#claybela

CLAYTON:He was silent as he turned the car onto the long, winding driveway of Larchwood House. It was heavily wooded, the sides of the road fenced in, to stop the deer and the occasional lost sheep from straying into the road. He knew there would be no other cars, no other traffic to deal with. They would be arriving last – he had done it deliberately. He wanted to leave as little time as possible between getting to Larchwood and leaving for the church. With any luck, the hearse would already be outside and ready to leave when they got there. He could give a hasty introduction before ushering Isabela into the back of the Bentley or the Rolls Royce or whatever care Octavia had settled on for immediate family, and off they would go, not to speak again until the wake. His mother would be upset with him, but if she knew him half as well as she thought she did, then she should expect it of him.

He had at least made sure they were both dressed, though it hadn’t made the drive a particularly comfortable one. They could’ve gotten changed when they arrived, stole away upstairs to waste yet more time until it was time to go, but after half a century he knew how far he could push his mother. If he didn’t show up looking presentable Octavia was going to throw a fit, and he needed today to go well. His father’s funeral wasn’t exactly the best occasion to introduce his bride-to-be to the family, but no matter.

“I should probably warn you,” He said after a moment, clearing his throat. “My mother can be…” Obtuse. Downright nasty. A horrid old bi– “Rather cold. It’s nothing personal, she just was brought up a certain way, I suppose. And after all this, well,” He shook his head, glancing over at Isabela. He reached across the car to take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry if she doesn’t seem to take to you. I know she’ll like you. It’s just rather a bad time.”

Understatement of the century. He took his hand from Isabela’s so he could shift gears, slowing down a little as they approached the house. 

ISABELA: It had been a long time since Isabela had been to a funeral. 

Back in Encanto, she had gone to them all. Every single person in town she had known, they were all friends and aunties and community members. Funerals were strange to her now. A sense of finality that she’d never gotten for several of her friends, her professors, her father’s coworkers. All the people she’d known in Avalor who were dead or presumed dead, with no funerals for any of them. There were candles lit and prayers said and pictures on ofrendas, if they had any, but that was all. 

A funeral was a kind of closure she hadn’t had. 

She was glad Clayton would get one for his father, though. Even if it made her nervous. This certainly wasn’t the way she intended to meet her future mother-in-law. 

The drive was mostly quiet, Isabela unsure what to say. She had no idea what Clayton’s relationship to his father even was. If they had a good one. Or if they had a poor one. And now, she didn’t feel like it was the time to ask. 

Clayton’s words didn’t make her feel any better. She was already so nervous and so sad. Still, she forced a smile, because that was what Isabela did. 

“She just lost her husband,” Isabela said, reaching over with her free hand to place it on top of Clayton’s. “I won’t judge her for how she is dealing with that. What kind of flowers does she like? I would like to make her a bouquet. Do you think she’d like that?” 

CLAYTON:He resisted the urge to snort. She had just lost her husband, that was true, but even after all that time Clayton still had no idea whether his mother and father loved each other. If they ever had. Had they grown to love each other, or had they grown apart? He didn’t have the slightest idea. Was his mother in mourning for a man she loved, or just a husband? Or was she even in mourning at all?

He tapped his finger against the wheel, staring out at the thick dense greenery of the forest as they drove through it. He didn’t know what flowers she liked. She had a garden — it was about the only work she ever did and even then she only worked in it when the mood took her. He tried to think of what resided in it, what he could remember. “She likes dahlias,” he said eventually. He could only hope that he knew what a dahlia was — he was sure the old crone had mentioned them before, though. “And roses. She has a lot of those.”

He knew he wasn’t being much of the conversationalist, but he thought he should get a pass. All of a sudden the trees disappeared, revealing the house, a grand Elizabethan structure plonked in the middle of several perfectly tended lawns. There were cars lined up outside, tucked against one wall, no doubt so the funeral cars had ample room to move. Clayton parked the Land Rover off to one side and got out, coming around the side to open Isabela’s door.

“They’ll be in the parlour,” he said, offering her his arm. “It looks as though everyone’s here already.”  

ISABELA: Right. The parlour. 

Isabela didn’t know what a parlour was. 

And she was still reeling from how grand the house was. Sure, Casita was large, but even still it was cozy. It was warm. There was life to it. Here, the grass was cut too short to wave and the bushes hedged in a militant, uniform fashion. Even the gravel that crunched under her heels as they walked up the path knew to stay within its boundaries. Not a pebble out of place.

Except for Isabela, she thought, as they walked up the large stone steps to the front of the…house. (Was this a mansion? A castle?) 

Someone opened the door for them. That startled Isabela. 

“Master William,” the person said, with a smile which grew tighter as he looked at Isabela, “and guest.” 

“Hello,” she said with a polite nod of her head and a little wave with the hand that wasn’t clutching Clayton’s elbow. She had no idea if this was…someone in the family or not. An uncle? A cousin? But he had called Clayton ‘master’--which was…weird. 

The man raised his eyebrows at her but said nothing else as he closed the door. 

Her head craned back despite herself, taking in the high ceilings. It felt like she had walked into a museum. She looked back at Clayton, her voice hushed--not wanting the man now walking ahead of them to hear.

“Is there anything I should know?” she asked, quickly, as they headed towards what he made sound like…was his entire family. 

CLAYTON:He didn’t address the footman who had opened the door, only shooed him away, glad that it had been some young lad and not the butler. Ambruster was many things but he was a stickler for the old ways — he would’ve addressed him in some pompous traditional way and bustled into the parlour to herald their arrival. At least this way he and Isabela could have a moment before they went inside.

“Ah—“ Where to begin? He probably should’ve prepared her better. Spent the car ride over going over family history and proper etiquette but truthfully, the thought hadn’t even entered into his mind. He had never brought a fiancée to a funeral before. He was wading through new territory at the moment. “Well, I’ll introduce you to everyone when we get inside. Don’t bother curtsying to Mama, she won’t care either way, but I would address her as Lady, just until she warms up to you a bit. But there’s nothing to worry about.” He paused just outside of the parlour door, turning to face her and taking both of her hands on his own. “It’s not the best occasion to meet the family, granted, but they’ll love you.”

A part of him wished he was telling the truth, but there was no time to dwell on that now. Plus, what did it matter? He was the baron, now. He could do as he pleased.

He opened the door to the parlour before there could be time for more questions. 

The conversation stopped, several heads turning towards the door, and then almost immediately, everyone stood. Clayton took a deep breath, shaking his head, “There’s no need for all that, sit down– Aunt Bella, please,” Arabella was still trying to leverage herself out of her armchair, even after the rest of the women had taken their seats again. The men stayed standing, crowded in the corner behind their wives. The children were absent, presumably getting ready upstairs with their respective nannies. Uncle Oswald was sat next to Octavia, both of whom stayed standing.

“Mama,” He greeted her, crossing the room, leaving Isabela behind to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Oswald,” He greeted, shaking his uncle’s hand. “Everyone,” He continued, clearing his throat. “This is Isabela. My fiancée.”

ISABELA: Curtsy?! Lady?!

Isabela couldn’t help the way her eyes went wide, heart in her throat. Sure, this place looked like Downton Abbey, but she didn’t realize it was! Yes, yes. She’d stalked Clayton online back when he had first put that exorbitant bid on her for prom. Found out he was a baron. Knew that meant he had money…but she hadn’t realized it meant he also owned a castle and had a mother that was referred to with a proper title! (Was Clayton supposed to be “Lord”?!) Why hadn’t he told her any of this?!

Right. Okay. This was fine.

It didn’t change anything, of course. Isabela was friends with a princess. She could do this. 

Taking a deep breath, Isabela strangled her panic down and tossed it quickly behind the door that she never opened. The one that made the pressure in her heart feel like it was constantly about to explode. She managed a smile. Isabela was very good at smiles. This one was not too wide and not too bright. It was demure, polite, but friendly and warm--the perfect sort of smile for a funeral. 

Clayton moved away from her and Isabela wanted to cling to his arm, or follow him, but it was very clear she wasn’t supposed to. So, instead, she waited for him to greet his mother, looking around at the group of people--giving them all a nod, that perfect, practiced smile. 

They all looked at her as if she was intruding. She knew she was.

At her introduction, Isabela snapped her head towards Clayton, her loose curls bouncing merrily. All the other women had their hair up. Should she have put her hair up? (Isabela rarely put her hair up.) She took two steps towards Clayton’s mother and, although he told her not to, dropped into a short curtsy. It couldn’t hurt, could it? 

“Lady Clayton,” Isabela said as she put both feet properly back on the floor. In her hands a bouquet of deep maroon dahlias bloomed in her hands. She held it out for Clayton’s mother to take. “I am so sorry for your loss. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” 

CLAYTON:His mother took a deep breath, eyes tracking the movement of Isabela’s clumsy curtsy. In truth it wasn’t terrible — it was a very good attempt, given she had no training in the art. It was when she conjured the flowers from midair that Clayton glanced away. His mothers expression never changed, eyes on the bouquet, and then at Isabela. It was the wives who started whispering, his cousin Lucille turning to Winifred, saying something low. Tristan looked Isabela up and down and then looked to Clayton, finally looking away to raise his drink to his lips.

“Thank you,” Octavia said, her voice as stiff as her hands as she reached out to take the flowers. “That’s very kind of you.”

There was a stillness for a second, everybody waiting for someone to move. In the end it was Emily, Harry’s wife, standing from her seat to cross the room and grasp Isabela’s hands in her own.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said gently, leaning in to press a kiss to Isabela’s cheek. “William’s told us a lot about you.”

Clayton looked at Harry, who arched his eyebrows. Admittedly Clayton hadn’t said much — he wondered how much sleuthing his favourite cousin had done. 

“Isabela, this is Emily, my cousin’s wife.” Clayton said, thinking it best to make introductions.

“I’m married to the dopey looking one,” she said, nodding to Harry, who rolled his eyes but waved nonetheless. 

Clayton cleared his throat, working clockwise round the room. “My Aunt Arabella, my cousin Lucille and her husband, Arthur,” All of whom nodded and smiled and looked at Isabela like she had just landed her spaceship on the front lawn, “My cousin Tristan, his wife Winnifred, and my Uncle Oswald.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, young lady. Shame about the nature of it all,” Oswald said, reaching a hand out for Isabela to shake.

ISABELA: Isabela had done something wrong.

She didn’t know what it was, just that she had. When you were a girl who spent your whole life making sure you were perfectly digestible and acceptable to everyone, you noticed when no one liked you. Or when you made a misstep. And as she looked at Octavia Clayton’s expression, she knew. Even if the smile her future mother-in-law gave was perfectly polite. 

Isabela felt her stomach twist. She wanted to apologize. Or leave. Or ask for a do over.

Someone appeared in front of her, squeezing her hands. The smile was actually friendly and Isabela returned it, grateful for it, and clinging maybe a little too hard to Emily’s hands. She let out a breath, resolving herself to do better. She listened to the names, smiling and acknowledging everyone, still holding Emily’s hand in one of her own until she finally letting go, only to shake Oswald’s hand. 

“It’s nice to meet you too,” she said, giving him the most dazzling smile in her arsenal. 

Once she released Uncle Oswald, she moved back to Clayton, slipping her hand around his bicep. Feeling suddenly very young and silly and--in over her head. But, she would persevere. Tensions were high. Someone had just died. Of course people were not going to be welcoming to a new person. She just needed to stay quiet, out of the way. She was here to support William. That was what mattered. 

“It’s good to meet you all,” she raised her voice slightly so everyone in the room could hear. “I hope to make your acquaintance further.” Make your acquaintance further? Her accent had never sounded so clunky to her own ears. Thank God for all those Downton Abbey and Bridgerton episodes.

CLAYTON:He knew it was a lot. It was always going to be a lot – his family was almost as big as hers once you counted great aunts and second cousins and in-laws, and though they weren’t exactly close, you had to know who was who. Everyone had to know everyone, and be on top of everyone else’s business. It was just the nature of old families, from old money. It took a lot of people to protect a legacy.

Which was no doubt what they thought they were doing now. Some interloper, foreigner, magick, whichever was worse, coming into their home to steal their fortune out from under them. As if it had ever been theirs to begin with – Uncle Oswald had married up, meaning Tristan and his heirs had a better fortune and a better title to look forward to, and Harry and Lucille, well. It wasn’t like Octavia and Arabella were from noble blood themselves. Old money, certainly, but nothing fancy. It was almost comical that anyone in this room should be protective over the Clayton family name when in reality, the only person who had any claim to it was the man who had brought Isabela into the circle in the first place.

He offered her a small smile, reassuring. When he looked back at his mother she was just as unimpressed as she had been before, but now her gaze was leveled at him. Not a problem – he was used to it. “The hearse will be here soon. You’ll be in the first car, with myself and your uncle. And I hope you have your eulogy prepared.”

“Mama, I said–”

“It’s customary for the Baron’s successor to speak at his predecessor’s funeral. And he was your father, lest we forget. Now go, do what you will.”

Clayton bit back a sigh and turned to Isabela, his smile undeniably strained as he led her to the small drinks trolley in the corner. “Can I get you anything?” He asked her, as quiet conversation resumed around the room.

ISABELA: William’s mother did not mention if Isabela would be riding with Clayton in the first car or elsewhere. Isabela noticed this. She wondered if it was implied and if it was, to what effect: that she would…or would not. It was clear there was some tension between William and his mother, but she had no idea what that could even be about because she suddenly realized she knew nothing about her. Or her relationship with William. 

She followed quietly behind her fiancé to the drink cart and shook her head. Isabela didn’t drink often, and she definitely felt as though she was going to need her wits about her for this. 

“No, thank you,” she murmured. She glanced around quickly, though tried to make it both subtle and not quick, to see if they were far enough away from everyone else to talk. 

“It must be terrible to have to speak,” she said carefully, after a moment of consideration, “but I am sure you would do a wonderful job.” She wanted to say something else about how his father would want him to, but she simply didn’t know and all of this was very delicate. The urge to do something was strong however. 

“You don’t have to say much. Maybe just a quote from the Bible? I am sure that can say what you want to say…if you’re not sure.” 

CLAYTON:He nodded at her refusal but didn’t hesitate to pour himself a large glass of whisky — a bottle kept around for him, so disused that dust had collected on top of the decanter. He took a sip from it whilst she talked, her voice only just filtering through. It would be terrible to speak, of that he was certain, mostly because he didn’t have a single bloody nice thing to say about his father. And he didn’t know anything about the Bible, either.

“I’ll keep it brief, I suppose,” he said after a moment, turning to her and smiling gently. Walking this tight rope was fucking exhausting — not offending her, playing the grieving son, dealing with his family. He deserved a medal. “My father wouldn’t have wanted anyone waxing poetic, anyhow.”

“Good thing they didn’t ask Tristan to speak, eh?” Harry murmured, situating himself by Clayton’s side, smiling kindly at Isabela. “Fancies himself for a poet. I fancy him as a giant pri—“

“Will you be joining us up in the Highlands?” Emily asked, cutting her husband off, leaving Clayton to hide his smirk in his glass as he took another drink. “I know now probably isn’t the time to talk about it but presumably it’s still on. And it would be nice to have another woman along.” 

ISABELA: Isabela couldn’t help but think she had said something wrong, which was unacceptable, because Isabela Madrigal never said anything wrong. But even more so in this moment, when Clayton was so vulnerable, after having just lost his father. She didn’t want to be a burden. She only wanted to be helpful. Maybe she should just keep her mouth shut. 

Instead of saying anything, she reached over to loop her arm around his waist. Hoping this, at least, was comforting. 

She looked around him as his cousin sidled up…Henry--no, Harry. She had done her best to memorize everyone’s names as they were introduced. His wife was…Emily, who spoke next. Isabela smiled at her, but then glanced at Clayton, once again unsure. Once again, not wanting to open her mouth. 

“William and I haven’t discussed it yet,” Isabela said. Of course they hadn’t. Isabela didn’t know what ‘the Highlands’ even were. Some sort of…resort? A geographical location? She was going to have to do some Googling later. Unless…Clayton wasn’t going to bring her. In which case…she supposed it wouldn’t really matter. 

CLAYTON:No, they hadn’t discussed it, because it honestly hadn’t crossed Clayton’s mind. His family’s annual hunting holiday up in the Scottish highlands, at the same lodge they’d been visiting for at least a century, probably longer, was the last thing he was thinking about. 

But of course she would be coming. It would be expected of him to bring her, as his wife and the future Baroness, even though she would probably despise it. The women didn’t hunt, of course. They went riding, sat around the fire gossiping and drinking and occasionally came along on stalking expeditions that bored them to tears and irritated their husbands, but still she would be expected to go along.

He smiled gently, placing a hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades. “I’d like for you to come,” he said with a nod. “We can discuss it once we’re back home.”

The parlour door opened, the butler standing to attention. “My lord,” he addressed Clayton first, eyes skittering over Isabela, back across the room to Octavia, “M’lady. The cars are here.”

“Very well,” Octavia nodded. “We’ll be out shortly.”

“Stick with me,” Clayton said to Isabela, moving so that he could pull away from her embrace and take her hand instead.

ISABELA: And just like that, Isabela felt slightly steady again as Clayton placed his hand on her back and smiled at her. She was in the right place: by his side. They were a team now. A united front. It was still an odd feeling, but she knew she just needed to trust him. The whole situation at the engagement party told her that and this only reinforced it. Of course he was acting a little strange, a little withdrawn. His father had just died.

And as a couple, they’d never dealt with anything like this. Of course Isabela wasn’t going to know exactly what to do. (She should, though, she still felt like. Isabela always knew the right thing to say.) They were still learning. 

And it seemed as if she wasn’t doing too badly. He wanted her to ride with him, it seemed. And while she felt strange and awkward about that, she was glad that he wanted her there. She wanted to be there. That was all that mattered.

She smiled at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Of course.” 

CLAYTON: If anything, having Isabela along for the ride to the small church, just down the road in the village where the service would be held, would at least stop his mother from speaking to him along the way.

He could see his mother as her eyes lingered over the two of them, narrowing for a second as she sussed out its plan. She probably would've preferred it if Isabela had gone in the back with the rest of the cousins, but it was the done thing. She was his fiancée, which meant that she would go with him, whether his mother liked it or not.

Octavia met his gaze, and lifted her chin just a little. "It's time to go." She said, which was all she really needed to say; as soon as the words were out of her mouth people were setting down their drinks, half-full and ready for the staff to tidy away, and shuffling towards the door.