by Marian Tee
She interrupted him quietly, “If it’s love, he will be able to do anything.”
“If he loves her.” His tone hardened as he continued, “And if she truly does love him.”
Mary straightened in her seat when Rathe’s parents joined them in the dining room. Rathe’s mother Alyssa was indeed as angelic-looking as her photos, a blond beauty who could easily be mistaken as Rathe’s younger sister. Her patterned wraparound dress was the perfect complement to her husband’s more somber-looking suit and tie, while her smiling countenance made Warren Wellesley appear less formidable.
Her nervousness returned as the older couple claimed their seats, causing her to almost knock Rathe’s glass down as she reached for her own.
Under the table, Mary felt Rathe cover her hand in a reassuring grip. And then he was looking at her, murmuring under his breath, “There’s no need to be nervous.”
She forced a smile as she squeezed his hand back. His desire to comfort her meant the world to Mary, but it pained her, too. If only she were older, more mature, more sophisticated, there wouldn’t be a need for him to reassure her in the first place.
As the first of the seven-course meal was served, Mary could feel Warren Wellesley’s gaze occasionally going her way but tried not to mind it. One look at the older man’s cold face, and she had known with a sinking heart that Rathe’s father disapproved of her.
And if she were honest...she couldn’t really blame him. Next to Rathe, she was nothing, a lowly American commoner with a junkie prostitute for a mother and a murderous rapist for a stepfather.
When the next course arrived, Mary let her gaze roam, trying to distract herself from the tension by appreciating the elegant decor of the place. The dowager duchess’ feminine touch was present throughout the house, with fresh and prettily arranged flowers in every room. Shades of lavender also showed up in a myriad of things, ranging from the wallpaper in the living room to the table runner in the dining area.
By the time servants began taking out the main course, Rathe was extremely close to loosing his cool. It had not escaped his notice that while Warren Wellesley had been anything but polite to Mary, his father had also been more aloof than usual.
“I heard you’ve enrolled in our local university?” Alyssa asked.
It was not the older woman’s first attempt to include Mary in her conversation and though she appreciated the gesture behind it, Mary would have been happier if she had been allowed to be a wallflower. Anything was better than having Warren’s attention focused on her.
Before she could answer, Rathe already did so for her. “It’s a three-month course on biology, specializing in local marine species.”
“That sounds interesting,” Alyssa commented, genuinely impressed. Turning to her husband, she asked, “Don’t you think it would make Mary a good companion the next time you go fishing?”
Warren smiled briefly. “I’m sure she would.” But he neglected to invite her, something which none of his companions failed to notice.
Mary felt Rathe stiffen beside her, and she squeezed his hand desperately, not wanting him to say anything.
Time dragged ever so slowly, without anyone breaking the silence. In Mary’s mind, she could hear her friend Saff-March Aehrenthal, a genius who also had a knack for saying the most unwittingly funny things, chanting just one word.
Awkward. Awkward. Awkward.
She privately agreed, but when the dessert plates were already taken away, Mary also knew she had no choice. Etiquette dictated that she thanked her hosts for the meal. The thought of being the first one to speak made her cringe inwardly, but she forced herself to do so anyway, not wanting her manners to reflect badly on Rathe.
Clearing her throat, she stammered, “T-that was a lovely meal.”
Alyssa glanced meaningfully at Warren before answering Mary with a warm smile, “I’m honored you think so. I hope it means you’ll be joining us for more dinners in the future.”
“O-of course,” Mary answered shyly, returning the older woman’s smile. But after that, another bout of awkward silence fell, one that had Rathe’s face hardening.
“Shall we move to the drawing room for a drink?” Alyssa asked quickly. The undercurrent of tension in the room was impossible to ignore, and she was desperate to prevent father and son from having another disagreement. Dear Lord, anything but that, Alyssa prayed. Not when the two had just seen each other after such a long time.
Warren frowned. “That would be good, but...” His gaze swung to Mary and he asked abruptly, “I apologize if this may sound rude, but you are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”
Rathe snapped, “She’s eighteen, as you well know.”
Warren’s face remained impassive. “It was a perfectly reasonable question—”
“You know. Because I also know you, Father, and I’m sure you had her background checked.”
“If you did know,” Warren said icily, “then why bother taking her to my home? You should have known I wouldn’t consider her proper—”
“Warren!”
Rathe shot up to his feet. Looking down at Mary, he bit out, “We’re leaving.”
Mary scrambled up to her feet as she took the hand Rathe offered. So many questions brimmed on her lips, but she held them back, Right now, she had a feeling Rathe needed her to side with him at all costs.
A second later, she knew she had been right to do so, the way Rathe’s grip on her hand tightened almost to the point of pain.
Glancing up at Rathe, she saw his face devoid of any expression at all and her heart cried for him. Because she knew him so much better now, she knew that the colder he looked, the more he felt.
After dismissing the servants with a quick nod, Alyssa hurried to Rathe’s side. “Son, please, let’s not—” Her voice trailed off when Rathe shook his head.
“I should have known better than to come here.” Without looking at his father, Rathe said bitterly, “He’s even worse than I’ve thought. I never thought of him as a hypocrite—”
“Rathe,” Mary protested, taken aback by the harshness of his words.
Warren suddenly appeared behind Alyssa. Pulling his wife to his side, he stared straight into Rathe’s eyes as he said, “You can think whatever you want but I’m not going to take my words back. I’m the one who’s thinking sensibly—”
“Sensibly?” Rathe let out a humorless laugh. “I suppose that’s how you excused your action, when you made Mother sign the pre-nup contract between you.”
When his parents’ faces whitened with shock, Rathe said grimly, “Yes. I know about it. And after tonight—”
His worst memory came back, Rathe a twelve-year-old whose eyes were finally opened to the truth of his parents’ marriage.
He had been called to the estate by his grandfather for the very first time. Then, he had thought the Duke of Wellington was finally interested in meeting his other grandson. But instead, it had been the opposite.
Rathe had been left waiting in the corridors for almost an hour when the butler finally said he was allowed to go inside.
Nervously entered the dimly lit drawing room, he buried his hands deeper in his pockets as he took his first close look of his grandfather.
The Duke of Wellington was seated in a black and gold wingback chair. His grey hair and thin frame showed his age, but the elderly man’s eyes blazed with cunning intelligence.
Unease made Rathe’s steps falter. Was he truly doing the right thing, meeting with his grandfather without his parents’ knowledge?
They had long warned him not to meet the duke, but when he had received the invitation from the duke’s chauffeur outside the school gates, he had been unable to resist accepting it. He was hoping today would allow him to be a bridge for his parents and grandfather to mend fences.
But looking at the duke’s cold face, Rathe was beginning to doubt it.
“I’ve been hearing reports about how tremendously well you’re doing in school—”
“Yes, Your
Grace—”
“I’m not yet done speaking.”
The sharp tone caused Rathe to shut up. Hurt, fear, and confusion made him want to take a step back. It had finally dawned on him that, for whatever reason, his grandfather held him in dislike.
But even so, pride made him stay in place and Rathe fought hard to keep his face expressionless as he waited for the old man to speak.
“You have some backbone,” the duke wheezed. “I’ll give you that.” Contempt flashed in his eyes. “But it’s not enough. Nothing you do will be enough, and perhaps after this meeting, you will be more mindful of your position and treat my real grandson the way he deserves.”
So that was how it was, Rathe thought numbly. It was only Charles Wellesley, Rathe’s cousin, the man considered his grandchild.
The duke sneered, “It’s time someone put you in place.”
When the silence lengthened, Rathe asked quietly, “And what place may that be, Your Grace?”
A malicious smile formed on the duke’s lips.“On your knees. Like how your mother serviced your father.”
Rathe stiffened. It was his first time to hear someone speak of his parents in such a way. Only the fact that this was his grandfather prevented him from throwing a punch.
The duke laughed. “It’s clear in your face your parents didn’t tell you anything about their story. No wonder you strut about like you own the whole of England.” The duke pointed a finger at him. “You listen closely, boy, because I’m going to tell you the unvarnished truth of it – and why it’s laughable, how you act all high and mighty.”
“I never—”
“Silence! You are just like your father, never knowing how to obey and do what he’s told. I suppose your father never told you I forbade him to marry your slut of a mother?”
Slowly, Rathe shook his head.
“Well, I did, but instead of obeying me, my foolish son had chosen to cut himself off from his own family. And for what?” the duke spat. “Just to marry his Greek whore?”
The duke’s fingers tightened around the armrests of his chair in an expression of thwarted rage. “If I had the power to do so, I would have chased your father out of England as punishment. But alas, nowadays money has more power than nobility.”
A faraway look entered the duke’s gaze. “If not for that stupid distant cousin leaving your father with a ducal title...” He shook his head. “It’s a bloody disgrace, for a woman like her to be a duchess—”
When the duke stopped speaking, Rathe asked quietly, “Why do you hate my mother so much?”
“Because she’s a gold-digging bitch who made my son look like a pedophile.”
The duke leaned back in his chair, chilling triumph on his face as he observed the impact of his words on the younger boy, the way he lost all color at the last word.
His father...was a...pedophile? Rathe suddenly felt faint, and his entire body shook at the effort to merely stay upright. Now, it became very much clear, all the whispers that haunted him throughout his childhood.
Wanting to hurt his son’s wife through the boy standing powerlessly in front of him, the duke continued cruelly, “Of course, I understand the attraction. Your mother is 22 years younger than him – a nubile nineteen-year-old fresh out of the schoolroom.”
Rathe wanted to deny the truth in every despicable word the duke uttered, but he couldn’t find the words to do so. He felt stricken and traumatized at the picture his grandfather painted, his once noble father transforming into an abusive adult, seducing his teenage mother.
“At that age, she would have been completely biddable. Trainable.”
Rathe shook his head. “Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP!” His mother was the gentlest, the most beautiful woman he knew, and now his image of her was tainted, made impure by—
No, Rathe realized. It was not his grandfather at fault here. It was his father. It was his father who had been selfish and dishonorable, his father who had made his mother appear cheap to everyone around them.
In front of him, the duke was not done taunting Rathe, every word he spoke more abhorrent than the last. “I won’t even be surprised if your father uses her as a gift to his business partners...”
Sick to his stomach at being made to hear such vitriol, Rathe closed his eyes and willed himself not to be hurt. He pretended he was nothing but a block of ice, one whose coldness could not be permeated by anything...or anyone.
When he opened his eyes, the world around him had changed. Just as he, Rathe Wellesley, had irreparably changed as well.
He said coldly, “I understand now, Your Grace.” Before the duke could reprimand him for the interruption, Rathe bowed low.
When the boy straightened and gazed at him, the duke almost recoiled at the rage staring back at him.
“Out of respect of your age, and the fact that you are my father’s father, I shall not say or do anything now. But if you ever insult either of my parents in my presence again, Your Grace, I will not hold back. I will fight back and I will not stop until you are the one in your knees, begging for our forgiveness.”
Chapter Four
The memory of his one and only encounter with his grandfather made Rathe’s chest tighten, resentment and fury warring inside of him. All these years, he had unconsciously derived strength from the fact that his father had done the unforgivable because he had loved Alyssa.
But now, with the way Warren was treating Mary, and with the knowledge of the revolting pre-nuptial contract that existed between his parents...
He was no longer sure about what to believe.
Rathe asked tersely, “Why, Father? Why did you make her sign such a contract?”
Alyssa sucked her breath at the question.
When Warren saw his wife about to speak, he shook his head. To have Alyssa defend him for a mistake he blamed himself for would never be something he’d stand for.
For a moment, words failed Warren as he gazed at his son. He despised the way Rathe made him feel defensive and guilty – feelings that he had done his very best to avoid. To feel such emotions would almost be an admission that what he had with Alyssa was wrong, and that was something Warren would never accept.
Not even if it was for his son’s sake.
Taking hold of his wife’s hand, Warren said flatly, “It’s none of your business—”
Rathe snarled, “It is my business since it has to do with how my father could have disrespected my mother in such a way.”
Livid at the insinuation, Warren roared, “You know nothing!”
“Obviously,” Rathe retorted sarcastically. “Because whatever your faults were, I had always thought you loved my mother. But now, it’s so bloody clearer.” His father’s unwillingness to discuss the contract made his supposed love for Alyssa a lie, and it only meant one thing. Warren Wellesley might not be a pedophile in the entire sense, but he was the next worst thing – someone who had made a teenager his wife because of his most basic needs.
****
On the ride home, Rathe was grimly silent, a cold and distant air about him.
It reminded Mary of the one time he had shut her out of his life.
Then, he had done it to protect himself from developing more feelings for her.
And he was doing it again now.
Whatever thoughts were running in his mind now, they made the duke feel...defenseless, which in turn made Rathe shut himself off.
Then, she had allowed him to do just that.
Now, she was not going to stand for it.
Now, because she knew him so much better, because she loved him so much more, she wouldn’t let him suffer the pain alone. Even knowing that he was more likely to reject any offer of comfort, Mary couldn’t take it. It was impossible for her to do nothing, not when her instincts warned Mary of how every second of silence that passed made Rathe feel...alone. And unloved.
Deciding to take matters in her own hands, she closed her eyes for a moment, praying for the strength to love the duke the way he deserved
to be loved.
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she did was to press the button for the glass partition in the limousine to slowly slide down, creating a semblance of privacy for them.
Afterwards, she scooted to his side. “Rathe?”
His head turned towards her immediately, and she swallowed at the look on his face. This was not her Rathe. This was the Duke of Flanders, and his gaze made Mary feel like she had to apologize for having even the temerity to say his name.
“What is it?”
She swallowed convulvisely. Mary usually found his British accent sexy, but not right now. Not when it felt like each syllable dripped with disdain. Even so, she forced herself to continue, stumbling all over the words as she asked, “D-do you want to talk about what happened?”
His shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
Frustration weighed down on her. “Rathe...”
Without looking at her, Rathe said under his breath, “I just need...time.” Saying the words almost made him want to laugh. Time. What a bloody irony. Time was in fact the opponent here, time the reason why he and Mary would never be.
If only he and Mary had been born at the same time, none of this would mean a thing. But no, sixteen long bloody years separated them. Such a bloody long time, the kind that could have made him Mary’s own blasted father if fate had been so cruel.
Even now, Rathe’s mind reeled at what he had discovered, a part of him unable to reconcile the truth with what he had erroneously believed all his life. Was lust really the only thing that made Warren choose Alyssa? If so, didn’t that mean his father was a pedophile? If so, didn’t that make what he had with Mary so bloody wrong as well?
His mother had already sacrificed so much just by choosing to be a wife to Warren and a mother to Rathe. Wouldn’t his relationship with Mary make Alyssa a subject of rumors once more?
