Blossom of the Brothel Ch. 01

Lord Remington's visit had been unannounced that evening. He traveled with an unusually light carriage considering the season without the weapon of the family on the door of the simple black coach. His arrival had ignited quite a stir in the small household he kept around Remington Hall.

"My Lord, what an unexpected surprise!" Mrs. Hinsdale, his housekeeper greeted him with a tight smile. "I shall have dinner served and your chambers readied swiftly, My Lord," she courtesied politely.

"Some dinner would be welcome, Mrs. Hinsdale. Have it packed please. My business is urgent and I am not staying for the night. Now, where is my son?" He demanded while starting to look from one room to the other himself.

He didn't bother to notice the worried frown breaking out on the old woman's forehead.

"The young Lord ... he is not feeling well Sir, I am afraid. Perhaps it would be better if you could let him rest and speak with him in the morning ..."

No matter how tentative the suggestion, the disapproving look Remington gave her clearly confirmed that she had overstepped her duties.

"Drunk again, is he?" The Lord eyed her suspiciously for a moment before storming upstairs to his son's chambers unmoved by the pleading of the old woman, unable to keep up with his long strides.

A frustrated Duncan closed the heavy oak door with a weary sigh. The scraping of insistent fingernails couldn't be heard anymore once he pushed the bolt into place and turned the key carefully in the lock. Even the banging fists on the other side of the tower room turned into muffled thuds through the thick wooden barrier. He rested his forehead against the heavy door for a moment to get a grip on his temper again while his father's angered voice rang unmistakably through the corridors of the mansion.

The bite mark on his left wrist still bled and stung, a trickle of blood coating the arm of his sweaty white shirt. No, it would definitely not be good to meet him this way, he decided finally, turning away from the muffled cries of the other end of the door.

By the time he reached the second floor he had stripped his shirt and grabbed a bottle of cheap rum from a cabinet, pouring a hearty amount unto the wound with a tight jaw and sprinkling some into his dirty blond hair. How out of style! The very thought made him smile for a moment. He smelled like a drunk sailor and probably even looked like one, dressed in some worn boots and faded leather pants, his hair falling into his face and about his shoulders in unruly tresses. The Duchess Arlington and the other prissy ladies of the court would certainly deny having ever warmed his bed!

The sticky liquor trickled down his neck, biting into his shoulder with an unexpected sting. The mirror he passed on the corridor confirmed a set of ugly, red scratch marks. Well, there was not much he could do about those at that moment, so taking a hearty sip from the bottle in his hand for courage he squared his shoulders and entered his chambers with a smile on his face.

"Fathhe'!" he exclaimed in a drunken blur, loud enough to make the old man wince before embracing him in a tight bear hug.

The repulse that had dominated the Lord's face upon seeing his son fallen apart had changed over the years and became gradually replaced by disgust and anger.

"Duncan! For God's sake, you are strangling me!" He coughed, struggling against the taller man's grip.

The lazy smile that flickered over his son's face didn't quite meet his cold eyes.

"Don't tempt me ... fatthe'" Duncan whispered maliciously into his ear before releasing his hold on him.

He stumbled and almost fell to the ground while making his way to the love-seat across the richly furnished room. Flopping down on it with a moan he gulped down some more rum, brushing the escaping drops from his chin with the back of his hand.

"Duncan, you look scandalous." The older man commented with resent.

"Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you, My Lord. I am sure you expected no less of me."

Lord Remington turned from the sorry excuse of a noble man before him in disgust.

"Hardly. Once a disappointment, always a disappointment," he confirmed bitterly. "Unfortunately, I can't afford to sit around and wait for common sense or lighting to strike you, Duncan, neither for that booze to clear from your head. I doubt even a lifetime to be long enough for that! I am expected at the court tomorrow afternoon and will therefor have to leave as soon as my business here is conducted. So, get a grip on your sorry self boy, and pay attention!"

"Business, eh?" Duncan gave him a mocking grin. "Aren't you afraid, My Lord, that my company may compromise you? And just what kind of your businesses may be of interest to me?"

Lord Remington turned to him finally, his hands firmly clasped behind his back as he started to pace the room.

"Times like these require sacrifices from all of us, Duncan. You have lived off my wallet and have caused your family plenty of embarrassment as it is!"

"Oh, is that so?" his son injected with an amused smile. "Pray tell father, just what family are you talking about?"

"I will have none of that talk now! The matter at hand is urgent and frankly, I neither have the time nor the patience for your drunken outbursts. Now, pay attention for you are given an opportunity. In fact, a golden opportunity to prove that you are not the sorry excuse of a complete mess everyone thinks you to be. His Highness is willing to grant you rehabilitation along with the position of a commander in the royal army overseas."

Duncan frowned, there surely had to be more to this generous offer.

"Of course, this gracious gesture of the king is bound to a certain degree of responsibility." his father confirmed Duncan' suspicion. He look pleased, almost triumphant. He obviously believed to have issued a tempting offer. What a fool! It made Duncan wonder once again about their relation.

"Is it? And just what sort of responsibilities did his Highness have in mind?" he inquired with a loud burp.

"No need to act the pig when you already look one, my son ... In fact, the king wishes only for a public oath of loyalty and an apology to the Duchess of Arlington before you speak the wedding vows."

Duncan's laughter was bitter, no matter now he tried to act nonchalant. There had been a time when he would have given his right arm and all his titles and lands to hear his father say those very same words. Isabella Constantine de Monfort, Duchess of Arlington, second cousin to his royal Highness the king. Her coquettish smile and proud demeanor had been once the most enticing prey of the court to him. A feisty little red-head able to not only grab but also hold his attention through their many shared nights of passionate, rough mating. She was pleasant to the eye, had a fiery temper much like his own and seemed to match him even in his darker tastes of passion. How different things might have turned out if she had not betrayed him? At times, mostly at night when sleep would not grant him peace, Duncan still wondered about what could have been.

"Isabella wishes to be my betrothed?"

Seeing the disbelief in his son's face gave Lord Remington a rush of success. Finally! He hoped this news would have at least some kind of effect on him and reach through the armor of indifference Duncan had so carefully erected around him in his exile.

"Actually, no. She doesn't. But her ... circumstances left her family without a choice. The Duke doesn't wish for his grandchild to be born a bastard and therefor, you my dear son, are given the unique opportunity to make up for the sins of the past and make Isabella an honorable woman and give her child a name."

"There isn't enough holy water in all the churches of the kingdom to make that woman honorable!" Duncan hissed angrily under his breath.

He was outraged and not only by the proposition but even more by the realization that after all this time she was still able to get under his skin. Never mind the nausea stirring in his gut.

"Watch your tongue! And from now on, also your company." Lord Remington warned with a disgusted glance at the scratches on his son's bare shoulders. "No more whores until the vows are spoken. Duke Arlington is an influential man and will soon become a valuable ally. I won't have you ruin this golden opportunity!"

Duncan stood from the love-seat slowly, his blue eyes piercing his father with a cold glare. He spoke quietly, all lightheartedness gone from his voice.

"You want me to marry the royal whore of the palace, take on her bastard, give them a name and then ... be shipped away to hopefully never to return and bring either of you any more shame?! If that was the business you had in mind father, I am afraid you have come in vain."

"You will marry her! You owe Isabella, her family and your own family much more than that!"

The temper rising in Remington's voice did little to change his son's mind.

"Like hell I will!" Duncan declared stomping out of the room. "Sooner will your daughter-in-law become a common whore of my own choosing than one chosen by you!"

Lord Remington bid his farewell soon, scolding himself inside for even having bothered with trying to convince Duncan. His son's reaction to Isabella had not escaped the old Lord's attention though and he was determined to take advantage of the power she obviously still held over him. He promised to return within a fortnight with his fiancée, hopeful that one night alone with her would do all the convincing a father's reasoning was not able to accomplish. The engagement would be announced at Remington Hall, far away from the prying eyes of the court, followed by the wedding ceremony on the next day for considering the duchess' condition, their union was pressed for time.

Duncan watched the unmarked carriage roll down the the slight slope that lead into the valley below with a turmoil of emotions in his heart. Running away was out of question yet neither could he leave for the Americas in two weeks, that seemed the only thing he was certain about.

A conspiracy. Use him and get rid of him, as soon as possible, that was the plan Arlington and his dear father have obviously hatched. Part of him seriously doubted if any ship he boarded would ever make it to the Eastern shores of the New World. There had been times in his youth when he would not have argued, when responsibility had been as alien a feeling to him as his father still assumed and one more night in Isabella's arms had been a tempting offer to die for. But years had passed since then. Years of realization and uncovered secrets that had hardened the carefree boy into a troubled man.

Duncan yanked the reins of his midnight mare with stubborn determination as a wicked plan started to form in his mind. He would have to shatter his father's conspiracy from its very core, he decided finally, heading down the hill in a hurried gallop.

Whoever expected him to be an easy prey was certainly in for a surprise.

***

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