Four
“Dad, please listen to me,” I pleaded, a piece of paper waggling between my fingers. It was my last shot. My earlier attempt in the summer had been swiftly shut down, and time to respond was almost gone. “This opportunity is something I’ve dreamt about.”
“Spencer, we’ve talked about this. I am sorry, but it won’t be possible.” My father’s shoulders dropped, his hand running through his silvering reddish-brown hair as he sat back in his desk chair.
“Why?” My arms flung out in frustration. “Because his lordship says so?”
“Spencer…” my father warned, a hand moving down to his cleanly shaven face, rubbing his chin.
He was a handsome man in his early fifties, tall and lean, blue eyes so light they were almost opaque, and a soft smile.
But lately, it seemed he had aged years, as though weights were pushing down on his shoulders, wrinkling his forehead and making him somber.
Andrew was quiet, kind, and a peacemaker in contrast to his older brother, Fredrick, who was arrogant, selfish, dominant, and thought his way was the only way.
I loved my father but disliked that he had no backbone when it came to Fredrick.
He spent so much time trying to appease his older brother, not making any waves, which made everyone but Fredrick miserable.
It became a sticking point with my parents, but after years of being beaten back, my mother had given up and just accepted that Fredrick ran the show. Their lives. She seemed to have given up on everything but her Vodka Collins.
“Dad.” I sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain my composure.
My father shut down when voices were raised and the yelling started.
He was always telling my mother, “We will speak when you are calm,” which usually sent my mother into another tizzy.
“This is everything to me. You know since I was a little girl I’ve wanted to be a veterinarian, help with endangered animals.
This university is one of the top in the country, and they have admitted me.
” I placed my acceptance letter down in front of him, hoping this time he’d actually read it.
Lowering myself in a chair on the other side of his large antique desk, my eyes begged for a chance. “Please.”
His chair squeaked as he leaned forward, grabbing the letter, his gaze rolling over it. I knew exactly what it said, I had read it so many times, excitement leaping around in my chest.
“This is my future. What I want to do with my life.” Please hear me, please fight for me. “School has already started, but I talked to someone at the admissions, and they are willing to let me register late.”
Fredrick was old school. I’m talking he acted like he was living in an episode of Downton Abbey where barons, lords, and nobles still held weight and ruled the country from their huge estates.
Where women didn’t work and were greatly admired socialites who oversaw the house.
Living and breathing tradition, throwing the best dinner parties, making sure everything was proper and reputable.
Archaic.
That had died away a long time ago, before Fredrick was even born, but my father and Fredrick were raised like that. It had been outdated even then, but some people just couldn’t let go and evolve with the times.
“I am so proud of you, Spencer.” My father’s words were soft and even as he laid down the letter. “And I wish that we were just regular people… you could do anything you like.”
“But we are!” My voice rose, my hands flinging out again.
“Most would disagree with you.” He flicked his hand to the room, the house.
We lived in a slightly smaller estate than my uncle, but both lands were connected by a small lake and rolling hills owned by the Sutton Family.
Livestock used to be kept here, but the only things left now were my three favorite horses and two of my dad’s dogs.
I couldn’t deny I had grown up with money, on a large estate most would visit on holiday, but it was all an illusion.
Father didn’t discuss it with me, but under the veil, it was falling apart.
It was far too much money to heat and maintain in this modern world.
I knew we weren’t rolling in money, but both my uncle and father never cut corners on anything.
“The title means nothing anymore. Not in today’s world. And most understand that. Sara, the Earl of Chatfield’s daughter, is going to school to be a graphic designer! I’m not asking to be a stripper or even a waitress, which let me add are respectable jobs—”
“Spencie.” Strain colored my pet name. I only let my baby sister call me that without cringing.
He tilted his head, exasperation reddening his cheeks.
We had the same pale skin that displayed every emotion.
“You know the answer. Fredrick told you last time he was fine with you volunteering once in a while at organizations or hosting donation dinners. Goodwill among us is always looked upon with admiration, but to be an actual veterinarian? No. That is not possible.” He shook his head, his expression heavy with regret and sorrow. “I’m sorry.”
“Not possible?” I shook my head, my teeth cracking against each other.
“It’s completely possible, Father. I have the acceptance letter to prove it.
I’ve worked hard at school. I have the brains, the will, and the passion.
It’s what I’ve wanted since I was a little girl.
And I know you don’t have a problem with me doing it.
The only person, the only thing, hindering my dream is an illusory idea which no one believes in anymore, stopping me from doing something good with my life. Something that makes me happy.”
My father stirred in his chair, rolling it sideways like he was already leaving this argument.
He stared at the empty fireplace, the last bits of summer holding on as the September sun drifted through the curtains of the dark and heavily decorated room.
It hadn’t been revamped since the early 1900s.
“Spencer.” He continued to stare off, his hand rolling into a fist on his desk. I knew I should have stopped, but frustration pushed me to keep fighting.
“I am nineteen.” My birthday had been a week ago. “I don’t need permission to go to a top university. I mean, this is an immensely prestigious school!”
“You do if it costs money!” He slammed his rolled hand down on the surface, causing me to jump in my chair.
He spun to face me. “Money I provide! So yes, you do need my permission. And your uncle’s!
” he barked, his face flushing burgundy.
My father rarely let his temper show. “No matter what, you couldn’t attend anyway. ”
“Why?”
He shook his head, standing up, straightening the papers on his desk. “This conversation is over.”
“Tell me. Why?” I countered his movement, leaning toward him.
“Stop treating me like a little girl. Or as if I’m not allowed to be part of this because I am a girl.
I’m the eldest. This is mine someday too.
” At least Fredrick was modern enough to allow Wentworth House to go to me and my little sister, Olivia.
Landen would inherit the larger Chatstone Manor.
We all planned to sell the moment we could.
“I will not.” He shoved the papers to the side, his anger bursting at the seams.
“Dad. Please.”
“Because we can’t afford it,” he snapped, his chest heaving in a deep gulp of air, his eyes landing on me.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He regrouped, peering down at his files. “Go check on your mother; she had a migraine this morning.”
She always had a headache, mostly brought on by alcohol and the stress she created.
“Dad,” I said softly.
“Spencer. Please. I have enough on my plate today.” He gazed at me, looking exhausted. Defeated.
Biting down on my lip, I nodded, retrieved the letter, and headed for the door.
“Spencer.” He stopped me, turning my head to look at him. “I really am sorry.”
“Yeah.” I gripped the door in my hands. “Me too.”
I stepped out, shutting the door behind me.
My heart heavy, I rushed outside, trying to hold back the tears.
The breeze wound around my hair as I growled deeply at the blue sky.
“Fuck!” I locked the scream down so no one would hear me, but it tore at my throat.
Caged. I felt trapped in this life. I knew I had a lot to be grateful for, but it struck me that any so-called “ordinary” family would be thrilled for their daughter to be accepted to this university.
Encourage her to follow her dreams. It was only the nobles who would take such an achievement and make it feel like nothing.
“Spencie!” My younger sister waved to me as she skipped up the walkway from the garden, a flower crown in her long strawberry-blonde hair. She had a darker shade of my father’s eyes.
Olivia could lose herself in her imagination for hours out in the garden, playing and singing to herself.
We were a little more than eight years apart; she had turned ten in June and was a strange mixture of being too old for her age and too immature.
She didn’t really fit with girls in her class, not interested in what they were into.
She was like this old soul stuck in a body who still loved to play make-believe, talking to flowers and humming happily to herself, lost in her dream world.
Responsibility had yet to be pinned on her, she was still carefree and starry-eyed. Sometimes I felt like keeping her protected from life as long as I could, but then another part of me knew we were doing her no favors anymore.
Plopping down on the back steps, I batted back my grief clogging my throat, staring at “Dear Ms. Spencer Helen Sutton, Congratulations! It is our great pleasure to offer you admittance…” My teary vision blurred out the rest, my hand crumpling the note.
The admittance lady warned me that my window to accept their offer was closing tomorrow.
This was my last chance to change my father’s mind.