The Crown Formality

Chapter Eight: Decisions

Chapter Eight: Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Ben was sitting in his office reviewing the declining trend of the country's wine exports and wondered how he would be able to assist the wineries with the draught. He set the papers down to clear his vision for a bit, massaging his eyelids and tuning in to his wife's singing. It had been a week since she had kissed him in his supposed slumber, and he often lay awake now that he supposed she would do so again. However, no kisses of the sort had come. Wicked tease. Edith was the only one allowed in his study, mainly because she was as useful as she was smart. She was dressed in a long beige maxi skirt and a white tee that had a hummingbird flapping against her back. Her caramel colored waves were pulled up into a neat bun, revealing the design rather nicely from his point of view. She was turned to him, rocking idly and humming one of the songs she had composed in their elementary years. 

Benedict couldn't help but smile. The song was so much like her: orderly, crisp, and flowing. It was like a river. Edith spared him a glance, quirking an eyebrow at his face. He had his eyes closed with his hands tucked under his chin, a lazy smile on his face. "What's on your mind, Prince?"

He cracked open an eye at her question and beckoned her to come forth, clearing away some papers for her presence. She did, trying to keep herself from running the short distance to his desk. She comfortably settled on a blank spot on his desk and flicked his nose, leaning in and grinning. "What's on your mind, Prince?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "I just remembered a few things."

The next morning, Ben waited until he deemed it a presentable time to meet with his best friend, Henry. Slipping on a pair of khakis and an already pressed white shirt, he crept out of the house and took one of the horses to Henry's abode nearly three miles away. Once he had arrived, he was freezing from the ride, his horse wheezing from the constant pounding of its hooves across the uneven turf. He almost pitied the animal if one of the gardeners, with a surprised face, offered to care for his ride. Ben commanded that it be treated well. The gardener bowed and tugged the horse into the stereotypical red barn in the middle of the meadow. Henry thought it was mandatory that all barns be painted red when he first had it built. 

After one of the maids introduced him to the family at breakfast, he politely declined their offer to dine with them, convincing them to let their eldest son go for a few minutes of privacy. When Ben had given him 'the look', Henry nearly giggled with delight and bounded up the stairs to his room. Ben followed reluctantly after, shutting the door when he arrived. Henry was seated complacently in one of his swivel chairs, leaning back and placing his legs on his desk as Ben collapsed on his bed. 

"So whatever is the matter?" he asked almost too innocently. 

Ben scowled. "I feel like I've betrayed her."

"Who?"

"Adella."

Henry bolted up from his chair. "Do you like Edith?!"

"Hush man!" Ben hissed. "I think I do."

"So you do."

"I don't love her."

"That's not what I asked."

There was a long silence between them, and Ben felt no rush to break it. After picking and sorting out his feelings about Edith just as he had done to Adella years before--in Henry's room-- he decided that he did. 

"I do. Like her, that is. Should I tell her?"

"Be romantic," Henry drawled, doodling on a piece of paper. "Tell her the night of Sumpter's ball next week."

Edith grinned at him, thinking his thoughts were drifting to memories related to her plucked song, and tugged down her bun. "Do you remember when you used to braid my hair?"

Benedict raised an eyebrow at her, not bothering to hide the smile on his face. He loved soft hair and they both knew it. "Come on, then."

He scooted his chair back and she sat cross legged facing the same direction as he but between his legs. Gingerly, he reached out and combed his fingers through the silky hair, marvelling at how he had missed the beauty in her before. Sure, she was rather plain compared to--no, he wouldn't think of her now. Edith had this air about her that made everything seem so simple and practical and easy. Just the kind of life that he wanted to live. He sighed in relaxation as his fingers weaved her hair together, staring at the base of her neck as he did so.

"Getting excited?" she joked and elbowed his calf.

He chuckled. "Oh, braiding is a definite turn on."

Edith felt as if she were walking on thin ice ever since the night she had kissed Benedict's wrist. All of a sudden, he had disappeared without a trace only to come back in time for breakfast and demanding to follow her around everywhere. He was keenly interested in her the entire week, and Edith was filled with joy at the sudden change in heart. Then again, it was also what feared her the most. The sudden change in heart. What if he were to revert back again? Would she be expected to remain the same even though all she wanted now was to keep the new things as they were? What if the reason he was happy was because he had heard from Adella? 

"--should match."

She snapped back into reality and blinked up at him. "What did you say?"

He rubbed the back of his neck together and grinned. "I was thinking...the two of us...should match for tonight's ball. You know, if it isn't too weird or anything."

Edith couldn't help but blush. "Isn't that a little corny?"

"So it's a bad idea--"

"I think a little corny is just what we need, husband dear."

As the evening approached, Benedict was ordered to wait in his study as Edith prepared for the festivity of the night: Lord Sumpter's daughter was celebrating her seventh birthday. He paced back and forth in his study and found solace only in the thought that tonight, he would truly make his feelings known to his wife. He had planned everything accordingly. At eleven in the evening, he would have someone give her a white rose with a short letter from him, inviting her to join him in the middle of the simple Sumpter maze on the north wing. Then, when she was close enough for him to be in his arms, he would tell her that he had feelings for her. Of course, there was the possibility she would reject him, but that would be perfectly fine because she was his wife. She was bound to love a fool like him someday, right?

Meanwhile, his wife was upstairs fretting on her appearance, noticing that the dress that she had ordered online didn't fit as well as she thought. The bust was too tight, the waistline too tight, the hem too short--Edith jumped once and discovered how difficult it was to do anything in modesty in the dress. Surely the love of her life wouldn't want to be seen with a harlot like her. She couldn't wear this! Suddenly, Benedict was thrust into the room by Miss Claribel tsking at him in disapproval. "Madam, please make sure your husband is ready before the limo arrives. He is an important guest!"

And with a huff, she shut the door and continued on her merry way. In truth, she was excited to see the royal couple go out for the night. She would be able to school the staff in another round of poker. The couple looked at each other in a state of shock. Ben eyed her up and down. 

"You are not wearing that."

She nodded without missing a beat. "Agreed."

Together they picked a suitable dress: a flowing yellow sundress that reminded them of a fifties' lady. Ben opted to wear a white shirt and khakis, along with a yellow tie that was the same shade as Edith's dress. They sat together on the bed, each in their own thoughts as they did the final touches. Benedict laced up his shoes and finalized his speech for Edith that night in the garden, while Edith hooked on her earrings and finally decided she would tell Ben about Adella's whereabouts and condition. She felt as if it was her duty to tell the truth. And this way, she would find out whether he had known about Adella after all. While Benedict was preparing to give his heart, Edith was preparing to break her own.

No going back now, they simultaneously thought as they boarded the Lexus.