“So, I was thinking of taking Grace to the regatta next week,” Victoria said, her voice more assertive than usual.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hal said. He poured a cup of coffee, knowing she’d have a retort. As soon as she cleared her voice to speak, he continued his thought, intentionally talking over her. “It’s her last week of school before graduation. It’s one of the most socially active times of her high school experience. This is her last chance to spend time with the friends she grew up with before she takes off to college. Bryn Mawr is so lucky to get you.”
“What?” Grace squealed, popping up out of her chair and her doldrums.
“Yup, they’re lucky to get you. You see, since my mother went there, you’re a legacy. One generation removed, but that was close enough when I offered an endowment.” Hal looked away, paused, then caught his daughter’s eye. “Nah. Just messing with you…”
Her glee popped like a soap bubble, Grace sat back in the cushioned kitchen chair, ready to set her chin on her knuckles.
“Whoa! Wait!” he said, rushing over to hold her close, clutching her in a half-hug. “I wasn’t joking about being accepted at Bryn Mawr; just the endowment part.”
He pulled away and looked at her. He saw her tears fall then felt them reappear on his face. “You got in on your grades and extracurricular activities. The acceptance letter was mailed months ago, but for some reason, it never got here. I called about it, wanted to know if they had made their determinations and if so, did they possibly have some wiggle room for the daughter of a son of a daughter of Bryn Mawr. They were surprised by the call. They figured you had accepted somewhere else.”
Hal shot a glare at Victoria but remained mute. He didn’t need to let everyone know that the college told him they had received a letter of declination signed by Grace. By his daughter’s ecstatic reaction on hearing she was accepted, he knew someone in the house had drafted a fake response and forged the signature. One hundred to one it wasn’t Sally or anyone else not married to him.
Getting Grace out of the house and away from her toxic mother couldn’t come soon enough. His face reddened as he choked down his frustration. His wife’s jealousy of her own daughter was bad enough, but she had taken it a giant step beyond that. Ever since he could remember, she had been presenting Grace with a skewed outlook on life. She insisted that women of their social status should consider the importance of improving, or at least maintaining, the breeding line. Suggestions were constantly being dropped to Grace that she needed to enhance her face and figure with surgeries and silicone to ensure she was attractive to a suitable mate. A good marriage was the only way she would be able to afford a comfortable existence and a place for dear mommy if and when said mommy was kicked to the curb.
Hal knew that it was only a matter of time before Victoria screwed up and he caught her having an affair. He needed to catch her literally with her pants down if not in the act itself. If he even hinted at a separation or divorce, she’d bleed him beyond death, leaving him as empty as a desiccated corpse without even a beggar’s cup for Grace. He didn’t have any valid grounds against her. Yet. As soon as she was caught being unfaithful or deceitful or any of those other ‘fuls’ with a negative connotation, he’d have her in divorce court so fast, her two-faced head would spin off her skinny neck. He blessed his mother daily for insisting on an ironclad prenuptial. It was the only thing that kept him sane. Hope. Hope for him and his daughter.
“No,” Victoria said pointedly, then lit another cigarette.
Hal coughed at the smoke and pushed the battery-powered smoke eater towards her. “If you don’t mind,” he said. And even if you do…
“No, what?” Grace asked, peering hopefully at her mother.
“No, you won’t be attending the last few days of school. We had an agreement, remember?”
“What’s all this about?” Hal asked, standing close to his daughter, hand on her shoulder in reassurance.
Victoria’s scowl deepened as she glared at Grace. When Grace didn’t flinch, she picked up a wine bottle and ran her hand up and down the neck of it. “I think we should have coq au vin tonight, don’t you, Sally?” she asked. “I’d like the bottle when you’re done with it…”
Grace’s eyes widened in shock. You’d rape your own daughter with a wine bottle just to get your own way? And ruin the lives of two others at the same time, both of them innocent?
Victoria smirked and shook her head at Grace. You can’t win. You play my game and let me win; or you fight me and you, your boyfriend, and his lawn-cutting daddy all lose. Which one?
Grace looked up at her father, letting a shadow of disappointment show. “Mother and I were talking about this earlier,” she said truthfully, knowing she was a lousy liar. “She made some very strong points for taking off before school was out. I’m sure my friends will have a good time without me.” Even if I’m going to be setting myself up for a miserable existence, seeking out whatever husband she decides is right for me. Oh, for an early death!
***
“Not bad,” Victoria said as she looked over the linen-covered tables laden with silver chafing dishes of hot meats and sauces, and cut-crystal platters of fresh fruits, canapes, and intricately carved and formed vegetables. “Just make sure you pick up something quick to chew and swallow that won’t stick in your teeth or stain them. Better yet, just grab some celery to play with. Give them a little preview of how sweet your long fingers will look, running up and down…”
“Mother!” Grace hissed. She cleared her throat, nodding to a worried man who looked to be the butler or someone else in charge of keeping order. She quickly got her embarrassment under control and asked, “You did get the invitation situation cleared up, I hope.” Oh, Lord, I hope you didn’t get it cleared up. If they throw us out, we’ll be ruined. Even F-list men won’t want me. I’ll be free again!
“Silas!” Victoria gushed, her hand out, ready to paw the arm of the man in charge of checking invitations. “I didn’t know you worked in this neighborhood. Nice digs,” she added, nodding to the elaborate ice sculptures on the tables, then the young men rushing back and forth with trays of champagne flutes.
“I’m doing well, thank you for asking,” Silas said guilelessly, then looked aside, as if he wished she hadn’t spotted him.
“Oh, and this is my daughter, Grace. Say hello to Silas, dear,” she prompted. Her hand lay on Grace’s forearm, fingers clutching gently, reminding her to play her part.
Grace looked to make sure her mother was turned away, watching for available suitors, before she said, “Hello, Silas,” then mouthed the word, ‘dear.’
Silas’s mouth twitched in a grin as she playfully repeated what her mother had told her to, then quickly returned to somber when he saw Victoria look back at them. “It’s a pleasure,” he said. He turned to Victoria and added, “If there’s anything I can do for you, Mrs. Stillwater, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Well, now that you mention it, Silas,” she said, her hands leaving Grace and settling on his upper arm. “We would love an introduction to one, or all, of the Armstrong brothers. You see, it doesn’t really make a difference which one we meet first,” Victoria said. “I hear they’re all such interesting men.”
Silas flashed his phony smile, acknowledging the truth of what she had just said, but hiding his true feelings from her. His stomach knotted at being near this social lamprey who was obviously siccing her disinterested daughter on whichever of the rich brothers took a fancy to her.
The gentleman’s gentleman had first encountered Victoria Stillwater years ago when he was working for another family and she was still a newlywed. She was slobbering drunk at the time, and he had only been employed by the banker and his family for a week when she hit on him. She rubbed her bony fanny up against him, then turned and grabbed him in the crotch when she thought no one was looking. He covered up the shock of her fumbled clutch, pretending he had a sudden gut pain, but his boss had seen the whole ep
isode. The only good that had come out of her botched flirt was his employer had seen that he was capable of discretion under pressure.
He stayed with the banker until he died, enjoying a comfortable relationship with the confirmed bachelor. In appreciation, the old man left him his huge house and a very comfortable inheritance.
Silas no longer had to work but still very much enjoyed the people watching – the social sambas and tangos – that blossomed at galas and parties. He let it be known to local families that he would be available for big events where a cool head and discerning eye were needed – situations like tonight where multiple party-crashers had already dropped in. Some of the revelers were looking for introductions, others to pinch a silver salver or two, a few just wanting free food and drink. Discretion in ejecting wayward sorts was a top priority; bad publicity and the need for law enforcement was to be avoided.
He looked up, presumably searching for one of the young Armstrong men, but really trying to read the beautiful young girl with dark blonde hair. She couldn’t be more than a recent high school graduate, a gentle soul who appeared to have no interest in her mother’s hunt for a husband for her. The sadness behind the young girl’s eyes couldn’t be hidden by the expert application of makeup or the feigned smile that was fading as the moments passed.
Yes, his gut impression was right. It was the mother who was on the prowl, seeking a mate for her pup. It was obvious to him that the humbled lass had her sights set on someone who was not in this thoroughbred stable. More than likely, she had chosen an open range mustang and Mom had shotgunned him out of the territory, scared him away with emasculating threats.
“Oh, isn’t that one of the sons?” Victoria exclaimed, grabbing Silas’s arm, bringing him out of his introspection. She realized what she had done, glad that she had only nodded in Alex’s direction and not pointed. “Isn’t that Armando?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” Silas said, enunciating the generic salutation, refusing to call her by name. “That is Alexander, although I don’t think anyone ever calls him by his full name. I suggest Alex for addressing him.”
“Oh, yes,” Victoria agreed. “Al is such a common name. It sounds like the name of a plumber or car mechanic, not an architect.”
Silas glanced over at the young woman. She was suppressing a grin at her mother’s obvious prejudice when it came to names, snapping back to primness when her mother turned her way.
“It looks like he’s ready for a fresh drink,” Silas said. “Let me see if he’s available.”
As soon as her social coordinator was out of earshot, Victoria clutched Grace’s arm, her fingers digging into the bare flesh. Grace flinched and her mother relaxed her grip, hoping she hadn’t inadvertently left a mark. “Remember to let him do the talking. It’s fine to give him prompts. Ask him about his latest project, where he likes to vacation, anything positive.” She looked up and saw Silas speaking with him, then glancing her way. “Smile, Grace. Show him your perfect teeth, but don’t open your mouth too wide. I don’t want you to appear too eager.”
Grace smiled at the irony. Eager? I’m the opposite of eager. Her slight smile widened as she noticed the eye roll of the party manager. Looks like Silas has us pegged. I may be missing the parties with my friends, but if Mother gets her comeuppance at this gala, it will be worth it.
Perfectly at peace for the first time since her mother had ‘caught and broke’ her, Grace was radiant in her momentary serenity as the two men approached. She briefly caught the scent of her mother’s perfume, her body’s nervous sweat setting off the high-dollar aroma. Better her than me. She’s a nervous wreck! And I am so enjoying her discomfort…
“Mrs. Victoria Stillwater,” Silas said, positioning himself between the two parties. “May I introduce the first son of our host. This is Alexander Armstrong,” winking at the man when he used the full version of his first name.
“Alex,” he said, winking back, then accepted the proffered hand. He reached to shake it, then realized Victoria was holding it up for him to kiss. He stifled his chuckle at the formality and brushed his lips across her cold knuckles. He stood up and looked at the young woman beside her. “And you are?”
“I’m sorry,” Silas said. “I didn’t get your name, Miss.”
“I’m Grace Elizabeth Stillwater, but Grace or ‘Hey, you!’ will get my attention,” she said, making sure she didn’t laugh out loud at her own joke.
“Well, then, Grace it is,” Alex said, now totally intrigued with the good-looking party crasher. “Silas, why don’t you show Mrs. Stillwater to the more comfortable seating inside. I think Grace and I would like to take a walk. You would like to see the stables, wouldn’t you?”
“You have horses?” Grace asked, then playfully smacked her forehead. “Let’s hope so. I don’t think you have stables for camels or ostriches…or do you?”
Alex put his arm across her shoulder. “Where have you been all my life?” he asked, then looked back to make sure they wouldn’t be followed.
Silas’s hand was on Victoria’s elbow, urging her toward the pavilion. “Let’s leave them alone, shall we?”
Victoria took a step to follow the young couple, then halted. She’d have to trust Grace not to blow her first chance at bedding the billionaire’s son. Then again, there were still two more brothers. It would serve the brat right if she did choose the wrong one the first time.
Chapter 4
Alex the Architect
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before at one of these events,” Alex said to Grace, snagging a glass of champagne from the server’s tray as he passed. He handed it to her and smiled.
She accepted it reluctantly, holding it by the stem, pinkie extended like it might bite her if she approached it wrong. “I’m not sure about the law in Massachusetts, but I’m only eighteen. Actually, I don’t think I’m old enough to drink in any state,” she said and handed the flute back to the shocked server.
Alex whispered in her ear. “No one’s carding tonight. If you’d like one, go ahead. If not, let me know, and I’ll have Sam bring you whatever your heart desires.”
Grace giggled. “Does he have access to root beer?”
“With or without ice cream?”
An abbreviated chuckle escaped, then she took a deep breath, using the moment to figure out what she should do. “Surprise me. Mother would have a fit if she saw me eating or drinking sweets. She already thinks I’m too fat.”
Alex eyed her up and down, adding an exaggerated frown of disapproval. “I’d say fewer bagels in the morning might take care of that belly roll. Oh, and skipping the cream cheese might help erase one or two of those extra chins.”
“You’re hilarious,” Grace said. “And here I thought I was going to be miserable tonight.”
“Hey, the night’s still young.” He looked over at his father and shook his head.
“Someone you know?” Grace asked, noticing his sudden change in demeanor.
“Yup. All my life.”
Grace moved over to his other side and noticed her mother fawning over the man Alex had been eyeing. He was tall and handsome; except for the silver hair, an older version of the man beside her. “Yup. Parents. What are you going to do with ‘em? You can’t claim they’re not yours with DNA tests getting more and more accurate, and they refuse to run away from home.”
“Yeah,” Alex replied in the same dry tone. “And no matter how much you scream or pout or try to distract them, they keep trying to live your life for you.”
“Amen to that!” Grace said, then grabbed Alex’s glass of champagne and chugged the contents.
“I thought you were too young to drink.”
“I am. But I’m not too young to have my mother totally ruin my life.” She saw her dilemma waving at her and returned her gesture with the empty glass. “And yours?”
“Don’t have one. Mom died a long time ago,” Alex said. He took the champagne flute from her. “And I may not be your parent, but I do think you’r
e too young to drink. Sorry, I don’t mean to be bossing you around or telling you what to do, but I’d protect a stranger the same way if she was walking in front of a truck.”
“Yup. That’s my mother. A highjacked firetruck, rushing in to take over someone’s situation with loud noises and flashing bling. Always trying to alter the course of people’s lives whether it’s any of her business or not.”
“Wow! You’re pretty sharp. I take it she’s already trying to commandeer your life?”
“Already? Try the word still. My father and nanny did as much as they could to insulate me from her, but once I turned eighteen, my nanny was out the door. Or she would have been if my father hadn’t decided that we needed a full-time housekeeper and cook. She was already doing those jobs, too, but Mother wanted my warm-blooded comforter and confidant gone. Dad insisted she stay but did give in a little. She’s only part-time now. That leaves way too many hours in the day that I’m vulnerable.”
“What about your father? Are your parents still married? I mean, it’d be a miracle if they were.”
“Yes, they’re still married. No, it’s not a miracle. It’s called an ironclad pre-nuptial agreement. I think my father wishes he’d never had it drafted that way. It was to protect him from the poor money-grabber who was carrying his child. Me. Yes, I have plenty of guilt with that one. He’d have his freedom now except they’re supposed to be active in each other’s lives, blah, blah, blah. I guess he thought he loved her at some point. I’ve seen what it really was with other couples since, though. He didn’t love her; he loved the child she was carrying. Yup. Still me. I don’t know if they’ve even had sex in the last however many years. She tenses up when he gets near, even though he’s not the least bit attentive to her.”
“Maybe with some therapy…”
“No way, José,” Grace said, laughing out loud. She looked over at her mother and noticed she had moved to the other side of their host, making sure she could observe the young couple in their first encounter even if she couldn’t supervise or direct them. “She says therapy is for losers; that there isn’t a problem that can’t be solved with a few bottles of wine and a gold card. I’d tell you more, but this is a party and we’re supposed to be having fun. Or celebrating something. I’m not sure which.”
The Set Up (Triplets: Three Aren't One Book 1) Page 3