Nicholas Lucien Hale had always known that he was not loved.
Not as a child, but after the birth of his younger brother. It was evident from his early years that his siblings were favored more than him; he was the black sheep of the family.
Although it was true that Nicholas was the heir to the ancient, prestigious, and wealthy viscountcy of the Hale family, he detested the soon-to-be title more than he let on.
Lord and Lady Hale were just like any other couple, forced into a marriage and left with no choice but to birth children in order to keep the family name alive.They were not in love, and it was evident.
A few months after Nicholas's birth, it was clear that he had issues with his tongue, forcing him to speak slower than the rest. The Hales at that time—Gabriel barely nineteen and Grace just seventeen—were devastated that the heir and their firstborn child stammered. They neglected their son and devoted their time to the rest of the children. They played around with the rest of the kids and left Nicholas on his own.
Nicholas never understood what it meant to hunt; his father never taught him how. He was never taken on hikes like his younger brothers were; he never knew how to ride, hunt, or even play an instrument because it was believed that teaching him such would be a waste.
Grace's own mother was the only one who saw him as human; she adored him, loved him more than anyone could ever do, and in return, Nicholas adored and respected her more than anyone in the family.
Because the viscount and viscountess were so young and believed that having children was important, it came as no surprise to anyone that the couple had nine children. Nicholas was joined by three sisters and five brothers, which marked the beginning of his realization of his place in the family.
The stables had much more comfort than his own room in the house. He did not know how to ride but adored the horses, and he spent weeks holed up in there catering to them. His study room was beside the stables, created by his grandmother, where he learned about making leathers and drawing.
His grandmother was the only person who knew about his love for drawing, and she indulged him by gifting him the necessary materials.
She took him to her country home during the summer, found an art teacher for him to perfect his skill, and brought a smile to his face. His grandmother did more than he could ever ask for and would say,"You are Grace's first fruit, the apple of my eye, and I will be damned to see you neglected."
Each time she reassured him, Nicholas would throw himself into her arms, weeping as he swore silently that he would make her proud. She, alongside her close friend, Lady Dorrington, who was in her mid-forties, became his rock and shield.
"When you grow up, do not make the same mistake that your parents are making," his grandmother, Lilian, said while knitting one evening at tea, a day before he turned thirteen.
"Heaven forbid he do so. I shall whip his ass as much as you would," Lady Dorrington replied.
"I will not do it," Nicholas would answer.
"That is better. Remember this day when you have a child of your own," Lilian had said while glancing at what he had been drawing and taking a sip of her tea.
"You talk as if you will not be there. You are going to be there and will see that I will not make such a mistake."
"I love you and I hope you know that." The conversation had ended with a smile on their faces.The confirmation of Lilian's love for Nicholas was evident for everyone to see, family and strangers alike.
Later that night, the old lady gifted Nicholas a watch and a gift box, instructing him not to open the box until he was twenty-five or about to be married.
"You will understand the reason why when you get to that age," she had explained when he had asked why.
Receiving the gifts, especially the watch, made him realize that his relationship with his grandmother was more than special. Not because Lilian spoiled him compared to the rest, for he knew that she also adored the rest of his siblings (Julian, Violet, Edward, Alexander, Adrian, Henry, Cecilia, and Beatrice).
Nicholas liked to think that the relationship with his grandmother was special simply because of his deformity. After all, no matter how long Julian had known her, Nicholas would always have two years on him—four on Violet, Edward, and Alexander, six on Adrian,nine on Henry and Cecilia and twelve on Beatrice.
He liked to remind himself that he knew her best and always would. Lilian Fenwick was, quite simply, the center of Nicholas' world. She was perfect and was the embodiment of what a mother ought to be.
Lilian had taught him how to fish, how to ride at times, although the lesson was not close to what his father taught his siblings. They had ended up getting injured by the horse at one point, forcing the riding lesson to be cut short.
He had taken an interest in literature and in turn spent time writing poems and novels. Lilian knew a lot about literary writing and always helped him whenever he had problems with his work.
Lilian taught Nicholas how to paint. She taught him to swim. She taught him how to shoot, although her aim was very off. She sent him off to school herself, rather than sending him in a carriage with servants, as most of Nicholas' future friends had.
When she saw Nicholas glancing nervously about the school that was about to become his new home, she had a heart-to-heart talk with him, assuring him that everything would be all right.
Everything was perfect; school was where he met new people and made a lot of friends. He learned more about languages and new cultures. His parents never bothered to know about how he was doing at school, except for sending money for upkeep and tuition.
Everything changed one day; he reflected on it later, on how one's life could change in an instant, how in one second everything could be a certain way, and the next it was simply... not.
It happened when Nicholas was nineteen, home for the summer break and preparing for his second year at Oxford. He had met new friends, discovered women, or perhaps, they had discovered him. His parents were quite unhappy about the fact that he was home for the holidays.
His mother had gone on a rant about how the other mamas would make fun of her for his condition.
His father had shown his disapproval of him going anywhere other than home and his grandmother's place. Their dislike for him was quite obvious in their behavior.
He had asked about why he was not to go anywhere, and Grace alongside Gabriel had told him that they understood the ton and knew the hate that he would encounter if they knew more about him.
Who was he to doubt their wisdom? He reflected on how he would feel if any of his own children inherited his condition; would he act like they did?
When Nicholas found out, it was late in the evening. He was returning from the stables after caring for the horses and had just pushed through the front door of Haverly Hall, the ancestral home of the Hales, when he saw his ten-year-old sister sitting on the stairs. Nicholas was confused because it was odd; Cecilia was not the type to sit in such a manner.
She had her hands on the floor step. She hated the idea of touching dirty items with her hands, and it was even more odd that she was crying.
Cecilia never cried.
She hated the idea of crying because Henry used to tease her about it..
"Cecilia," he said cautiously trying to find out how to comfort a crying female,"what—" But before he could finish his question, Cecilia lifted her head and gave him the most shattering news that seemed to cut through his heart like a knife.
He stumbled back as the statement left her lips.
"She's dead," Cecilia whispered in a low tone. "Grandmother is dead."
For a moment, Nicholas was sure that she was talking about someone else. His grandmother could not be dead.
Other people died, but not his grandmother. She was perfectly fine when he saw her in the morning; she had asked him to come over the next day.
"You must be wrong or probably confused," he told Cecilia.
"Julian and father confirmed it. There was...." Nicholas knew it was not proper to shake his sister, but he did not care after all.
"There was what, Cecilia?"
"Blood," she whispered as she met his eyes. For a moment, Nicholas could do nothing but stare at her.
Finally, his voice...hoarse, low, and barely recognizable, he said, or rather asked, a little bit with confusion, "Blood from where, Cecilia?"
She said nothing, just on the floor, her hands shaking, trying to control or perhaps trying to stop her tears.
"I asked what blood?" Nicholas asked, his voice rising in volume. "Cecilia, I-I am about to lose it. W-wh-what blood?" he said, losing control over his voice.
Cecilia just stared at him with a blank expression on her face.
"She was...she was fine this morning. W-we joked around, and s-she told me to co—come over tomorrow," Nicholas insisted.
The panic was evident in his voice and face. He knew that he was adding to his sister's anxiety, but he had no control over himself.
"She can't die. She–she w-was fi-fine a f-few hours ago!"
Cecilia shook her head while mouthing no. Her eyes were red from the tears and her hands still shaking.
"She had dinner and started coughing out blood," she said in a small tone.
"Violet saw it before calling for Julian and Father. One minute she was just eating, and the next there was blood, and she was... she was—"
Nicholas was eerily quiet as he stared at her while she was explaining the situation.
"She was what, Cecilia?"
"Gone, dead," she said, finding it hard to say out the word.
Nicholas left Cecilia sitting in the hall and ran towards his grandmother's place. Surely, Cecilia was mistaken. She could not have died. It was quite impossible. She was chasing after fowls this morning.
She did not seem like someone who was prepared to die at any moment. Yes, she was old, but not frail nor sick.
But when Nicholas reached the hall, he could tell by the complete and utter silence of the hovering servants and his parents and siblings that the situation was indeed true.
Their faces were filled with pity... for the rest of his life, he'd be haunted by each of those faces.
His father was eerily quiet; Nicholas had no idea whether it was from the shock. He'd thought he would have to push or force his way through to her room, but everyone, including the servants, parted to let him pass.
Lady Dorrington was standing beside the bed, not a single tear in sight, not even making a sound, just her hands folded as she stared at his grandmother's face. Still, Nicholas didn't have it in him to think about what to say.
"Nana?" he called out. He hadn't called her that for years; she hated the sound of it because it made her feel old.
Lady Dorrington turned at the sound of his voice, and Nicholas could finally see that she was holding the tears in.
"S-she is ju-just slee-slee-sleeping, right?" he asked, trying to deceive himself that she was just taking a nap.
"No—" Lady Dorrington shook her head before taking a deep breath. Her lips remained parted, as if she had meant to say something more but could not find the courage to do so. Nicholas took a step forward to her side, his movements awkward and imbalanced.
"She's gone," she whispered as he reached her side. "She's gone. She said she would tell you tomorrow, but... she... oh, Lord, she—" she tried to explain while staring at his grandmother.
She looked as though she might shatter at any moment. Nicholas held back the tears burning through his eyes and stinging his throat as she finally moved to his nana's side and held her hand.
She was cold to the touch, her eyes shut tightly, and the blood was still on her mouth and face.
"She had said she would inform you about her plans, make you aware of them, and not leave you in the dark anymore, and... Nicholas, I don't understand what went wrong," Lady Dorrington said as she finally let out the tears.
Nicholas just stared into space while she cried. He said nothing; it seemed useless to try to say anything to pacify her. He didn't understand what went wrong, either.
* * *
The doctors came by later and pronounced her death officially. Everyone was baffled as to why she had died; the blood that she had coughed out was a question that was left unanswered for a long while.
Why would someone who was in good health suddenly pass away?
Lilian Fenwick was young, vital, and fiercely powerful, a truth nobody could have known. It was true that she needed assistance with household chores, but no one could have predicted that she would die after a simple meal. She died at the mere age of five and fifty.
The doctors kept insisting, over and over, that she had not been poisoned,frustrating Nicholas to the extent that he wanted to strangle them.
Lady Dorrington eventually led him out of the house, away from its chaos.The days that followed were brutal. Lilian Fenwick was laid to rest, but Nicholas could not bring himself to believe that she was truly gone.
After the burial rites, he walked into her room and stared at her portrait for hours, barely blinking. And when he finally left the room, he carried with him a new vision for his life and a grim knowledge about the people around him.
He resolved not to trust anyone, regardless of how close or kind they might seem. His grandmother's death, he believed, was definitely not natural, and he couldn't imagine wining and dining in the very house where she had been killed.
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Official release starts from 1st of December ❤️❤️