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The Price of Pride

12

The old manor finally stood out in the afar. Bruce grumbled unhappily at his sore legs. He had been riding all day long and the rain had begun to fall a mile away from his destination. So close to his final stop, he had chosen to push his mount. If he were to sleep one more night in a boarding house, he might end up mad.

A servant welcomed him at the front door, and sent for a stable boy. He was led inside, dripping from every part, his shoes squeaking on the floor. The judgmental stare of the butler and the servants followed him, and he offered a silent apology to whoever would wipe the mess behind.

"My dear Mr. Wayne! We were not expecting you until tomorrow morning. Have you made a pleasant trip? You are bringing us the most delightful weather."

Lady Fitzroy appeared exceedingly cheerful, for a friend welcoming another in a sore mood.

"Your concern is touching," Bruce replied wryly. "Is it too much of an inconvenience to arrive so late?"

"Of course my friend, but I will be the perfect hostess and have you well settled by the time your bath is over," she replied with the same amused grin. Bruce wished he could feel guilty, but after all the times Oliver Fitzroy had knocked at his door in the early hours of the morning, he couldn't. "I will have cook warned that we have another guest tonight."

"When you speak as such, I do not know whether you are jesting or genuinely reprimanding me. Just send a tray to my room," he countered. "I will be retiring early. The journey was unbelievably tedious and I am in no mood for pointless small talk."

Dinah lifted an eyebrow.

"Small talk, truly?"

"I am another guest, Dinah. It means you are already entertaining one, if not a few."

The lady tsk-ed, and admitted:

"Tis a shame you noted that. I suggest you do retire early then. You will need all your charms in the morning to fend off their advances."

He paused in his steps, gave her a suspicious look.

"Scottish misses?"

"Londoners. I daresay you will enjoy their company."

He gave her a flat stare. Dinah had something in mind, but he would not be privy to her intentions until he fell into her schemes. Even though he had known her since childhood, he could never guess the depth of her thoughts.

"I cannot wait," he mumbled and followed her to his friend's office. The lady laughed heartily:

"My, Bruce, what a sharp tongue you have tonight."

"Or perhaps I know you far too well, dear friend."

The lady of the house laughed again, and he smiled back as well.

"You will be settled in the Master's bedroom. Oliver and I favor the view on the gardens in one of the guest's rooms. I hope you do not mind." She glanced at the butler, who acknowledged her wordless order. "I will guide you to my husband's study in the meantime. Oliver will serve you some of the brandy he hides in the secret compartment of his desk." she shook her head in resignation. "The poor man believes he can still keep a secret from me."

Bruce snorted at the absurd idea.

"Trust me Dinah, he is aware that he can hide nothing from you. He is just grateful that you pretend."

Flattered, the lady took his arms and in a shocking display of intimacy, linked it with hers. They finished climbing the stairs together, headed towards the upper levels. They marched in silence for a few moments before he asked:

"Is Roy well? How are you fairing?"

Her face split in a fond smile.

"Roy is thrilled to have his father for himself, and less lessons to attend. He is most attentive since he has learned he will be responsible for his new brother or sister." She then put a hand over her stomach. The line of her dress concealed any kind of growth in her mid-section. "This little one is causing less trouble than its sibling. I barely had morning sickness, or suffered lasting inconvenience." She paused before adding, not without amusement: "Oliver bows to my every whim. I occasionally make outrageous demands to see how far he will go. You ought to have seen his jaw dropping, when I claimed I had a sudden craving for pineapple."

"I was not aware you have tasted pineapple before," Bruce said skeptically. She gave him a mischievous grin.

"I never have, but he does not know that." He rolled his eyes. She pulled his arm to halt him. "We have arrived. I shall return to my guests and leave you deal man matters."

"Enjoy your guests," he said then. "Do not tease them too much, else you will have them running away in the middle of the night."

Dinah laughed heartily.

"If they run away after a little teasing, then they are not worthy of company," she said and patted his arm affectionately. "I shall sent a tray to your room, according to your wishes, and see you in the morning. Good night, Mr. Wayne."

He bowed slightly in return and was announced to Lord Fitzroy's office. Hopefully Oliver would consent bringing out his most beloved brandy. Bruce needed something to warm his bones.

POP

Jason slammed his fists against his desk, biting back a cry of rage.

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't stand the pressure, couldn't stand the thousand treaties and rules and who were allies and who were enemies…it was killing him. His father claimed Diana was acquainted with the material already. If it were true, then he was too far behind. He stood from his chair, paced around the room angrily. He was supposed to gain experience by remaining by his father's side another decade, not cram everything within a few months' time!

In these moments, he wished Diana was here. He may despise the pressure he felt due to her, but she would at least find the words to lift his spirits. She knew how to stimulate his intellect, how to force him to do better. They were always rivals, as children, but would always help the other out. Jason never believed he could miss her so much. Especially when his father's patience was growing thin. She would find the words to soothe him, explain in other terms what was nothing but balderdash to him.

Why, why had his pride gotten in the way? Why couldn't he accept that he lacking where his sister seemed to thrive? And why had Luthor gotten interest in their family? Was his harassing campaign a consequence of his own brash action? Because he refused to back out of a tempting business offer? Diana was far away, out of that disgusting man's reach. Father wished her ignorant of the matter, and at first, Jason had agreed. But the hard truth was, they needed her. Persephone was failing to maintain harmony between father and son. His sisters stayed clear from their office and barely spoke to them anymore. Diana's absence was cruelly felt by everyone in the household.

"Jason?"

For a moment, he thought Diana had returned and was watching him from the threshold. Then, he recognized Donna's uncertain eyes and uncharacteristic quietness. She was carrying a small platter with pastries.

"Cook made these," she said. "Since you are in a mood, I thought they might cheer you up a little."

In a mood? How could he not be in a mood! Hadn't she heard the last row he and his father had barely an hour ago?

"Does it look like I want a pastry, sister?" he hissed

"You always want a pastry, even when you don't," she retorted. "So take it before I eat it."

He glared at her, clearly disagreeing. He usually got along with Donna. Their father had assigned them private teachers instead of governesses, and Donna was allowed to follow her fancies. Although she was no Diana, she had her own uniqueness that he found diverting, so Jason didn't mind her when she sought his company. Today however, he would not suffer her eccentricities.

"I am not jesting Donna. I have enough trouble as it is. Say your piece and leave!"

She ignored his outburst, sat on the chair he usually occupied and crossed her arms.

"Tell me what is running through this brilliant mind of yours," she demanded. He gave her a stern glare.

"Brilliant mind?" he echoed, and with these words, he could not stop himself: "I am tired of all this! Father teaches me one thing and is contradicting himself later. He speaks of subtleties while being straightforward, shows me numbers and papers that make no sense and assume I will understand them from the get go!" he breathed in deeply and added: "Well I'm sorry, father, I do not understand them. I do not understand because your explanations make no sense. And Diana might have understood faster but I am not Diana! And she doesn't waste her time babbling about Captain Whatshisname history from a century ago whose grandson is now a Captain too, and thus must be a reliable merchant!"

As he vented his feelings, he felt the anger bursting into something more. In spite of his shortcomings, he had gained some experience, although a different one. And that point, his father completely discarded.

"Diana has the theoretical knowledge of a scholar," he went on. "But I have been on the piers, father, I heard rumors in Clubs and spoken with people. The business agreements you make are not as worthy as you believe! This new partnership you are considering is ridiculous!" he sighed and slammed his palm over his forehead. "Father was brilliant in his debuts, but he has not been thinking clearly these past years. There are so many decisions he made that are so incoherent! And he claims he is as much as loss as I am! Is he growing senile or his disease is clearly mugging his thoughts. In both cases, how am I supposed to learn anything from him?"

"Did you ask Charon for advice?"

Jason glared at her, almost as if her interruption was a personal affront.

"Of course I tried! Charon is not helpful in the least. His memory is failing him and his propositions even more outrageous than our father's. I wonder if his loyalty to the family is the only thing keeping father from encouraging him to retire."

Donna hummed, her eyes drifting on the pile of business letters.

"Why don't you teach me?" she suddenly offered.

"What do you mean?"

Donna stood from her seat and pointed at his work.

"Diana often said that the best way to ensure you have learned something was to attempt to explain what you have understood. Therefore, as a student, you become a teacher, and you see exactly what you have learned, and what you still need to work on."

"Do you have any notion on how this functions?" he waved at the pile of papers.

Donna grinned mischievously.

"I do not. And as I am one poor female, I suggest you keep your explanation simple and detailed." Jason bit back a snort. Female Donna might be, she was more sensible than most of his friends. All of his sisters were. She leaned her elbows on her knees, her face open and attentive. "What do you say?"

He sat back on the other seat, feeling exhausted.

"Well, I do not have anything to lose," he admitted. And perhaps she would help him understand what he was clearly missing.

"Thank you for your consideration," she said magnanimously. "So tell me, Jason Troy, what is our family's business about?"

While Donna did not project acute enthusiasm, Jason did recognize the same interested glint in her eye. She was genuinely curious. The young man decided to indulge her. Trying to force his mind into learning something new right now would be counterproductive. He might as well review what he had already learned.

Half an hour passed, and to his surprise, Donna's method was efficient. She was a fast learner, asked pertinent questions, made interesting remarks, and some details she mentioned made him realize a few points he might have misunderstood. He was halfway explaining the economic impact of the management of the housing when he heard someone screaming. Both he and Donna rushed out of the study and ran down the hall, along with a few servants attracted by the sound. The sight they encountered left them speechless and frightful.

Hadrian Troy lay motionless on the ground, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Persephone was kneeling over her husband, her hand barely touching his chest, her face very pale.

"He is not breathing," she announced, and her voice trembled in clear fear. "Call Charon and the physician. Quick children, your father is not breathing!"

POP

Diner had been a simple affair, with only the ladies attending. Lady Fitzroy had excused her husband, claiming he was entertaining a guest of his own. Instead, she had amused them with diverting, if not borderline scandalous, gossip from the ladies of the Ton. That part of the evening had made Diana realize their hostess might be more eccentric than she had first assumed.

The bedroom, for starters, was far too pretty to be a simple guest room. The size was larger than customary, the decoration richer and the door almost hidden by the large closet led to a small study, which itself led to another door. Diana suspected the Lady to have assigned her the mistress' room, but could not. It would be untoward, for one, and whoever occupied the master's room would have access to hers. While she did not believe Lady Fitzroy to deliberately settle her to be at her husband's mercy, she was still uncomfortable.

Someone knocked, interrupting her musings, and after permission was granted, a maid entered. She carried a white gown that she delicately placed on the bed.

"These are common gowns that should fit you, Miss Troy," she announced with a calm, placid voice. "Lady Fitzroy also wanted to know if my services were needed."

Diana shook her head.

"No thank you. This dress is easy to handle, I will undress on my own. I would like to know, have your masters have arranged a library?"

The maid raised an eyebrow, and Diana realized her wording might insinuate that the Fitzroys had no books to offer.

"The library is on the second floor in the west wing, ma'am, right next to the lord's private office," she replied with a hint of severity. "They own a large selection, and I daresay that door is never closed."

"Of course," Diana said. "I apologize, I didn't intend to imply your masters lacked anything. When Lady Fitzroy made the tour, she didn't show us a library. It was wrong of me to assume."

The maid looked satisfied with the proper show of guilt and bid her goodnight. Diana decided not to ask about the true design of the room, and took a chandelier to head down to the library. She was not tired yet, and her mind was still in turmoil after reading her mother's letter. A novel or another title might inspire her sweeter dreams than the pile of letters she still had in her reticule.

She found the library easily. It was nicer than expected; smaller perhaps, but perfectly reasonable for a house this size. Shelves carried many types of books and brochures, many titles she recognized as novels, others of poetry, some of treaties and history. A few books here were written in Italian, others in German and a full collection there was in French. She let her gaze wander over the bindings and their titles, searing for anything worth inspiration.

It wasn't until she was well advanced in the room that she realized she was not alone.

The room's disposition did not let her see the far back. As it was, a huge fireplace was still burning in front of two couches. A man was seated there, his head nonchalantly tilting by the side. He did not move as she slowly approached and given the half-filled glass and opened bottle of brandy, she assumed he must have dozed off. Rational sense dictated her to immediately leave the library before someone arrived. She suspected the man to be Lord Fitzroy's guest, and being found alone with a man in the early evening could be suspicious. Fortunately, she quickly realized he was asleep. He did not move at her approach, nor did he speak. In fact, she could hear the soft inhalation and exhalation that came with a peaceful slumber.

She ought to go. She really ought to. But curiosity gnawed at her and she was curious to see what kind of person Lord Fitzroy entertained. Perhaps she even knew him? Diana quietly stepped forward, leaned forward to catch a better glimpse of his face and-

"Mr. Wayne?" she gasped in shock.

It was indeed the gentleman. She hadn't seen him since she had left Gotham, a few weeks back, and now here he was, sleeping in a couch of a Scottish manor. Her heart suddenly seemed to pound harder. What was he doing here? Why was he here? When had he arrived? Was he Lord Fitzroy's guest? Had he followed her here?

The last foolish question entered her mind, and she immediately dismissed it. For all she knew, this was a coincidence. Mr. Wayne and Lord Fitzroy must be acquainted, if not friendly. They were both businessmen, must frequent the same circles or the same clubs. And didn't Lady Fitzroy's family use to live near the Gotham estate? A perfectly reasonable coincidence, she thought again.

Mr. Wayne made a gruff sound and shifted in the couch, but thankfully did not waken. Diana allowed herself a few moments to contemplate him. She had observed, far too many times before, that he was a handsome man. She had seen him wore different expressions: flirty, amiable, mocking and impassive. She had never witnessed him so –content –before. His eyelashes rested on his high cheeks, the dark hair on his head appeared a little tousled. He wore a shirt that was slightly opened on his chest. Diana stared a little longer than appropriate at the fine line of his collarbone, and the small dark hairs peeking underneath. She was not unfamiliar with the male body –having a twin brother whom had no proper notion on what to show –or not –to his twin sister had greatly educated her. But Mr. Wayne seemed far…bigger. He was a tall man, she rationalized, but now that he sat unmoving, he did look far larger than –

He suddenly made another noise, and his face scrunched in displeasure. Diana stepped back, wondering if he was waking up –until she realized he was having a nightmare, a bad one at that. His fists were clenching at his clothes, his expression became pained. Concern overcame her reticence, and she lightly brushed his shoulder. She would rouse him from a terrible sleep. After their first encounter, they had found themselves alone multiple times, and aside from a few flirty remarks, he had done nothing to truly take advantage of her again. She trusted he would do the same now.

"Mr. Wayne," she called softly and touched his shoulder again. "Mr. Wayne."

The man suddenly opened his eyes and gasped for air. Diana did not dare move yet, knowing that startling someone from a nightmare could bring surprising reactions from the sleeper. For long seconds, he did not react, only focused on something invisible before him, his breath irregular. She tried to catch his attention again:

"Mr. Wayne, are you alright?"

Only then, he looked at her. Drowsy, confused eyes, and lost.

"Diana?" he whispered.

She tensed at the use of her first name, but couldn't help the shiver than ensued. His tone had been gentle, warm, and unless she was mistaken, slightly fearful.

"Diana, are you-"

He reached out for her, touched the line of her jaw. The contact of his fingers on her skin robbed her of any rational thought. This was a man who antagonized her, aggravated her, a man she could not help but think charming when he decided to be, a man who surprised her with his kindness. She let him caress her cheek, her senses heightened in anticipation –of what?

He was close, far too close, even sitting on his chair, his presence drawing her to him, and she found herself incapable of resisting it.

"Diana," he repeated, more softly.

"Yes?" she breathed, barely a whisper.

He cupped her cheek, guided her down. Diana did not think of moving away, didn't think of escaping his hold. All she felt was the warm, large hand covering her face and those eyes, bright and blue and set on her with a frightening intensity. And when he pressed his mouth to hers, she briefly closed her eyes. A year ago, she had her first kiss taken from that same man. She had kept a vaguely uncomfortable memory of it. Now, at this very moment, he reminded her why she had secretly enjoyed the experience.

He smelt of sandalwood, of something she could associate to him. His lips were soft, softer than she remembered too. They moved gently, tasting her as she was tasting him. When she pulled back, she had the aftertaste of alcohol in her mouth. His eyes had softened, and the smile –he was smiling, just barely, just enough to show his teeth –so genuine and happy –

"Beautiful Diana," he whispered, and closed his eyes. The hand on her face slacked down and fell back on his thigh. He had fallen back asleep.

Diana suddenly reared back and stood up, shocked at her own action. What had gone through her? What had she been thinking! She had not been thinking, a small voice whispered, and she needed to leave, now.

Had she dared glance back in her escape, she would have seen Mr. Wayne with his eyes open, contemplating her departure in wonder.