You Belong To Me

Chapter Clothing

'I don't actually hold you and because of that
I'm really only worth what you've been through.'
~Clothing

Arguably the most formidable thing about the St. Laurents, aside from their vast fortune and standing in society, was their sheer beauty. Phoebe didn't think she had ever seen such a lovely group of people that could claim the same blood. She wondered, as they were shown into the dinner area, that if the couple had had more children that the nonexistent people might have been more human and less perfect and Godlike if the gene pool had been given more opportunity to shake things up.

Luckily for her, Fatimah was a lovely young woman, having combined the features of both her parents as perfectly as could be expected. The drawing room they were shown into was obviously repurposed to suit the needs of this particular evening. Heavy curtains adorned the vast windows where the sun was long gone but remnants of its light cast deep finishing touches of violet all over the night sky. The bright canopy of arranged colors lay on a coat of black, layering in height that Phoebe knew to be long and substantial lands.

She had lived around this countryside her entire life but there were still views, pieces of the rolling hills that only the Saints had access to. Her heart pinched with too many emotions to correctly identify if she was indeed happy that her family, of all the families for miles, might be the ones to finally delve into the illusive high rise of the Laurents lifestyle.

They were by no means poor. In fact her own father had been titled. Sadly a title couldn't pass to her so she instead got to retain her title of Lady until her husband Oswald had inherited a title from a distant cousin. It had been what put their meager legacy on the map for the lives of a Saint to even offer their adolescent son to be married.

"I hope that your travels have been fruitful." Oswald grabbed his napkin and carefully placed it over one knee while he regarded Jackson, a casual feel about his brows that he did not feel. He was never casual around the Saints. There were far too many reasons to name right then but the list was extensive: he was Oswald's financial, physical, and intellectual superior for starters. But in addition to that he had more swagger, more suaveness. A more beautiful wife. A more handsome child. Oswald himself was as formidable as any man might be: above six feet, educated, titled and wealthy but used to a full day's work. But he did not command rooms when he entered them. He did not give off effortless vigor and mystery. He couldn't even rightly see people who weren't close to him without his spectacles.

All those things weighed on him as he motioned to a footman, just six of them standing in perfectly chosen places along the walls so as to seem invisible. Oswald pointed to his tumbler glass.

"They were actually." Jackson's long nose and high cheeks Ted perfectly over his lips into a high and honest smile. His eyelashes danced in the light and he lay his own napkin over his lap with much less flare and show. In fact he'd only used one hand, terribly uncouth, and lay it along his front without even looking.

He nodded at the decanter shining in the candlelight and the footman poured him two fingers. His son, Tremaine, gave a court nod and Oswald was sure his wife had only agreed to the offered glass because everyone else besides Fatimah had. The footman put the priceless decanter back on the small gold serving tray without making a sound. "I was lucky enough to enjoy some of the snow of Greenland before it became simply unbearable. They're doing amazing things there by way of sport you know?" He continued before taking a sip from his own glass.

Another startling reason Oswald was so bowed in the presence of Jackson Damien St. Laurent was because Oswald himself was a deeply discrete man that was attracted to other men.

And since his first year in society more than twenty years ago he had found himself profoundly attracted to Jackson. So much so that he'd made it a point to avoid him until the conversation had been raised about the properties joining; a collaboration to monopolize on the local and foreign market. At the time his daughter had not been out of sleeping pampers and everything that was required of him after becoming a Baron became very clear and frightening. He had to secure her future. Who would care for her and her mother should something happen to him? How would they sustain?Not only were work and trade beneath their station, but they hadn't any skills he could think of that might even be valuable. And certainly no skill that would earn them the wages they needed to maintain their lifestyle.