Chapter thirty five
It was a bright morning like any other day, coming with the usual swarm of light filling the mansion through the wall length windows.
The boots made rhythmic stamps on the floors while they walked through the English corridors. One last stamp and the pair of feet turned left to face the Duke's office.
"My Lords," Monica grinned wildly and continued the stamping of boots into the chamber.
The men were gathered around Philip who was seated behind his desk. From the looks of the scene, they had to be discussing something disturbing. The Duke's head was buried in his hands in a helpless state, and the ones with the deepest glower seemed to be Raymond and Timothy.
The lady stopped when she reached them and braced her hands upon the desk with a sense of leadership, "There seems to be a problem." That was not a question.
With no further ado, Jason yanked out a sheet of paper and held it to her. The woman had snatched it readily and was already studying the words on the letter.
"Why would my brother want to come for luncheon," Timothy rasped and had the scariest look Monica had ever seen on him.
Raymond leaned in and tried to pierce him with his gaze, "Do you think father wants us home?"
Monica tossed the letter down and raised one perfectly arched brow slowly, "And here I was thinking someone's life was on the line?"
Philip forced himself up from his seat and snarled his words harshly at her, "Well, if he is coming to take them home with him, that will surely happen."
Oh so he finally decided to talk…
She watched him intensely, clearly displeased by the tone of reply. Seems he had already started bringing her fears to life. Or maybe not…
"When exactly is he expected," Monica asked simply, successfully ignoring the Duke.
Earl was the only one who could still manage a smile in the most trying of times. And this time wasn't different, "Well it's today my love. And somehow, we cannot decline the potential King of England can we?" But his speech was interrupted with a gasp of two.
"And what exactly about this is spoiling your moods," she decided to go directly to the real question bothering her mind.
Jason was quiet since she stepped in, watching her display ignorance quietly all the while and finding it outrageous, "This is the King's first son we speak of. Last time I checked, he is the same man who killed a footman for winning a horse race against him."
Her mouth opened in a shadow of a smile, then closed again without word. But no she really had to say something, "He strikes to be someone I might like. So in four words my Lords, you all are afraid."
It was an obvious fact of course. One that Monica found very exciting. But at the same time, it was nothing that bothered her.
With a sigh of dismissal, she turned and began striding away, "Well I'll be outside in case anyone needs me. And ahh…Your Grace," she stopped to face Philip who was glaring at her expectantly, "Would you like to go horse riding at dusk?"
Earl could not help but smile at the way she spoke, radiant and bold, unlike any he'd ever seen.
The Duke however, raised a brow and gave her a childish stare. The way his eyes widened innocently into saucers complemented the flush of red that stained his cheeks. And that was one look of his Monica would kill for.
Jason did not share the same thought though. Instead, he shook his head in genuine disappointment, "You are pathetic." That was for Philip.
Now, he turned to the lady and grinned beautifully, "He's always like that when he means yes!"
"Ahh," Monica exclaimed with a smile, "then we shall see Your Grace." She almost began to escape through the doors but stopped as she remembered something, "One more thing Philip…"
She took some time to relish the looks on all the men's faces, surprised by her first use of names. Afterwards, she smirked and concentrated on the one she loved most, "Do well to eat to your full at luncheon because we might be back late for dinner."
That was all she needed to say to lighten the mood of the entire room. All Monarchs flashed grins at her in pure admiration; but Philip still gawked in shock. With that done, she left them in privacy.
"I have told you a million times Your Grace," the Marquess began, "women like that are difficult to come by. When you finally find one who obviously has a thing for you, you clutch her like a gem she is."
Unlike the reaction he expected from his friend, a frown played on Philip's brows just before he said, "And what about Elizabeth? You all seem to be forgetting we are betrothed."
"Good job," Jason snarled at him with a tone clearly slashed with sarcasm, "spoiling the mood once again. Trust me, we have a lot to tell you about that fiancee of yours."
The Duke raised a brow expectantly, eager to hear what they've obviously been hiding from him all this while. But the look the Earl of Vetcom returned made it clear he was not going to tell him anything at that moment.
And that stood.
***
Earl of Garia, Fergus Ellivey had his eyes to the ceiling, lost in his own sadistic and lethal thoughts. Not long after, he noticed thin, long fingers run down his body, applying soap and cinnamon while he laid in his hot, royal sized tub.
After the woman was satisfied with that tease, she brought her head to his and planted her lips softly on his own.
Fergus raised a hand to clutch her crimson hair, returning the flamy kiss with slow, wet suckles. He wouldn't deny enjoying every bit of his bath.
But then Olivia patted his shoulder and broke the contact between their lips. "They've brought the girl," she informed afterwards.
The Earl twisted his neck and nodded in satisfaction.
Anna Forland was tossed violently upon the cold floor, her eyes red from crying. She felt the Earl look down at her with his bathrobe flown carelessly over his wet body; and of course his beautiful wife beside him.
"There is absolutely no way I will tell you anything," she cried from the floor, flinching just a bit due to the red swell of her lips. Her entire face had a battered feature to it and obviously, tears stung the wounds even more.
The young Earl smirked wickedly at her sentence, "This can be very simple sweetheart. For that last time, where is your brother?"
Anna cried some more, unwilling to speak. Somehow, she still managed to glare at the man, pleading for freedom with her eyes.
In contrast however, a majordomo stalked to her with his fists squeezed together, the same ones who had done the damage to her face.
Fergus had raised his hand to stop the man before he could reach her though. Then unexpectedly, a calm sigh escaped his lungs, "Take her to my chamber. If she does not speak by the time I am done with her, you might as well call me a fool!"
***
Monica looked down her balcony at the nearly dozen men.
The plan was the Prince coming for luncheon. He did not mention bringing his fellow royal brats along as friends.
However, she swayed her red hair away from her face and flashed a smile.  And that smile wasn't a good one. It was that one she always gave when she had plans. And of course she did.
By God, this luncheon was going to be one memorable one for all the men.
The massive oak table was a pleasant sight. Given a royal presence was dining, the meal was just as luxurious.
Two large sized birds were grilled until they made your mouth water…
Decanters of wine, juices and brandy were in formidable amount…
And why would they forget sea food, or even pastries. It was that one meal that could last a simpleton his entire life.
Stephen and his friends had been escorted by a footman through hallways he couldn't help but admire, although he shielded it all in that proud grim of his. As they reached the doorway to the diner, the staff left them after ushering them in.
"I'm impressed," Stephen huffed proudly while he had his eyes searching the table and every other furniture around him. He would admit he felt satisfied with its standard compared to his. Now he walked in slowly, his eyes still circling about while his companions followed.
The Duke rose to his feet from the head seat, tipped his head low in a tiny bow and smiled, "Your Highness. You are most welcome." He wished he meant every single thing he gave out, even the respect.
The older man smiled lightly in response and pulled the chair out at the other end of the table, right across from Philip.
As he sat, his friends took the entire length of seats at the left of him.
When both his younger brothers were nowhere to be seen, he leaned forward and spoke with a sour tone, "Where are my brothers Your Grace."
Just to answer his question, the Duke's friends graced the chamber with their presence all at once from an adjacent door. Automatically, his gaze fell on both his brothers who somehow found the table of food a more necessary thing to look at.
The five filled up half the seats on his right side after giving him the respect they felt he deserved as potential King, not as a person. But deep down, Jason's ego was eating at his chest for lowering his pride just like that.
Stephen looked pleased now while he took his eyes to look through the people with him.
"I must say," Stephen's young cousin, Abraham Barewell began, "The Duke of Anfield is a lot more younger than I expected."
Philip grinned at his food and replied despite his disdain, "We had no other choice. I am the only son of my late father."
"Oh I clearly understand," the Prince gestured with an arm, "If my father died earlier, I would have been King young as well. But the unfortunate crap still lives on."
The last statement put a smile on the lips of his youngest brother. After Raymond had leaned closer to look at him, he rasped, "That would only be possible if you were alive yourself."
All Stephen did as a reaction was laugh. Soon after, he gestured with both arms and smiled at Philip, "Why don't we bless this meal?"