Then again, Belle worried about everything.
Belle was, unfortunately, a worrier.
Still, Joy loved him. That was obvious, and she was affectionate toward him. But when her eyes drifted between Miles and Belle, Belle saw the backs of them grow uneasy.
This did not aid in Belle’s indecision about how she felt about Miles Bennett.
Not one bit.
Belle walked beside Miles down the thick carpet runner that ran the length of the stone-floored hall. He’d tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow in a way she thought was a tad too possessive but also wondered if her caution had more to do with the lessons she’d learned from Calvin and less to do with the reality of Miles.
She’d only dated two men since divorcing Calvin. She found she couldn’t open up to either and realised she was not yet ready to move forward in life romantically.
She should, she knew, be more like her mother and grandmother. Both of them had been handed by God an overabundance of outspokenness, outgoingness and outrageousness. They also had the capacity to plunge themselves, both feet first, eyes open, into cold, shark-infested waters if there was even the slightest possibility that there might be something rich and rewarding to come of this endeavour.
Since she was a little girl, Belle had thought that God had been so generous to her grandmother and mother, He’d not had enough to hand out when Belle came along.
Therefore Belle Abbot had lost out on these qualities and all her life had been timid, apprehensive and never took an uncalculated risk.
Never.
It was safe to repeat that point… never.
“It’s too bad your brother couldn’t make it to your mother’s birthday party,” Belle remarked as they made it to the top of a carpet-runnered stone stairwell that she and Miles and four other people could easily walk down, side by side.
Miles’s brother, James Bennett was equally, if not more, famous as Miles.
He was also, in looks, the exact opposite.
Miles looked like his mother.
James Bennett looked like his now-deceased father.
Black-haired with startlingly green eyes rimmed with long, black lashes, James Bennett (if the pictures were true) was taller than Miles. He was also lean and broad-shouldered but his muscles were more powerful. And, if Miles held his body with a casual ease, James held his with a fierce command.
James, in the many photos Belle had seen of him (and there were many), was more intense, more masculine, his features bolder and stronger, while Miles’s still held a hint of boyishness.
James, being elder, (arguably) more attractive and standing to (and unfortunately, three years ago, upon his father’s untimely death, actually doing it) inherit the castle, had much more attention on him his whole life.
He, however, had not gone into the family banking business but instead started his own business. He did something complicated Belle didn’t understand and did it very, very well making him far, far richer and increasing the already oppressive attention he had from the media.
He had, however, also inherited the role of CEO of the vast banking conglomerate that extended throughout the European Union and the Americas that the Bennett family had owned for years.
Now he did both, reportedly with great success even if his attention to these two undertakings was rather shocking since only one would tax even the best of men.
This served only to increase public interest.
The fact that he and Miles routinely dated and often had rather public but usually short-lived (though frequently stormy), relationships with every glamorous, beautiful and available model, actress and debutante, squiring them to art openings, charity functions and exclusive restaurants, made it all the worse.
“Oh, he’s here,” Miles said and Belle nearly missed a step when Miles made this casual statement.
“He’s here?” Belle breathed, unhappy about this news.
Miles had told her James couldn’t attend because of some business in Slovakia or Bosnia or some country ending in “ia”.
She was already incredibly nervous about the evening. She didn’t need another reason to be nervous. And James Bennett was the kind of man who could make even the most beautiful, sophisticated, accomplished, confident person nervous.
And Belle was none of those.
“Oh yes, he’s here. Arrived as a surprise for Mum a little over an hour ago.” Miles looked down at her and smiled. This smile, Belle saw, was not warm and affectionate.
It was strangely…
She stared up at him…
Triumphant.
As if someone had called Miles and told him that he’d won the Nobel Prize for simply existing.
This was so weird it also didn’t make Belle happy.
In fact, it kind of freaked her out.
They made it to the bottom of the stairs and before Belle could process her emotion she heard her name cried.
And it was cried loudly.
She took her eyes from Miles and looked across him to see Joy heading, or more accurately described as charging their way.
She was wearing a deep burgundy dress with long sleeves and gathered cross-draping. To Belle’s experienced eye, the dress was complicated and stunning.
“I love your hair!” Joy exclaimed when she arrived at Belle and Miles. She leaned in and gave Belle a cheek touch and air kiss, her hands curling on Belle’s forearms. She leaned back and cried, “And your dress!” She said no more, her tone and emphasis were enough to say that words simply did not describe.
Belle fought the urge to touch her hair nervously. She’d pulled it back softly from her face and fixed it in a loose chignon at the side of her nape. It took about twenty tries to get it right but she’d finally done it.
Except one, long, thick tendril that curled down the side of her neck, which would not, no matter what Belle tried to do (and she’d tried everything), stay fixed in the knot.
“Thank you,” Belle whispered, her gaze moving to the guests in the vast hall, of which there were a fair few standing about, all of their eyes on her.
After the events of eight months ago, she’d become somewhat accustomed to eyes on her.
That didn’t mean she liked it and it always made her feel awkward.
Or, more awkward than she normally felt.
Joy linked her arm through Belle’s and announced, “Let’s get you a drink, shall we?”
Joy pulled Belle away from Miles and toward the fantastic drawing room which was decorated in whites, creams, yellows and golds. Miles had given her the full tour of the castle that afternoon. It had taken more than an hour mainly because Belle was enthralled that any family could actually live in such historical splendour but also because it was huge.
It boggled the mind.
Or, at least, it boggled Belle’s mind.
Though, Belle had to admit, her mind was not difficult to boggle.
The drawing room had even more people and Belle felt her body grow tight as, upon their entry, many of their eyes moved to her.
Joy didn’t seem to notice and leaned close to Belle, not as if they’d met only hours before but as if they were bosom buddies and had been for decades. “Miles delivered your present to me while you were getting ready. I love it, Belle. Thank you.”
Belle turned her head to Joy at these genuine and heartfelt words and she smiled.
She didn’t know if she should give a woman she’d never met a present but considering she was attending her party and dating her son she figured it would be bad manners if she didn’t do something.