The Solicitation Read online

  The Solicitation

  Waldorf Manor Book 1

  By Bella Bryce

  ©2013 by Blushing Books® and Bella Bryce

  Copyright © 2013 by Blushing Books® and Bella Bryce

  All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

  a subsidiary of

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  Bryce, Bella

  The Solicitation

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-2375

  Cover Art by Owlight Designs

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other age-play activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books’ or the author’s advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About the Author

  The Short List, Chapter One

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  About Blushing Books

  Chapter One

  Brayden straightened his tie and double-checked his waistcoat before pulling down his blazer one final time. Perfect. As always. His shoes had been shined to reflect the daylight and his perfectly manicured nails and hair hinted - nay - bellowed, that a flawless and sophisticated appearance was top priority. And it was. Just as priority as proper behaviour was.

  He looked at his reflection in the mirror without reaction. He was pleased, but no need to show it. Navy blue had always been his colour; navy blue with thin white stripes marching up and down his trousers, to be exact. A starch, made to measure, white shirt with a perfectly pointed collar lay beneath the navy blue striped waistcoat. His solid navy blue jacket was secured in front by two gold buttons, with another two on the underside of the cuffs.

  Brayden’s tie, always done into a smart double Windsor knot, featured alternating, wide navy blue and red diagonal stripes. He had his dark brown hair parted to the left since he was sent to boarding school at the age of eight. One of the Senior Prefects at the time preferred the style and Brayden had no desire to find a suitable alternative after two decades, especially when his hair swooped so obediently across his forehead. He had a classic look and he knew it. Marvellous cheekbones, translucent complexion and a smile that made females of all ages blush. Although, not many were made to blush because Brayden rarely went beyond the electric gates that guarded the world of exclusivity, wealth and privilege he lived in. With the exception of accepting an invitation from his late parents’ friends, distant relatives or old school friends, Brayden didn’t step off the estate. Nor did the gates open for anyone beyond those relations.

  That had been perfectly true - prior to his post online anyway.

  “With all due respect, Sir, are you quite sure about this?” his well-intentioned butler asked.

  “Wellesley, I am quite sure about all decisions I make,” Brayden said, and offered a curt smile before he turned away from his full-length wooden framed mirror and left his bedroom. Wellesley closed the door for his young master before following him down the long, wide corridor.

  “The applicants are all assembled in the drawing room. There are seventeen girls,” Wellesley reported.

  “Seventeen. That sounds hopeful,” Brayden noted, as he and Wellesley simultaneously turned the corner and descended the grand staircase.

  “Yes, Sir,” Wellesley said. He was still unsure about Brayden’s solicitation on a website which hosted listings for the buying and selling of furniture, jobs, and personal ads, albeit in the local area.

  Brayden’s post in the “Strictly Platonic” section had been as discreet as possible and purposefully neglected to share details about his wealth and the privacy with which he lived behind it. It read:

  I am seeking a young lady aged 18 and older for a strictly platonic relationship. I am 28 years old, I live alone and I have a very particular way of life. That way of life includes meals at promptly set times, a formal wardrobe, a daily routine of country walks, reading, socialising within my close circle and music practise, to name a few. I am without close family but I will create my own in this instance. This is NOT a courting relationship. There will be absolutely no interaction with regards to intimacy, bar a cuddle when it is appropriate. Cuddles come after you’ve been smacked over my knee for disobeying house rules. And the rules are very black and white. Be prepared to have your dresses chosen for you on a daily basis, to be taught proper manners because you probably don’t realise you’ve not been raised the way I wish you to have been, and to commit to this arrangement indefinitely.

  Interested girls need to reply to this post and politely request an application form. You have until this Friday at 7:00 pm to fill in the application and email it back to me, attaching a tasteful photograph of yourself. Applications received after the deadline will be deleted. I will read through your responses to my questions and either invite you to my residence for a formal interview, or thank you for your effort and cease communication.

  Girls invited to interview must wear a pinafore (any colour or tartan) with a smart white shirt underneath, knee socks or opaque tights, and either black or brown leather shoes. Your hairstyle should be simple and include a hair ribbon. Be prepared to answer personal (but appropriate) questions and to consent to a lifestyle under my guardianship and authority. If you cannot or will not, do not apply.

  Further details will be emailed to those concerned.

  Brayden had published his post online one week prior and had little hope of receiving worthy, if any, serious responses. He had then called his staff of housekeepers, butler, gardeners, driver, guards and stable hands to a meeting during which he explained the changes which would take place should he find the right candidate. He gave each of them the option of leaving with a month’s wages if they were uncomfortable with the situation. No one had wanted to leave. Most of them had been employed at Waldorf Manor for many years - before the late Mr. and Mrs. James passed - and not much surprised them by that point. Brayden was capable of handling his fortune and managing the estate and from their point of view; they would continue to have a place to live and a generous salary. They could easily play along. Brayden’s intentions were nothing short of pure, but deep down, he desperately also longed to have someone to look after and to control. What was the point of having an estate, extensive grounds, staff, money - everything - and no one to mould alongside them? He found the loneliness of being the only non-staff member living in his own house heart breaking, although he would never share that, even with his butler, who was a most trusted and loyal member of staff.

  Wellesley stopped walking beside Brayden at the bottom of the stairs just before the double-doors to the drawing room.

  “Would you like me to announce you, Sir?”

  “Not this time, thank you. I will
explain a few things to them first and then I will leave you to handle it just as we discussed,” Brayden directed.

  “Yes, Sir,” Wellesley said, before opening the double doors and stepping aside.

  Brayden entered the room with authority and confidence. Every single girl sat up straight and smoothed her hair or the skirt of her pinafore as he entered the room, their eyes completely locked on the person many of them had been deeply curious about since applying. Several girls gulped or blushed; his presence had a command that seemed to flatter any audience.

  “Good morning, girls,” Brayden said.

  “Good morning, Sir,” most of the girls answered, staggering their responses, although many were in unison.

  “Welcome to Waldorf Manor. I do hope each of you thanked my driver for collecting you this morning,” Brayden said, putting his hands behind his back and looking at several of them expectantly.

  “Right. What’s going to happen is that Wellesley will call your name out when it is your turn to interview. You will go up the staircase and turn left. My study door is the third door on the right. Afterward, you will be excused and you are to come straight back here until all interviews are complete. Anyone who leaves before I have announced my decision will be taken home immediately and your application put in the bin.”

  Several girls looked at each other. A few whispered to their neighbours.

  “I have to work at noon,” one twenty-year-old said without bothering to apply any title or proper tone to her sentence. Brayden raised his eyebrows at the girl in the fourth row.

  “Young lady, you are excused,” Brayden said to the girl in question and then addressed the whole room of girls. “Until you have passed an interview you are all on incredibly thin ice,” he added, as if justifying why the unlucky girl had been so quickly dismissed.

  “Wellesley,” Brayden said, nodding toward the girl, who scoffed as she was ushered out of the room and into the waiting Rolls Royce to be driven home.

  “That leaves sixteen of you. Would anyone else care to disqualify themselves before I’ve even started?”

  Several girls looked at the floor or said, “No, Sir.”

  “Good. Do not waste my time. I certainly won’t be wasting yours. Elisabeth Warner, you’re first.”

  Elisabeth shyly stood and glanced at a few of the other girls. The room was completely silent as Brayden waited for Elisabeth to exit the drawing room behind him. Elisabeth felt as though her knees might come undone from the rest of her as she followed a complete stranger up his staircase and down the corridor into his study.

  “Please sit down,” Brayden said, after he had closed the heavy wooden door behind him, indicating one of two leather wing chairs that faced his large pedestal desk.

  “You are nineteen years old, is that correct?” Brayden asked, after he sat behind his desk and glanced at her application.

  Elisabeth nodded. Brayden looked up at the girl.

  “Yes, Sir,” Brayden said. “In this house it is ‘Yes, Sir,’ and ‘No, Sir.’ Now, let me ask you again.”

  Elisabeth felt her face grow warm.

  “Are you nineteen years old, Elisabeth?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Elisabeth responded.

  “And you currently live at home with your parents?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Elisabeth said.

  “It sounds like you are in an ideal situation, living with your Mum and Dad, not working, not going to school. What do you do to keep productive?”

  “I draw.”

  “Sir,” Brayden added, and folded his hands.

  “I draw, Sir. And I volunteer at a British Heart Foundation charity shop,” she said.

  “What do you draw?” Brayden asked.

  “Anything, Sir.”

  “If I were to open your sketchpad, what would I find?”

  “People. I love to watch people and sketch them, Sir,” she said.

  “What would you like to do with yourself?” Brayden asked her.

  “I don’t know, Sir. I can’t make a living drawing at the moment. I don’t have any qualifications. I never get job offers, so I can’t leave Mum and Dad’s house.”

  “How would living here with me change your situation?”

  “It wouldn’t. It would give me a completely new situation,” she said.

  Chapter Two

  Downstairs in the drawing room, the girls had been told to chat quietly amongst themselves and were able to help themselves to endless pots of tea, coffee, fresh fruit and pastries made by one of the chefs on staff at Waldorf Manor. The housekeeping staff was on standby to replenish and tidy the serving table, which seemed necessary every handful of minutes.

  “Sorry, could I have the milk, please?” Alice asked, nodding toward the cut glass jug beside a woman named Annie.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, and passed it to the girl.

  “I love your pinafore. I only had a black one,” Alice said, pouring a bit of milk into her tea.

  “Thank you. It’s well old,” Annie said, looking down at her Stewart tartan.

  “Are you nervous?” Annie asked, as she and Alice walked back to their chairs.

  “Not really. I’m more worried he’ll ask me to leave. I always get into trouble,” Alice said.

  Annie laughed and nodded in agreement as if to say she understood that particular turn of phrase.

  “I want this quite badly,” Annie said, glancing at the clock. “If I don’t get chosen I don’t know what I will do,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My boyfriend and I broke up a few weeks ago. He was a right idiot. Didn’t have the guts to stand up to me. Never could do anything for himself, you know?”

  Alice nodded, even though she hadn’t a clue what it was like.

  Annie told Alice about her ex-boyfriend’s laziness and his bad habits and about how she needed to move out of their shared flat soon. By the end of it, Alice was thankful she’d never dated. It sounded a fantastic waste of time.

  “Miss Mara Whatson, please come along,” Wellesley announced, when Elisabeth had returned. Several girls immediately asked Elisabeth how it went.

  “I’m not allowed to speak about the interview, I’m afraid. But I am pleased with how I did,” she said, to the disappointment of all within earshot. Regardless of their true intentions, no girl wanted any other to be the one chosen.

  It had been 8 a.m. when the girls reported to Waldorf Manor, and by 10 a.m. four more girls had been asked to leave for wandering off. Brayden had specifically asked them to go from his study straight back to the drawing room, but the curiosity of the manor had been too much for some. He delivered a sharp slap to the hand of each of the offending girls before telling his driver to take them home immediately.

  “You can’t hit me!” one of the girls refuted.

  “You are in my home and you disobeyed me, you silly girl. I should think you got off rather lightly. If you had passed your interviews, which I will tell you now, none of you did, every single one of you would have been over my knee for a jolly good smack. No young lady applying for a position such as this should say a thing like that. You know full well that is not hitting. Now off you go,” he said, waving his hand in brief dismissal.

  Brayden had a very short fuse when he came to think of his applicants behaving in a cheeky way before they hadn't even been granted the security of living with him. And he certainly had no tolerance for girls who claimed to desire the lifestyle he was offering in one breath and then in the next, rebuked his corrective methods. It was obvious they were the wrong sort and he was glad when the driver pulled out of the gates with them.

  At noon, Brayden’s uniformed staff set out an impressive display of homemade sandwiches, quiches, salads, yogurt, fruit and sweets. Brayden quickly dismissed the idea that any of the girls would join him for luncheon in the dining room, which had more than enough room to accommodate the remaining twelve applicants.

  “Not until I have filtered through them will I be allowing any girl acc
ess to the rest of my estate,” he had told Wellesley.

  And Wellesley not only completely understood but completely agreed.

  As always, Brayden sat at the head of the table meant for thirty, alone, and ate his luncheon of roasted duck in plum sauce, potatoes and Brussels sprouts. He looked to the left and the right at all the empty chairs obediently pushed up against the table and longed to see another person sitting at the table with him; preferably one he could take under his wing for her own benefit.

  Brayden glanced at his watch. Half twelve. The next interview wasn’t until 1 p.m.

  “Sir,” Wellesley said, interrupting Brayden’s thoughts, as he walked the long trail from the dining room doors to the head of the table where Brayden sat.

  “What is it?” Brayden asked, when Wellesley finally reached him.

  “Celia has just informed me that one of the girls has been sick. She’s refused to go home.”

  “Don’t send anyone home. Have I interviewed her yet?” Brayden asked, standing up and starting toward the double doors.

  “No, Sir. Her name is Alice Oliver and she is scheduled to be next,” Wellesley said, keeping up with Brayden’s pace.

  “Where is she?” Brayden asked.

  “Celia is with her and the other girls in the drawing room,” Wellesley reported.

  Brayden’s unexpected entrance into the drawing room caused an electric rush of whispers. He walked across the room to Alice and put his hand on her back.

  “Are you alright, my darling? Are you unwell?” Brayden asked.

  “No, Sir; I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I don’t know what happened,” Alice said.

  “There’s no need to apologise. How do you feel?” Brayden asked, crouching down beside the girl as she sat on the sofa next to Celia.

  “I feel quite silly,” she said.

  “There is no need. These things happen. I dare say you were a bit nervous,” Brayden said.