Goodness, MR. NICHOLAS BROOKSBANK has arrived in London. HE is 30, of the KENSINGTON BROOKSBANKS. Though they are RETURNED to the Season, we can only describe them as FREETHINKING and RESOURCEFUL, dear reader. Accompanied by NO ONE, they have settled in and are accepting social calls. But be warned: they are known for their INTENSITY.
may 30, 1771. your father welcomes the arrival of his son with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. you’re too young to know then, that you’re loved, but perhaps you’re better off for it. what does it all matter in the grand scheme of things? you’re just another casualty in the workings of fate. and yours, you will come to know, has much more in store than you’d dare to hope for.
your mother is weary from childbirth but fondly gazes down on your wrinkled, sleeping features when she holds you for the first time. the sun colors the room, tints it in a golden light and for one heartstopping moment, everything is alright and as it is supposed to be: she’s surrounded by the two loves of her life.
the midwife remains silent when she goes about cleaning, pointedly and professionally ignoring the viscount’s affection lavished upon your mother.
june 11, 1771. your parents attend your christening. your mother allows you to curl your small hand around her index finger. he’s strong, she tells your father with a warm smile and the older man’s eyes crinkle in love at the scene that unfolds before his eyes. he knows from the moment he holds you in his arms that you’re to be an extension of this family. your mother never doubts his unwavering loyalty and affection so as you grow up with his love and care, neither do you.
behind him, his lawful wife stares at you icily. you don’t know it then but you will come to understand eventually that there’s a price to pay for every good thing that will happen. there’s no light without some darkness but that’s a lesson for another day.
for today, all that matters is you.
summer 1779. it is made clear very early into your life that you exist to serve.
the distance between you and your brother is great at first although you manage to overcome it as you both grow up, united in a shared grief of being loved by one but rejected by another parent. he has to be more than what he can be but opinions vary about what exactly that is. his mother sneers when you ask your questions and tells you to know your place. on the other hand, your father is much kinder and indulges you when others will not: he takes you on long walks, teaches you how to read his favorite poems and once you’re old enough, oversees your formal education himself.
your mother is only a passing figure in your life when she disappears for good barely a year into your life. you’re too young to remember her face but sometimes you think you can smell her perfume in the halls of your father’s estate. an illusion, or perhaps simply wishful thinking, who knows?
but life goes on and you can’t miss what you never really had, can you?
except when she leaves, something in your father seems to irrevocably shatter. in later years and with more experiences under your belt, you come to realize this: there’s scarcely a day that passes in which melancholy does not seem to haunt him.
autumn 1784. as you grow, all your days consist of the same routine: tutoring and lessons. occasionally your father will make a point out of taking you to duties that take him away from home. you’re smart and you understand the gift you’re given; receiving an education fit for an heir even though you’re no more than a stain on this noble line, a sin manifested in a human body.
you’re merely tolerated here, your stepmother sneers. never forget that.
winter 1788. the unrest that befalls your father and his wife when their son falls seriously ill, you remember with unease constricting your chest.
coming down with a sickness that threatens to drain all life from him, physicians flock to your home in the hopes of preventing the unthinkable. but when recovery seems impossible and days pass without signs of improvement, all eyes turn to you with a foreign gleam in them that you shy away from: the price of honor for your brother’s life.
not an easy choice, is it?
(you’re cursed, your stepmother speaks through gritted teeth in a moment of weakness; tearstained and lines of worry deeply etched into her face, she no longer looks like the demon of your memory. what you see instead is a woman, wounded and lashing out in ways that you cannot comprehend. your lips snap shut in shock but somehow, you manage to retain your composure.
your father feigns sleeping off his exhaustion. he does not speak up on your behalf.)
when all seems like it will come to an end, it’s love that moves you to speak at long last. there’s no world you want to be in if it’s going to take your best friend away from you. you reach out for his hand, watch him with a myriad of expressions that flicker across your features so very rapidly; insisting, pleading and praying in silence. come back. this isn’t how it ends.
and come back he does.
—
you go on to grow and prosper.
you learn to resent nothing and nobody. instead you learn how to defy expectations, how to play a game that’s reserved for others but you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t find your fun in all kinds of places. maybe this isn’t what has been laid out for you but if it’s all proper and boring, would you really be interested? no. and why should you?
even insanity has a method to it.
















