The Glass House Read online

  "Were you pleased with your recital?" he asked, gently tightening the ribbon at the base of her long, plaited hair.

  Alice dramatically leaned forward and collapsed into his lap. "Oh Father, I was nearly ill like a million times," her voice muffled into his thigh.

  Brayden stroked her hair as she turned her face to the side and glanced up at him. He wasn't entirely shocked by her very over-exaggerated response, and he didn't mind so long as it didn't happen often. Dramatic silliness wasn't something Brayden liked.

  "Were you, my love?" he asked.

  "It wouldn't have made it any easier. I just had to get on with it, really." Alice shrugged as she sat up. She put one palm on the bed and leaned on it whilst she bit a nail on her other hand. Brayden gently pulled her hand away from her mouth.

  "Were you pleased?" Alice asked, looking at him for validation.

  Brayden smiled and kissed her hand wrapped up in his. "More than I could say, Darling," he said, looking back at her with affection. "Now, it's time for bed."

  "Can't I stay up with you? I never get to stay up."

  Brayden kissed her forehead. "That's because you need ten hours of sleep, Darling."

  "Can I read a book in your study? I won't misbehave, I promise!" Alice pleaded. "I played "All of Me" by Jon Schmidt! Surely that's worth at least another hour to stay up!" she added.

  Brayden couldn't help but laugh gently as he looked down. "That you did, my darling. But I love you far too much to give in to your request."

  Alice wrinkled her face in confused horrification. "How does that work, Father?"

  "You'll understand one day, my darling."

  "No, I won't. I'm never getting married, remember? Unless it's to Mr. Alexander Patterson."

  Brayden's attention immediately went back to Alice.

  "Pardon?"

  "Nothing," Alice chimed in a singsong voice as she acrobatically pulled her legs under the duvet and slid beneath it and pulled the cover over her head.

  "Alice." His voice was more of a concerned warning. "What are you telling me?" he asked, frowning slightly.

  "He's handsome, Father. A girl can fancy him, can't she?" Alice was enjoying the obvious territorial worry in his voice from beneath the duvet.

  "Not my daughter, and especially not my ten-year-old."

  She giggled.

  "Alice," he said, with more directness as he pulled the duvet down again. "I don't want to hear you speaking that way," he said.

  "Why?" She laughed, looking up at his serious face.

  "Unless you've forgotten your place, young lady, you know exactly why. And the last thing I need is somebody thinking it's acceptable to be looking in your direction, because it isn't."

  Brayden finished his statement and Alice stared back at him. Her lips were pressed together and she made no rebuttal or reply. Brayden watched her.

  "Sorry, Father," Alice offered, quickly.

  The last thing she needed was to drop the bomb on her father that someone had not only looked in her direction, that someone had in fact put his hand across her bottom and spanked her. And it hadn't been either of her uncles. Alice could see by the look on his face that it would only haunt him to learn of Colin's misdeed – and really – he hadn't pushed the boundary once Alice set him straight. He'd spanked her because he'd truly believed Alice liked him. And if Alice had, it would have been the right move toward a domestic discipline relationship. But she hadn't and he was wrong; Alice saw no point in punishing a man further than he'd already been humiliated in front of the girl he was deeply fond of. For a man, there was no greater fall. Colin had promptly backed off and proved that he would stay away by not showing up at the recital, pretending he hadn't been warned. The moment Colin Maxwell broke her trust in staying away from her – she would tell Brayden. Alice sincerely hoped it would never reach that point and they could just move on quietly. That was, after all, the English way.

  "I don't want to hear you speak of fancying anybody for a very long time, please. Don't give your poor father a heart attack. I'm the only one who's allowed to kiss you," he said, as he leant down and kissed her forehead. "All right?"

  "Yes, Sir," she replied.

  "Good girl. Sleep well, Darling, I'll see you at breakfast."

  Brayden stood up from the bed and turned out both bedside lamps and walked across the large, dark room before pulling the door closed behind him gently. Brayden exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose before he walked down the long corridor to Elisabeth's bedroom next door. It had rather shocked him to hear Alice mention a (hopefully) fleeting infatuation with one of his friends. Alexander Patterson would be exactly the kind of man he approved of, but he couldn't imagine his daughter being with anyone. It disturbed him. Alice Kathryn Lillias James was his darling little girl, the one precious treasure he needed to protect and he couldn't do that if she was grown up and living away from Waldorf. He wasn't even prepared to consider those things and so he promptly dismissed the thoughts as he knocked on Elisabeth's door and then entered. It took a moment to cross the massive, luxurious room to the bed where Elisabeth sat.

  "Bennett just phoned to say he'll collect me early tomorrow morning; we're going to have breakfast out before our appointment with Anabelle."

  "Where is he taking you?"

  "Probably The Savoy," Elisabeth replied with a smile. "We always go there for meals when we're in London now."

  "As one should; it's the best." Brayden paused as he sat on the side of the large bed. "Elisabeth, I really want to thank you for being a good companion to my daughter."

  She looked at Brayden.

  "I appreciate that it's been quite a transition for you; moving from your childhood home to Barton-Court, then leaving to come here whilst you court Bennett, and soon you'll be married and leaving Waldorf. There's been such a lot of change for you." Brayden moved a stray piece of hair out of her face. "You've been such a good girl and a very good friend to Alice. I know you'll be a good Aunt to her as well."

  Elisabeth smiled and her chin began to quiver, causing her to look down quickly. She covered her face with her hands and Brayden watched her for only a moment before he pulled her into his arms. "Is everything all right?"

  Elisabeth nodded and sniffed but didn't respond. Brayden rubbed her back soothingly and kissed her head. Elisabeth eventually pulled away and looked up at him.

  "Have I upset you?" he asked.

  She shook her head and squinted her eyes slightly, as if to communicate much more than her non-verbal response. Brayden removed his monogrammed handkerchief from his inside blazer pocket and dabbed her eyes before giving it to her.

  "What is it, Darling?"

  Elisabeth sniffed and wiped her nose with the handkerchief gently before looking back up at him.

  "It's too embarrassing to say," she said.

  Brayden furrowed his eyebrows. "I should hope you wouldn't feel that way around me. I'm your uncle, yes, but you know you can confide in me."

  She nodded and wiped her eyes with her delicate fingers. "I know. But it's selfish."

  "Darling, I can't help you if I don't know what it is."

  Elisabeth nodded, looking directly into his eyes.

  "Is it your father?" Brayden asked, gently. He could see that familiar look; the very same Alice often gave him. It was the look of a girl who felt like an orphan.

  Elisabeth nodded slowly again. "Mine never spoke to me the way you do. He never held me, or dried my tears." Her voice broke, and she looked down again. "And he won't give me away at my wedding," she managed to say before tears dropped down onto the duvet. She kept her face downward, unable to meet Brayden's eyes.

  He leant forward and pulled her back into his arms and kissed her head. "And I'm sorry he can't, my darling," Brayden told her quietly.

  Brayden knew that whilst Elisabeth hadn't come from a purposefully neglected upbringing, she had still been neglected. Elisabeth's parents were ill and disabled and had been her entire life. She'd been a child carer looking
after her parents, and it was far more common than recognised. In England alone, there was an estimated 700,000 children looking after incapacitated relatives or guardians with the average age being twelve. Elisabeth had been caring for her parents well before age twelve, in any case. She loved them dearly, but the offer of going for an interview at Barton-Court House with Bennett Fowler back in November had been exactly what she needed to realise that, at nineteen-years-old, she wasn't living any kind of real life at home.

  She'd been exhausted, deprived, stressed and given up many of her dreams in order to look after her parents. They lost many of their benefits once she'd left school, so she went from being part-time carer before and after lessons to fulltime carer and rarely leaving the house. Elisabeth's mother had been far more mobile than her father, who could barely even communicate by sign language anymore. Her mother still could, but it was rare she even remembered Elisabeth was their daughter and not a nurse. Neither of them had the capacity to be the kind of parents a child needed – although they'd always shown affection in their own ways – it wasn't until Elisabeth had been out of her childhood environment for long enough to experience another lifestyle before she realised how many things she'd missed growing up. Elisabeth knew her father loved her although he'd never been able to speak those words to her. He used to sign, 'love my Lissy girl' into her hand when she was small, but arthritis had prevented him from reminding her of those words in recent years.

  Brayden knew many of those things because Bennett and Elisabeth had each taken turns sharing them with him, as Brayden had shared details from Alice's broken childhood with Bennett. They'd both strived to provide what they could in place of those voids and very often the girls would break down when they needed to continue facing that pain. Alice had moved past most of her hurts and her breakdowns were more and more infrequent, which made sense a year on. Elisabeth had only been living her new life for two and a half months, and she was still learning about the healing power of unconditional love, righteous discipline and accountability – of which she received all three in abundance.

  "I would have given you away, Elisabeth," he told her, quietly.

  She slowly pulled away and looked up. Her eyes were unbelieving.

  "Bennett felt his father should be the one to fill that gap. It wouldn't have been fair to take that from Jonathan Fowler."

  "With all due respect, Jonathan Fowler doesn't even know me." Elisabeth frowned. "He's lovely, but he doesn't tuck me in bed every night. He's never seen me cry, he doesn't cuddle me. Why should Bennett decide who gets to be that person in my life?"

  Brayden could tell she was displeased.

  "Darling, I don't think Bennett decided for you, I think he was trying to instil the most natural transition."

  "Nothing about our situations is natural." Elisabeth laughed with incredulity. "Seriously."

  Brayden watched Elisabeth work through her emotions – clearly she needed to vent. "Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with it, obviously, or I wouldn't be here. But let's not pretend this is going along with convention. So why all of a sudden would he presume to say who will and will not be certain people to me?"

  Brayden inhaled and closed his eyes and then opened them.

  "When was he going to tell me?" Elisabeth asked.

  "I understand you're upset, but I think there is more than one thing you're addressing at the moment. You have every right to grieve the things in your upbringing you lacked. In that, you specifically grieve the absence of a father, and regardless of my proper title, I hope you can feel a bit of fulfilment in that area. The second is that you're upset with Bennett for nominating his own father to more fully take on his rightful and future role as your father-in-law, and to walk you down the aisle. However, I don't think you should confuse the two. You will end up being very cross with the lot of us if you do that."

  "What does it matter, anyway? Alice has you, and nobody wants me," Elisabeth said, nothing but forlorn devastation in her voice.

  "I won't accept you speaking that way. I've half a mind to put you over my knee. Now that couldn't be further from the truth," Brayden said, taking her face in his hands. He looked intently into her eyes. "You are wanted," he told her with quiet confidence.

  Elisabeth's eyes produced more tears and they sat on the edge of her eyelids.

  "I want you. Bennett wants you. The Fowlers. Alice. Do you hear me?" he asked.

  Elisabeth couldn't really nod as he held her face in his hands.

  "Yes, Sir," she replied, quietly.

  "I mean it, young lady. Do not say such silly things," Brayden warned. He felt guilty that Elisabeth thought less of herself in their relationship. Of course, Alice was his daughter and had been around longer, but Brayden didn't make a distinction between his love for them; they were both family.

  After Brayden tucked Elisabeth into bed, his walk down to his study was more sobering than it usually was. He poured a brandy and sat near the fireplace on his leather Chesterfield sofa. As Brayden rolled the brandy around in the glass and sipped every few minutes, he soaked in the aroma, the taste and the conversation with Elisabeth. Her brokenness was only apparent in private moments such as the one she had shared rather unexpectedly that evening. In the short amount of time Elisabeth had been living at Waldorf Manor, Brayden learned that she had an unprecedented amount of stamina whereby she could go for long periods of time carrying burdens or emotions until a conversation or a trigger provoked that stamina, and she became fragile enough to share the rawness of her pain in an instant.

  Alice was the opposite in that she broke down whenever and however; she didn't like to carry any burden for any length of time. She'd learned that shedding burdens quickly was better than bearing them until she couldn't any longer.

  Both girls might have had different upbringings and opposite reactions in coping methods, but one thing was clear – a lacking in both of their lives wasn't easy for him to observe. It rather pained him.

  Chapter Seven

  Bennett looked up from his plate, wiped his mouth with his napkin and replaced it in his lap. Elisabeth had been quiet most of the morning and he didn't think it had anything to do with her being collected at six am. He watched her concentrate heavily on her egg white omelette, rocket and pumpkin seeds; the same breakfast she often had at Barton-Court House. She stared at her plate as she sliced and chewed her food with minimal eye contact. The Savoy Hotel's Thames Foyer was a circular room which sat under a glass dome to welcome either the typical rainy days in London or the rare sunshine. A grand piano sat in the middle of the indoor gazebo with furniture arranged in zones that surrounded it.

  "Elisabeth," he said, in a tone that told her he wanted her full attention.

  "Now is not a good time, Bennett," she replied, quietly. Elisabeth glanced to the side as a smartly uniformed waiter appeared and refilled Bennett's coffee and her teacup.

  "Thank you," they replied at the same time.

  "Pardon?" Bennett asked, immediately turning to her when the waiter left.

  Elisabeth put her teacup to her lips and sipped calmly before returning it to the saucer.

  "I don't want to speak about it right this moment, if that's all right."

  Bennett put his napkin on the table and looked at her like a father who was just about to warn his teenage daughter to mind her tone.

  "We're about to go to an appointment with our wedding planner and my overbearing mother; now would be the time to speak."

  Elisabeth looked up and around the room discretely. There were about twenty other men in suits sitting alone or in twos or threes dispersed throughout the room, reading the newspaper or eating. It was very common for discerning or busy businessmen to stop at The Savoy for breakfast on the way to their London offices.

  "Uncle Brayden phoned me last night," Bennett said.

  Elisabeth set her fork and knife down onto the plate and lay the napkin on the table beside her.

  "I shall find it hard to keep my temper if you push m
e," she warned, quietly.

  "You will find it hard to sit down before we reach the agency," Bennett replied.

  Precisely as foretold, Bennett pulled Elisabeth straight across his knee after breakfast and as soon as the limo door closed. The driver began to pull out of the oblong drive leading out from The Savoy and onto the Strand, and he did so slowly because pedestrians crossed on either side and in front of the car at the end. Anyone standing on the pavement waiting to go past would have easily seen a dark figure through the tinted windows do a repetitive motion and they would have just as easily heard the application of hand to bare bottom as well. And several did as the limo pulled out and moved along with the rest of the busy London traffic.

  "How could you punish me on the way there?" Elisabeth asked, as she frowned at the floor of the limo.

  "Quite easily, Darling," he said, as he laid another set of evenly spaced, deliberate smacks to her exposed bottom. "Hold your tongue."

  Elisabeth held her tongue, in fact she nearly bit it right off trying to keep from answering him back. She was redressed and pulled up once he'd delivered a good, thorough dose of smacks and put her to sit beside him on the black leather seat. Bennett immediately turned to her.

  "Now," he started, pointing a finger. "You do not speak to me so abruptly and especially not in public. Your errant behaviour aside during breakfast, you've been extremely rude and very short with me from the moment I collected you this morning. I am your fiancé and soon to be your husband and rightfully so, I noticed your tentative behaviour and was concerned, which is why I asked you if everything was all right. You do not jump down my throat, and you most certainly do not tell me you will speak about it later. If I ask it is because I care and I expect an answer."

  Elisabeth frowned back at him, the stinging, throbbing sensation in her bottom felt like a thumping heartbeat. Bennett knew how to deliver a serious spanking that didn't fade for hours.

  "You are unhappy, I can see it. Why would you hide it from me?" Bennett asked.

  She looked away.

  "Elisabeth?" he warned.