Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Cassian sat alone in his office, a glass of brandy in one hand, a cigar balanced between his lips. The strange thing was that he didn’t even like the taste of cigars. He simply smoked them because he thought he should.
Is this not who I am? Why fight it any longer?
He had retired to his office for a reason; it was the one place that he could be alone with his thoughts. Moments ago, as he readied for supper, he’d be struck by another memory that had come from nowhere, just as it had broken him resoundingly.
Cassian’s body still trembled as he replayed the memory over and over again in his mind. He sweated through his clothes. The brandy was bitter on his tongue. And while a part of him was desperate to forget the memory, another part knew that to do so was wrong… even if he had no idea what that was.
As to the memory?
He had been nineteen years old; he couldn’t say how he knew his age, just that he did.
He stood in that very office, his head bowed, his knees trembling as he faced down his father.
His father was furious with him, spittle flying from his lips, his face as red as freshly spilled blood.
He shouted and screamed and accused Cassian, who took the assault because he had known that he deserved it.
The words his father shouted at him were not remembered, just the feeling of them. Cassian felt that now in his chest, his heart ripped in two, his world crumbling as pieces of his past slowly fit together to reveal an image that he understood but did not like one little bit.
His father had been accusing Cassian of killing his brother.
Perhaps not with his own hand, but it had been his fault somehow, and Cassian had known it to be true.
So, he took the rancor, he accepted it, and he used it as a shell to harden himself.
A promise made that he would never feel that way again…
I am who I am, and I fear this is the reason for it. Maybe not the cause, but the final blow that confirmed it fully.
Did Cassian really kill his own brother? Was he the worst of people, responsible for all the pain caused and all the suffering given? And did he even deserve redemption? He was about to find out.
A soft knock at the door brought Cassian back into the room.
“Come in.” He put the cigar out and swallowed the last mouthful of brandy just as Mr. Pemberton walked in.
“Back to your old habits,” Mr. Pemberton noted as he approached the desk.
“I thought it necessary,” Cassian said. “And if not necessary, unavoidable.”
“More memories?” Mr. Pemberton asked, sounding caught between hope and worry.
“Please, sit, Mr. Pemberton.” Cassian indicated to the chair across from him. Mr. Pemberton hesitated and Cassian looked at him with warning. “It was not a request. Sit.”
Mr. Pemberton frowned, a hint of worry behind his eyes, before taking the seat. “Is something the matter, Your Grace? When you sent for me…”
“There is something I wish to ask you, Mr. Pemberton,” Cassian began. “And please, I require the truth. No lies. No obfuscation. For once, tell me the truth.”
Cassian was done pretending about himself. He was finished with the lies. For a time there, he had wanted to believe that there might be a chance that he could be a better man, as if to ignore the truth might see it stall and never arrive like a harrowing wind.
However, these last few days had brought that wind fully…
that storm bent on chaos and destruction.
Time and again, memories of the past paid visits to him, battering him like a ram at the gate, breaking their way into his conscience so they could not be denied.
They attacked him without mercy, forcing the truth down his gullet, and every single one tasted like ash and misery and death.
Each memory confirmed what Cassian had already known. And now, after weeks of hiding, it was time that he confronted who he was once and for all. For better, or for worse.
“Before the accident,” Cassian began as he looked gravely at Mr. Pemberton. “I find myself wondering often, Mr. Pemberton…” He sighed deeply. “Did you like me?”
Mr. Pemberton blinked at the randomness of the question. “I… I am afraid I do not understand your meaning, Your Grace.”
“You have known me for most of my life,” Cassian continued. “You have seen me grow, just as you have borne witness to how I run my household and the type of man that I am. So, I ask again. While working for me, did you like me?”
“It is not a question of liking you or not, Your Grace. I am your loyal servant and have dedicated my entire life towards—”
“I know your charge,” he cut the man off. “And I do not doubt or question your loyalty. But I want to know, while working for me, did you like me as a man? As a person? Even as a friend? Was such a thing possible? What sort of man was I, Mr. Pemberton?”
“I have told you already, Your Grace.” He spoke slowly and carefully. “You might have been strict, but you were fair. You did not play favorites, but you were not purposefully punitive. It is no easy thing to be a duke, and such degrees of responsibility will weigh on any—”
“You speak around the point,” Cassian cut him off again.
“So, allow me to rephrase. If I were not your duke and you did not work for me, was I the type of man you would have wanted to spend time with as a friend? To get to know? Or would you have rather gouged out your own eyes than spend any more time with me than you had to?”
“I…” Mr. Pemberton’s controlled facade slipped. “That is not… such a question is impossible to answer, Your Grace.”
Cassian scoffed. “It ought not to be. In fact, as your charge is to do as I tell you, one would think that you would happily lie to my face and tell me what you know I want to hear. But that you cannot even do that…” Cassian exhaled. “I suppose that is my answer.”
“It is not an answer,” Mr. Pemberton argued.
“If you wish for me to coddle you and tell you that you were a wonderful fellow who inspired loyalty and laughter everywhere you went, then I will do that. But I think you know that was not the case. You were who you were raised to be. No more, no less, and not for a moment since I started working for you have I regretted my life, nor have I felt anything but pride for the man who I saw you turn into.”
Cassian searched Mr. Pemberton’s eyes for a hint of the lie but found nothing. The man was loyal to a fault and Cassian knew that he was indeed proud of his work, just as he would do anything he had to for Cassian.
But isn’t that the problem? Hard truths are what I need, a healthy dose of reality.
“You are loyal,” Cassian said with a deep sigh. “And I do not doubt that all you have done is with an eye toward helping me.”
“It is my charge, Your Grace.”
“So…” He made sure to be looking right at Mr. Pemberton so that the man had nowhere to hide. “I take it that is why you helped to cover Isolde’s lies for her? And why you saw fit to lie to me, too?”
Mr. Pemberton’s eyes widened and his composure dropped.
“Do not deny it,” Cassian hurried before his steward had a chance to say anything.
“I have thought on this quite a bit, and the only way any of it makes sense is if you lied for her. When I told you that we were engaged, you must have known it to be false. Yet you did nothing to stop it.” He looked pointedly at Mr. Pemberton. “I want to know why.”
“I…” Mr. Pemberton swallowed and it was the first time the man had looked anything close to afraid. “I did as I thought was best.”
“Meaning?”
“When you first told me of the engagement, you must understand that I was still coming to terms with your malady. At first, I thought it best not to do or say anything that might upset you.”
“So, you were scared of me?”
“No, Your Grace!”
“You were,” Cassian said bitterly. “It is a theme I am starting to see too often. I ran this manor using fear as my whip, such that even my most loyal steward was terrified to say something that he thought might find him in my ire.”
Cassian’s body slumped as if a weight pushed down on his shoulders. Slowly, the pieces came together, a picture formed, and it was a most frightening portrait to look upon.
More frightening still was the final question that Cassian had to ask his steward, the very one that would determine who he truly was and the reason for it.
Before he had a chance to ask that question, Mr. Pemberton spoke up.
“I lied because I was worried about you, Your Grace. Because—”
“You lied because you were worried about what I would do to you,” Cassian snapped.
“Please!” Mr. Pemberton said harshly. “Allow me to…” He grimaced, sighed, and looked pleadingly at Cassian.
“Please, allow me to finish. It was never my intention to maintain the lie. Once we arrived back at the estate, I spoke with Her Grace and asked for the truth. Immediately, I suspected that she was lying about who she was, and while I still planned to expose her, I came to realize…” A smile touched his lips, and he shook his head to himself.
“You realized what?”
“That she was good for you, Your Grace,” he said simply.
“She made you smile. She made you laugh. And when you spoke of her, it reminded me of the man I used to know. The boy you once were. She made you happy in ways I had not seen in years, and I thought that to keep her by your side might just…” His chin began to wobble.
“It might help you return to who I know you are, deep down inside. Yes, you have a reputation that is earned. Yes, you are strict and sometimes harsh. But that is not the true you, and Her Grace reminded me of that fact. That is why I lied.”
“The true me?” Cassian shook his head. “Again, I am told who I should be, and not who I really am.”
“Even you do not know who you are,” Mr. Pemberton said.
“But that is a gift, Your Grace. At first, I thought the accident to be a tragedy, but I am beginning to see it in another light. Few men have a real chance for a fresh start. Few men have a chance to be more than they believe themselves to be.”
“But do I deserve such a thing?” Cassian said.
“What—”
“I have one more question, Mr. Pemberton, and in this I urge you not to lie.” He let that settle as he found the steward’s eyes again. The temperature in the room dropped, darkness fell, and Cassian was the cause. “Did I kill my brother?”
“Wh—what?” Mr. Pemberton started.
“You heard me,” he said. “Did I kill my brother?”
“I… that is not… it is not nearly that simple.”
“Make it that simple.”
“I cannot say for sure what happened.” He took a deep breath. “Only what I have been told. You were nineteen when Julian died, and it is a day that I will never forget.”
Memories washed over Cassian as Mr. Pemberton spoke. Nothing that was clear. Nothing he could make sense of. Images of a storm raging across the estate. The sounds of screaming. And pain felt in Cassian’s chest that had him clutching his heart as if it might break in two.
“From what I was told, you and Julian had decided to go for a ride, even though you were told not to do so. A storm was said to be approaching, but the two of you always enjoyed ignoring your father’s demands…
” His lip twitched as if to smile. “You were close, the two of you. Brothers and best friends. Julian looked up to you, and I know how much you loved him.”
More memories returned. Julian’s smiling face, filled with laughter.
Cassian’s heart soaring. Pride felt because he knew how much his younger brother admired him.
Vague recollections of them riding horses together, exploring through fields and forests.
And then, more pain crashing down like a tidal wave so that Cassian could hardly breathe.
“The storm came quickly, I was told. More savage and unforgiving than expected. You have never spoken about what happened, so I can only guess…”
“Guess,” Cassian hissed, clutching the table now as the memories continued to batter him.
“To put it simply, Julien was thrown from his horse while riding home with you. His neck broke on impact. You did not cause it, Your Grace. You did not want it. Sadly, and it breaks my heart to say this, you took the brunt of the blame as if you were the reason.”
“I was…” Cassian said in a whisper. “I… I killed—”
“No, Your Grace,” Mr. Pemberton cut him off as if angry. “Perhaps your father wanted you to believe it. Perhaps you wanted it too, as if that might somehow make things better. But the storm killed Julien. The fall. You are innocent.”
Cassian shook his head as more memories flooded him.
He remembered the crushing sadness when he found his brother’s broken body. He remembered the guilt as his father screamed at him and laid blame at his feet. And he remembered the promise that he made to himself that same day as he locked himself in his room to shut out the world and the pain both.
His promise was one of social isolation. It was a promise to never allow himself to feel or care for someone other than himself. It was a promise to harden his shell and build up his walls so that nothing would ever be able to hurt him.
That is why I am this way. That was the cause of who I became. And that is the reason why I deserve to be alone…
“You may go,” Cassian said. He looked at the desk, unable to meet Mr. Pemberton’s eyes because the shame he felt was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
“Your Grace, please, you must know that—”
“Go!” he roared and snapped his head up, fixing a snarl to his face. “Now!” More memories returned, those being the look on Mr. Pemberton’s face whenever he found himself face to face with Cassian’s wrath.
“As you say, Your Grace.” Mr. Pemberton rose slowly. “And if you need anything, do not hesitate to send for me.” He looked at Cassian a final time, pity shown clearly in his eyes.
Cassian scowled at his steward. He snarled. He wanted Mr. Pemberton to believe that the old Cassian had returned, just as he wanted that old Cassian to return, because that way, he might have been able to shut off this feeling of hurt that was crushing.
Alone now, Cassian sagged in his chair, feeling the weight of his memories falling upon him like hammering fists of relentless fury. Even with his memories returning, he could not revert so simply to that cold, detached, distant version of himself that he needed to be.
He wanted to be that man now. He needed to be that man. And the cruelest irony of all was that he might never be again.