Chapter 19
Nineteen
Sebastian found his mother right where he expected to. Where she always was, for rarely did she leave that room unless she had good reason. Sitting by the window so the sunlight shone across her, she had a needle and thread in hand, stitching away with expert precision and care.
“Mother…” Sebastian crept into the room.
She looked up when she heard his voice, her smile warm and filled with love. “I thought I heard you coming,” she said as she went back to her stitchwork. “It was either that or a mouse creeping down the hall.”
He lingered halfway through the room, wanting to go to her so she could pull him into her arms and hold him close. But he was getting too old for that now, eleven and nearly a man – or so his father said. It was time he stopped relying on his mother to save him.
“Are you going to tell me what is wrong?” she said with a soft chuckle. “Or do I need to guess?”
“It... nothing,” he lied. “I just wanted to see you.”
“Oh, is that right….” She chuckled again and shook her head. “So, it has nothing to do with your father shouting just now?” She looked up from her work and raised a knowing eyebrow at him.
He winced, feeling his resolve soften. “Andrew asked if I wanted to see him today – his father lets him ride beyond the estate, and he invited me to join him.”
“And your father won’t allow it.”
“He won’t even listen,” Sebastian scowled. “He says I must stay home and study.”
His mother nodded her understanding. “And you want me to change his mind.”
“Can you?” he asked hopefully, thinking that his mother was perhaps the only person in the world capable of such a thing. “Please…”
“Sebastian…” She sighed and shook her head. “Your father loves you, as do I. And I know you think he is harsh on you, but he is that way because of how much he cares.”
“He does not love me…” Sebastian sneered.
“He does,” she said rightly. “He just has a funny way of showing it. Believe me, I know it better than most.”
Sebastian studied his mother, frowning at the words spoken.
It sounded to him as if she believed them, which Sebastian found strange, as he had never considered the possibility that his father and mother were in love.
Not really. His father was too cold for that, too harsh and mean.
While his mother was the most gentle soul in the world. How could she love someone like that?
“I will talk to him,” she said finally, putting down her stitchwork. “But I cannot promise he will listen to me.”
“You will?” Sebastian brightened. “You… now?”
She rolled her eyes and then held her arms out for him. Sebastian did not hesitate in crossing to her, throwing himself into her arms, and melting into the hug she wrapped him in. “Thank you,” he said. “And I promise I will study later – tell Father I will make up for it.”
“I will, dear,” she assured him as she stroked his head. “I will…”
The room shifted suddenly around Sebastian and his mother. Her arms left him. The floor moved from under him. And suddenly, he was standing outside a closed door, his ear pressed against it as he listened.
“You baby him,” the voice of his father snapped. “You always have.”
“I am his mother,” his mother responded calmly. “And he is my baby boy.”
“He is eleven.”
“Still a child,” she countered softly and calmly. “And if he wishes to play with his friends, what of it?”
“He is not a child,” his father snapped. “His is my son – and it is about time he learns what that means. It is about time he grows up, and you will do well to remember that.”
Sebastian grimaced to hear his father snapping at his mother, just as he smiled to hear her response. “I will ask that you do not use that tone with me.”
He could picture his father’s face softening. “I… you are right. I am sorry, dear.”
“That is better.”
Sebastian’s father laughed, and he heard the sound of footsteps crossing the room, imagining now his father hugging his mother as he often did when they were alone and did not know that Sebastian was listening. “I love you, you know. Remember that.”
“I know it,” she cooed. “But it might be nice if Sebastian heard you say it every now and then.”
“He…” His father sighed loudly. “He does not need love. He needs discipline. Structure. He will be a duke one day, and he must understand what that entails.”
“They are not mutually exclusive,” his mother argued.
“From me they are.” His father’s voice was stone. “You can mother him all you wish, but from me, he will get none of it.”
His mother laughed. “As you wish…”
Again, the room shifted around Sebastian.
This time, he found himself back in his mother’s favorite room, the same chair positioned under the same window, only now it sat empty.
And the soft light that often poured through it shone bleak and grey, rain splashing against the glass and thunder rumbling in the distance.
Sebastian stood by the door, staring at the empty chair, his chin quivering and his eyes welling with tears he was desperate to hold back. He would not cry… he would not give his father the satisfaction.
“What are you doing?” His father’s cold voice sneered from behind Sebastian.
Sebastian’s body turned rigid. “I’m… I was just…
” He couldn’t say it. Say what? That he came here every day to stare at his mother’s empty chair?
That he tried his best to picture her sitting there, a smile on her lips, her hands working away as she hummed gently to herself?
That he missed her more than anything, and would give anything to have her back?
To say such things to his father would be to incur the man’s pitiful scorn and wrath.
“She’s gone, boy,” his father sneered. “And she’s not coming back.”
“I know.”
“And yet you pretend otherwise.” He scoffed. “Staring at that chair won’t bring her back. Nor will crying like some pup denied his mother’s milk.”
“I was not crying.”
“You best not be,” his father growled. “I won’t have a son of mine reduced to tears like a woman. Now, I asked you once to find Mr. Skelter – he has told me already how you have been neglecting your studies. Do not make me ask you again.”
Sebastian felt the anger brewing inside him.
He was fourteen, no longer a boy, not quite a man, struggling daily now to be what his father wanted of him – what he expected.
And where he knew it to be unwise to argue with his father, to say anything other than complete obedience, he simply could not help himself. Not with how he was feeling…
“You act as if you do not care,” Sebastian snarled, still watching the empty chair.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Sebastian spun about and fixed his glare on his father. “Six months… that is how long it has been since…” He sniffed back the tears. “And not once – not a single time! You do not care about her.”
His father’s dispassionate scowl turned rueful. “I would watch what you say to me, boy.”
“You never loved her,” Sebastian cried. “You only loved yourself! And now that she is dead. You… you… you don’t care at all –”
His father’s hand struck out and slapped him hard. Pain erupted across his face, and Sebastian dropped to his knees as the world turned.
“I loved your mother.” His father stood over him, his breathing heavy. “That I do not cry or weep or mourn for her as you do… it changes nothing!” he hissed. “A weakness that I will not satisfy.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“And I don’t care,” he snarled down at his son. “What I do care for is that you get your ass downstairs at once! And if I have to tell you again…” His body was shaking. “My belt will be the next thing you feel.”
Sebastian glared at his father as he held the side of his face. “I hate you.”
His father laughed coldly. “You say the words as if I do not already know it.” With that, his father reached for his belt and started to undo it. “But just in case…”
Sebastian’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up in bed.
He was covered in a cold sweat that soaked through the bedding; his night shirt sticking to his body as he breathed heavily. It was still night, he knew himself to have been dreaming, but he looked about the room as if expecting his father to be standing there with his belt at the ready.
Even after all this time, the man still terrifies me. Worse than that, he still ruins my life in ways that I am certain even he could not have predicted.
To calm himself down, Sebastian focused his thoughts on his mother.
She had died when he was fourteen, and even to this day, he missed her more than words could ever explain.
Growing up, his father had been a cold, strict figure who was more monster than man in Sebastian’s eyes.
But his mother… she had been the fire that kept back the cool winter winds, there to protect him and to show him what it was like to be loved.
His parents’ relationship had been a strange one, but as Sebastian grew older, he was forced to admit that love had somehow been found between them. Two more different souls did not exist, and still they had cared for each other. It was a most peculiar relationship.
His mother’s death had changed everything.
Sebastian’s father had become even worse after his mother had died. He had become crueler. More strict. More malevolent and uncaring. He had taken his sorrow out on Sebastian, using his own son as a whipping boy to beat away the pain that he must have felt at losing the woman he loved.
The effect this had on Sebastian should have been obvious – he did not like to admit it, for that would be to admit that his father’s reach extended beyond the grave. But it was undeniable how being exposed to the torture that was a broken heart had shaped him irrevocably.
How could anyone want such a thing? Why would they take the risk, knowing where it might lead? Better to close one’s heart off, never letting in such feelings as love… even happiness. Better for me. Better for those I know and care for.
Still shaking from his nightmare, Sebastian rose from the bed and started pacing the room as he tried to curb his ragged breathing. And as was to be expected, his mind next went to Margot and what had occurred earlier in the garden.
Sebastian had never wanted to fall in love.
Seeing how it had affected his father, he figured it was best to avoid such things.
Hence, the rakish behavior, the whoring, the philandering that became synonymous with his name.
He was protecting himself. He was saving himself from the pain.
But also… a part of me always believed I was doing it not just for myself, but for anyone who might dare to get too close to me.
Was that not the point? He believed truly that he was saving Margot as much as he was himself. Or perhaps that was just a lie told to justify his actions. So he could look past the hurt he caused in her because, in the long run, it was for the best.
Only now, he wondered if that made as much sense as he had assumed that it did. How was this helping her? He pictured their fight earlier, the pain in her voice, the anger in her eyes, the suffering inherent in her very being. That was not how this was supposed to happen.
It was his fault, he knew that. And as he paced his room, slowly calming down, he did not bother denying it.
He had allowed them to get too close; he had allowed himself to make her believe…
and then he had pulled away, the damage done, the result predictable, so that he could not reason with his decision. This is all my fault.
He had been so close to telling her the truth. Dammit, he had wanted to!
Sadly, Sebastian was a weak man. Memories of his father still haunted him. Memories of how his mother’s death had affected him still wreaked havoc. To risk these feelings again, to risk turning in his father, was it worth the cost? Was it worth what might be if that was what waited for him?
He wished he knew the answer.
Sebastian was caught in two worlds, and he did not know which one to go to. Should he continue to push Margot away, knowing that in the long run she would thank him for it? Or should he take a chance so he might experience what his parents once had? Even if it was only for a moment…
To the window he walked, looking across the garden.
There, he remembered clearly his mother’s words, how she had assured Sebastian that she loved his father, and he loved her.
They had been happy once. Could Sebastian experience the same?
Did he even deserve it? Or would Margot be better off without him?
I wish I had the answer. Or rather, I wish I were not such a coward as I am, for then the answer might not even matter. He wanted Margot; she wanted him. But was that enough? If only he knew…