Chapter 317 - Fawley Manor Ⅱ (2/2)

The three of them quickly stride through the manor towards the floo hearth in the front hall. There standing to their mother is their father, Bogdan Fawley. Large with wide shoulders and groomed dark hair, Bogdan was a powerful-looking man. Narrowing his eyes at his three children, Bogdan quick ire has already been drawn.

In a cold, snarling voice, Bogdan says, ”Where were you?! I sent that bloody creature to fetch the three of you ages ago!”

Bethanie in a smooth voice, lied, ”I was merely going over the guests of the Soiree with Spurgeon and Esmond. They are at the age, where they should begin to care, who their friends are. A childhood friendship can prove to have a very large reach in the future.”

Bogdan's wrath is somewhat mollified before he instantly strikes Bethanie across the face. ”Do not be late again,” Bogdan demanded. ”You have all been taught better.”

Bethanie bites her inner cheek to keep from snarling at her father, while Spurgeon carefully keeps his face devoid of emotion. It is Esmond, who has the most trouble keeping his face from showing his emotion. Seeing her younger brother's turmoil, Bethanie gently squeezes Esmond's hand causing him to relax and not react any further.

Seeing the large red handprint across her daughter's face, Lysithea sighs in irritation. ”Bogdan, we are about to leave for the soiree,” Lysithea chided. ”Pray tell, what are we going to do about the mark on her face? There will be potential marriage suitors for her.”

Bogdan is not ruffled whatsoever by the chastisement of his wife. ”Fix it,” Bogdan sniffed without any worry.

Lysithea removes her wand from her dress and places a careful glamour over her daughter's face to hide the mark. As she works, Lysithea idly remarks, ”Villem Selwyn is out of the question.”

Bogdan furrows his brows and begins to discuss bluntly in front of his children as if they weren't present. ”He has offered an excellent Bride Price for her. And he'd gladly take her now, but I'll not have her die early on like his other two wives. And the girl is showing promise in her studies that will guarantee her graduation from Hogwarts enabling her to survive his fists and anything else he might throw at her.”

”The Black's suit seems to be real enough,” Lysithea murmured as she put her wand away satisfied at her work.

”Why?” Bogdan's eyes begin to glow dangerously. ”What have you heard?!”

”Our daughter has done nothing ill-natured,” Lysithea said. ”But rather I have recently discovered that Bethanie has successfully cultivated a tentative rapport with the Prince children. And given the Blacks presence at the old Prince's summoning, the Blacks may very well permit the suit of the second son if any of the Prince's speak on behalf of our daughter.”

”Is that true?!” Bogdan barked.

”It is true,” Bethanie stiffly answered.

Bogdan furrows his brow is not convinced by his wife and daughter's words. Seeing his daughter not trembling nor his wife attempting to placate him with words of flattery, he is further convinced that there may be a slight possibility of the statement being true. ”If the statement can be verified and ONLY IF, I will turn down Villem Selwyn's suit for a period of four years. But if at the start of the girl's 7th year the Black's still have not yet proposed, I will accept the suit,” Bogdan matter-of-factly stated leaving no room for any margin of error.

Lysithea licks her ruby lips like a cat, who'd just eaten an entire bowl of cream. ”Aye, husband, you won't be hearing any protest on my part,” Lysithea purred.

Seeing that his wife was satisfied with the statement, Bogdan extends his arm and says, ”Not us depart, we are running late as it is.”

The three children follow obediently after their parents and line up at the hearth. Their parents floo first leaving the three Fawley children alone. Bethanie looks at Spurgeon and says, ”You go first, Spurgeon, Esmond next, and I will arrive last.”

Spurgeon nods his head, before grabbing a bit of floo powder and tossing it into the flames. ”Crowley Hall,” Spurgeon shouted into the green flames, before vanishing into the emerald blaze.

Esmond peeks up at Bethanie and quietly says, ”Does it hurt, Bethanie?”

”Not the least bit, Esmond,” Bethanie cheerfully lied as she tugged on his cheeks in a gentle tease.

Esmond wrinkles his nose up at her and pries himself from her grasp. Glaring at his older sister, he indignantly huffs, ”Girls,” before tossing the floo powder into the flames and vanishing away.

Bethanie lips twitch with mirth, before carefully composing her face into a placid, but a pleasant expression. When attending these types of events any chink in one's mask would have the wolves howling with delight and hunger as sharp fangs and claws did their best to tear apart their prey. And the purebloods always went for the soft underbelly.