e l i t e s / T. Shelby / The Brat Pack

two * ˚ ✦

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"Do you think I should bring these Buccellati earrings from Lady Cunard?"

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Irene has always loved their home here in Mayfair. Smack dab in the centre of London, yet so out of the reach of people's hands. The Grosvenor House has always been her favourite among her family's vast real estate portfolio.

The townhouse was the largest in London; it represents what the Grosvenors possesses and known for. Wealth, status, and influence. The house itself represents the aristocracy's essence, with tall pillars, grand doors with golden knobs, high walls with no cripples whatsoever, and furniture flown from all corners of the earth - only the finest, of course.

Behind the palatial mansion lies the 500-acre vast greenery - a rare thing to possess here in London. Filled with only the rarest and most beautiful floras - Irene's late mother started planting them a few years before her demise, saying the estate "Lacks colour" and would "Bore someone to death".

And of course, her french-blooded heiress mother is always right.

Irene loved the gardens her mama started; she won't lie, the gardens look majestic and beautiful. Though she instead prefers what lies near the parks, the stables. Not the stables in particular, but what's inside it, her pride and joy.

The Grosvenor Households' stables only houses the finest breeds of horses, sometimes given to the family as gifts from aristocrats from around the world. Just last year, Irene and her siblings were given two sets of horses from their distant cousins in France, who went to visit at the Grosvenor House.

There were three Arabian horses and one thoroughbred. Robert, of course, was given the much more special breed of horse, a midnight-black thoroughbred. But Irene didn't mind, it was only horses. Besides, the Arabian mares were special as they came from Syria, one of the most esteemed Arabian horse breeders.

They were given one colour each; there were ginger, white, and cream coated horses. When Irene saw the fiery-ginger coloured mare, she picked her as soon as she could. Isabelle chose the cream mare, and Imogen, the youngest, got the white one.

But as Irene picked the ginger-coated mare, it seemed like she made a slightly terrible mistake. The horse was a wild, borderline outlaw. The horse wouldn't want to be ridden, touched; even a little pet seemed to upset her. Irene's siblings would snicker every time the horse rejects her, and she would glare at them for doing so.

So, Irene named the horse the only name she sees fit, Al Capone.

A name later, her family would raise their eyebrows at, but she didn't care. Irene didn't give up on Al either; she would see the horse early in the morning and late at night right before the daughter of the Duke heads to bed. She would give her tender pets and give her treats as if she were her own baby. The heiress didn't really know much about horses back then, but it seemed to work.

Al wasn't as wild as she was before, and now she was rideable and appears to be warming up only to the eldest daughter of the house. Al would be upset when meeting someone she doesn't know; even a new horse caretaker was once kicked by her ferociously.

When Irene went to see Al for the last time in the stables - before leaving tomorrow for Birmingham -, after the family consensus of going to Birmingham for a while, it seems someone had followed her. "So, are you just going to stand there in the shadows, papa?"

Her Papa came out with a puff of smoke from his Cuban cigar. "You caught me."

As Irene put on her riding boots, her Papa approached Al, staring at her maddeningly ginger coat, "You know, I've never understood why you named her after a notorious Italian gang leader in America."