Innocence and Carnality

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  I rolled my eyes and glanced down at my brother trying to recover on the floor. “I bet you’re wishing you were wearing that belt right now.”

  Father was composed, yet simmered under the surface. “Forgive my son, Lord Rother. He’s simply nervous at meeting you. This is not his typical behavior at all.”

  “Is this true?” Lord Rother asked me.

  “Take it for what it’s worth.”

  Lord Rother gave a faint snort and the corner of his mouth shifted. Was that a smirk?

  Ignoring my father, his intense eyes never left mine. “I’m famished. Would you be so kind as to lead me to the dining room?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Taking my arm, Lord Rother glimpsed down at my kneeling brother, who was still huffing in large, cleansing gasps. “Be sure to catch up.”

  My anxiety began to subside as we stepped into the hall. I believed I could eat something now.

  “I must say, I find your clothing choice appealing yet unexpected compared to the rest of your family. Is this Arthur’s subtle way to confirm my requirements?”

  Embarrassment from Finn’s jibe had yet to vanish, and Lord Rother’s comment wasn’t helping my blush subside. “Pinning a graphic advertisement to my lapel seemed a touch obvious.”

  “You appear to be more complex than your father’s description let on.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “All good things, I assure you.”

  Stifling my distaste at being reduced to a sales pitch, I smiled and held my congenial tone. “Well, my father hopes for a successful match. He’s not about to say something that might sour our chances. Does my complexity help or hinder his efforts?”

  “It’s too early to tell.”

  I found his honesty calming. “I suppose that’s a fair statement.”

  Mysterious and charming. Those were the only words coming to mind as I made my initial assessment of the man. I wasn’t sure if those qualities would make for a successful marriage, but I was willing to learn more. And I was convinced there was far more under the cover of this volume. What little I read off Lord Rother’s entrance as he stepped into the dining room gave the story a twist.

  The servants had once again performed exemplary work in setting the stage for entertaining. Of course we expected no less. Every porcelain charger and platter sat stacked in elegant intimacy, waiting for each course. Tumblers and cutlery were positioned to exacting standards before the chairs placed the same distance from the table. Each setting was identical to its neighbor on either side. Grand floral centerpieces of white and gold crowned a table draped in shades of embroidered russet. The entire room was an artist’s canvas filled with a masterpiece.

  This was the mark of fine living the noble houses were required to maintain. Our roles in society set a benchmark for others to attain. If there was nothing to achieve, what made life worth living? Our place was to provide the goal for many. It was our everyday duty.

  My family entered behind us with Finn trying to disguise a slight limp, but Lord Rother paid them no heed. His wide eyes took in the display as he circled the table. Again, he was a difficult read, but I would swear I could see awe on his face. Was he not accustomed to such finery? How could a lord not be? Was Marisol so different a land?

  The more he looked, the more his chest swelled as if he found the splendor we took for granted invigorating. More questions began to flitter through my mind. We took our seats, and I wondered when I’d get the chance to ask them.

  “MY COMPLIMENTS to the chef.” Given how Lord Rother scrubbed at his mouth, a towel might have been a better choice than the napkin in his hand. Mother flinched. With Lord Rother’s lack of fine-tuning, she’d had many opportunities.

  It wasn’t his fault. The conversation through dinner spoke of a man who wasn’t born to privilege, but had earned it. I’d yet to hear details of what his business entailed, but one didn’t speak of financial details during a meal. Apparently the lord from Marisol knew that much. Lord Rother’s etiquette unnerved me at times. For someone of his standing, he held himself like common folk. I wasn’t sure what to make of him. He leaned back against his chair, used the wrong fork with each course, and was far too animated as he ate. There was a certain charm in his rough decorum, but my swarthy marriage prospect lacked the breeding associated with a family of our standing. It was a shame Father would have to reject him to spare us from whispers amongst the other houses.

  “I’ll be sure to convey along the message. Mrs. Travers will be pleased to hear it,” Father said. I’d spoken little this evening as he seemed determined to dominate the dialogue. And it was exclusively a dialogue as only he and Lord Rother were involved. If this first meeting evaluated Lord Rother’s worthiness, perhaps my father hoped to wed the man himself.

  I, on the other hand, had barely exchanged two words with him since we entered the dining room. How could we test his compatibility to me if I was left out of it all? My brothers rode out the meal, cordial yet disinterested.

  Lord Rother crumpled his napkin into a ball and dumped it in the center of his plate. “I must say you have a lovely family, Arthur. You should be proud.”

  “I am, Rother.” Father glanced over at me. “Of all my family.”

  I smiled politely, not wanting to spoil his illusion.

  “And I would be happy to be part of that. I agree to your terms and will accept Nathan’s hand.”

  I braced and caught sight of Mother stiffening. She had stayed quiet through most of the meal, no doubt coming to the same conclusion as I had, that Lord Rother was unsuited as a spouse to me or anyone of our social standing. We both knew what came next. Lord Rother seemed like a nice man. He would make a fine husband to another wealthy man, but not me. That much I was sure of. I hoped Father would be kind in his refusal.

  “Congratulations, Rother. I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together.” Wearing a cheerful grin, Father raised his glass, nodding to Lord Rother.

  Mother’s head snapped around to Father. “Arthur, shouldn’t we discuss this with Nathan before an agreement is reached?”

  Father’s voice lost none of its graciousness, and I should have been alarmed at how he ignored Mother, but I was stunned at his acceptance of Lord Rother.

  “I contacted the vicar last night. We can hold the ceremony in the morning.”

  Lord Rother’s smile lit up the room. “Perfect. We can be on the next airship back to Marisol in the afternoon.”

  The audacity of the whole conversation tickled me with sarcasm. “In the morning? So much for courting.”

  Lord Rother turned to me, his dark gaze losing none of its intensity as his expression sobered. “I don’t have time for a protracted engagement. My business will suffer being away for so long. And you’re exactly what I’m looking for. Why should I wait?”

  All the humor drained out of me. “You’re serious.”

  Lord Rother returned his attention back to my father as they discussed the hasty ritual. Mother appeared aghast but stayed silent. Her eyes met mine for one uncomfortable tick of the clock, and then she looked away. We both understood. This marriage was happening whether we approved or not. It was not a prank scribed by clever authors my brothers might have commissioned for their amusement. Even they had stopped dining, stunned at the announcement.

  No engagement. Less than a year of courting before setting a wedding date broke tradition. The other houses would be in an uproar of delicious gossip and scandal. No assessment of each other’s wants and needs. What was my father doing? I was being shipped off with a precursory ceremony. If it could be called a ceremony. Words failed and reality stampeded my thoughts, leaving me barely aware everyone had vacated the room. I still sat at the table as my father directed Lord Rother through the door.

  “Samuel will lead you to my study, where we can go over the final details.”

  I watched my newly assigned fiancé vanish into the hall before I could rally my wits. The expensive chair lurched backwa
rd as I jumped up and chased after my father.

  “Arthur!” I shouted. Father scowled, his glare halting me. I softened my voice, recognizing my error. “Father…. Please, I barely know the man. Don’t I have any say in this? Tomorrow?”

  “Sometimes we need to follow the path laid out for us.”

  What absurd nonsense. He could hardly wax philosophical when he was the architect of said path. The more I thought of his hand in it all, the more wounded I became.

  “Are you really so anxious to be rid of me?”

  Father scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “Why does it have to be tomorrow?”

  “Because Lord Rother needs a speedy nuptial and because I said so, that’s why.”

  My sadness flared into something incendiary. “You don’t have the right—”

  “You know full well I have every right.”

  His words weren’t loud, yet they hit me with all the scorn fueling them. My defenses crumbled because it was the truth. I wasn’t old enough to challenge him, and a lifetime of compliance stomped my defiance into practiced submission. Father always had the last word. It was his power as head of the household, and nothing I could say could erase the fact. The chastity belt was early proof, and until I married it would always be.

  The nagging thought I’d never dared speak rolled through me. For years I’d swallowed it down, refusing to allow its claws into my soul. I wanted to cast it aside, but I needed to know.

  My chest tightened as my voice fractured. “Do you really hate me so much?”

  Father regarded me for a moment with an impassive stare. He gave a sharp tug at his jacket’s hem with both hands and straightened himself, appearing taller than normal. Turning into the hallway, he spoke over his shoulder.

  “Find Harston and pack for your immediate needs. We’ll send the rest after you. Hurry along. The morning will come sooner than you think.”

  Chapter 3

  THE WEDDING of a Deilian noble was a grand affair. At least a year was required to plan the entire event from the staging for the hall, to the miles of decorations, to the clerical blessings. A month of rehearsals alone were necessary to choreograph the actual function. It was a social event one dared not decline, and woe to the family not invited. Lords and ladies far and wide would celebrate the union, every detail governed with meticulous attention. All because it is our station.

  Once a year, each fifteen-year-old fledgling lord and lady would be paraded before the Monarch, High Governor of Deilia. It was our duty to be presented to the heads of our land, to be recognized as worthy of our class and approved to wed into society. It was our defining moment. The pageantry and ritual was tedious at times, but we were taught from birth how we were bred to provide role models for the lower classes. Hence the strict guidelines and structure in our lives. We learned birthright alone was not enough. It was a gift earned through our actions and deeds. Deviate and be damned.

  When my official confirmation arrived by post, I was elated. I ran through the house showing the letter to anyone who would listen. My father beamed. It was one of the last times, I think.

  I felt I’d followed my tenets carefully, and the indoctrination ceremony left me ecstatic. I’d rehearsed the motions until exhausted, although it didn’t mean I wasn’t anxious. One by one, we stood before the Golden Throne, awed by its grandeur, trying not to wet ourselves as they scrutinized us and the apothecarian’s report proving our blood lineage.

  It was finally my turn.

  Kneeling before him, I handed the ornate canister containing my report to the Monarch. It was engraved with the official apothecary seal, and only the royal key could open it. I’d been forced to imagine its contents for weeks, a cruel test of my fortitude. The gears shifted with the key’s turn and the device spun and split open like a mechanical flower, exposing the fragile parchment to the Monarch’s review. Inscribed in ink, my future dangled on the power of the written word.

  My knees quaked as the smallest frown came upon the Monarch as he read my information. I couldn’t tell if he was displeased or if it was his normal manner. My father stood beside me, which was customary, as he was the one presenting me.

  The Monarch’s gaze was harsh and unsettling. “Thank you, Lord Valencus, for presenting young Nathan before us.”

  “Thank you, Milord. Simply standing before you does our family a great honor.”

  “Given the state of Deilia after the plague devastation, it would be a shame if Nathan were allowed to indulge his baser instincts, rather than do his part to restore the community.”

  My father paused. “Forgive me, Milord. I don’t understand.”

  The Monarch held up the scroll by its corner between two fingers as if it were tarnished. “According to the apothecarian, your son would prefer the stallion to the mare.”

  “Surely there’s been some mistake.”

  “I can empathize with your reluctance to accept the truth, but I’m afraid the results are quite specific.”

  “Yes, Milord. My apologies, I meant no disrespect.”

  “Your reaction to this unfortunate finding is quite understandable. Deilia cannot afford for its upper echelon to decide their own path. We are the example to be followed. It is necessary to perform our duty in service to our country. Be sure young Nathan understands his role in the scheme of things.”

  Father’s voice was thick. “Y…. Yes. Of course, Milord.”

  As we bowed and stepped away, Father’s face grew crimson and his tone became sharp for the rest of the day. I noticed the odd stares directed at us as we completed the ceremony. Father refused to explain.

  I hadn’t understood the gravity of the exchange at the time, but standing here at my wedding, clarity became a measure of hindsight.

  A short trip found our small group in the local chapel giving the requisite prayers. My parents, brothers, and the enormous man who played Rother’s attendant were the small audience. No congratulatory crowd of guests. No reception to celebrate the joining.

  The rustic pulpit served the droning vicar, in a building crafted by tradesmen, not artisans. There was no luxury as would be expected in an aristocratic ceremony, only function. We wore fine clothing, but not attire suitable for a wedding. The whole thing was an insult and my father held the singular hand of responsibility. Any other noble family would be ashamed at his callous handling of the whole debacle.

  And I was so, so ashamed.

  I held my head high, refusing to acknowledge my offense because I knew it was a waste of time. The final choice wasn’t mine, as it wouldn’t be for any noble-born’s union. No matter how rushed, the ending would have been the same. Becoming enraged at this juncture would serve me no purpose other than to alienate the only marital option I was likely to have in Deilia’s sterile climate.

  A single pew was all that was required to hold our party. My parents sat focused on the vicar’s words, Mother seeming vexed at the whole ordeal, as she tried to maintain her facade. My brothers sat on either side of my parents, bored witless as usual. Lord Rother stood by my side, a willing participant. Never had I felt like such an outcast.

  I swallowed hard at the stage whisper Finn gave my mother. “I don’t understand why I even need to be here. There isn’t even any music playing.”

  “Hush, Finn,” she hissed. “Making mischief at a time like this is horribly common.”

  Finn recoiled, his shock obvious. I doubt he’d ever been scolded in my presence. Rather than feel solidarity from her defense, I felt nothing. The moment’s significance was lost on me.

  Father had failed to react to Finn’s remark at all. Was I so beneath him?

  Years of neglect and his dismissive remarks rushed through my memories. The wave was strong and a deep, stuttered breath barely centered me. It would take little to drown. How I managed to control my contempt, I’ll never know. The rage sat on my tongue, twisted with suffocating heartache. Somehow, I curbed myself.

  One moment of shame in front of the Monarch
sparked years of poor treatment I didn’t earn and certainly didn’t deserve. I’d barely understood my desires before my appearance and I was inexperienced enough to qualify for the ministry. I’d never even known a proper kiss. I refused to cry in front of my family, no matter how tempted. It wasn’t my fault my orientation conflicted with the country’s direction. I had been the unwilling player in this ghastly theater.

  Lord Rother may not have been my ideal love, but at least he wanted me. He said I was what he was looking for with only a minor introduction. Why wait, he said. I held worth in his eyes. A value beyond my father’s narrow vision. Could I be the spouse Lord Rother required and find a place for myself in his home? It’s why I’d spent countless hours over the years in training. The travel to another land sounded less daunting and more opportunistic with every passing minute. Surely I could build a new life in Marisol. I grasped on to the concept for dear life.

  Squaring my shoulders with a tug on my jacket, I tamped down my unease. There would be no emotional outbursts or reactions other than looking forward to my future. My marriage had been arranged to a proper gentleman, after all. It may not have been handled in a dignified fashion, but it was my role and I would accept it.

  No matter what came next, I would hold tight to my ideals. I was a better man than I’d been treated. Still the noble I was born to be, I would make the most of my situation. Only once I made this decision, did I come to hear the vicar’s words.

  “I now pronounce you, Sir Nathan Valencus and Lord Rother Marsh Delaga III, joined for life.”

  It was done.

  There should have been cheering. There should have been a flood of celebratory applause. Had this been a proper event, accolades and well wishes would have buried us until we fled the hall to escape the joyous noise.

  However, this wedding was nothing of the sort.