Chapter Three #3
What a mess this was, and yet he could not summon his anger to return.
He could summon dismay, perhaps. Resentment, maybe.
But not anger. In some ways, this was one gigantic prank where he’d toted a letter across a continent and then had to do what the letter said when he arrived.
He didn’t find it particularly funny, though.
His future had been settled for him, divvied up by his father and his father’s best friend, without his consent.
He did resent that on principle. His father and Sir Thomas had manipulated his future, and now they were manipulating him into accepting their plans with the temptation of a beautiful home to live in, combined with the pressure to finally do something with his life, and the threat of causing two old men to lose face: Sir Thomas with his friends, and Alistair’s father with Sir Thomas if his son didn’t come through on the deal.
‘Wily old bastards,’ Alistair swore under his breath.
But they hadn’t been old bastards when they’d done this.
They’d been two young men at the time. His father couldn’t have known how his four-year-old son would turn out.
Perhaps the pact had merely been a sop for his father’s friend.
Perhaps his father hadn’t truly expected it to come to pass.
But it had, and that was not entirely his father’s fault.
It was Alistair’s. In that way, he’d had a hand in shaping his own destiny, in putting himself on the path that had led to today.
If he was going to be angry, he had to save some of that anger for himself.
That anger wouldn’t solve anything at this point.
The plan was done, fully sprung. All that remained was what to do about it.
Alistair supposed he had two choices. He could simply leave and abandon Naples altogether, refusing to acquiesce, or he could stay and try out this option.
The former would shame his father and perhaps drive a final wedge between them.
I just want you to try his father had pleaded.
Therein lay the risk of doing the latter.
It wasn’t a matter of simply trying this new opportunity.
He could not afford to fail in front of Sir Thomas Rose.
If he stayed, he had to see this through, and he had to succeed.
He’d not seen anything through for years, not even a relationship.
He was always careful to cut those off at three months before they got serious, before anyone expected too much.
Did he dare stay? Did he dare try one more time to make something of himself?
Something deep inside began to stir. Alistair Burke-Price never said no to a dare.
If he did say no, on what grounds could he refuse an offer that had been put to him as if he was the one doing the Roses the favour?
There was nothing repellent about the offer.
It was wrapped in luxury: this beautiful home, this stunning view, a welcome as warm as this land where he need never endure a lonely, grey, cold Devon winter again.
Those were just the obvious benefits. There were other benefits, too.
He’d been given a path, a chance to establish himself in the artefact trade with a mentor to help him.
He’d been gifted a future, albeit done in a manner of shaky principle.
But principles aside, this was no different than a father buying his son a commission in the military or finding him a living in a parish.
Wealthy men gifted their sons futures all the time.
Alistair leaned against the balcony’s balustrade and let out a sigh.
It was all true. If his father was here, that was exactly how he’d make the argument.
This is a good opportunity… Sir Thomas will help you.
He was with friends of the family, living in a home that bordered on opulent.
Alastair would live in luxury as he found his way.
And yet, he couldn’t help but feel he was being coerced.
Why hadn’t his father simply told him? Did his father think he would not have come?
To be fair, his father may have been right.
It would have been easier to refuse back in March.
Now that he was here, he could not refuse without embarrassing his father in front of his best friend.
His father had given his word. He might be something of a rake and a pleasure-seeker, but he was not without an appreciation of honour—his and that of others. Both were now at stake.
Perhaps he was making too much of this. Naples had possibilities, and he needed possibilities.
It might be a good fit. He gripped the balustrade with resolve.
Tomorrow he would go to the docks and begin learning the business of artefact trade.
How hard would it be to give his father what he’d asked of him?
It wasn’t like he had arranged a marriage for his son, after all.
But first, it was time to dress for dinner. He had a celebration to attend.