“Jesus, Nicholas, will you grow up?”
“Why? What's the point?”
“Because by your next birthday, you’ll be married, the Duke of Oakfield, and the leader of my, ‘little secret society’, as you put it. This isn’t a bad thing I’m asking you to do. I’ve left you alone, to do as you please with your life, since you turned eighteen. That’s eleven years of fun. Do you not find it monotonous? All I’m asking is that you start to take on some responsibility.” My father lowers his voice from one full of disappointment and anguish to one I vaguely remember. The one that holds compassion and fondness in it. “You're my son, my heir. I want what’s best for you, and I know this is it.”
“But why this way?” I state.
“It’s the rules. Our forefathers signed the documents governing how we must prove that we’re worthy of the title. It’s not possible to change them.”
“It’s possible to change anything if you put your mind to it.”
“Not this, Nicholas. There’s too much at stake. Oakfield Hall for one.”
“This is our ancestors’ home since before the time of the society,” I protest. “They surely can’t take it.”
“It was written into the founding documents that all this can be taken from us. The money was needed when it fell into disrepair before your four times great-grandfather came into his inheritance. He was a brave man who was prepared to risk everything for the sake of protecting the name and estates. You can’t let him down.”
This founding document has been the bane of my life ever since I heard about it, for the first time, at the age of ten. That was when I found out how much my life was mapped out for me. My four times great grandfather needed funds to live. It was around the time that the cost of living went through the roof for the elite, and it became increasingly difficult for them to afford to run a stately home, like the one we now live in. It became even harder for them to pay their way at lavish court functions, which were a pre-requisite for those having a title such as Duke, whether it was a royal title or not. It was necessary to make an appearance, and if the King wanted money then it had to be given to him. Drugs, prostitution, high levels of alcohol consumption, it was all rife then. The elite had to be seen to be partaking. Along with some of the other title holders in the country, my ancestor formed a pact. They’d work together to be able to live the lifestyles they wanted, but in return they had to give up something. My ancestor was designated the leader as he was the highest ranked and also a close confidant of the King. It was decided that should he forfeit his position then Oakfield Hall and any other assets, owned by the Cavendish family, would be sold and distributed between the remaining members of the society. A pretty big forfeiture, considering that in addition he had no say on when or to whom he got married! Because every eldest son on his thirtieth birthday, going down in perpetuity, takes over the title and leadership of the society, on the proviso that he is married. I guess that the position means power and a casting vote in the way the organization’s run, but to me, it just takes away my free will.
“Nicholas!” my father shouts at me, and I realize that I’d disappeared into a dream world. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Sorry, Your Grace.”
“You’ve been training for this your entire life. You’ve known it was coming. Think of the power you’ll wield, this time next year. You'll be responsible for the business behind the scenes.”
“I’m not entirely sure that’s something to be proud of.” I roll my eyes.
“It is if it keeps a roof over our heads.”
“Theft, murder, god knows what else.” My father’s face reddens as I speak, partly through anger, I think, but also through the embarrassment of knowing that he has the life he leads because of the hardship he puts others through. Actually, no, scrap that. It’s all anger because my father doesn’t think about anyone else but himself.
“I sometimes wonder what I did to raise such an ungrateful child. Hear me out, Nicholas, enough arguing. You'll shut that intolerable mouth of yours until you can learn to use it for something that’s actually important. You'll go to your quarters, and you’ll make yourself presentable rather than looking like you have just crawled off the street or out of a barrel of wine. If you don’t, you won’t like the consequences that I’ll be forced to bring down on you.” He’s seething. The whites of his eyes are showing as he stands face to face with me. My father’s a strong man. He may be sixty, but he keeps himself healthy. “The ladies are on their way, and you'll be ready to meet them. You'll show them what it means to be in Oakfield Hall, and you’ll embrace your birthright because if you don’t then I’ll make the decisions for you. I’ll make you sit back and watch, while I do your duty!”
My stomach turns — I wish I’d not drunk so much last night. I knew this was coming today, and I knew what I’d have to do. I don’t want to marry. I want to fuck my way around England, but my father’s right: I have a duty to my family name and my future. Last night was the end of my old life, and today is the first of my new one. I'll embrace the monster that I must become.
Chapter Three
VICTORIA
I stare up at the imposing mansion on the outskirts of London. I thought I lived in a big house, but this place must be more imposing than Buckingham Palace. You can tell that part of it dates back to Tudor times, but the majority of the brickwork and style is gothic in nature, and thus from the Victorian era. I bet these walls can tell a few stories, and I’d love to hear them.
“Hurry up, Victoria,” my father calls. I scamper quickly to his side, and we enter together through the grand arch of the welcoming chamber.
“Sorry, Father, I was just admiring the house. Who lives here?”
“The Duke of Oakfield,” he replies curtly.
I scan my memory for details on who that is. I’ve heard that name before — I’m sure of it. Yes, he’s the patron of my favorite art museum in London. I’m even more excited for my debut into society because I wonder if he has artwork in his home, which I can study.
The heavy oak doors are opened for us, and we’re shown into a room with several other girls wearing the same linen dress as I am. I smile at one of them, but she just raises an eyebrow at me and walks off after a man who must be her father. Fine, I’ll avoid her then. My coat and my father’s are taken. He's presented with a glass of Champagne. I’m offered one but respectively decline. I want to make sure I remember every moment of what’s about to happen.
“Father.” He turns to me, when I address him, and takes a sip of his drink.
“Yes.”
“Are we to attend a banquet?” I look around the room at the paintings on the wall while I speak.
“There'll be food later.”
“Will gentlemen be attending?”
“Just one.”
“Just one?” I repeat and face him.
“The Duke’s son, Earl Lullington.”
“Oh.”
The conversation stops, and my father nods to another man as he walks near.