Chapter 146 Chapter 147

Chapter 146 Chapter 147
Ravi listened to the rough voice of the scout, his eyes caught on a familiar peak behind the castle – Ol’ Lizz. He watched the mountain, her cut-off top, remembering when he’d been up there together with Denis. They’d felt infinite. Watching it now, he could not stand the sight of it.
“I can’t wait.”
Five Years later
The fundraiser auction was not mandatory, but it would do the Arnold name good to put in an appearance. Politics aside, Denis enjoyed the annual Lumos Gala. The event wasn’t quite as stuffy as the traditional mingling he partook in on the regular. The occasion took place in northern Scotland, at the old Norcross Mansion with wide windows overlooking the sea. It was perched on top of a cliff, appearing as if taken straight out of a mediaeval fairytale. His Maman was on his arm, her dress cascading down her slender body, the sage train dragging softly across the marble floor. She looked as stunning as ever, hair done in a loose knot at the nape, a few curls escaping, framing her slim face.
Denis was similarly dressed for the occasion, suited in a subtly brocaded tuxedo, the velvet black interrupted by swirls of silver on the lapels. His shirt beneath was a crisp white, and his trousers enunciated the length of his legs quite favourably. His ice blonde hair was tied back, the long strands gathered in a low ponytail, captured by a dark ribbon.
Despite the high-end attire, he was feeling good, relaxed almost. Guests were still arriving, trickling into the entrance hall behind them. He and his Maman observed the teeming floor far below before they, in unison, sauntered down the staircase. High above, a vaulted ceiling framed the room, the vast arches adorned by Renaissance paintings of angels flying against the pink backsplash of a sunset. Once they reached the floor, a server walked up, dressed impeccably in black and white, balancing a silver tray on the tip of his fingers. He offered them a flute of champagne, freshly poured. Both of them declined.
They made their way around the room, falling into the art of mingling with a grace only gifted busy men and women of high society. The last five years seemed to have been little else than board meetings and networking. Denis could name every Lord and Lady he came across, could recall their business endeavours, and tidbits of sordid gossip surrounding their family name. 
Take the Beaumonts, for instance. They held their noble blood in high regard. The lot possessed wispy hair and freckled noses. Sustaining their living by good investments and meddling in price-winning thoroughbreds. Lady Beaumont had a peculiar taste for young men, her husband allegedly consenting to her extramarital affairs. 
Then there was the Winthrops. Their laughs would bellow loud enough to be heard in every corner of Britain. In central Europe, they owned a good bit of real estate. Denis had had his fair share of run-ins with the family during purchase endeavours. Bidding against the youngest Winthorp twice, winning both. Their worst sin: marriage to a common woman. The scandal when young Anton Winthrop proclaimed his intent to marry Susan Smith had been legendary, but it had not toppled Winthrop House.
As his Maman and Denis stumbled upon the Head of House Winthrop (Lord David), Denis lingered. He smiled at the older man, entertained by his wit and the way he would throw his head back and laugh, the sound bouncing against the vault above.
There were a dozen Head of Houses in attendance, all of them making their way to Denis’s vicinity, circling him like a gorilla troop might their silverback. The blonde had learned how to act when he did not care to greet a Head, keeping his gaze averted, not allowing that initial eye contact to occur. They usually took the hint, leaving him be for now, set on trying their luck later. Arnold had grown to become a revered name, and the House had risen from its once fragile state.
The Arnold blood, the court would whisper. The Arnold blood was stronger than ever.
A quartet of musicians was playing in the corner. Denis was unfamiliar with the piece; he fathomed it was an adaptation of some modern tune, something Renea would be able to pin within seconds. As was, he was out of the loop, being able to correctly name Mozart and Vivaldi, but rusty on anything past the 18th century.
“Nice tune,” he noted to his Maman. Their heights were about the same, with her wearing heels. She glanced at the violins, cello, and bass, a smile curling her painted lips. 
“You used to play the piano. Do you remember? Maybe you should pick it up again?”
He rolled his eyes, their feet taking them back to the centre of the room. The clock was about dinner time. If it were the same as last year (and Denis thought it was), everyone would be herded into the dining hall adjacent to this. Four long tables would be set up, decorated with flowers and extravagant trinkets. Chairs pushed in all the way, and plates, cutlery, and glasses arranged to present the perfect picture. Last year, they’d served pan-roasted halibut. It had been quite satisfactory. 
Denis got busy talking with Head of House Beaumont, the Lady staring at him with a bit too much heat in her eyes as she inquired about his well-being and plans for the summer. He smiled politely, yet dismissively, informing her that he and his Maman had business to attend to all summer long. This was not exactly true; their lack of summer plans had been nagging in the back of his mind for weeks.
His Maman took over, steering the conversation to Lady Beaumont’s new granddaughter, congratulating her and asking about the name of the father. The Lady’s cheeks pinked as she waved a hand in front of her dolled-up face, jumping to talk about the baby girl, but avoiding answering the question about the father. He and his Maman shared a look. It seemed the Beaumonts were due for another scandal. 
Now, the Arnold wouldn’t become the source of the whispers, but there was always someone listening. It wouldn’t surprise Denis if by the end of the night, the Beaumonts would tailgate out of here, rushing home to do damage control.
Their conversation was interrupted as Denis spied two familiar figures. His face cracked open in a grin. “Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”