The Solicitation Page 3

  “It is lovely, Sir, and the young lady will be very comfortable here,” Celia said, watching Brayden.

  “Anywhere is better than where she is,” Brayden declared, mostly to himself.

  There was a king-sized bed with a canopy over the top and thick drapes secured with satin ribbons around the posts. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and rightfully set the mood as elegant and luxurious. The custard-coloured upholstery of the header and footer of the bed was framed by starch white, carved wood. There were two French armchairs which matched the bed, separated by a tall, round coffee table diagonal from the foot of the bed.

  “Perhaps some flowers on that table,” Brayden said, pointing.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, nodding.

  Across the room there was a dressing table and a bathroom fit for a queen with a claw foot Jacuzzi, double marble sinks and a seating area. On the opposite wall was a four-door wardrobe. Brayden opened it to find about one hundred empty satin fabric hangers just waiting for dresses to be hung on them.

  “The night dress and dressing gown will perhaps be too big for Alice, but could you bring them in and leave them behind the changing screen for her?

  “Yes, Sir,” Celia said.

  Brayden left Alice’s bedroom feeling satisfied and surprised. He hadn’t expected to have actually chosen a candidate and for her to be moving in so soon. It was with grateful thoughts he went to the dining room for dinner. Brayden took his seat at the long, empty table, alone. For the last time. He glanced at the chair to his right, knowing soon that Alice would be beside him during meals. He was looking forward to her moving into Waldorf Manor more than he had anything else in a very, very long time.

  After dinner, Brayden went to the drawing room, which had been returned to its usual arrangement following the interviews and asked Wellesley to pour him a brandy. Brayden sat in one of the upholstered wing chairs adjacent to the fireplace. He suddenly felt his phone vibrate. The phone number was a landline number, as all mobile phone numbers in England started with 07 or 08. It was a local one.

  “Brayden James,” he said, answering it.

  “Sir, it’s me. Alice,” she said.

  “Alice, are you all right my darling?” he asked, his tone lightening ever so slightly.

  “Yes, Sir. But can I come now?”

  “What’s happened?” he asked, sitting up in his chair and placing his brandy on the table beside him.

  “I’ve done everything already,” Alice declared.

  “Did you say goodbye to your mother? I thought she wouldn’t be home yet,” he responded, pulling his watch out from beneath his pressed shirt cuff.

  “Sort of. She came home early; her new boyfriend gave her a lift.”

  “Sort of? Was that a “yes, Sir” or a “no, Sir?” Brayden asked.

  “No, Sir,” Alice responded, tentatively.

  “Alice, I told you, you must say a proper goodbye to her,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir, but they are in the bedroom with the door closed.”

  Brayden shook his head.

  “Right. Well she clearly has her priorities in the wrong order. I would like you to go and knock on the door politely and ask to speak to her. If she won’t hear you, then tell her of your decision to leave and then go and wait outside. I will send the driver now. If there is any problem, phone me back.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said.

  “And Alice, mind your tone. She is your mother,” Brayden added.

  “Yes, Sir,” Alice said.

  The next time Brayden’s phone rang it was his driver, Jude, to say he was at Alice’s flat, but that she wasn’t outside waiting as she should have been.

  “I told her to wait outside and she hasn’t phoned to say otherwise. Wait there for another five minutes and then go and ring the bell if she doesn’t come out,” Brayden said, before putting the phone down.

  For the first time in his life, Brayden was deeply concerned about someone outside his immediate circle. He already felt as though Alice belonged to him and that he needed to protect her. Brayden looked at his phone, hoping it would ring with an update as to her whereabouts. He wanted to kick himself for not mandating she leave a mobile number where she could be reached until she moved in with him and away from such an unstable place. It was rare that Brayden overlooked details, but that had been the one.

  By quarter of eight o’clock Jude phoned to say that Alice was safely in the car and they were on their way. Brayden audibly sighed with relief when he put the phone down. Part of him wanted to smack her backside the moment she arrived simply out of relief for her safety. It puzzled him how it hadn’t been until that morning that he had met Alice and within hours of doing so and learning of her circumstances he had become deeply concerned for her.

  “She is much better off with me,” Brayden thought to himself, as he shook his head and finished his brandy.

  Chapter Five

  Brayden wouldn’t, under any circumstance, otherwise wait for arriving guests outside on the front steps. Ever. Except that he wanted to see Alice the moment she arrived, and she was no longer considered a guest.

  Jude glanced up at Brayden when he arrived and opened the back car door for Alice. Before Brayden realised she wasn’t wearing her coat, Alice had emerged from the limo, ran up the steps and threw her arms around his waist. He met eyes with Jude, who remaining holding her door open and instantaneously responded by putting his arms around her. He would have asked Jude what happened but his attention immediately transferred to Alice.

  “Are you all right? What’s happened?” Brayden asked, trying to get a look at her. Alice didn’t respond.

  “Come along, inside. You’ll catch cold,” Brayden said, and finally pulled Alice out from where she had buried herself in his blazer. Wellesley had stood in the foyer dutifully and followed as Brayden took Alice straight into the drawing room where the fire had continued dancing for no audience behind its grate.

  “Come and sit down. Wellesley, tea please,” Brayden said, before leading Alice to sit beside him on the tufted sofa. Alice wanted to burst into tears but she wouldn’t allow herself to just then. Regardless, she was visibly upset.

  “My Mum was really cross with me for interrupting her and her boyfriend. I asked her if I could have a quick word with her because I needed to tell her I was going. She said, ‘well just go then.’ I wanted to leave straightaway but you said I needed to say goodbye properly so I stopped her from closing the door on me and I said, ‘is that all you’re going to say to me before I move out? Can’t you at least give me a cuddle?”

  Brayden nodded and began to stroke Alice’s back with one of his hands. His other was resting on his knee; he wanted to wait before behaving too comfortingly in case the overwhelming nature of it caused her to become more upset.

  “And what did she say?” he asked, mentally taking more of a dislike to the woman.

  “She was like, ‘you’re too old for cuddles,” Alice said, mimicking the tone of her mother’s voice.

  Brayden held his tongue.

  “I took one look at her boyfriend, who was under the duvet without a shirt and said, ‘apparently he’s not,” Alice said.

  Brayden’s eyes widened, partially because of the audacity of the girl and otherwise because it was a rather humorous observation – one that he would under no circumstance ever admit he thought it was.

  “Mum just exploded and start shouting at me and she pushed me up against the wall. She went completely bizarre and I got really frightened. She was pulling on my hair and when I pushed her off of me she dragged me down the stairs and locked me out of the back door. If I hadn’t been wearing shoes I would have been without those as well as my coat. I didn’t have a chance to take anything, including my keys or my phone but luckily the business cards you gave me were still in my pinafore. I never would have been able to ring Jude if I hadn’t gone to the neighbours,” Alice said, as she began to cry.

  Brayden pulled Alice close to him with both arms. He
was angry, but he wouldn’t entertain justified annoyance until after Alice had settled for the evening.

  “Nobody is going to treat you like that ever again. You are safe here with me and I won’t allow your mother to lay another hand on you. It’s one thing to give your backside a good and proper smack when it is fairly deserved, but it’s quite another to push you against walls and drag you down stairs and then lock you outside without a coat in the middle of January. I would phone the police if I thought you would gain anything from it,” Brayden declared, confidently.

  Alice cried harder when the realisation of the circumstance she had lived in for so long, sunk in. She hid herself once again in Brayden’s suit, feeling ashamed at the memory of how she had been treated.

  When Wellesley brought in the silver tea tray he was surprised to find Alice in such a predicament but like all good domestic staff, he carried on with his task and left the room without comment or reaction.

  “I don’t expect you’ll have eaten dinner?” Brayden asked, after offering Alice his handkerchief when her angst had subsided.

  “I’m not very hungry,” Alice admitted, as she shook her head.

  “You must have dinner. I will tell chef to prepare you a meal,” Brayden said.

  Fresh tears filled Alice’s eyes and threatened to retrace the streaks they had already left on her devastated face.

  “Why are you doing all this for me?” Alice managed to ask him.

  Brayden looked at Alice and kissed her forehead. “Because this is your home now and this is what proper family does.”

  * * * * *

  After Alice had managed half of a plate of moussaka, Greek salad and crostini – all the while Brayden supervised from his seat at the head of the table – he took her hand and led her up the staircase toward her new bedroom. He told himself he would address her table manners first thing in the morning, or at the next offence. After he knew Alice would be well rested and properly recovered from her mother’s irrational behaviour.

  “This bedroom would have been for a little girl, had my mother had one. She never did,” Brayden said, as he opened the door. Alice stepped inside and gasped; she was utterly speechless. She wandered in, her eyes only catching a few seconds on each piece of furniture or object as she tried to take them all in at once.

  Alice had never had such nice things as were there in that room and she simply couldn’t believe it all was hers. Brayden skipped the initial introductions to her room he had originally planned to do because he felt the severity of the situation with Alice’s mother had spoiled the mood; he instead insisted straightaway she take a moment to wash her face and situate herself before anything else.

  “Celia has put your nightdress, dressing gown and slippers in the wardrobe. Perhaps you’d best change now, and then we can have a little chat,” Brayden suggested. Imagining he could allow her to be dressed in such a fashion to sit in his study just the one night.

  Alice was utterly exhausted as she filled the large porcelain sink with warm water and brought it up to her face half a dozen times. It had only just gone quarter of nine, but she had been up since 6:30 am that morning for the interview and then had been collected by his driver shortly after, and it had more than caught up with her.

  “Not to worry, it’s only for one night. I will have one made for you tomorrow,” he said, and hid an amused smile when Alice had stepped out from the bathroom; she could have fit into the dressing gown a second time. The nightdress was equally as large. The monogrammed slippers fit perfectly.

  “Right then, you’ve had a very long day and it wasn’t too pleasant for you only an hour ago. Come and get into bed,” Brayden declared as he pulled the layers of feather down duvet, quilt and sheet back. Alice removed her dressing gown and laid it neatly across a nearby armless chair. There were so many pieces of beautiful furniture she would need to properly observe them when her eyes weren’t half closed.

  “It’s not even nine o’clock,” she pathetically offered as some mild argument whilst slipping into bed. She had to force her eyes back open when Brayden pulled the covers over her and sat on the edge of the king-sized bed. He looked down at his newly acquired charge and wondered what she was thinking, but she was so exhausted he knew it wouldn’t be fair to engage in conversation. Brayden wanted her to be well rested because the next day would be mentally and emotionally tiring as they embarked on the first day of a completely new arrangement. Well, new to Alice. In Brayden’s mind, he had imagined the scenario he then found himself in, over and over and over since he was an adolescent. And it was finally happening.

  “Sleep well, my darling. Celia will wake you in the morning and bring you down to the dining room spot on time for breakfast. Do as she says tomorrow and I will explain how things will proceed from there. Alright?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir,” Alice said, her eyes getting heavier.

  Brayden didn’t want to say anymore. He leant down and kissed her forehead before turning out the lamp on her bedside table. Alice’s head slowly rolled down the pillow and her breathing softened; the sign that she was already heading toward a deep sleep.

  “How many more girls are there like you without fathers and families, Alice?” he asked quietly, before turning away from her bedroom door and walking down to his study.

  Brayden sat in front of the fireplace in his leather wing chair, sipping a brandy. He considered the enormous change he had just facilitated for not only Alice but for himself and his dedicated staff. He thought back to the week prior; the night he had published his post online, and how he had only two hours later checked his email to find nearly fifty responses. Brayden had been pleased at the time of checking his email, but as he sat just then and stared into the fire as a more subdued version of its former self crackled in front of him, he considered how both sad and heart breaking it was to learn that probably 99 percent of those emails had been from girls who needed love. Discipline without a doubt - along the way - but above all, they needed love, structure and security. The keys to all human beings growing up into mature adults, and most of the generation below him was being completely denied it. He shook his head, ashamed at how his own gender seemed to be lacking where they should be leading.

  Brayden decided that he could neither solve the problem nor grieve over the reality in one sitting, and finished his brandy before retiring to his master suite for the evening.

  Wellesley knocked on the door at ten o’clock sharp to collect the suit Brayden had worn that day to have it dry cleaned. Brayden stepped out of his changing room in his navy blue pinstriped dressing gown and slippers, which both displayed his family crest in gold stitching. He bypassed the bed as Wellesley began removing the plethora of satin and upholstered pillows from it and sat in one of several club chairs across the room.

  “Wellesley, do you suspect I’ve done the right thing?” Brayden suddenly asked, after opening the book he left off with the previous evening.

  The butler paused and walked across the large room to Brayden.

  “I’m not paid to give my opinion, Sir,” he responded, genuinely.

  “I want to know what you think. You’ve got more life experience. Please tell me,” Brayden said.

  Then without thinking, Wellesley responded. “Have faith in the good work you’re going to accomplish in that little girl’s life, Sir. That is what I think. Excuse me, Sir,” he said, before returning to Brayden’s bed to pull the duvet and blankets down.

  Brayden only asked for advice or showed his insecurity in the privacy of moments such as the one he shared with Wellesley behind closed doors, but never in front of wider staff, acquaintances or strangers. It was his job to hold forth a specific image; that was how his father had always done things. And despite that Brayden didn’t completely care what other people thought of his decisions and that he indeed was sure about all decisions he had made, he needed to know that he hadn’t been foolish. If at all, at least not in the eyes of someone who had known Brayden’s father, who would have had a
very strong opinion about whether or not he found it foolish. Brayden found it difficult to channel his deceased father’s former characteristics from which to draw advice. Both of his late parents would have been the best sounding board for him to receive guidance, but their absence reminded him that he no longer had them to confide in. He had the Fowlers, and had it been a reasonable hour he would have rung Bennett, his closest friend. Although, Bennett Fowler and his brother Damian, had been tied up for the last three months with new responsibilities.

  In reflecting on the current circumstance he realised that it would be difficult to move forward without having a very clear definition of his relationship with Alice. Brayden promptly reminded himself that there was a ten-year age difference between them, and so naturally he felt that an appropriate relationship label would be along the lines of guardian, Uncle or brother. Although, none of those titles sat well with him. Brayden reconsidered the term, “guardian”, but it sounded utterly ridiculous and somewhat cold to him. His mind ran through various titles and positions, which would seem the right fit for their life moving forward.

  He had to be realistic . . . a father was what she lacked (amongst a mother, table manners, a proper wardrobe, a haircut . . .) and the role itself would fulfill the boundaries of the relationship he desired.

  Brayden himself was surprised when he rolled the terminology ‘father’ over in his mind, considering both his and Alice’s age. He decided to sleep on the idea and by morning he would know whether or not it was the right way forward.

  Chapter Six

  The mornings at Waldorf Manor in winter, despite the vastness of the estate, were always cosy. All twenty-five rooms throughout, whether bedroom or entertaining space had a fireplace ablaze. The ceiling-high windows allowed the snow from the front gardens to reflect the daylight in during the day and brightened each room in a way that only pure, white snow can.