The Plan (EDITING)

CHAPTER FOUR

Caspen watches Anastasia hurry out the drawing room. He shakes his head, confused on whatever mischief she must be up to, and looks at Beatrice beside her.

"You must know what Anastasia is up to."

She lets go of her needle, focusing her attention on her younger brother. "If I did, why must you ask?" The needle embraces her hands once again, finishing up a flower design. "Ever since mama died you have been so protective of her."

The glass of the chandelier burns his eyelid, giving him an excuse to look at something else. The full decanter glances at his eyes once more. He grabs hold of it, filling his glass.

"That is not true." As he adjusts his waistcoat, Stanley comes over and sits across from them, filling his own whiskey glass after Caspen finishes.

He grabs a paper and pen from a nearby table drawer, scribbling something down. "Yes, it is," he says.

Perhaps he is protective– but it is all through good and agreeable intentions. The flower vase on the coffee table was brought in by their mother's sister– a gift for the birth of Anastasia. It seemed like no one truly wanted her presence when she was a baby. Their mother, Caspen, and his siblings surely did– but their father has always been against her. He presented no true reason, either.

Beatrice lies the crewel needle on the coffee table. "Anastasia is her own person and she does not need shielding, brother."

"She does," Caspen says in a pance. His sister stands, patting down the cotton of her lavender bodice. She narrows her eyes and folds her hands together, as if she is waiting for an answer to an unestablished question. "...From father." Beatrice's eyes shut, her neck expanding to take a deep breath. "I do not want him to act how he was with you with her."

A weight carries down on his lungs, waiting for her to respond. "That is ridiculous, brother," she says. "I had no older brother to protect me when father was at his cruelest moments."

Stanley takes a sip from his glass. "Our sister has a valid truth to her statement."

"How is it ridiculous? I was too young to notice, Beatrice." He finishes the glass.

She walks towards the door, pulling on the golden tassel to notify the footmen to open the door from the other side. "Let our sister face the harsh and cruel world for herself. Your guidance is hurting her. She has rarely endured what I have endured." 

"That is the reason, Beatrice. She is so fragile." His fingertips push on the base of his head. "How could a blind person roam in the forest with no sight? She has no one and nothing to guide her. Mama supported her in every way she could."

"Mama never supported me." She walks out the room, saying no goodbyes or apologies to their small argument.

"Brother?" Stanley asks, looking up from his writing. "What did father do to Beatrice that turned her into such a madman?" he laughs at himself, picking up her crewel needle up and evaluating it.

Caspen looks at the family portrait above the fireplace, picturing and focusing on the memories springing into his head.

At the age of 15, Beatrice officially came out into society, despite her mother's wishes of coming out later. Her father insisted that it would be best for her. Dinner without the presence of any guest– was the worst for the family. It would start with their father asking Caspen and Stanley about their studies.

"They were good. We focused on history today. The headmaster took us shooting for practice," Caspen said, separating his vegetables from his chicken.

"Papa, with my governess," Beatrice stepped in, smiling at her father, unable to constrain her excitement. "We studied the gallop and it–"

"I do not care nor want your input." Their father cut through his steak, turning his attention towards his sons. "We must go hunting one day."

The boys responded in enthusiasm. Beatrice sat there, her food untouched. Their mother didn't dare to utter a whisper since they sat down. "Papa," Beatrice said. "If you join them for hunting, could you join me and mama for tea? Or a reading night? We have st–"

"I'm busy."

Surely. Surely he was 'busy'? "I don't understand, father. If you have time to hunt with them why can't you play with me and mama?"

In a swift and fast movement, he stood from his chair, his arms threw her plates and glasses on the ground. Tears choked her eyes, a lump in her throat held her hostage. How lucky she was for her vision to be too cloudy to see his true anger. But imagining his dark eyes staring her down– his clenched fist on the table. The curiosity was a worse punishment.

"I don't want your foolishness. I don't want you here, interrupting my peacefulness," he yelled, his vowels echoing off the walls. "Leave."

She wiped her face, staring at the food stains on her white skirt. "Please, can I have another chance?" she asked, trying to rub the fallen bits of broccoli and potatoes off herself.

"I said leave!"

Beatrice stands from her chair, walking out of the room with her head down and shoulders slumped.

"Oh," Stanley says, scratching his chin. "How do I not remember that?"

Caspen shrugs his shoulders, taking a deep breath. Why didn't he say something to his father? He could have stopped father's outlashes– all of them that occurred to Beatrice and even their mother at times.

The door opens once more, but this time, it's Lucas. Caspen stands, locking his blue eyes into Lucas' moon gray ones. The one person that he needs to see. He walks to Lucas, giving him a smile, greeting him.

"Good day, brother," Caspen says. "Lucas and I have business to attend to."

"Good day! I shall pretend to care."

They travel to Caspen's bed chambers, ensuring the door is closed and locked. Lucas wraps his hand on the side of Caspen's face, kissing his soft and delicate lips.