by Ellen Lane
Despite how many times they’d been together, Alice still felt like a vice around him. Nothing compared to the exquisite perfection of being inside her - and it was there he stayed for more than half the flight.
When they left LA, it was a balmy sixty-five degrees with the sun shining relentlessly. They arrived in the UK to a light dusting of snow over the capitol, at which Alice wondered after spending the last few months Stateside. Russell couldn’t help but find her enthusiasm infectious, and for almost the entirety of the trip to the manor, Russell merely basked in the happiness she brought him. They stopped at one of his favorite cafes for supper, and he found himself gratified to introduce her to the staff. Alice, despite all her trappings, was neither high maintenance or demanding, even offering to clear their table herself, as there were few customers in the cafe.
Ultimately, however, Russell had to face the music.
“Alice…” The closer they drew to the Darwell manor - smack in the center of London - the more uncomfortable he became. “I implore your...patience when it comes to my family.”
Alice looked at him in surprise. “Patience? Russell, I’m sure they’re all better bred than I am, if what you’ve told me is any indication.”
At that, he could help but chuckle warily. “My mother, perhaps. But my siblings…. Franklin in particular...can be a bit forward.”
Alice’s answering grin was amused and wry. “Is he going to try and steal me from you, then?”
Russell grimaced. “Dear God, no.” At least, he hoped not. If Franklin took a liking to Alice, he might think the apocalypse had come. His brother was of the very conceited opinion that he was above any and all romance. Unlike Russell, who steered clear of women because of certain promises he made himself, Franklin avoided it because he felt romance silly and beneath him.
A macho man if Russell had ever encountered one, that was for certain.
“And what of your sister, Janeane? Will she grind my bones to make her bread?” Russell felt they were equally insufferable, at least in his opinion.
“Janeane is fine.” He acquiesced. He actually thought his sister would get along admirably with Alice. She might even already be a fan of the designer’s line. “She’ll love you.” As they pulled past the gleaming gates of the estate, he caught Alice gaping a bit. Though Russell knew she came from money, he knew that having a father descendant from the queen herself had its own set of perks - their lavish house in London being chief amongst them. Many said that the splendor of the Darwell manor was only outdone by Buckingham Palace itself. At any rate, Russell had always been cognizant of their immense house and the gardens surrounding it. His mother always complained that the cost to maintain them was astronomical and she’d rather grow fare she could eat like in Medieval periods.
That always made his father and him laugh.
As he helped Alice from the car, however, Russell wasn’t laughing. He was too busy staring at the immense double doors before them, and wondering what on earth he’d gotten himself into.
Chapter 7: Forgiveness
Alice was used to luxury and the trappings that came with it. That said, what she walked into at the Darwell manor was on a completely different level for two reasons. The first reason was that she was looking at class versus sheer opulence. In her own parents’ manor, on more than one occasion, she found herself thinking that they decorated simply to impress whoever it was that came through the door. Upon entering the Darwell manor, she got an entirely different feel. The manor was decorated with a distinct flavor that was obviously someone’s very meticulously cultivated tastes. Lovely China displays, oriental rugs and more than one impressive water fountain spilling right out of the wall.
“Mother has always adored China.” Russell finally provided as they passed a magnificent tapestry depicting what appeared to be an empress fighting off a dragon. “She goes herself twice a year.”
“This artwork is...breathtaking.” Alice exhaled, unable to decide where to look first. She could only wonder what the kitchen looked like if the rest of the house had such a decidedly Asian flare. That, of course, brought her to the second reason the Darwell manor was so different than the place she had grown up: despite its size, this house seemed almost cozy. Intimate, somehow. When she was a child, her own home seemed huge and imposing. Not so, here.
“Russell, my love, you finally arrive.” Alice spun around, surprised at the sudden, booming female voice that filled the hallway. She had to admit that after a life spent around her mother and women of similar station, she expected a Prada-clad hawk with carefully coiffed hair and perfect makeup.
Cordelia Darwell was rather a surprise to her.
If the woman wore any makeup at all, it was very little - but that didn’t detract from her body. She had to be somewhere in her mid-sixties, and still, she carried an aura of poise and allure that made even Alice a little envious. Her resplendent, waist-length mane had gone completely gray and she wore the shimmering silver crown with pride, plaited tightly back from her face. Her dark eyes were warm and welcoming, filled with genuine enthusiasm as she embraced her son.
Of course, she was wearing an exquisite silk kimono. While Alice had several that she wore upon occasion before going to bed, Cordelia Darwell’s was an entirely different breed. Alice wouldn’t be surprised if it was actually from Japan, woven in hues of black and red that complimented the woman’s still slender, elegant figure. She smelled of jasmine and patchouli - earthy and sweet.
And Alice got an extremely intimate whiff when the woman embraced her with just as much warmth as she had her own son. “Welcome to our home, Alice. You don’t mind if I call you Alice, do you?”
“O-of course not!” The young woman managed to stammer. She couldn’t remember many occasions when her own mother had embraced her so genuinely. Receiving the gesture from a complete stranger was shocking to say the least.
But not unpleasant. “Thank you so much for having me.”
“Oh, not at all! Russell so seldom brings home company. I was excited when he told me about you.” Cordelia glanced back at her obviously sheepish son with a smile. “Are either of you hungry?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone-” Alice started. She wasn’t terribly hungry, just having had dinner - but a spot of tea would be gorgeous.
“It’s no trouble.” Cordelia waved her off quickly. “I have a lovely Pu’er brew I got on my last trip to Beijing. I’ll make some for us, along with a few egg-tarts.” Alice’s eyes widened at Cordelia’s implication. She meant make herself. Alice had seen neither hide nor hair of servant since they entered. She supposed she wouldn’t be too shocked to find Cordelia employed few of them, if any. Her personality was quite...unique. “Let’s make our way to the sitting room, shall we? Jeanine and Franklin have already arrived. I’ll make them some too.”
Alice watched Russell blanch slightly and hid her smile. It had nothing to do with cruelty, but she had to wonder what made his brother so reproachable. He was obviously nervous about her meeting him - and there was little that made Russell Darwell nervous.
“Of course, Mother.” Russell’s smile was slightly forced as his mother breezed onward, all but gliding down the hall. Alice tried not to think of her messing her glorious kimono with the odd spill of tea.
“We’ll retrieve your bags in due time, never you worry.” With a soft laugh, she led them to a formal sitting room done in greens and golds with an awe-inspiring Asian style chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Alice was, of course, so taken with the chandelier that, at first, she didn’t notice the people already in the room.
“Russell!” An enthusiastic exclamation drew her attention back to the present moment as she watched a violently red-haired woman leap from her seat to throw slender arms around Russell’s arms. With her freckles and easy grin, she was pretty in a classic way that Alice admired, and at the sight of her, Russell’s grin broke for the first time since they left the cafe.
“Janeane! It’s been ages, hasn’t
it?”
“Longer than ages.” The fiery-haired woman squeezed her brother tightly. “Years, even. How have you been?”
It was obvious that, despite only being half-siblings, the two were close - like she and Michael were close.
The comparison brought a little tinge of guilt as she remembered her falling out with her brother - something she intended to rectify on this trip.
“Busy, as always.” Russell replied with a chuckle.
“That’s your problem, Russ. You’re a bloody workaholic.” Alice was startled by the blasé tone of the other person present in the room -and, to be honest- by the other person himself. Alice, having been raised around nobility, was used to them wanting to be the best of the best. Even Russell, having left behind his noble roots, liked to dress impeccably. His career allowed him to have the best of everything, and he took advantage when the results wouldn’t be too over the top.
If this man was Russell’s half-brother on his father’s side, that made him as close to a royal as it was possible to be without actually being one - and he looked as if he couldn’t give two bloody fucks.
The man she presumed to be Franklin Darwell lay back against a sofa, his bare feet propped up on the coffee table, his eyes closed. He was, Alice noticed, quite good-looking, even if his sense of fashion needed a bit of work. He carried the rebel look well, with hair longer than was common these days drawn over his shoulder in a ponytail. He was tall - perhaps as tall as her brother Michael - but he didn’t have Michael’s sheer muscular heft. Instead, his form was lean, coiled with a strength that was evident even through the almost threadbare thermal he wore with a pair of dark wash jeans.
He looked like a hippie, for heaven’s sake, and a bit out of place in Cordelia Darwell’s ornate oriental living room - but somehow, at the same time, he seemed to own the space. Russell greeted his brother with a wry smile.
“Nice to see you as well, Franklin.”
Bright blue eyes popped open to stare at Russell skeptically. “I’m surprised you even remember what I look like.”
Russell winced, running a hand through dark hair. “I feel like that’s a bit harsh.”
With a sigh, Franklin rose from the sofa with a teasing smirk. “Harsh is my middle name, brother. When are you ever going to remember that?” Surprisingly, he embraced Russell warmly, making his brother’s eyes widened.
Whatever adversity was between them, Alice realized, it was mostly in jest. “I suppose when you stop firing it in my direction.”
Franklin chuckled good-naturedly. “Never.” With that, he seemed to notice Alice standing there as well and arched a brow in surprise. “Who is this charming creature, Russell?”
Alice grinned, stepping forward to introduce herself to the siblings. “Alice Tate. Lovely to meet you.”
“Oh, shut the front door!” Janeane immediately beamed, springing forward to wring her hand enthusiastically. “The Alice Tate? My closet is filled with your pieces! You’re a bloody brilliant designer! Mum loves your work as well!”
Though used to being told she was somewhat of a wonder, under the praise of Russell’s sister, Alice blushed. “You’re too kind, really.”
“Just kind enough in my opinion,” Franklin added wryly. “Your stuff’s all over the world, darling. It and you.” If it was a thinly veiled jab at Alice’s former promiscuity, she let it pass. Michael was worried about her dating Russell. She shouldn’t be surprised if his brother felt similarly.
“Well, I plan on sticking with Russell for the foreseeable future.” Alice smiled, shaking his hand as well. “So, I wouldn’t worry too overly much.”
“Of course.” Franklin chuckled. “The fact that he’s brought you home is proof enough of that.”
Alice flushed darkly. “I suppose that’s a compliment.”
“The very highest.” Franklin winked just before his stepmother appeared, casting him a warning look.
“Are you behaving yourself, Franklin?”
The long-haired man groaned, flopping back down on the sofa in a show of complete innocence. “Why do I always have to be the one misbehaving. Janeane was the one all over the poor girl.”
Janeane flushed darkly at the accusation. “I was not!”
Russell gazed from his brother to his sister in exasperation. “Are you two really older than me?”
“You wouldn’t know it by looking, would you darling?” Cordelia winked at them teasingly before carrying over the tea tray to set on the table before them. “Alright now, everyone have some. Pu’er is very good for digestion.”
Alice didn’t think she needed any help with digestion, but the tea was delicious all the same - even for someone like her, who preferred copious amounts of cream and sugar. The egg-tarts, along with the stimulating conversation, were the perfect compliment.
While Russell might be close-mouthed about himself, his family was certainly very forthcoming. While Alice ate and drank, they regaled her with tales of when Russell was younger - when his mother had caught him trying cigarettes and locked him in his room for almost twenty-four hours. How he used to chase after his brother and insist that he was the elder, and how he had never, ever wanted to be Lord Darwell.
“Henry never really seemed to mind.” Cordelia piped up. “He’s never been overly consumed with having an heir. Even now, he’s off on some blasted fishing trip. Who knows when he’ll be back.”
“Mother, don’t change the subject.” Franklin seemed to have no trouble calling Cordelia mother, despite the fact that she was his stepmother. “We were talking about Russell.”
Indeed, they had been, and throughout, Russell seemed more than a little uncomfortable. They were, after all, disclosing more to Alice in the stretch of a few hours than he had voluntarily told her himself in all the time they knew one another.
“If you’ll excuse me,” the distinguished man cleared his throat, “I’ll be right back.” As he rose to leave, Alice sighed softly. It hadn’t been her intention to chase him away- but she’d be lying if she denied how lovely it was to get to know more about him. As much as she adored the man, sometimes Alice worried that she’d spend the rest of her life trying to get close to him.
“Oh, bother.” Janeane blew out a breath. “I’ll go get him.” With that, she rose to hurry after her brother and Franklin pinched the bridge of his nose. “I believe I need a brandy. And I’ll get one for Russell too. Might calm him down.”
Just like that, Alice was left alone with Cordelia, wondering if she had offended the woman’s son in her household unintentionally. She cleared her throat, taking a sip of her tea obtrusively before she met Cordelia’s neutral gaze. “I... I apologize. I didn’t mean to cause an uproar.”
The elder woman merely sighed, blowing on her own tea. “You did no such thing, darling. Russell has been ever sensitive about his past. We were just trying to lighten the mood.” Alice swallowed thickly, wondering where on earth she went from here. She hadn’t even been in the man’s house for an entire day and he was already probably already wondering how to get her to leave.
“I... Cordelia, do you mind if I’m frank with you?”
“Of course not, dear.” Cordelia arched a brow. “We Darwells always believe frankness is the best policy. What’s troubling you?” Alice marveled at how it seemed much easier to talk to this woman, even, than her own mother. Unlike the Tate matriarch, Cordelia Darwell didn’t seek to intimidate. Of course, that made her no less of a grand figure in her lovely kimono. Quite the opposite, in fact. But Alice often found speaking with her own mother like trying to get an audience with the queen - and when she did meet her face to face, getting her to actually hear what she said was like squeezing blood from a turnip.
At that moment, Cordelia Darwell’s complete attention was focused on her and no one else.
“Well...how is your relationship with Russell?” Alice asked the question as diplomatically as she could. “I’m sure he’s very fond of you and you of him.”
Cordelia’s answering
smile was warm and affectionate. “Well, of course. Russell and I have always been close. He’s rebellious in much the same way I was at his age and we understand one another.” Well, that made plenty of sense. Russell had taken off from Britain at a young age, declaring that he wouldn’t let his title controlling his life. “But of course, I’m sure you’ve noticed that he can a bit distant sometimes.”
To say the least.
Slowly, Alice nodded. “I’d like nothing more than for him to trust me. I’d never hurt Russell...I mean I…” It was hard to put her feelings into words when she’d just met Cordelia. After all, she didn’t want to come across as a complete lunatic. “I just want to know him.”
The elder woman nodded thoughtfully before taking another long sip of her tea. She appeared to contemplate a moment before she answered, choosing her words carefully. “Alice, I fear I only have one piece of advice for you. Since his youth, Russell has...changed, somewhat. It isn’t my place to reveal his business but suffice it to say that the man is like the sun: everyone basks in the warmth that he gives off, but few have the courage to get close enough. The fear of being burned is a terrible thing...but sometimes the risk is worth it.”
The Darwell matriarch’s advice seemed just as exotic as her taste in art. Alice took another bite of her egg tart as she fell silent, wondering how on earth she was supposed to have the courage to get close to someone who scalded anyone who got near.
Perhaps it would be better if she simply let herself be consumed by the flames.
Russell didn’t emerge from his room for the rest of the evening, and though Alice had a rousing time with his family - all of whom tried to cheer her up - by the time she went up to join him, she was already going through apologies in her head. The last thing she wanted was for Russell to be upset with her in his family home. He had, after all, brought her here in an effort to make things better between them.