For being as big a house as it was, and for having as big of a reception area as it did, Clayton hadnât had too many guests to The Lodge. It was entirely on purpose - though he was used to hosting, the whole point of living in Swynlake was to keep things quiet. Unsuspecting. Especially now that he was Sheriff - having boozy parties every weekend probably wasnât exactly the look that he was going for.Â
So it meant that not many people had seen the interior of the place by the time Clayton invited Isabela over for dinner. He liked to think he had struck a balance between traditional and modern, the modcons that his mother would rather die than let into her own home with the simple, elegant decor of one of those big, old houses. Heâd made sure that the cleaner had come round that morning, and the chef had been in the kitchen all afternoon making sure everything was ready to be set out and served just after Isabela arrived. The less Clayton had to do the better, and there was no way he was cooking. It would be effort enough to take the plates to the table.
He greeted her at the door with a kiss pressed to her cheek, offering to take her coat as she stepped inside. âWould you like a drink?â He asked, leading her out of the foyer and down into the living area, the ceilings high overhead. The bar was off to one side, and Clayton gestured to it, nodding for her to have a look. âTake your pick.â
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It had been a busy summer. She had spent most of it trying to keep her familyâs spirits up, assisting the community any way she could, and languishing in her bedroom--having an existential crisis. But, existential crisis were terrible for your complexion, so she had kept them to a minimum. The last thing she needed was a crack.
There was too much to be done. Through the chaos, Isabela had been determined not to let Clayton forget about her. She texted him every now and then (not too much, just enough to say hello and to make sure he was taking care of himself through the chaos.) She had stopped into the department twice, once to drop off a thank you card for him having dropped into Casita and another time to bring him over a note from the mayor. Being in and out of Town Hall had its advantages. Her aunt being the secretary to the mayor, even more so.
In this time, she had befriended Sharon, the secretary, and learned Claytonâs birthday. Which was how she had arranged reservations at Remyâs, after getting Elena to tell her what table was the sheriffâs favorite. Having connections was so lovely, wasnât it?
Now, she just had to wait.
Clayton did not keep her waiting for long. As he was a gentleman. When he arrived she smiled at him, getting up to tell him hello and kiss his cheek, in a way that could be taken as friendly...or not.
âFeliz cumpleaños,â she told him. âI hope you have had a good one so far. I do so love birthdays.â
SUMMARY: Clayton brings Isabela to meet the family at his father's funeral
(tw: an overarching theme of death ig)
@rowsandrows-of-roses
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 â 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 hadnât made the drive a particularly comfortable one. They couldâve 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 didnât show up looking presentable Octavia was going to throw a fit, and he needed today to go well. His fatherâs funeral wasnât exactly the best occasion to introduce his bride-to-be to the family, but no matter.
âI should probably warn you,â He said after a moment, clearing his throat. âMy mother can beâŠâ Obtuse. Downright nasty. A horrid old biâ âRather cold. Itâs nothing personal, she just was brought up a certain way, I suppose. And after all this, well,â He shook his head, glancing over at Isabela. He reached across the car to take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. âDonât worry if she doesnât seem to take to you. I know sheâll like you. Itâs just rather a bad time.â
Understatement of the century. He took his hand from Isabelaâs so he could shift gears, slowing down a little as they approached the house.Â
ISABELA:
It had been a long time since Isabela had been to a funeral.Â
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 sheâd never gotten for several of her friends, her professors, her fatherâs coworkers. All the people sheâd 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.Â
A funeral was a kind of closure she hadnât had.Â
She was glad Clayton would get one for his father, though. Even if it made her nervous. This certainly wasnât the way she intended to meet her future mother-in-law.Â
The drive was mostly quiet, Isabela unsure what to say. She had no idea what Claytonâs relationship to his father even was. If they had a good one. Or if they had a poor one. And now, she didnât feel like it was the time to ask.Â
Claytonâs words didnât make her feel any better. She was already so nervous and so sad. Still, she forced a smile, because that was what Isabela did.Â
âShe just lost her husband,â Isabela said, reaching over with her free hand to place it on top of Claytonâs. âI wonât 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 sheâd like that?âÂ
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 didnât 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 didnât know what flowers she liked. She had a garden â 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. âShe likes dahlias,â he said eventually. He could only hope that he knew what a dahlia was â he was sure the old crone had mentioned them before, though. âAnd roses. She has a lot of those.â
He knew he wasnât 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 Isabelaâs door.
âTheyâll be in the parlour,â he said, offering her his arm. âIt looks as though everyoneâs here already.â Â
ISABELA:
Right. The parlour.Â
Isabela didnât know what a parlour was.Â
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 theâŠhouse. (Was this a mansion? A castle?)Â
Someone opened the door for them. That startled Isabela.Â
âMaster William,â the person said, with a smile which grew tighter as he looked at Isabela, âand guest.âÂ
âHello,â she said with a polite nod of her head and a little wave with the hand that wasnât clutching Claytonâs elbow. She had no idea if this wasâŠsomeone in the family or not. An uncle? A cousin? But he had called Clayton âmasterâ--which wasâŠweird.Â
The man raised his eyebrows at her but said nothing else as he closed the door.Â
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.
âIs there anything I should know?â she asked, quickly, as they headed towards what he made sound likeâŠwas his entire family.Â
CLAYTON:He didnât 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 â he wouldâve 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.
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.Â
The conversation stopped, several heads turning towards the door, and then almost immediately, everyone stood. Clayton took a deep breath, shaking his head, âThereâs no need for all that, sit downâ Aunt Bella, please,â 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.
Isabela couldnât help the way her eyes went wide, heart in her throat. Sure, this place looked like Downton Abbey, but she didnât realize it was! Yes, yes. Sheâd 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 moneyâŠbut she hadnât 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 âLordâ?!) Why hadnât he told her any of this?!
Right. Okay. This was fine.
It didnât change anything, of course. Isabela was friends with a princess. She could do this.Â
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.Â
Clayton moved away from her and Isabela wanted to cling to his arm, or follow him, but it was very clear she wasnât 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.Â
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 Claytonâs mother and, although he told her not to, dropped into a short curtsy. It couldnât hurt, could it?Â
âLady Clayton,â 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 Claytonâs mother to take. âI am so sorry for your loss. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.âÂ
CLAYTON:His mother took a deep breath, eyes tracking the movement of Isabelaâs clumsy curtsy. In truth it wasnât terrible â 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.
âThank you,â Octavia said, her voice as stiff as her hands as she reached out to take the flowers. âThatâs very kind of you.â
There was a stillness for a second, everybody waiting for someone to move. In the end it was Emily, Harryâs wife, standing from her seat to cross the room and grasp Isabelaâs hands in her own.
âItâs very nice to meet you,â she said gently, leaning in to press a kiss to Isabelaâs cheek. âWilliamâs told us a lot about you.â
Clayton looked at Harry, who arched his eyebrows. Admittedly Clayton hadnât said much â he wondered how much sleuthing his favourite cousin had done.Â
âIsabela, this is Emily, my cousinâs wife.â Clayton said, thinking it best to make introductions.
âIâm married to the dopey looking one,â she said, nodding to Harry, who rolled his eyes but waved nonetheless.Â
Clayton cleared his throat, working clockwise round the room. âMy Aunt Arabella, my cousin Lucille and her husband, Arthur,â All of whom nodded and smiled and looked at Isabela like she had just landed her spaceship on the front lawn, âMy cousin Tristan, his wife Winnifred, and my Uncle Oswald.âÂ
âPleasure to meet you, young lady. Shame about the nature of it all,â Oswald said, reaching a hand out for Isabela to shake.
ISABELA:
Isabela had done something wrong.
She didnât 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 Claytonâs expression, she knew. Even if the smile her future mother-in-law gave was perfectly polite.Â
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 Emilyâs hands. She let out a breath, resolving herself to do better. She listened to the names, smiling and acknowledging everyone, still holding Emilyâs hand in one of her own until she finally letting go, only to shake Oswaldâs hand.Â
âItâs nice to meet you too,â she said, giving him the most dazzling smile in her arsenal.Â
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.Â
âItâs good to meet you all,â she raised her voice slightly so everyone in the room could hear. âI hope to make your acquaintance further.â 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 â his family was almost as big as hers once you counted great aunts and second cousins and in-laws, and though they werenât exactly close, you had to know who was who. Everyone had to know everyone, and be on top of everyone elseâs 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 â 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 wasnât 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 â he was used to it. âThe hearse will be here soon. Youâll be in the first car, with myself and your uncle. And I hope you have your eulogy prepared.â
âMama, I saidââ
âItâs customary for the Baronâs successor to speak at his predecessorâs funeral. And he was your father, lest we forget. Now go, do what you will.â
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. âCan I get you anything?â He asked her, as quiet conversation resumed around the room.
ISABELA:
Williamâs 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 wouldâŠor 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.Â
âNo, thank you,â 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.Â
âIt must be terrible to have to speak,â she said carefully, after a moment of consideration, âbut I am sure you would do a wonderful job.â She wanted to say something else about how his father would want him to, but she simply didnât know and all of this was very delicate. The urge to do something was strong however.Â
âYou donât have to say much. Maybe just a quote from the Bible? I am sure that can say what you want to sayâŠif youâre not sure.âÂ
CLAYTON:He nodded at her refusal but didnât hesitate to pour himself a large glass of whisky â 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 didnât have a single bloody nice thing to say about his father. And he didnât know anything about the Bible, either.
âIâll keep it brief, I suppose,â he said after a moment, turning to her and smiling gently. Walking this tight rope was fucking exhausting â not offending her, playing the grieving son, dealing with his family. He deserved a medal. âMy father wouldnât have wanted anyone waxing poetic, anyhow.â
âGood thing they didnât ask Tristan to speak, eh?â Harry murmured, situating himself by Claytonâs side, smiling kindly at Isabela. âFancies himself for a poet. I fancy him as a giant priââ
âWill you be joining us up in the Highlands?â Emily asked, cutting her husband off, leaving Clayton to hide his smirk in his glass as he took another drink. âI know now probably isnât the time to talk about it but presumably itâs still on. And it would be nice to have another woman along.âÂ
ISABELA:
Isabela couldnât 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 didnât want to be a burden. She only wanted to be helpful. Maybe she should just keep her mouth shut.Â
Instead of saying anything, she reached over to loop her arm around his waist. Hoping this, at least, was comforting.Â
She looked around him as his cousin sidled upâŠHenry--no, Harry. She had done her best to memorize everyoneâs names as they were introduced. His wife wasâŠEmily, who spoke next. Isabela smiled at her, but then glanced at Clayton, once again unsure. Once again, not wanting to open her mouth.Â
âWilliam and I havenât discussed it yet,â Isabela said. Of course they hadnât. Isabela didnât know what âthe Highlandsâ even were. Some sort ofâŠresort? A geographical location? She was going to have to do some Googling later. UnlessâŠClayton wasnât going to bring her. In which caseâŠshe supposed it wouldnât really matter.Â
CLAYTON:No, they hadnât discussed it, because it honestly hadnât crossed Claytonâs mind. His familyâs annual hunting holiday up in the Scottish highlands, at the same lodge theyâd been visiting for at least a century, probably longer, was the last thing he was thinking about.Â
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 didnât 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. âIâd like for you to come,â he said with a nod. âWe can discuss it once weâre back home.â
The parlour door opened, the butler standing to attention. âMy lord,â he addressed Clayton first, eyes skittering over Isabela, back across the room to Octavia, âMâlady. The cars are here.â
âVery well,â Octavia nodded. âWeâll be out shortly.â
âStick with me,â 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, theyâd never dealt with anything like this. Of course Isabela wasnât 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.Â
And it seemed as if she wasnât 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. âOf course.âÂ
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.
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.
Clayton gave Isabela's hand a soft squeeze, hoping that it might be reassuring, or something, before he led her along after them.
Isabela was not nervous about this. She couldnât be. There was no way Clayton would refuse her. Like Dolores had said: they wouldnât have spent so much money on a raffle if he didnât want to go with her. Still, she hated being the one to put herself out there. In her opinion, it should be a man, asking her to prom. But, she had known that wouldnât happen.
Her mother had raised a modern woman and that meant taking things into her own hands. So, here she was, at the sheriffâs office again. A place that was becoming rather familiar to her at this point.
This was a win, she told herself. Wasnât this what she wanted? To catch the sheriffâs eye.
âHello, Ms. Sheila, is Clayton in?â
âYes, Miss Madrigal. You can head back.â
âThank you.â Isabela swept past to the open office door, knocking gently.
âHello, Sheriff. I was wondering if you had a quick moment?â She flashed a pretty smile.
Clayton was about one more task away from leaving this town in the middle of the sodding night and never looking back. If his secretary added one more thing to his to do list, scheduled one more meeting, anything like that-- he was going to tear his hair out. Or, well, not his hair. He took great care of his hair. But he would certainly do something he would regret, because this âbeing busyâ phenomenon was driving him mad.
There was one thing on his list that he didnât think would be so painful, however: checking in on one Isabela Madrigal. Prom night quite obviously had not ended on a particularly positive note, and she had seemed to struggle through the storm, but, moreover, he was worried he had shown off a chink in his armor. The way he had hovered over her might have been a sign of his care, or it might have been... suspicious. Isabela was a smart girl, he knew that much. She may not act like it half the time but it was very difficult to disguise that sort of intelligence in oneâs eyes. He was just going to stop by, and check in on her -- and see if he could glean anything from it as to her opinion of him as he did.
Because Clayton could not, repeat, could not have a gossip thinking he was anything less than the sophisticated small town sheriff who was far too good for the post but doing it out of the good of his heart anyway. Isabela would talk. And if she talked, he would be in trouble.
And then heâd have bigger things to worry about than his to do list.Â
He decided to stop by her house, despite the risk of running into one of her ten million family members. He even showed up in the sheriffâs cruiser rather than his own car, proving it was all business -- for the time being, anyway.
He knocked, and then stepped back from the stoop, glancing around at the house as he waited.
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Clayton had been in his new role as Sheriff for a little while now and it felt like he had a decent handle on things. In all fairness, nothing big had come up yet. Had he taken up the office only for some big disaster to happen he mightâve found things more difficult, but heâd had an easy time of it. He was caught up on the townâs recent criminal activity (only what the Sheriffâs office and the police department were privy to, of course, which he imagined was only a very slim percentage of the actual crime that went on in and around town), and he had a few little projects on the go - one of which was the hunt for Isabela Madrigalâs bracelet.
He had gone looking for it at the place sheâd last had it but the search had turned up nothing much at all. He had thought about going around town searching various lost and found boxes but to be brutally honest that seemed like a hell of a lot of leg work for a bracelet that she had probably lost in her bedroom at home. Even if she hadnât lost it and it had in fact been stolen, they probably werenât going to get it back. It wouldâve been pawned god knows where by now - either using Swynlakeâs criminal network or perfectly legally, in one of those ridiculous cash for gold shops somewhere outside of town.Â
But he wanted Miss Madrigal to think he was doing something, so he gave her a call and invited her down to the station for a little chat. His office door was propped open when she arrived, so he could see enter; he stood up, moving towards the door before she could talk to the receptionist. âShe can come straight through, Shera - and no interruptions unless itâs important, please.â Though he said it with a very charming smile, he saw the way Shera rolled her eyes. Clayton redirected his attention to more important matters. âMiss Madrigal,â He smiled. âWonderful to see you - do you want anything to drink?â
princesa.isabela: I wanted to say a HUGE thank you (gracias, gracias!!) to everyone who donated to Ambitious Avalor through my fundraiser. We raised over ÂŁ2,000, which I never would have even imagined! It just reminds me that I have the absolute best followers.
Now, for the moment you all have been waiting for: the winner of the raffle!
I am pleased to announce that Swynlakeâs very own Sheriff William Clayton won the raffle and has agreed to escort me to prom. đđș
I hope to see all my local friends at the prom and donât worry to all my followers not in Swynlake, you can check out my story collection titled âProm 2022âł. I am on the committee this year, so there will be lots of behind the scenes.