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"No working-class member has a trust fund that could cover the next ten generations of their family, Irene."
"Irene, can I call you mummy?"
Charlie had said so confidently, his eyes twinkling. Both Irene and Thomas froze. The aristocrat's brown orbs went as wide as a throwing ball when she lifted her head to face the three-year-old boy sitting in front of her.
Her mind was racing, her brows scrunched up. Inconveniently, Charlie stretched his lips, forming an innocent-looking smile. By now, the Shelby family members turned their heads because of what Charlie said.
Irene turned her head toward the father of the child, slowly taking in his expression. His face went from emotionless to shocked to a look of absolute anger. Thomas stubbed his cigarette on the table before him.
His fists formed into a tight ball, he brought them down on the table hard. Making a loud bang sound, the brown-haired young duchess and Charles couldn't help but flinch.
Irene looked down at her hands that were intertwined on top of her lap. Thomas stood up, raking a hand over his hair.
Then he went to point his forefinger on the already trembling boy, "Don't ever say that again. You understand?"
Irene looked up just in time to see the boy nodding slowly, his lips trembling. Though she didn't understand why Charles would say something like that, she can't help but feel this aching sadness when she looked at the boy. His usual happy and merry manners are now replaced with fear towards his own father.
Thomas gripped the table, so hard his knuckles turned white, "Speak up, boy!"
Irene and Charles lifted their heads at the same time, alarmed by Thomas's ever-rising tone. Irene stared at the blue-eyed man in front of her in disbelief after Charles exclaimed a fearful answer to his father's question.
The boy's voice quivered as he answered with a simple, "Y-yes, father."
Irene had never felt this mad. It was never Thomas's place to scold a child's opinion, let alone his own. The child everybody claims to be the light in his dark times. She would understand why he's mad, but scolding the boy over a harmless proposition was never an option.
She glanced at the Shelbys who were sitting on the couch, silently begging for someone to step in and save the overly scared little boy. To Irene's shock, none of them moved even an inch. They only shared a knowing look, and Irene was somehow not surprised by them doing so.
Either Charles's own family members are scared of his father, or they were just reluctant to cross their ferocious kin also boss.
Irene also reluctant to speak up on the matter, as this boy was just a young and pure soul with no knowledge of how the world works. It wasn't her place either to stop a father from scolding his own child; she was not their kin after all. But when she looked down on Charles through her lashes and saw him dab the corner on his right eye, Irene was heartbroken for the boy she had very much connected to.
The boy was crying silently as his father continued to chew his ears off about how he must never forget his mother and the fact that she will never be replaced. Quite ridiculous, really. Of course, a mother can never be replaced; Irene knows this better than anyone.
So Irene Grosvenor intervened. She stood abruptly, causing the blue-eyed Thomas to stop his talking. "That's enough, Mr Shelby."
Thomas looked taken aback. His voice dripped with venom as he inched closer to the heiress, "What?"
Irene sighed, "I said, that's enough, sir. Can't you see your own boy crying?"
Thomas turned his head towards Charles, a bit shocked to see his son with tears rolling down his rosy cheeks. Part of him wanted to hug him, say sorry for the way he acted over a simple matter.
But another part of him, the war-infected side of him, had whispered words in his brain to keep on going. Show his boy that his mum can never be replaced with anything or anyone.
Thomas picked the latter. He mock-worshipped the heiress, "Hail the princess who finally speaks!"
Irene rolled her eyes, "With all due respect, Mr Shelby, I think you're overreacting over something a child had said."
"He had crossed the line. He forgot his own mother."
"Crossed the line? Mr Shelby, Charles is a child. Most of his childhood is supposed to be filled with crossed lines. And I, for one, is sure as hell he didn't forget his own mother; no true child would forget their birth giver that easily."
Thomas raked a hand over his hair. Pointing at the heiress, he said, "What does a conceited toff know about raising a child, eh? All you know is how to spend daddy's money."
"Better than you, apparently. Charles enjoys his time with me and trembles at the sight of his own father!"
"You. You are nothing but a fucking toffee-nosed heiress who doesn't think about anyone but herself. Don't you dare say you know how to fucking parent a child better than I do, you bitch. Oh, that's right, do you think I don't know about what toffs like you do for fun? You fuck other toffs to make you feel satisfied."
Irene's face turned expressionless, "You have crossed the line, sir."
Thomas lit up a cigarette while looking at her, disdainfully, "What are you going to fucking do? Hang me, eh? Put me in a fucking jail? Report me to the Queen?"
The heiress scoffed as she grabbed her fur coat and handbag, "You have no idea what kind of hell this conceited toffee-nosed heiress could bring to you."
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It's been a while since Irene and Robert enjoyed their daily morning horse riding. Riding horses at six-thirty in the morning have always been a favourite sibling activity for the siblings. They would wake up at six-fifteen or so, strap themselves, and gallop on their horses in the vast estate they have.
Their riding activity would always end with some laughter, a few occasional banter, and of course – Irene's personal favourite – breakfast. An abundance of breakfast foods would be brought to the yard, and the siblings would enjoy breakfast with a view.
Today was quite different. Not only today was the day after Irene's little banter with Thomas Shelby, but the ride today was only for Robert and Irene. As their sisters and her friends were definitely not in the best morning mood. Ana and Izzy almost threw the vases beside their beds towards Irene when she woke up the girls.
"You don't think I made a mistake, do you? A mistake that would probably cost my 'job' or papa's contract with the devil." Irene stirred her tea, sitting on the grass with Robert, plucking a scone from the food basket. She asked Robert regarding the little – alright, pretty big - fight she had with Thomas Shelby, how she was just trying to defend Mr Shelby's poor son from his frightful father.
Robert turned to his sister, "No, certainly not. You were trying to give that man a piece of your mind. And what was that he called you? Bitch, that's funny."
"Yeah, but I scolded him over his son, who I've only known for two hours or so. Compared to him as his actual father."
"I mean, from what I've heard from your story, you connected well with this boy. Seemed like he favoured you." Robert slumped on one arm while the other kept feeding his vast appetite.
God, her brother. She was glad that a giant frightful looking bear-like Robert was balanced with three sisters to keep him company. Robert indeed grew up a lot more... grounded. Supposed to other men in their exclusive society, men that – in Irene's opinion – are only filled with utter arrogance and no balls – excuse her language – to back it up.
Most of them hiding behind a fake faced of dignity and honour. Irene leaned back, "He did; Charles really liked me. You should've seen his face glowing the entire time I was there. That poor boy misses a mother figure, Robert."
"Besides, Shelby's a nouveau riche; they all act like they've got everything. When truly, they don't. He shouldn't have called an aristocrat a harlot, especially not a highly respected duke's daughter. These social climbers don't understand our way of living, Irene. Apparently, these nouveau riches marry for love."
Irene punched her brother's loaded arm, "You arse! You are supposed to marry out of love, you idiot."
They shared a laugh. The heiress turned to her brother on a more serious note, "Oh, about Daphne,"
She could see the deepest eye-roll from Robert, and she can't help but chuckle, "So it's back then? The iconic Daphne and Robert against the world? The gentle and the brute. Belle and Gaston."
Her brother exhaled a stressful breath as he took a cigarette from the inside of his riding vest, "I don't know. You'll just have to see, even I don't know where it's going. And also, stop calling us that."
"You admit there's an us between you and Daphne then? You always do this, Robert. You have to stop toying with a lady's feelings, brother. It's unbecoming; mama would be mad, you know."
"I know, I know. I just want to enjoy the things that are in the present. Let's not try and rush things."
Irene shook her head, not surprised by her brother's laid-back answer, "Whatever you say, Gaston."
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Irene and Robert laughed when they crossed the Grosvenor Eaton Hall threshold, still clad in their riding outfit. It was a beautiful morning for Irene. The sun was just a tad shy from shining all the way through in this time of day, its crown peaking through the clouds. Irene rubbed her tummy while linking her arm on her brother's, "I'm famished, brother. Wonder what they have for breakfast."
"Your astronomical level of hunger never ceased to amaze me, petite soeur."
Irene paid no mind to what her dear brother had said; she skipped along to the dining room filled with happiness. There she – shockingly – found the girls already sitting down around the humongous mahogany table. Mocking a shocked expression, she said, "Dear Lord, what miracle is this?"
The girls responded either fixed Irene with a death stare or grabbed a piece of china to throw at her. Irene laughed, "Such a momentous occasion to see you lot waking up before lunch."
"Don't test me, Lady Irene. I'm holding a knife." Ana mumbled; her eyes were practically shut. Irene shook her head in dismay, mocking a disapproved look, "Tsk, tsk, tsks, Lady Ana, how foul your mouth is."
"So, you and Izzy are still working in that... Den of sin, then?" Daphne uttered, plopping a piece of strawberry into her mouth. Irene sighed as she put a piece of bread and jam on her china- where an omelette and a side of Jamon was already laid down as per the brown-eyed heiress' request, "Tragically yes. We're now members of the working class."
"No working-class member has a trust fund that could cover the next ten generations of their family, Irene." Said her blonde-haired sister, Izzy, while she sips on her cuppa. Irene rolled her eyes at the remark.
Honestly, can't she take a break from her family's constant jabs at each other? Sure they were all fun and giggles, but sometimes, they really were tasteless.
Though what would the Grosvenors be without those little sarcastic snubs, eh? And, of course, the iconic spoiled behaviour.
Irene took her seat on the left side beside her papa's chair as usual; slicing through her omelette, she said, "Really is a beautiful morning to ride, isn't it? Misty yet- Oh Robert, aren't you going to eat breakfast?"
All heads turned to the entrance of the dining room, where Robert's steps had faltered. His eyes threw Irene an annoyed look while the heiress smirked, though Robert's eyes didn't go unnoticed by any of the girls when it bored into Daphne's head.
The target didn't pay any mind as she sipped on her black tea while reading through her book. Irene and the girls shared a knowing look with a side of a lopsided smile.
"I-uh, I have tax reports for papa that are due uh- next week- I mean, today." Robert- stupidly – reasoned. A great way of keeping it subtle, brother.
This time it was Imogen's turn to leer on the poor eldest brother, "Alright, you go do that, Bertie."
All of them snickered; Robert hated being called Bertie. It was something that has always been one of his pet peeves.
With a bit of a stomp, the brute of a man left without saying another word.
Izzy perked up, "Oh, forgot to tell you. Nicholas wrote yesterday night, says to pass the hello to all you lot. He's coming down here in a fortnight."
Tabitha clasped her hands together, "Goodness, that delicious fiancé of yours is coming? How super!"
Daphne glowered at the sun-kissed skin heiress over her book, "Need I remind you that a few days ago you were fawning over the eldest of the Shelby brothers and also the fact that Nicholas is already betrothed to our dear Isabelle?"
"There's no harm in courting more than one man." Tabitha threw an unbothered look. Irene laughed as she raised her cup of tea proudly, "Hear, hear."
Izzy shook her head at the two women, clearly used by their antics as she chuckled along with them. "Well, I, for one, don't mind sharing."
The whole table's laughter rose, filling the chilly morning with a touch of warmth. Something that was missing from the manor in the past decade. And the staff can't help but feel the warmth radiating from the girls; they felt so invited by the girls' happiness.
It was as if the Brat Pack themselves have a certain glow that could ignite even the darkest corners.
They have an aura, people around them would say. Toff or not, people said that the Brat Pack could pull you in so fast into their luring presence, you won't realise you were circling the drain until after you sank.
It's true what they say before and after they meet the brat pack, "Balls at the ready."
Because somehow, quitting the six spoiled, stuck up heiresses takes much more than balls. Balls that no men other than the Brummie boys seemed to have.