by Bella Bryce
"No, he isn't," she whimpered, as Jon tightened his grasp around her waist and smacked her again. She groaned. For a man who hadn't spanked in years, he certainly knew what he was doing.
"If I find out you spanked our grown son again, I will paddle you like a little girl who was caught with her hand in the jam jar," he said, into her ear. Evelyn felt like she was about die. "Do you hear me?" he asked, sensually.
She moved her husband's hand down from her waist, but he fought it.
"Uh uh, young lady. You're done being in charge," and with that, he laid another smack on her. He carried on and after half a dozen, he let go of her waist and pushed her properly over the arm of the sofa. With one hand on her back to hold her in place, he used the other to deliver the kind of spanking he'd been thinking about since the moment he stopped the night before. Evelyn winced and whimpered, gritting her teeth as she stared at the tufts in the Chesterfield. She wondered if her sons knew exactly how many buttons were on that sofa.
"I can't agree to that," she managed to say, eventually. "I caned Bennett before he moved to Barton-Court too. Are you going to spank me for that?"
Jonathan stopped spanking, paused, and walked around the arm of the sofa. To Evelyn's surprise, he sat down beside where her head was and pulled her right down and over his lap. She let out a squeal.
"Jon!"
"I didn't ask you to agree, young lady, I gave you an order, and I expect it to be obeyed," he said, with Evelyn now over his lap just as she was over the arm of the sofa moments before. He lifted her dress again and began smacking her. "You caned our twenty-nine-year old son. Why?"
"You know why!" She gritted her teeth. "If they're under this roof," she said, and then winced with each smack, "that's how it goes."
"I know," he said, slowing down his smacks so they were more evenly dispersed, and deliberately heavy. "I wanted to hear you say it. But it's my job, not yours." Jon paused and looked down at her. "Do you hear me?"
Evelyn pressed her lips together. She did not want to give in to that.
"Answer me," he said, and laid an extra hard whack to her.
"Owww! Bloody hell, Jon!"
Jon raised his eyebrows and blinked, then pulled her up from his lap and clicked his tongue in disapproval as she struggled to quickly pull her dress down. "Leave it."
Evelyn's eyebrows inverted.
"Now you're swearing. Are you trying to find out how I'm going to handle each indiscretion?"
She didn't reply.
"I think you are," he said, amused at being correct. "I don't intend to keep you wondering." Jonathan held his wife like a toddler who needed their trousers checked, as he pulled up her knickers and stockings for her. "You'll be wearing garters from now on. These stockings are absolutely ridiculous."
Evelyn blinked a few times and very nearly chuckled. Jon wasn't backing down, he was slowly staking a claim on more of her behaviour. It was bittersweet and sensual.
"They're only ridiculous if you're trying to get inside of them," she replied.
Jon gave her a raised eyebrow look. "Precisely, and I intend to every day from now on, for one reason or another."
Evelyn's eyes widened.
"Don't look shocked, Darling. I've been wanting you since our wedding night, but you've been such a tease," he said, taking her by the arm.
"Now where are you dragging me?"
"You can have your mouth washed out with soap for swearing. After that, I want you again."
Evelyn laughed as he escorted her toward the study door.
"Is something funny?" he said, pulling her in front of him. He stood between Evelyn and the heavy, wooden study door and pushed her right up against it.
"I'm just waiting for this Polyjuice Potion to wear off."
Jon frowned. "Did you just make a Harry Potter reference?"
Evelyn shot him a saucy smile. "You can't blame me."
"I can and I will. I'll show you just how hard I can blame you," he said, and pulled her away from the door, then opened it and tugged Evelyn along behind him straight into the corridor. "Hold my calls, I'm out of the office," Jon told one of the maids as he pulled his wife past. The maid lowered her eyes, feeling it was intrusive to see such a delightful look on Evelyn's face. She'd never seen Evelyn look so pleased with herself.
"Yes, Sir. For how long shall I say, Sir?"
"Indefinitely," he called over his shoulder.
Evelyn couldn't help but giggle as he pulled her along.
It wouldn't be until dinner that any of the staff would see their employers again, which made for a shocking change. Evelyn was usually on her broomstick at sunrise and didn't dismount until long after sunset. No one was complaining; not even her. She was shrieking and groaning, but certainly not complaining.
* * * * *
While a lover's escapade unashamedly ensued at Greystone Hall, a lover's quarrel was brewing at Barton-Court.
"I know you said our next meeting with Anabelle wouldn't be for two weeks, but I'd be perfectly fine if we went sooner. I'm done grieving now."
Bennett looked up at her and paused cutting his meal. "It's only been a day since the funeral. I don't think grief works that quickly."
Elisabeth looked down at her plate; she still didn't have much of an appetite.
"I suppose you would know how that works, would you?" she asked, quietly.
Bennett put his cutlery down. "I don't wish to disagree with you Elisabeth, but I'm doing what I think is best for you. Two weeks is a good amount of time to sort through your feelings."
"What feelings? They're dead, Bennett." Elisabeth removed her napkin from her lap and left it beside her plate. "I need some fresh air."
"After luncheon," Bennett said, picking up his cutlery again. "We'll go for a walk in the gardens after we've finished. You don't leave the table without being excused."
Elisabeth stared at her plate.
"Darling, don't let's quarrel. Put your napkin back in your lap," as he picked up his wine glass. Bennett watched Elisabeth remain still. She didn't move or react.
"I want to see Anabelle on Monday, Bennett. I'll go mad if you force me to sit here and be a grieving mess."
He swallowed his wine, and replaced the glass on the tablecloth before looking at her. "I don't wish to speak about this in the dining room."
"Your schedule doesn't pause for a few moments when I'm unhappy?" Elisabeth finally looked over at him.
"Do not twist my words, Elisabeth Grace. You know precisely what I mean when I say I wish to speak about things properly, so you can have my full attention. I won't say it again."
Elisabeth slowly replaced her napkin in her lap, and she was just as slow about picking up her cutlery. She barely moved as she cut her meal into tiny pieces and placed every other bite into her mouth. Chewing was a drawn out process and she made a point of avoiding eye contact with Bennett. When he finished, he sat back in his chair and finished his wine whilst keeping an eye on Elisabeth. She refused to look at him.
"When you're finished having a strop, then we will chat," he said, as he wiped his mouth with his napkin and replaced it on the table.
"Ignoring you is not a strop," she replied, quietly.
"That'll do. Sullivan, clear Miss Elisabeth's plate. Come along," he said, as he stood up and waited beside her chair. Sullivan pulled hers out and then walked around to the left and waited for Bennett and Elisabeth to vacate so he could clear her place setting. Bennett took Elisabeth by her upper arm, straight out of the dining room and up the double staircase.
"I thought we were going to speak about things properly. This looks an awful lot like I'm about to get a thrashing instead," Elisabeth replied, when Bennett pulled her into his study.
"We're going to do both," he said, as he closed the door behind them. "Over there," Bennett pointed to the place on the rug in front of his desk.
"I know where to stand, I have done this before."
Bennett put one hand in his trouser pocket, and the other rested a
cross his lips for a brief moment as he walked around Elisabeth. He stopped in front of her, then folded his arms across his chest. Had it been any other day, Bennett would have yanked her right across his knee for her remark, but it wasn't any other day. He had no intention of letting Elisabeth get away with rude or disrespectful behaviour, but he needed to weave the right amount of understanding into their conversation so as not to guilt her at such a time.
"I don't presume to know how you're feeling at the moment, but I know that if I were you, I wouldn't be pushing away the one person who's been consistent in my life."
Elisabeth looked away.
"I don't like being told that I am grieving, or that I have to grieve for a specific period of time."
Bennett uncrossed his arms and put them into his tailored trouser pockets. "I certainly never told you such a thing. Regardless of that, I don't want to walk into a meeting with our wedding planner two days after your parents' funeral."
"Why not?" she looked at him.
"It isn't right, Elisabeth. Give yourself a bit of time."
"For what?" she exclaimed.
Bennett raised an eyebrow. "Raise your voice to me again, and you won't be sitting comfortably until our next meeting with Anabelle."
She swallowed and lowered her eyes to the floor.
"So it's decided then. You're going to force me to stay home and sulk for two weeks."
Bennett closed his eyes out of frustration, then opened them again. "I am not forcing you do anything, young lady. This is our usual schedule, nothing is changing. Yes, I told Anabelle we would take a little break from planning until I knew you were all right."
"How could you know whether or not I'm all right unless you ask me?" she looked up at him.
He raised his eyebrows. "I don't suppose I could know anything about you unless it's verbalised, is that it?"
"I'm not a wounded bird who needs coddling, Bennett. I'm a very capable person who just wants to plan her wedding." Elisabeth didn't like falling out with him, but she wanted to get her point across. "Unless of course, the reason you're stalling is because you don't really want to have a wedding anymore."
Bennett closed his eyes again and then opened them. "I am going to wash your mouth out with soap for that remark," he said, calmly.
"Am I not allowed to have fears and questions?" She felt panic well up in her chest. Elisabeth only needed that response from Bennett to dispel her worry. She hadn't truly believed he would call off their engagement, but the last few days before the funeral had wreaked havoc on her mind, and she had far too many negative thoughts and irrational worries she'd been keeping to herself.
"I'm doing what I feel is best for you and for us. I am not about to take my newly orphaned fiancée into a meeting about our wedding, when it hasn't even been two days since the funeral. I won't have that on my head, Elisabeth, and if you attempt to push me on the matter I will teach you a real lesson in submission."
Elisabeth's eyes filled with tears instantly and she stared back at him.
"Is that how you see me? As an orphan?" Elisabeth felt the guilt trickle through her veins because it was a matter of fact that she was an orphan; it wasn't an insult.
"I apologise, you know that is not how I see you." Bennett exhaled. "And it's certainly not what I meant. Why must you question my every word?"
She looked down at the floor and quietly dissolved into tears as she covered her face with her hands. Bennett walked to Elisabeth and picked her up off the floor. He carried her to the nearest wingchair and placed her across his lap.
"It is all right not to be all right," he told her quietly. "You needn't pretend with me." He kissed her head gently, then rested his chin on top of her head.
Elisabeth desperately wanted to be married to Bennett, and she wanted it as soon as possible. She had never felt so empty as when her parents were obliterated into ash, and she was handed the urn of their remains. She had wanted to ask Bennett if they could get rid of the ashes straightaway that morning – like out of the limo window on her way to Barton-Court – because staring at them on the mantelpiece in her bedroom back at Waldorf wasn't as comforting as she thought it would be. It put her off.
Chapter Fifteen
"You wanted to see me, Father?"
Alice approached Brayden as he put his teacup and saucer down on the tall, mahogany table between his knees and the adjacent sofa.
"Yes, darling," he replied, as he nodded toward the furniture. He watched her claim the nearest seat on the sofa and fold her hands in her lap.
Despite February being one of England's dreariest and windiest months, the sun had made an effort by shining a relentless burst of light and warmth in exchange for the usual subtle, greyish glow through the ceiling-high windows of the sitting room. Brayden almost felt as though the weather were showing compassion for the conversation he was about to have with Alice. He was sure she would come out more unscathed than he would.
Brayden leant forward to pour his daughter a cup of tea and handed it her. He knew she would oblige herself a nice, long pour of milk and two teaspoons of sugar. Once she'd stirred it, taken a sip, and looked back up at Brayden, he bade himself to speak. That was, after all, why he'd called for her.
"It's your nineteenth birthday this weekend," he began, folding his hands. "I almost can't believe this weekend marks one year since you came to Waldorf."
Alice offered a bit of a delayed, warm smile. It hardly seemed possible. "It's been the best year," she replied, quietly.
Brayden offered a smile in return. "I'm happy to hear you say that." He remained in his chair looking across at Alice on the sofa, her posture effortlessly upright as the teacup and saucer rested sweetly in the lap of her red and white striped pinafore with small buttons over her shoulders.
"I hope you can continue to say that as time moves on," Brayden told her.
Alice wasn't quite sure where he was going with the conversation, so she held back any reaction. He then stood up from the chair and transferred to the empty place on the sofa beside Alice.
Her long hair curled into darling ringlets, as always, with both sides secured by red satin ribbons to match her dress. Brayden sat down beside her, then gently took the cup and saucer from her lap and placed it on the table before them.
"There's been such a lot of change in this household," he turned back to Alice. He stroked one of the curls that fell over her shoulder. "And there's still more to come, as we know, with Elisabeth moving to Barton-Court after the wedding."
Brayden watched Alice's manner, admiring the docility she'd grown into. She was rather subtle about straightening the hem of her dress against her white tights. She nodded gently.
"I'm very proud of how you've settled here, Alice."
She looked up at him. "I know, Father." she replied, quietly. It wasn't easy for her to swallow compliments.
Brayden took Alice's hand in his own and met her eyes.
"I told you in the beginning that I would raise you from the age of ten, and whilst I would prefer you to stay this age forever, I know I can't."
Alice could tell the conversation wasn't easy for him. He maintained his usual perfect posture and gentlemanly manner, but she could tell that his words stung. Or that they would soon.
"It might seem like the next step to say that you should be eleven because of your birthday this weekend, but for a lot of reasons, I feel you should be older."
Alice's smile faded slowly. How much older? She wondered.
"You've demonstrated an admirable amount of growth, Alice. "I've watched you learn countless new rules and settle into life here. You've learned piano, which you excel at. You would read an entire book in one afternoon if I let you, when I could barely get you to read for an hour when you first arrived." He raised his eyebrows, causing Alice to shyly smile and look away. "You have confidence, poise and a very charming nature – things which I doubt you realised were inside of you before."
Alice turned back to Brayden, unsure if she could
carry on listening without becoming emotional.
"You've been a darling girl to have as my ten-year-old, and I have enjoyed every moment of it. I have. Every single moment," he said, then kissed her forehead.
"But now I have to grow up," Alice quietly offered, once he pulled away. Her eyes were sad.
Brayden looked down as he held her hand in his own. "You're still my little girl, and you always will be."
Alice nodded, although her eyes had filled with tears.
"My darling, don't be sad," Brayden quietly told her, resting one hand on her cheek.
"I don't want to grow up," Alice practically whispered, as her chin quivered.
Brayden's heart always crumbled when Alice was upset; he hated to see her eyes return to the same desolation that once consumed her entirely. Her porcelain-like skin became rosier as her emotions welled up, and she always looked her implied age when tears fell down her cheeks.
"I won't force you to, but I want you to know that I think you deserve to have your age increased," Brayden replied. He was elated to hear that Alice didn't want to grow up; in fact, that comment was enough to bring him comfort even as she grew older.
"If it's something I've truly earned, then why don't I feel happy about it?" she asked, maintaining a level voice only by nearly whispering.
Brayden wasn't sure how she would take his words, but he found himself a little surprised by her hesitation. He reached over and pulled Alice under her arms until she moved to sit in his lap. Brayden folded her dainty legs so she fit nicely inside his embrace, causing her patent ivory Mary Jane's to dangle. He wiped Alice's eyes gently with his monogrammed handkerchief, then tucked it into her hand.
"I don't think you realise that you've already been growing up right before my eyes." Brayden straightened her dress over her knees. "It would be very selfish of me not to recognise it, even though I wish to keep you here in this dress, at this age, in my arms, forever."
Brayden closed his eyes for a moment as he held her head close to his chest. He wondered how many other fathers felt as though their hearts were being taken right out of their chests at the idea of their daughters growing up.