e·lite
/əˈlēt,āˈlēt/
noun
noun: elite; plural noun: elites
a group or class of people seen as having the greatest power and influence within a society, especially because of their wealth or privilege.
• in which the darkness-loathing heiress meets t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
No man has ever been able to provoke Irene Grosvenor as much as Thomas Shelby.
The man could poke Irene's super brain and play with it like a baby playing with its toes. And Irene hated that. Nobody, except her closest confidantes, has been able to see what's inside the young heiress's head, and here comes Thomas Shelby, able to do so, within the course of their first meeting.
The gang leader with the strikingly bright blue eyes had her cornered at every argument she made.
He would mockingly address her with Your Highness, Your Majesty, You Excellency, Your Grace, Your Eminence, and everything in between with that straight face of his. Making the woman flustered every time.
The night after the whole ordeal, at Eaton Hall, the girls were lounging in the drawing-room as Irene reported how the entire day went. Her other sisters trying to hog the telephone, each one louder and angrier than the last.
Irene explained how the Shelby family patriarch had his family introduced themselves to the girls with mocking tones, each adding a little mocking curtsy after their introduction; Irene saw a glint of amusement in Thomas Shelby's eyes for the behaviour of his kin. Irene recalled the order of the family.
Arthur Shelby was the oldest, eyes wandering over to Tabitha in curiosity the whole time since she stepped out of the car. John Shelby looked the most mischievous.
Although looking worn out, the little brother of Thomas Shelby had a glint of excitement and a particular naughtiness in his eyes, all the while chewing on a toothpick. Irene had a ghost of a smirk when they got to the family's matriarchs, Polly Gray and Ada Thorne.
One's the aunt, and one's the only sister. Irene had heard Ada Thorne nee Shelby before; she was a guest speaker in her law school, a representative for the communists when she was in her early uni days.
Then, there was Polly Gray. With her piercing eyes and more piercing words, Irene would guess she was the only one that could go through to someone like Thomas Shelby. Polly Gray had the fierceness along with a sense of grace, something that intrigued Irene.
She felt like she could get along with her.
The youngest of the Shelbys was next, a boy barely a teenager, Finn Shelby. A boy so young with an urge to prove so much to his brothers. Judging by how he talks, walks, or even stands. He wants to be approved by Thomas himself.
And then Irene told her papa about the Shelbys' cousin, Michael Gray. She had recalled the way his eyes had pierced the back of Thomas Shelby's head, then slowly moving his eyes through the girls. Irene felt there was something amok with that one. She warned her papa to keep his distance from the oak haired man; her family can't afford any useless type of dispute with the likes of Michael Gray.
"Excuse me, Your Graces. Dinner is served." Irene turned just in time to see the head of servants here at Eaton Hall, Mrs Peele, ducking her head at the presence of the young duchesses. All her friends stopped their activity, whether reading, playing the piano, or playing around with her sisters. "Right, thank you so very much, Mrs Peele."
"Désolé, papa, it seems like we have to postpone this conversation until you arrive here."
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
Irene tried hard to ignore the events that happened only a day ago. The way Mr Shelby's cold blue eyes had pierced her with such intensity, she was sure if his glare was some power, it would have made a hole in her thick fur coat. There was something about that man.
The way his eyes were ever observing, calculating his next moves for years to come. Thomas Shelby only puts his attention where he wants it to be, and it seems like Irene was one of them. The gang leader's perfect looking face was something that intrigued Irene as well.
Although Mr Shelby always has his deadpan expression on, Irene can't help to notice how sometimes it would shift into something reminiscing of profound sadness. Of course, she was baffled; a man like Mr Shelby - is capable of feeling such emotions.
His eyes would sometimes look like he was drifting into an abyss, recalling memories. Irene didn't major in psychology like Imogen did, but she would guess good memories. Memories about his late wife, Irene reckoned.
The way he talked didn't help Irene forget the man either. If only it made her recall the way his lips would move over and over again. Irene hated being provoked, being asked whether anything she said was anything but genuine. And it seemed like all Thomas Shelby does is that.
From their first meeting in that ... yard, they had some tea there - a poorly made one might Irene add. Mr Shelby had asked every question possible about Irene and her party, about their adventure up north, why they're unescorted, where the Grosvenors' patriarch was - Irene particularly hated that last question.
She had explained everything, of course, with the help of her sisters and friends.
But it seems like Mr Shelby was not convinced.
He kept looking at her like how she would look at a criminal. Irene and Mr Shelby had held a staring competition. One that made both of their parties looked at them amusingly. Thomas Shelby lost - of course, nobody could ever jest the great Irene. It was his first time someone like him lost in a staring competition with a blue-blooded girl.
But Irene was sure that they were daughters of the most respectable peers in all of the United Kingdom, and his new business partners, Thomas, had to let them go. He even offered them a ride to Eaton Hall. The haven of the Grosvenors.
Irene was hesitant at first; Thomas could notice the sheer dubiousness in the young heiress's brown orbs. And it amused him, here she was, helpless and all. But still managed to be doubtful of the help offered to her. Irene ended up agreeing to the ride, of course. Not that she had any choice at all. There was no way any of her family members or aides could make it here in time on such short notice.
So, Mr Shelby had his goons prepare two cars and a set of trusted drivers - ones that Irene was sure could be of help in spying the Duke of Westminster's home. Two white Bentleys were already parked neatly just outside the yard where they previously mingled, with their belongings already in the boot. Irene could feel eyes were on her as she moved toward one of the cars, with Tabitha and Daphne linked to her arms.
When she was about to climb in, she saw that now-familiar pair of icy blue eyes staring at her intently, the puff of smoke coming out of the owner's beautiful set of pink lips. She would think about the same set of blue eyes when she was lounging with her sisters and friends after dinner.
She would think about the same set of blue eyes as she lied in bed, staring at her well-decorated ceiling, her nightlight on.
The same set of blue eyes that both drove her to sleep and appear in her dreams.
