9. Dimitri
Chapter 9
Dimitri
O nly one word was written on the outside of the envelope.
Father
The letters were formed in a familiar, elegant cursive script. Dimitri had learned to read and write from a more mature version of that hand.
In a daze, his feet carried him across the room, and his hand reached for the letter. Only after it was in his hand did it occur to him to wonder if he should open it. But its intended recipient—his grandfather—had left this place long ago, leaving it behind. Either disaster had befallen him the moment his daughter disappeared, or else he had read it and carefully placed it back where he had found it. Had he intended for Dimitri to find it one day?
With trembling fingers, Dimitri opened it, retrieving two tightly written pages. His eyes hurriedly scanned the words:
Father,
I have crept back in here to leave this note for you. I already know from the housekeeper that you visit my room every day. So do not feel bad. Even if your final words to me were harsh, I know you miss me, and the love you have for me is deep.
But I cannot return to you. Although you thought you were doing what was best for me, you have destroyed my chance at happiness. You were convinced Jerome’s love was false, but it’s you that made it so—however unwittingly you acted on that front.
You can see now why I hid from you and married in secret. I intended to return eventually—my family with me—but when you tracked me down and stripped away my inheritance, I lost everything. You couldn’t take the manor itself since I received that from Mother, but you know its income is bound in a trust. You left Jerome and me with nothing.
Given your words at the time, you probably think our love is at fault. You said if our love was true, we could live on love. But how can love defeat the Legacy? Your actions have turned it against us, and now there is no hope for me.
You obviously didn’t consider what happened to the original rich daughters when they lost their dowries and all their family’s wealth. Their suitors abandoned them, and now the Legacy has betrayed me by forcing Jerome down the same path.
My beloved Jerome has been torn from me only a year after the birth of our darling Dimitri. I know Jerome loved him—loved me. I know his true self loves us still.
The hand became shaky at that point, and tear spots dotted the bottom of the paper. Dimitri’s heart squeezed, but he turned to the next page and read on.
The Legacy has forced him away. It has forced him to abandon us and has placed a false veneer of sneering disdain and hatred over the true feelings that dwell in his heart. He claims he has no use for me or for Dimitri, but I know those are the words the Legacy is putting in his mouth. But its power is too strong for me.
I could not free him from its clutches, and now he is gone despite all my pleadings. I have even heard word from afar that it has forced him into courting another. I suppose it is all too easy for the Legacy to cast aside a secret wife.
I cannot bear this place without him by my side. And I will not allow my beautiful, perfect baby boy to remain within the Legacy’s clutches. If I cannot free Jerome, at least I can free Dimitri.
You will not see me again. But know that while the pain of your actions means we will never see each other again in this life, I will always hold my love for you in my heart. I know you did the best you could for me after Mother’s death and indeed you lavished much on me in our years together. I wish you nothing but health and happiness.
Your loving daughter
Dimitri staggered to the nearest chair and collapsed into it. He had wanted answers—had wanted to understand his mother—and this one letter had allowed him to do so. Despite the melancholy of her manner, he had never guessed at the depth of the pain she had kept locked inside. He had never considered what lurked behind her words when she’d called him her whole world.
His gaze wandered back to the book on her bedside table. If there had been a fire in the fireplace, he would have dashed the volume into the flames. She had lain in that bed and read those words and allowed herself to be caught up in a fantasy. She had fed the dream instead of reality and allowed it to blind her to all sense. She had ignored the warnings of those who loved her and the wisdom of those older and more experienced, convinced she understood both love and the Legacy better than them.
Dimitri was only just learning about the Legacy at twenty-one years old, but already he understood the delusion behind her words. The Legacy manipulated physical objects, like the roses and the manor, and it could sometimes influence small actions—like beguiling someone into picking a rose. He had experienced that himself. But every account agreed that while it manipulated circumstances, it had no power over what people did with the situations it created. It couldn’t manufacture love, and neither could it strip it away. It didn’t force words into someone’s mouth.
It hadn’t been the Legacy that had betrayed his mother, it had been his father. He had used words of love to lure a young girl away from her family and friends. He had married her in secret, and then when her income was cut off and her future inheritance withdrawn, he had abandoned both her and their child.
Dimitri’s hand tightened slowly into a fist. The rustle of paper made him stop, however, and he smoothed the letter back out before he crushed it completely.
His mother had never given him details about his father or what had happened to him, but she had always spoken of his love for the two of them, speaking as if he had still been alive. For most of his life, Dimitri had believed he was dead anyway. He had concocted a story where his father’s death had driven his mother into the mountains and put the sadness into her eyes. He had thought she spoke of his father as if he was still with them in order to ease the pain. But a small part of him had held onto hope that his father was still alive after all, and that in returning to Glandore, he might finally meet him.
That hope had proven true—his father was likely alive—but the desire behind it was gone. After reading the letter, he no longer had any desire to meet him. He could only be grateful such a man had given up the chance to have influence in his life. For all the tragedy of her delusion, he would rather have his mother’s loyal heart than his father’s fickle cruelty.
But what of his grandfather? Dimitri didn’t have children of his own, so he could only imagine the pain his grandfather must have felt on reading the letter. Had he tried to track down his daughter and baby grandson? Had he wished to know Dimitri?
Dimitri had his answer in the tapestry that held the family tree. His grandfather had disapproved of Jerome enough to disinherit his only daughter, so his son-in-law did not appear on the family record. But Dimitri’s name had been carefully stitched in below his mother.
But where was his grandfather now? Two decades had passed, so Dimitri had to accept the possibility he was dead.
He read the letter again more slowly, and it hurt just as much the second time. At least he now knew why his mother had not only left Glandore but had hidden any knowledge of its Legacy from him. However misguided she had been, she had thought she was protecting her son from a malevolent and all-powerful force.
She had ultimately failed, however. While the Legacy wasn’t what she had painted it as, it still had the power to cause harm, and he was more enmeshed in it now than he had ever been as a baby. His mother hadn’t fit the criteria necessary to attract any serious amount of its power—she had already been married before she lost her fortune, making her belief in the Legacy’s involvement even more nonsensical. But ever since Dimitri’s return, he fit the Legacy’s requirements far too closely.
He didn’t regret returning—he couldn’t regret it now that he’d found the letter. He had suspected the manor of holding answers, and he had been right. But he wasn’t the only one caught up in his current situation, and he couldn’t allow his choice to turn someone else into a victim. He needed to find out what was fueling Rosalie’s excessive fear so he could work out how to shield her.
He leaped to his feet, ready to rush back into town. But darkness had almost fallen, and armed criminals lurked near the road. He would have to wait for the next day, however little he felt like patience.
As he prepared to sleep on the sofa in the sitting room, as he had on the previous nights, he decided it was time to choose a proper bed. There was no point heading into Thebarton too early, so he would spend the morning establishing himself in the home he had inherited. For a start, he would choose the most convenient of the bedchambers and make it his own.
By the time he walked into Thebarton the next day, he had spent enough hours working to have earned a meal at the Mortar and Pestle. The Legacy’s enchantment had allowed him to avoid scrubbing, but there had still been furniture to shift as well as countless trips up and down the stairs. In the end, he had readied not only a bedchamber for himself, but a small dining room and a smaller sitting room as well.
The Mortar and Pestle was positioned on the main road into town, but closer to the town’s edge than to the central square. Since it was well-positioned for passing travelers, it had a large, enclosed yard and substantial stables. A carriage had arrived just before Dimitri, the driver calling for a change of horses to be brought along with some refreshments. Its arrival set off a flurry of activity, and Dimitri had to skirt the chaos in the center of the yard as he approached one of the inn’s doors.
Stepping through, he entered a calmer atmosphere. But when he followed the hallway into a large, open dining room, the noise levels picked back up. Apparently, plenty of the locals had come to enjoy the fare produced by the inn’s cook. Dimitri had clearly been directed well by the Fosters. Not only was the dining room popular, but the number of families present indicated it was a respectable establishment.
He had intended to come early but had ended up becoming absorbed in his morning’s task and was later than he had planned. Most of the inn’s patrons had nearly finished their meals. Even so, he was only standing inside the room a matter of seconds before a middle-aged man bustled toward him. From his clothing and bearing, Dimitri guessed him to be the innkeeper.
The man bowed quickly, bouncing back up with a beaming smile. “You honor us with your presence, sir!” he said with enthusiasm.
Dimitri blinked in silence, taken aback.
“You’ll be wanting a meal, of course!” the man continued, undaunted. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the excellence of our kitchen!”
“Y—yes, I have,” Dimitri said.
“Of course, of course.” The man finally seemed to notice Dimitri’s confusion. “I forgot to introduce myself!” he cried. “I’m Otis, innkeeper here, as my father was before me and his father before him. Thebarton runs in my veins, you know. It’s a prosperous town and large in size, but I still pride myself on knowing every face within it.” His chest puffed out. “You mustn’t be surprised at me recognizing you, Your Lordship.”
“Just Dimitri,” Dimitri said quickly. “Please.”
His response seemed to please Otis, who attempted to lead him to an attractive table near a large window. Dimitri hung back.
“Actually,” he said, “since I’m here alone, I was hoping to eat at the bar.” He would learn nothing sitting in state by himself. It was the old-timers at the bar who had drawn him to the inn in the first place.
Otis’s eyebrows shot up, but he recovered a moment later, his beaming smile returning. “Of course, of course! I’ve heard you’re a modest young man, as every young man should be. This way! This way!”
He ushered Dimitri toward the empty end of the bar, but Dimitri pretended not to notice, taking an empty seat beside an older man who was nursing a tankard with one hand and making short work of a large plate with the other.
Otis made no protest at Dimitri’s choice of seat and had soon taken his order and disappeared into the depths of the inn. Dimitri remained silent, however, not trying to engage his neighbor in conversation. He had learned from the older men of the mountains that he would learn more by keeping quiet than by rushing in with questions.
Sure enough, when a few minutes of silence had passed, the man beside him spoke.
“Ye can’t go wrong with a meal at the Mortar and Pestle,” he said.
Dimitri murmured agreement before returning his eyes to the bar in front of him and nearly jolting off his seat. When had his plate of food appeared? He must have been more distracted than he’d realized not to notice Otis’s return.
The enticing aroma of the food wafted up to his nose, and his stomach rumbled in response. The man chuckled, and Dimitri smiled.
“I’m very much looking forward to trying the food,” he said. “I’m a newcomer to Thebarton, so it’s my first time here.”
The older man barked out a laugh. “Aye, aye. We all know who you are, princeling.”
Dimitri winced. “I’m really not a prince.”
“Oh, aye, aye.” The man chuckled, apparently finding Dimitri’s protests amusing. “I heard you were a good sort.” He took several more bites before adding, “I’m Wyatt.”
“Is there anyone in Thebarton who hasn’t heard of me already?” Dimitri asked ruefully.
The mountain community had helped each other when necessary, but many of the inhabitants had been solitary folk. He hadn’t anticipated how quickly the gossip would spread, especially in a town the size of Thebarton.
“Anyone not heard that the old lord’s heir has finally returned? Not likely!” Wyatt grinned.
Dimitri wondered who had first told Wyatt and how many people Wyatt had subsequently passed the news on to. He couldn’t regret the man’s apparently garrulous nature, however. Not when he hoped to make use of it himself.
“I hope I may soon meet more of Thebarton’s residents,” he said. “I’ve not yet had the chance to spend much time in town.”
“So you really do mean to stay?” Wyatt regarded him keenly as he waited for an answer.
“For the time being,” Dimitri said after a slight hesitation, Rosalie’s entreaties playing through his mind. “I have no other plans.”
That seemed to satisfy Wyatt who nodded wisely. “Right shame it was to see such a fine estate going to ruin. I haven’t been out there myself, but I hear you’ve turned it around quickly.” He glanced sideways at Dimitri while he shoveled in another mouthful.
Dimitri grimaced. “I’m not sure I can take any credit for that. It seems the Legacy approves of my arrival.”
Wyatt laughed. “Aye, indeed. I haven’t heard tell of golden roses in this region since my grandfather’s day.”
“I can only hope the Legacy doesn’t cause the locals any trouble,” Dimitri said with a frown. “The manor’s roses seem uncommonly attractive, and I understand matters might become…complicated if someone were to pluck one.”
“You have more to lose than us, now, don’t you,” Wyatt said, as cheerful as ever. “Might want to get onto building a high wall round that manor of yours.” He laughed at his own joke.
Dimitri considered how to turn the conversation in more informative directions.
“I dined with the Fosters yesterday,” he said. “I understand they’re one of Thebarton’s most prominent families.”
It wouldn’t do to mention Rosalie too quickly. He had no desire to indicate his interest in her to either the gossips of the town or the Legacy itself. And while he wanted more information about her family’s past, he needed to balance that against the secondary purpose of his excursion. He intended to show both Jace and the Legacy that if they were determined to link him with a young lady, there were plenty of options besides Rosalie.
“The Fosters?” Wyatt took a moment to chew a large piece of meat. “Aye, I suppose they’re prominent enough nowadays. Top family, you might say. Seem to know it, too, if what they’ve done to their house is anything to go by.” He sounded displeased about that for some reason.
“You disapprove?” Dimitri asked, trying to remember if there had been anything peculiar about the Foster’s home. It had been rather ostentatious, but he hadn’t thought it offensively so.
“In general, he’s a careful one, Foster,” Wyatt said. “But he’s got a soft spot for his wife, and she doesn’t always have the best sense when it comes to fancy displays. He indulges her, which is admirable as far as it goes, but he should know better about the house.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I follow.” Dimitri was getting sick of conversations that made little sense to him.
“Well, everyone knows the risk, don’t they?” Wyatt stabbed a round of cooked carrot. “The fancier the home, the more liable it is to burn down without warning.”
Dimitri’s eyes widened. He could only assume this was another quirk of the Glandorian Legacy. He did remember something about a house burning down in the original history, and he’d seen a burned-out husk on the town square as well. He’d assumed the fire must have been fresh, but perhaps the locals feared tempting the Legacy by rebuilding on the spot.
“Just look at Clifford,” Wyatt continued. “He was always careful to keep his home modest in style, even if it was the largest and finest in town. And look at what happened to it anyway!”
“Is that the burned building on the square?” Dimitri asked. “How long ago did it burn?”
“Aye, that’s the one. Burned down only last year. Clifford and his family used to live there before they lost everything.” Wyatt shook his head. “A real shame that was. They were a fine first family for Thebarton, always generous to a fault and welcoming.” He speared a hunk of potato. “They had more claim to the position than those Fosters, too. Clifford’s merchant network was a good sight larger than any other business in town, including Foster’s.” He sighed heavily. “Clifford did everything he could to stay out of the Legacy’s notice, too. But it was all for naught in the end. Determined to grab ‘em, it was.”
“Because he was a merchant?” Dimitri asked tentatively, fascinated by the story despite his original intentions for the conversation.
Wyatt nodded, warming to the tale. “Like I said, he was real careful because of it, but the Legacy can be tricksy.” He leaned closer. “His wife had three girls, you know. Another man might have wanted a son to follow in his footsteps, but Clifford doted on those girls and said he wasn’t taking any chances. Stopped with just the girls.” Wyatt nodded approvingly. “Very sensible.”
“You mean because of the danger of being a merchant with an equal number of sons and daughters?” Dimitri clarified, remembering something he’d read.
Wyatt grunted an affirmative. “Dangerous business that is, as we all know. Why the Legacy decided the total number don’t matter, just that there be equal boys and girls, I don’t know. Right illogical if you ask me, but there’s no use thinking the Legacy should be reasonable. Doesn’t have a brain to think, let alone reason. Not as if it’s sentient.” He laughed again at his own humor.
“So he only had three daughters, but the Legacy caused his house to burn down anyway?” Dimitri asked, feeling stirrings of alarm. Up until now the Legacy had seemed more odd than villainous—despite Rosalie’s exaggerated fear and his mother’s delusional conclusions.
“No, no, it started before that.” Wyatt leaned closer. “Clifford and his wife intended to stop, but it don’t always work out like we intend, do it?” He winked, but Dimitri wasn’t sure what he was implying.
“Fell pregnant again several years later!” Wyatt explained impatiently when Dimitri remained blank. “And if the pregnancy wasn’t the Legacy’s work, the outcome was.”
“The outcome?” Dimitri asked, still mystified.
“Triplets!” Wyatt proclaimed, clearly enjoying having a new audience for a tale the whole town must know. “And boys, the lot of them! Three sons to match the three daughters in one fell swoop.”
“Triplet boys?” Dimitri asked slowly, a cold trickle of dread seeping down his spine.
“Aye! Three daughters and three sons. Any family with that number would be at risk, but doubly so given he was a merchant. O’ course being a merchant is why the Legacy forced them into it in the first place.” Wyatt shook his head sadly. “Not much poor Clifford could do after that. He held on for a good long while, but the end was inevitable.”
“Inevitable that his house would burn down?” Dimitri asked. He wanted to ask the names of Clifford’s children, but he already knew the answer. He had thought Rosalie’s younger brothers looked close in age.
“Oh, that was only the start—or perhaps I should say the end.” Wyatt pushed back his plate and turned more fully toward Dimitri, settling in for the story. “The one mercy was that he got his two older daughters safely married before the Legacy struck. Pretty girls they both were, and kindhearted too. Although the youngest is the true beauty—as youngests usually are.” He shook his head. “But at least her sisters were settled and gone from Thebarton—and generous bequests settled on their new families—before it happened.”
Wyatt’s words gave Dimitri a stirring of hope that Wyatt wasn’t talking about Rosalie and her family.
“I suppose Clifford and his remaining children went to live with the older daughters after their home burned down, then?” he asked, trying to hide his strong interest in the answer.
But Wyatt shook his head. “Didn’t want to risk turning the Legacy’s attention in their direction. And didn’t want to leave Thebarton, neither. As I said earlier, he’s a fine man is Clifford. Always did right by Thebarton, though he used to have the funds to move somewhere grander. Afterward he had to move his family to a cottage just outside of town. Hardly big enough for three thirteen-year-old lads that one, let alone a grown daughter as well.” He sighed and shook his head again.
“And what about Clifford himself?” Dimitri asked.
“Travelin’ last I heard. He’s home whenever he can be, but he’s gone for long stretches. Has to do himself what he once paid others for.” Wyatt heaved a sigh and took a long drink. “Used to employ plenty around Thebarton, so it wasn’t just Clifford who lost out when it all happened.”
“What exactly did happen?” Dimitri asked, having to remind himself to keep eating. He was too absorbed in his companion’s words to think of his food, despite the enjoyable flavor.
“He’s a careful man, Clifford,” Wyatt said. “But he has a weakness when it comes to his children. And it was Mistress Rosalie that brought the trouble. Not,” he said firmly, “that anyone blames her, mind.” His expression turned dark. “There are some who know how to use the Legacy to their advantage, and there are some whose situations make them vulnerable to it. Youngest daughter of a merchant with equal sons as daughters.” He shook his head. “What hope did she have?”
“What happened to her?” Dimitri asked, trying to keep the urgency from his voice.
“A newcomer arrived in town,” Wyatt said dramatically, clearly still enjoying his role of storyteller, despite the sad nature of the tale. “Mighty pretty he was. Mighty pretty.” He paused and peered at Dimitri before bursting into hearty guffaws. “Much like yourself, come to think of it. Could be his twin! I hope you haven’t come here to bamboozle Thebarton’s young ladies.” Given his humor, he clearly thought the manor’s owner was above such behavior. And he didn’t seem to have considered the possibility that Dimitri was merely impersonating the missing heir.
Then Dimitri remembered Rosalie and Daphne’s conversation. Obviously, they weren’t the only ones who considered the state of the manor’s garden to be convincing evidence of his claim on the estate.
“What was the newcomer’s name?” Dimitri asked, although he had an unpleasant inkling he knew it. He had already met a young man with similar coloring to himself and a history with Rosalie.
“Jace.” Wyatt practically spit the name, and Dimitri’s heart sank the rest of the way.
“Pleasant young man he seemed,” Wyatt continued after a moment. “Had a few conversations with him myself. And very taken he seemed with young Mistress Rosalie. Everyone noted it, and no one was surprised. Some thought she was a bit young, but then so was he. And she was both beautiful and wealthy, so it was natural enough she might catch any young man’s eye. Plenty of the boys here liked her too, but knowing someone from the cradle don’t give them a lot of allure.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Can’t be surprised she was beguiled by a newcomer.”
The story kept getting worse, but Dimitri had to know how it ended. “What did he do?”
“Courted her, o’ course,” Wyatt said. “Won her over easily enough as well. Her father wouldn’t let her get married right away—said she had to be at least eighteen for that.” He nodded approval of Clifford’s principles. “But he did find the boy a position in his business. Said the boy would be family soon enough and made him a clerk.” He sighed. “Pity. Great pity.”
“Why?” Dimitri asked.
“Turned out the only part of Mistress Rosalie that appealed to Jace was her wealth. That, and the fact she was the youngest daughter of a merchant with equal sons as daughters. He knew her family situation meant the Legacy’s bamboozling ways would aid him. Like I said, Clifford was a careful one, but he counted that Jace as one of the family, and the Legacy helped obscure his theft.”
“He cheated the family’s business?” Dimitri asked, in a tight voice.
“Aye. Cleaned out everything he could get his hands on. Left them with nothing but what they had in their house. But once he cheated them, it triggered the rest of that particular sequence of the Legacy. Their house burned down the day after they discovered his treachery.”
“And Jace?” Dimitri asked, although he already knew the answer. He had clearly not been apprehended for his crime.
“Slipped away before anyone even realized. Abandoned Mistress Rosalie and left her family with next to nothing. Didn’t dim her spirits any, though,” he added in an admiring tone.
Dimitri looked down, noting distantly that his hand was fisted so tightly around the handle of his fork that his knuckles had turned white. It was a good thing he hadn’t known the whole story two days before, or he might not have managed to restrain himself around Jace.
But while he hadn’t known Jace’s history, he knew the story had a new chapter unknown to Wyatt. After everything Jace had already done to Rosalie, he had dared to return and abduct her. And having done so, he had talked to her as if…
Dimitri drew a long breath, attempting to calm himself. If he dwelt on how Jace had acted toward Rosalie, and what he had said to her, he might say or do something inappropriate for the dining room of the Mortar and Pestle.
As it was, he was struggling to hide the strength of his reaction from Wyatt and any other curious observers in the room. He was even tempted to warn Wyatt and the rest of the town of Jace’s return. The man was clearly dangerous.
But he hesitated to do so without consulting Rosalie. She knew both Jace and the townsfolk better than he did, and it was her story far more than his. If she hadn’t told anyone about her abduction—and he had to assume Wyatt would have mentioned it if word had spread through the town—she must have a good reason for staying quiet.
But while his reason told him to stay silent and calm, his emotions weren’t so easy to tame. His reaction was more complicated than fury on Rosalie’s behalf, as incensed as he felt for her. The story Wyatt had spun sounded far too similar to another story he had just learned—one from two decades before. His emotions were still raw from learning his mother’s history, and his feelings surged against the barriers he imposed on them.
Already Dimitri had read his mother’s letter enough times to memorize its contents, and her history sounded startlingly similar to Rosalie’s. Both had been approached by young men interested in their family’s wealth. Their supposed suitors had taken advantage of their youth and inexperience to fool them with lies of love, and then both had been abandoned when they were no longer useful.
But the stories diverged there. Rosalie’s suitor had shown his true colors before they were actually married—a fact for which Dimitri felt great relief—but he had destroyed her family’s wealth, livelihood, and even home. And he had already seen enough of Rosalie’s character to know she must blame herself for her family’s downfall.
His mother’s family, on the other hand, had been untouched. She had even written of the underlying love that existed between her and her father despite their quarrel. If she had wished to return home to her wealthy and powerful family, she could have done so. The tapestry was a legacy to the fact that both she and Dimitri would have been welcomed.
And yet his mother had been the one to crumple beneath her pain. Despite her worse situation, Rosalie had shown a strength of character his mother had lacked. She hadn’t shielded herself from the harsh truth by choosing a path of self-deception. She hadn’t run from the situation either. She was still in Thebarton, still fighting for her family. And she was no longer susceptible to a ‘pretty young man’ as Wyatt put it.
Dimitri had already sensed how different Rosalie was from his mother and the others of their mountain community. But now he had proof of it. And his desire to protect Rosalie from any further tricks of the Legacy had only grown.
A rush of chatter from the doorway drew his attention. Many of the patrons of the midday meal had dispersed already, but in their place had come those looking for afternoon tea and cakes as well. A mob of young ladies had arrived, including several vaguely familiar faces and one whose name he could place—Blythe.
He stood, leaving the remains of his meal uneaten. He had succeeded at his first purpose of the day, and now he had a chance to address his second one.