayden stared back at her. It was indeed the first time he blatantly ignored one of Alice’s smart remarks. It wasn’t his practise to let anything go, but Alice hit a chord he wasn’t sure he wanted to address.
“Shame on me for wanting you to be happy,” she added, turning her back to him once again as she rolled over onto her side.
“You don’t understand and you don’t need to.”
“What do I know? I’m just a child,” Alice replied with quiet annoyance.
Brayden covered the bridge of his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes. “I’ll see you at breakfast,” he said quietly, as he removed his fingers.
“You won’t. I’m not coming. I’m not eating breakfast tomorrow.”
“I will see you downstairs in the dining room, sitting at the table on time, young lady. You know what happens if you’re late for meals. Goodnight,” he said, as he leant over and kissed Alice.
“Not goodnight,” she mumbled, as Brayden was across the room.
He closed the door and walked down the corridor toward his study. On the way there he couldn’t help but think about Anabelle. Brayden had no idea if Ana was, as Bennett put it, his type, if she liked him, if she would truly accept Alice, if courting would make sense and if they did – would he also have Ana’s submission on all things so that he could enjoy the adult side of his dominant personality? Those were the questions that flooded his mind.
In the hour and a half he’d spent with her in the sitting room having tea that evening, they hadn’t once broached any truly personal subjects. Brayden didn’t want to be forward or rude so he had avoided anything intrusive. Of course, in Ana’s mind, he hadn’t asked because he wasn’t interested. Both had been disappointed at the end of the evening, no one more than Brayden, who was mentally scolding himself. Perhaps he’d been so much of a gentleman that he’d unknowingly pushed Ana away.
Brayden suddenly found himself standing outside of his parents’ master suite, instead of his study. He looked at the double doors with brass knobs before him and remembered they were locked. He retrieved the key from his bedroom and returned to unlock the door. The staff knew Brayden wanted the master suite kept exactly as it had always been – as every room had been kept – regularly cleaned and awaiting his presence.
The master suite was exactly as it sounded, fit for the masters of Waldorf. Brayden’s late parents, Oliver and Kathryn James, had been a terribly attractive and loving couple, quite strict but otherwise adoring to their staff and only child. Their suite spread over eight hundred square feet with separate his and her dressing rooms and walk-in wardrobes suited to their tastes.
Oliver James had a traditional wood-panelled wardrobe with shelving displaying his shoes, hats, scarves and gloves. His clothes were still displayed on bespoke designed wooden pullout hangers, organisers and inside drawers. Brayden hadn’t wanted any of his father’s things touched.
His mother’s dressing room was a feminine lilac and cream with tufted ottomans and a chair at her built-in dressing table with tall mirrors and windows to reflect the light. The French doors to her wardrobe showed all of her dresses still hanging there as if Kathryn might wake up the next morning, put one of them on and appear at her place in the dining room. Since her death, Brayden refused to go near her dressing table for fear he might smell her perfumes and forget that she was gone. But it was precisely what he did just then. Brayden walked to the dressing table and, as if in a flashback, he watched himself as a small boy in his school uniform walk over to his mother as she sat at the dressing table. She looked at him in the mirror and smiled, then turned.
“Mummy’s nearly ready, darling,” her voice echoed in his mind. “Come give me a kiss.” When the young Brayden in his memory went to his mother and kissed her cheek, he smelled her Chanel perfume and it seemed to appear there in the empty space between where he thought she might be and where he stood.
He walked forward a few steps to her dressing table and let his eye
s scan over his mother’s delicate things. Brayden managed to take in her memory without feeling as though he wanted to crumble. Alice’s prior questioning over his avoidance of celebrating his birthday since their deaths had helped him to deal with a lot of the things he’d been avoiding and it was only since the ball that he felt ready to even go into their room.
Brayden allowed the memory of his mother to fade as he turned into the main part of their bedroom. The bed was beyond a small set of wooden stairs on a second level with a fireplace to one side and a bay window with seating to the other. The bed frame was a king-sized wooden four poster with a canopy and thick drapes tied to each corner with cord, just like the guest room Ana had stayed in.
Brayden walked across the room and without any effort, he suddenly saw his father as if his memories had projected their images right in front of him. He remembered the way his father dressed in front of the freestanding mirror with Wellesley nearby. He watched a ghostlike figure of his late father, Oliver, straighten his waistcoat and then wink at a young Brayden in the mirror.
“We must always look our best, son. Remember that,” Oliver’s voice echoed.
Brayden stared at the memory of his father in his mind’s eye and realised why he’d gone to their room. “Father, I need to ask you something,” Brayden found himself speaking aloud to the ghost-like figure. Just then, the memory closed down and the presence of his parents he’d felt so strongly was sucked right out of the room. He felt it disintegrate and he looked around, wondering how realistic his memories had actually been. It felt like they had really been there until Brayden needed their guidance and then they disappeared. He took one last look around and left the master suite feeling rather disheartened.
Wellesley knocked on Brayden’s door at ten o’clock, as he did every evening, and entered the bedroom to complete his duties.
“Wellesley,” Brayden said, once he was in his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers with his book in his hand. His brown hair was still neatly parted to one side.
“Yes, Sir,” Wellesley replied, as he finished pulling down Brayden’s bed layers and folded them neatly.
“What do you think of Anabelle Grayson?” he asked, closing his book.
Wellesley stopped and raised his eyebrows. “In what manner of speaking, Sir? I can attest to her talent in running events, Sir, but nothing much beyond that,” Wellesley offered.
“Do you have an opinion on whether or not she is a suitable girl for, perhaps, well, maybe, me? In the case that I needed to consider it.”
Wellesley raised his eyebrows. He certainly hadn’t expected that.
“If you recall, you and I had a similar chat the evening I decided to move Alice here. You didn’t steer me wrong then and I daresay you won’t now. Do you think Anabelle is my type?”
Wellesley was rather unprepared for such a question. “If Sir thinks he has a type, what would that be?”
Brayden looked down at the book and cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Bennett pointed out that he thought perhaps she was.”
Wellesley smiled. “I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Fowler. Is there anything else, Sir?”
Brayden told him there wasn’t and excused his butler. He sat in a club chair near the fire with a cup of tea. He hadn’t expected the response he’d received from Wellesley, who had never seemed very keen on Bennett. Wellesley was hired to like everyone, but it was no secret that Bennett was hard to like (for everyone but Brayden it seemed). He sat upright in the chair with his thumb and forefinger pensively circling his mouth as he listened to the fire crackle and felt at a complete loss about what to do with his feelings for Ana. It was entirely too risky to come out and ask her questions or suggest things to her unless he knew it would turn out happy for all three of them.
Brayden fell asleep wondering how many late or restless evenings his father had when making decisions concerning Waldorf and his family when he was alive.
Chapter Fifteen
The decorators arrived to begin hanging the garland, setting up the twelve Christmas trees and wreaths throughout the estate and a plethora of other decorations that made Waldorf even more stunning than it already was.
Alice discretely watched Bradley and Jemima, as they directed a small team of men with ladders, walk toward the balcony. Bradley was in a black and white suit and Jemima wore heels that were way too tall, in Alice’s opinion, although it didn’t appear as though she did much beyond pointing her finger at people. Alice was crouched at the top of the stairs with her hands on the wooden bannister spindles and her eyes followed their every movement. She took an instant dislike to Bradley and Jemima; they weren’t as genuine as Anabelle was. They behaved rather arrogantly and made no effort to hide it, as they bossed around the workers who performed the manual part of the decorating.
“That garland doesn’t go there, they go along the bannister. Jem, we used the red velvet poinsettias every six inches in this garland last year, I’m sure. Excuse me, the bannister is two hundred feet’s worth, so obviously that footer is for the fireplace. We use twenty feet for here,” Bradley spoke between the contractor who was awaiting direction and Jemima, who was on her phone, yet still speaking to Bradley.
Alice rolled her eyes. The whole atmosphere was different than it had been before when Ana was taking care of the ball. Alice watched Bradley rudely dismiss the contractor and tell him to ‘just leave it there for a moment’, referring to the foyer floor. Alice frowned and shook her head. It wasn’t easy watching people being spoken down to and she wanted to give them a piece of her mind.
“Those should have lights,” Bradley told another contactor as he referred to pictures on his iPad from the previous Christmas.
Alice stood up from where she had been crouching and began to descend the staircase, eventually catching the attention of Bradley and Jemima.
“Oh hello there, you must be Mr. James’ little girl. Alice, isn’t it?” Jemima asked, in a sickeningly fake voice as she approached the bottom of the stairs.
Alice obliged with a fake smile. “Indeed,” she replied. Then she looked around at the little bit of progress that had been made. “Did you lead on this project last year?” Alice asked with a rather grown up tone.
Jemima smiled and glanced at Bradley. “I’ve led on this project for five years.”
“Well then, you’re aware that those poinsettias should actually be gold and not red,” Alice nodded toward the countless green garlands accented with red poinsettias, lying out across the foyer floor, prior to being fluffed by the contractors.
Bradley took two steps and joined Jemima. “They’re red, darling, they’ve always been red,” he replied, giving Alice a polite smile and nothing more. His use of the word darling was slightly condescending.
Alice raised her eyebrows and glanced at the bannister. “I think you’ll find they’re gold this year,” she said, offering an abrupt smile and then abandoning the foyer. Bradley and Jemima looked at each other.
“Come in,” came Wellesley’s voice when he heard the knock.
Alice pushed the door open and stared at Wellesley as he sat at his desk writing in a notebook.
“Miss Alice,” he said, and removed his glasses as he stood up. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Have you seen the imposters in my foyer?” she asked.
Wellesley offered a smile.
“Is my father still in his study?”
“Yes, Miss Alice. He’ll be there until luncheon on some important phone calls.”
Alice looked up at him. “Elisabeth is with Uncle Bennett today. I’ve no one to play with,” she sighed.
Wellesley smiled. “You remind me of someone when he was your age.”
Alice didn’t smile in return.
“Perhaps a cup of tea and some cheese on toast?” he asked, raising his voice to sound hopeful.
To that, Alice smiled.
Upstairs in his study, Brayden sat up straight behind his desk.
“I need you to make a
decision about your parents' accounts. I know you've been reluctant to touch them, but it's been nearly three years now. I really mustn't allow you to keep dragging your feet, Brayden.”
Brayden looked up at the ceiling and straightened his cufflinks. “What do you suggest?” he asked, over the speakerphone on his desk.
“I'm your solicitor, I'm going to tell you to invest it.”
“I don't need any more investments, Lochlan. I don't need any more of anything. Honestly, how much money does one need?” Brayden asked.
“I didn't hear that.”
“You did. Why don't you take it, Graves?” Brayden remarked.
Lochlan let out a ridiculous laugh. “That's highly illegal.”
“It isn't, if I give it to you,” Brayden said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers.
“I can't accept gifts from clients.”
“I'll sack you, then write you a cheque as my friend.”
“This is a recorded line, but thank you for that,” Lochlan laughed again. “What about adding it to your own retirement or one of Alice's accounts?”
“I've seen to it that she has more than enough to live on should she need it one day. I'm not going to spoil her further,” Brayden said.
“What's another five million?”
“Twenty million,” Brayden replied automatically.
“I'm glad to know your sums are in order. Now in all seriousness, Brayden, I need you to think about it and tell me where to move that money. It's bad for business to leave things open ended when your parents aren't here to dictate where their savings should go. I'm giving you until this weekend and then I'm going to charge you triple what I'm worth just to make a point.”
“Yes, Sir,” Brayden replied, removing his fingers from the bridge of his nose.
“Right, I've done my accountability check this week. Is there anything else you wish me to do other than the cheques for those events?” Lochlan asked.
Brayden thought for a moment. “No, I think I've spent enough for one week. Thank you, Graves.”
He had indeed. Sponsorship of several charity events, all of which Bennett was cosponsoring with him. Fifteen million pounds for Alice’s lifetime had finally made it to the right account and correct financial products assigned after months of umming and ahhing over which investment was best, which annuity provided the greatest return, which account rewarded a no withdraw period. Alice wouldn’t need that money for a long, long time, so it would inevitably almost double. And no, she didn’t need another five million on top of that. Brayden didn’t want to spoil her. Alice had no idea the sum of money set aside for her, she only knew Waldorf Manor and everything in its entirety was hers if anything happened to Brayden. She knew no more and that was how he liked it.
