mami092705
Splendid Catch
Joined: 23 Dec 2008
Posts: 185
Location: Franklin, TN
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 Posted: Tue Dec 30, 2008 1:08 pm Post subject: Untitled - first attempt |
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I'm a few paragraphs into the first chapter but am only showing my epilogue. This is my first true attempt at writing. I've dabbled in it before, but only with short stories and never with Regency England. All feedback is good feedback, but please be kind. There is still a lot of detail that I haven't yet added. Thanks!
Epilogue
London, 1814
In his townhome on Grosvenor Square, James stared at his brother in disbelief. “You can’t possibly be serious,” James sputtered in shock, his mouth dropping open. In all his life he’d never known George to be anything but serious, but he truly hoped George was playing a cruel joke on him.
George sat down in the chair across from James’s desk looking uneasy.
“Oh but I am. There is nothing here for me anymore James. Ever since Mary--” George swallowed hard, his pale blue eyes gazing downward toward the plush carpet at his feet. “Ever since Mary died, I’ve been unable to get through a single day without wallowing in self pity and grief. Everywhere I look there are memories of Mary that I can’t escape. I hope you understand that there is nothing else I can do. I have no choice. I’ve already booked a passage aboard The Admiral and it leaves tonight”. He chanced a glance at his younger brother and inwardly cringed at the incredulous look on James’s face.
James ran a hand through his hair expecting George to jump up and say ‘I’m just funning you’ at any moment. But deep down he knew that George wasn’t joking. George’s marriage with Mary had been a love match. From the moment they had met it had been a whirlwind of romance. They never saw anyone around them, only each other. They were married for five years when Mary had gone riding with her maid and tragically had been thrown from her horse. Her back had been broken and she never woke again. George was devastated and for weeks didn’t emerge from his rooms. He sent a silent prayer hoping that moving to America would help George regain a little of himself back.
Looking at George and seeing his indecision James decided to test George's seriousness about his decision. “George! You must be joking! What about the title, the estates, or mother for that matter? She will be devastated. Surely there is a way for you to get through this without having to leave the country,” James looked at him questioningly his chocolaty eyes filled with concern.
“I fear there isn’t another way. I’m sorry James. I spoke with mother this morning. She is upset but understands the need for me to find a different path in life. I’ve already taken the liberty of speaking with our solicitors. They assure me that although this isn’t done often, it’s a relatively easy matter to deal with. The papers have already been signed and as of this afternoon, you now hold the title to the Viscountency,” George murmured, sounding determined but not yet sure of his decision. George knew that if he didn’t make this conversation exceedingly quick his brother could possibly sway him to remain in London. Lord he didn’t think he could handle that, he thought despairingly.
James looked into his brother’s eyes and saw the despair and agony there. Even as children, he and his brother were never close, but he loved his brother. He knew the difficulty George had accepting the loss of Mary. And he knew within that moment that he would do anything to try to ease George’s pain just a little bit, even if it meant assuming the title for him.
“Well then I guess it’s all settled,” James said grimly, looking up at George.
Something akin to relief flashed in the blue depths of George’s eyes which had grown misty. “Thank you James. Thank you for understanding.”
James tried to smile but couldn’t manage to curve his lips up any farther than what would be considered a slight grimace. The shock of it all had rendered him speechless and he found it quite impossible to even utter a word in response. George reached in his waistcoat and extracted a small gold pocket watch that had been given to him by their father the year he had passed away. James could still remember the look of wonderment that had passed on George’s face when his father had bestowed the gift on the “future Viscount”. George had been elated. He had always been more than willing to assume the title when it was time, eager even. But now he was so lost in his own despair that the title, the lands, and the prestige that came with the title was no longer appealing to him.
Glancing at the pocket watch and then hurriedly shoving it back in his pocket, George cleared his throat and stood nervously. “I must be going. I trust you’ll take care of mother and believe you will make an excellent Viscount. I’ll write when I reach America,” he said haltingly.
Still in shock, James watched his brother turn on his heel and walk out of the study without a second glance. Heaving a weary sigh James threw himself into the chair behind his desk. Damnation! He needed a drink. He stalked to the sideboard to pour himself a draught of brandy. As he neared he could clearly see that the decanter was empty – Damn! – He thought. He turned about and walked across the Persian carpet to the door that led to the main hall. With each step James became infuriated that George had put him in this situation on such short notice. By the time he reached the door, he was fuming.
Wrenching it open, he leaned out and bellowed, “WENTWORTH!” Immediately out of nowhere his butler of ten years appeared, “Yes sir?” He’d always wondered how Wentworth seemed to materialize out of thin air, but he wasn’t in the mood to ponder his butler’s whereabouts.
“My Lord,” James bit out.
“Excuse me, sir?” Wentworth blinked at him obviously in confusion.
“It is my Lord. I am now Viscount of Lexington. Inform the staff and see that someone brings me some brandy,” James said menacingly.
Without so much as a blink of the eye as if this was an everyday occurrence, Wentworth intoned, “Splendid, my Lord. I shall inform the staff immediately of your change in title and see to your brandy myself at once.”
James turned swinging the door closed behind him and stomped back to his chair behind the desk. He scowled at the empty decanter. What a mess this was. No sooner had James sat down and the door to his study swung back open. God, wasn’t a man allowed some peace after given the shock of his life? James nearly groaned aloud as his longtime friend, Charles Wiltshire, the Duke of Bradford, strode in.
“Huntington, where have you been? We were to meet at White’s an hour ago,” Bradford questioned, easing himself down comfortably into the nearest chair. After nearly 20 years of friendship, James was used to Bradford coming and going throughout his house whenever the mood struck him, but at this particular moment, it just infuriated James all the more.
“I see you did not wait to be properly announced! Where is Wentworth with the damn brandy?” James ground out nastily.
Bradford’s brows shot up in surprise. Huntington was always in a jolly mood and Bradford was rather shocked to see him sulking in his study.
“What has put you in such a foul mood my friend?” Bradford questioned his surprise at James’s mood evident on his face.
Before James could answer, there was a soft knock upon the door and it opened to reveal Wentworth.
“Your brandy my Lord,” Wentworth said, striding in to set the decanter on his desk. Bradford’s eyes widen slightly as he noticed the use of a title when Wentworth addressed Huntington.
“It seems we have moved up in the world since yesterday,” Bradford murmured. James whipped his eyes to Bradford’s, staring hard at him, daring him to say another word. Bradford wisely kept his mouth shut. With Huntington’s foul mood he didn’t trust his friend to act rationally at the moment.
“Is there anything you require your Grace,” Wentworth stated as he turned to Bradford.
“No. Thank you Wentworth.”
Raising a single brow, Wentworth asked, “Is there anything else you need my Lord?” stressing the newly acquired title.
“No that’ll be all. Thank you,” James replied curtly, sending Wentworth a scathing look that would have made any number of men scurry out of the room.
Wentworth didn’t so much as bat an eye at his employer’s furious gaze, but quickly withdrew from the room, wisely keeping his smile in check. James waited for Wentworth to leave before resuming his conversation with Bradford. Although Wentworth had been in his employ for a decade, he didn’t need the staff gossiping about how he assumed the title.
“I say Huntington! Your butler grows more insolent by the day,” Bradford chuckled.
Not at all amused, James leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of brandy.
“My brother has just turned the family title over to me and quit London indefinitely to move to America,” James grumbled, glaring at his desk so hard he was surprised it didn’t spontaneously burst into flames. “As of this afternoon, I am now, James Anthony Huntington, Viscount of Lexington”, James said wryly.
“Well,” Bradford chuckled. “It can’t be as bad as all that. Sure, it’s more responsibility but it’s not likely going to be much different than what you’ve been accustomed to these past few months, Huntington. Or should I call you Lexington?”
“Lexington will do, I suppose. I might as well get used to hearing it,” he sighed before standing to pace about the room. Bradford had been right. It wasn’t much more to handle than he had already been handling. Ever since the death of Mary, his brother had withdrawn himself from society and spent most of his days locked in his study, staring out the window. Sixth months ago he had requested that James take over the household accounts and the managing of the estates. For lack of a better alternative James reluctantly agreed.
“It’s not the responsibility that has me in a foul mood, it’s my mother” James grimaced, striding back and forth in front of the hearth.
“Your mother?!” Bradford asked stupidly.
James gave him an exasperated glance. “I know it’s damned selfish of me, but now that George is quitting the country she is going to turn to me to escort her to every blasted event she attends. I’ve spent the last decade avoiding the frivolities of the ton.”
Having never seen his friend in such a rant and finding it quite amusing, Bradford twisted in his seat to watch him pace.
“Well my friend. It looks as if you are going to have to come to terms with the fact that now you’re the Viscount. Certain things are expected of you.”
James looked as if he wanted to throttle Bradford.
Seeing as Bradford valued his good looks and James was a trifle out of sorts, he thought it a rather good time to head back to Whites. Bradford heaved himself out of the chair in a fluid movement. “I’ve got to be getting back to Whites. All will be well old friend; you just need some time to get over the shock of it all. And interacting with the ton isn’t half as bad as it seems. There are many widows and – ahem – some women who aren’t precisely widows who are willing to make your time spent within the ton a bit more pleasant.” Bradford started to grin but realizing that James wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to him, he picked up his hat and started toward the study door.
James barely looked away from the fire as he mumbled goodbye to Bradford. He heard the soft click of the door to his study shut and knew Bradford had left.
Placing his hands on his hips, he raised his eyes to the ceiling and let out a shuddering sigh. He dragged his hand through his hair and gazed at his glass of brandy on the desk, still half full. James walked over to the desk, reached across and downed the last of the brandy. He would deal with all of this first thing tomorrow morning. His decision made, James stood and stalked to the door, heading out of his study and up the stairs to bed.
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