Old memories of a young man (Part I)
Book: Desire & Decorum
Series: Unspoken Desires (Modern Desire & Decorum AU)
Summary: Despite being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, from a very young age, Ernest Sinclaire has experienced life's most painful thorns. However, this hasn't stopped him from enjoying the roses along the way. Before the story takes another leap in time, this chapter lets us peek a little into his past and show how the story happened from his point of view.
Characters: Ernest Sinclaire; Lydia Sinclaire; Matthew Sinclaire; Vincent Foredale; Beatrice Foredale; The mentioned characters belong to Pixelberry. No copyright infringement intended. Other original OC’S are mentioned.
Word Count: +/- 15 600 (parte I and II)
Warnings: Mentions of death and grief.
Notes: 💖 English is not my first language. Please excuse me for any typos /or grammatical errors. There was no beta reader this time. 💖 This is my submission for @choicesficwriterscreations.
“Do you know what day it is, Mamma?”
Lydia Sinclaire, lounging in an armchair, trying to deflate her feet, was woken up by her boy. He was questioning her with that cute expectant look. “No, mo luran (my pretty boy). What day is it?” She caressed his curls.
“It’s our Sweet Day!” The boy declared with his eyes shining.
“We are not going anywhere today. You are still recovering, Ernie.” And honestly, she wasn't in the mood to move either. The bump was still discreet, but the symptoms not so much.
“I’m not sick anymore! I’m much better today!” The boy insisted. “Achoo!” A sneeze escaped, bringing some snot out of the nose.
“Better, you say...come here. Let’s clean that cute nose.”
“I can do it myself! I’m not a baby anymore!”
“You will always be my baby, whether you like it or not. Now sniffle!”
He did as she said. “But I want custard pies!” Ernest begged from beneath the tissue.
“Let's ask Mr. Elliot to make some for us.”
“No, Mamma. I want those from the Tea House. The ones that come from baby Jesus's land!”
Lydia burst out laughing. “Belem pastries?”
“Yes! Why are you laughing?”
“They are not from that Belem, Ernest. They are named after a village called ‘Belem’ in Portugal, but that doesn't matter now.”
“Do you want me to go buy some, Mrs. Sinclaire?” The nanny, who had arrived in the meantime looking for Ernest, asked.
“Yes, please, Sarah. This pastry talk has whetted my appetite.” Lydia felt the baby kick her belly. “I think hers as well. She has our sweet tooth, mo luran,” Lydia noticed Ernest was looking very interestedly at her belly. “Ernest?”
“You have not explained it to me yet."
“What?”
“How the baby gets here.” He gently touched the bump.
“I thought your father had explained it to you.”
“We read a book together, but I don’t consider it a satisfactory explanation.”
Lydia sighed. “I’ll then. What would men be without mothers?” She caressed his face. “Sarah, besides the pastries, bring me something with chocolate as well. A lot of it. This will be a long talk.”
"No, Mama, she doesn't know! Only you know how to choose the most delicious!” Ernest was threatening to throw a tantrum. He was a sweet boy most of the time. However, despite being the moon about baby, since he got the news, every now and then a tantrum moment popped up. Lydia didn't want this to become a bad habit, but she wasn't in the mood to get upset with her son about it.
“Lucky for you, I know I'm the best cake judge in the world!” Lydia squeezed her son's cheek. “Thank you anyway, Sarah. I'll go there myself. Maybe a short walk will help my feet.”
“Are you sure, Mrs Sinclaire? A thunder is approaching. It’ll start to rain anytime soon.”
“I’m pregnant, not invalid. Nor made of sugar. Tell Mr Lewis I will be ready in ten minutes, please.”
“Can I go with you, Mama?”
“No. You stay at home, Mr Sinclaire! You will prepare the tea for us with Sarah’s help. I will be back before you miss me.” She kissed Ernest’s head.
William Shakespeare himself would not have written such a perfect tragedy. Lydia Sinclaire, a woman in the prime of life, living at the pinnacle of happiness, dies in a car accident.
Like in all great tragedies, it all happened on a day with unpleasant weather: hot, humid, and a thunder threatening to break out at any moment. Only a mother with a mission would dare to put a foot outside the house.
It is then that when the improbable takes advantage of a distraction that what everyone does not want to think or fear (because fear is believing that it will become real) happens—unexpectedly, disastrously, relentlessly.
In the instant of a flash of lightning, one life was taken, another remained, not yet known for how long, but it would not be long.
The past, the present, the future... all had disappeared with her.
Maybe it sounds exaggeratedly bleak for some, but what many didn't know yet, it was that Mrs Sinclaire was expecting a baby, the princess the whole family had wished upon a star.
“Mrs. Sinclaire dies in tragic road accident. The family's driver, Mr. Lewis, is in a coma.”
It was in all the media. The less is known about a subject, the more is written about it. The days of waiting for the release of the body thickened the plot even more.
Many theories arose about what happened, some more scandalous, others with a conspiratorial tone. The most imaginative minds even put attempted abduction by aliens on the table.
However, to the Sinclaires' dismay, not even their countless money could get them the truth.
Their desperation for answers attracted the attention of some vultures, who tried to pretend to have witnessed what happened or even to have information about it from the other world. A psychic claimed on television that Lydia wanted to get in touch with her husband and son. What exactly happened, no one will ever know.
∭
Funerals are, by their nature, disconcerting occasions.
What should be a moment of remembrance for those who have passed away often turns into a moment of undesired protagonism for those who remain in the land of the living. However, it is almost never for the best reasons.
On this funeral, all eyes are on a man and a little boy. Both lost the woman they loved. The most intense and beautiful love any of them had ever known.
Mathew Sinclaire was broken, crying and wailing incessantly. He could barely stay on his feet. The Earl of Edgewater had to drag him with every step so he wouldn't fall.
If Mr Sinclaire's not so stoic behaviour surprised who was attending the ceremony, little Sinclaire's conduct caused much more impact.
Surrounded by the tender care of the governess and nanny, Ernest sat quietly in the church pew. Although never letting go of the governess's hand, Ernest received everyone's condolences with an unexpected serenity, even accepting kisses from strangers, something he would never normally tolerate. Nothing made his serious posture waver.
When some of Lydia's relatives arrived at the church, Mr. Sinclaire became angry, hurling insults. His friends held him back to prevent a fight, but it wasn't long before sadness overcame anger. Matthew didn't have the strength to argue.
Facing such desolation, the vicar shortened the burial rites. Lydia and the baby were going to rest there until the new crypt was ready, so it wasn't worth prolonging that family and friends' suffering. None of his words were going to have any real effect at that moment.
Ernest watched this final act unconscious of the meaning of what was going on. The boy refused to throw the small bunch of flowers he was carrying in his hand into the grave. "No! They're Mama's favourites! I'll put them in a vase at home!"
Contrary to the social expectations, there was no memorial after the funeral.
Only the closest ones returned home, which came down to the father, the son, the Ledford Park staff, and the Earl of Edgewater.
Before anyone could attempt to address him, Matthew Sinclaire disappeared into his office, followed by his best friend.
Ernest tried to follow his father, but he almost got hit in the face with the door.
Mrs. Lewis took the boy into the kitchen. Ernest would remember for the rest of his life what he ate at that time, as he was never able to eat them again in his life: flapjacks (which he was never able to eat again) and chocolate milk.
While he was eating, Ernest began to process what had happened. For a moment, he felt everything around him spin. Suddenly, the boy felt an enormous emptiness that grew and became deeper, threatening to swallow him. He couldn't figure out what he was feeling, and that scared him even more.
Still shocked by the emotions of the day, neither the nanny nor the governess noticed Ernest slipping out of the kitchen.
He ran to his father's office as if his life depended on it. Finding the doors locked, Ernest desperately knocked and shook the door handle. For the first time in days, Ernest felt tears well up in his eyes.
The Earl opened the door for him, and Ernest ran to his father, who was standing in front of Lydia's portrait. The boy clung to his father's legs, unable to hold back his tears any longer. Mama…" He sobbed.
“Papa! Mama...the baby… They will come back?” Confused by his pain, Ernest had assumed that the vicar's words about the comeback referred to the days ahead.
Mr Sinclaire seemed to ignore his son's presence.
“Matthew, your son needs you now…” Earl's words also remained in his memory. “He’s suffering too.”
“They're dead, don't you understand? Dead! They're not coming back! Never again! And it's all your fault!” Matthew screamed wildly.
Ernest fell to the floor in fright.
“Matthew! Did you hear what you said? Apologise to your son, now!” The Earl was outraged seeing his friend's attitude.
At that very moment, Mrs Lewis walked into the office livid. Years later, when recounting the incident, the Earl admitted that he thought she was going to slap her boss. “Blame whoever...whatever you want...but don’t dare to blame him ever again!” She was a mixture of fury and tears. The governess took the boy in her arms. Despite the cruelty that he had just been a victim of, Ernest tried to stretch out his arms to his father, but Mrs Lewis walked away with him.
There was the sound of things smashing in the office. She hid his head in her neck so Ernest would not see the fury in his father's eyes again.
“I didn't want Mama and the baby to die, Constance. I just wanted my sweet day with her." He cried uncontrollably.
“This is not your fault, my little angel.” She kissed his head, letting her own tears mix with his. “Your father is just out of his mind. He loves you very much; despite he can’t show it now. We’ll meet them again one day. Even if they don't come back as quickly as we would like, things will get better soon. I promise.”
On the next morning. Ernest had woken up with a loud, distressed cry. He got out of bed, running towards the hair-raising sound. The commotion was at his father's bureau. Mrs Lewis, the butler, and a couple of maids stood around him. No one had noticed his arrival.
Peering between the silhouettes, Ernest saw the carpet and the desk covered in vomit. A very intense smell came from there.
“He's alive, but he's very drunk.” Ernest heard the butler say.
“Let's try to get him on the couch. Miss Scott, please call the doctor. Even if it's just a big drunken binge, he needs to see a doctor.” Mrs Lewis asked one of the maids.
She ran past and didn't see him. Ernest approached the door. Mrs Lewis and the butler were trying to lift his father. Mr Sinclaire’s desk was covered in vomit.
As they moved his body, Matthew opened his eyes briefly and murmured his wife's name.
Underneath a piece of paper, he saw his father's cell phone peeking out. His mother used to tell him he was too young to use it, but his father had taught him how to make calls in case of an emergency. Ernest took it away stealthily. This seemed like an emergency. But whom would he call?
The boy began searching through his contacts. After pressing the button several times, he found the contact "Vincent Foredale". Ernest considered the Earl a calm and intelligent adult. Maybe he knew how to help.
He pressed the call button. The Earl answered almost immediately.
“Good morning, sir. I’m sorry for calling so early...”
“Ernest? What happened? Where is your father?”
“I think he's not feeling well… They're going to call a doctor... Do you think he's going to die too?” The boy was very distressed.
Vincent couldn't hold back his tears. “Everything will be okay, Ernest. I'm coming.”
∭
Such a tragedy would leave an ugly scar on any family. But for Matthew Sinclaire, it always remained a painful open wound.
As soon as the hangover allowed, he gave orders to remove every trace of Lydia from his sight. From the imposing family portrait at the entrance to the mansion to the simple pair of earrings, everything had to disappear from the light of day.
Mr Sinclaire imposed new rules: father and son should travel in separate cars, Ernest was not allowed to travel in other people's cars, and a full-time mechanic was hired to ensure the vehicles were always in top condition.
∭
The prospect of going to boarding school is usually not exciting for teenagers. But to this boy going through puberty, the idea of going to Eton seemed almost idyllic. Any place would be better than his home these past few years.
Mrs. Lewis helped him put on his uniform. She tried her best but couldn't hold back a few tears.
“Why don't you come with me?” Ernest asked.
“This is a unique moment between father and son. Besides, if I were... I don't think I could leave you there.” Mrs. Lewis wiped away her tears. “I can't believe my little angel is becoming a man.”
“I will call you every day.” Ernest promised. Leaving Mrs. Lewis was the hardest thing for him. Obviously, there wasn't a day that Ernest didn't think of his mother. However, the love that Mrs. Lewis had given him had kept the darkness away from his heart.
“I hope you don’t.” She smiled. “That means you are studying and having fun.” Mrs Lewis couldn't help but pinch his cheek. She wouldn't see him for months, and probably the next time she saw him, Ernest wouldn’t have that little baby face anymore. A few pimples were starting to appear under the fallen curls on his forehead. “Your mother would be very proud of you.” She said, adjusting his clothes.
At that moment, his father arrived in the bedroom. Matthew smiled when he saw his son in his uniform. “Are you ready, Ernest?” For the first time in years, his father seemed excited about something concerning him.
Contrary to his rule, they travelled from home to Eton that day in the same car. Matthew offered him a series of recommendations and advice along the way.
Ernest was so excited to have this moment with his father that he barely heard what he was saying.
Arriving there, the 13 years old boy could not help but feel small in the face of what surrounded him: the imposing dark brick buildings, the impeccably manicured gardens, the monumental 15th-century chapel... The students in their black tailcoats and vests, formal trousers, and extremely starched white collars completed the scenario. Now he was there, it didn't seem like such a good idea after all.
A few teachers stopped to greet them. Some had been his father's teachers; others were former colleagues who had become teachers.
Such familiarity seemed comforting at first but frightening at another. Ernest realized all his steps would be carefully watched, and every mistake readily reported to Ledford Park.
Some of his father's old classmates were there with their sons too. They weren’t missing the opportunity to show off their heirs. In the words of all parents, their children would become politicians, ambassadors, generals, CEOs!
Matthew responded to them in kind, praising his son's intellectual capabilities. Ernest realized that his father had great things in mind for him. Failure was not an option.
As the tradition dictates., father and son took several photos to immortalize the moment. In one of those photos, Ernest felt his father affectionately squeeze his hand.
Then, along with the other new students, Ernest went to sign the school's registration book.
“Make your best signature. First impressions are very important," Mr. Sinclaire advised.
The housemaster came to welcome them.
“Mr. Webster, this is my son, Ernest.” Matthew introduced him.
“Nice to meet you, Ernest. Welcome to Eton. I will be your housemaster. First the father, now the son. Maybe this is a sign I should consider retirement.” Mr. Webster smiled.
“Please, don’t. These boys need you. Is Mrs. Webster still the Dame?” Matthew asked.
“Yes, she is. Should I warn her about the new Sinclaire in the house?” The housemaster smiled.
“There is no need for that. He inherited his mother's serenity.” It was one of the few times since Lydia 's death, Ernest heard his father mention her.
“That's good, but I'm sure he won't be immune to mischief proper of his age, especially in the company of the other students.” The housemaster smiled playfully.
While they were still talking, Ernest saw a boy arriving. He was carrying an absurd number of suitcases.
“Hurry up, Bartholomew! We're already way too late.” The woman, who appeared to be his mother, urged him; however, she didn't help her son carry any of the suitcases. “Thank God, they'll get you in shape here, one way or another.” She grumbled.
Ernest wasn't used to his father's pampering lately, but the boy's mother's attitude was everything but motherly.
The said woman interrupted their conversation with the housemaster, leaving her son behind. “Mr. Webster, how nice to see you again!”
While trying to drag the suitcases, the boy ended up falling to the ground. Everyone who was there laughed at him.
Ernest ran to his side, helping him to his feet. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“The damage was more to dignity than to the body.” The boy laughed nervously.
“I am Ernest. Nice to meet you!” Ernest reached out to shake his hand..
“Bartholomew August Chambers. The only son of the respectable industrialist and his virtuous wife, Mr. and Mrs. Chambers. But you can just call me Bart. My sister is the one who inherited the family snobbery. I come here to be worthy of inheriting my father's chair.” The young man mocked the situation for being too formal. “Don't you have any fancy surnames like everybody here?”
“Sinclaire. I don't know if that counts as fancy. Ernest responded with a certain embarrassment.
“Oh, it does. I've heard of you. No noble title, but old money. It's better my mother doesn't know about it; otherwise, she’ll force us to be friends.”
“Would that be so bad?”
From that day on, Ernest gained a friend for life.
The master led the two boys to Wellington House.
As they were arriving, a luxury car stopped in front of the house. The driver got out and opened the passenger door. The master hurried to greet him. Ernest caught a glimpse of a boy, who appeared to be one of the older students, despite he not wearing the uniform like everybody else.
On the other side of the car, another young man got out and began giving orders to the driver in a noticeable French accent.
“Your Grace, welcome back home!” Mr. Webster flattered the young man. “I am so sorry for your loss. I imagine it was a difficult summer, but we are here to help in any way we can.”
“I didn't bring my uniform because I came straight here from our private Caribbean island. My mother is still there recovering.” He said it in an affected accent.
Mr. Webster helped the driver to unload the suitcases. “Do worry, Your Grace. Mrs. Webster left one ironed in your bedroom.”
“Who is this?” Ernest asked, intrigued by so many perks. “Another secret son of the Prince of Wales?”
“Don’t you know who he? Havey ou grew up in a barn?” Bart was scandalized with Ernest questions.
“No…”
“He is Tristan Richard, the new Duke of Karlington. Practically royalty. Only two generations removed from it. His father died this summer, making him the youngest duke since the war.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I may or may not have a weakness for gossip.” Bart blushed.
Ernest looked around and didn't see his father. It was as if he had evaporated into thin air. Slightly dizzy from looking around for his father, Ernest ended up bumping into the young duke.
“Get out of my way, kid!” Richard growled.
“I think your father already left, Ernest.” The housemaster said.
“Without saying goodbye?” Ernest was trying to contain tears.
“I don't want crybabies near me,” Richard grumbled to the master.
To avoid upsetting either of them, Mr. Webster hurried to comfort Ernest. “This is a very emotional day, especially for new students. Come on, Ernest. Mr. Sinclaire must have had a good reason for leaving so suddenly. I'll take you to your bedroom.”
That night, Ernest didn't sleep. He cried all night. The boy cried because he missed his home, his mother, Constance, and the new crack his father had opened in his heart.
Months later, before Christmas break
Somehow, Bart's natural sweetness would soften Mrs. Webster's heart, to the point that she would be persuaded to allow them to accompany her to Windsor.
After following her from store to store, she allowed them to explore the commercial area alone while she chatted with a friend.
While Bart was choosing chocolates in the chocolate shop, Ernest walked into a picture framing shop. He had made a drawing of Mrs. Lewis and was looking for a special frame to give it her for Christmas.
Among the shelves, Ernest recognized two voices. Moving aside two picture frames, he saw Richard and his French lackey, Gideon Payne, standing in front of an automatic photo printing machine. Gideon already had stack of photographs in his hand. They were wearing white gloves, which made everything even stranger.
Ernest continued wandering through the store until he found the perfect frame. It had a classic style, but it was painted in a vibrant colour. He took it to the store counter.
Since he had forgotten to check it, when the employee told him the price, Ernest realized he didn't have enough money. Since he had already bought other gifts, his remaining savings were no longer enough to pay for it.
Despite his wealth, his father wouldn't allow him to carry a considerable amount of money. Eton provided everything he needed, so his allowance was modest.
Ernest was very embarrassed. “I'm so sorry. I was sure I had extra money with me.” The young man tried to apologize. “I'll come back another day to buy this frame or another one you have in stock. I’ll call my father tonight.”
Ernest had said the frame was for a portrait of a special person, so the employee assumed it was a gift for a girlfriend.
“Don't worry, kid. I'll apply my employee discount. That way, you'll still have change left over to buy her some chocolates.” The shopkeeper smiled tenderly.
Ernest was going to deny it but decided to just thank him for his kindness. He really wanted that frame for Constance.
“Get out of the way, you broken bastard.” He pushed Ernest back. “I need you to exchange these two 50-pound notes for the photo printing machine,” Tristan demanded of the shopkeeper.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I have very few coins today.”
“How so you don’t have?” He was irritated.
“On this time of the year customers pay with higher denomination bills, so…”
“I don't care. I need coins now!” He cried.
The shop owner came from the workshop to see what was going on. Tristan complained about the shopkeeper's incompetence.
“In case you haven't noticed, we manufacture picture frames; we're not the Bank of England.” The owner replied in a tone.
“Do you know whom you are speaking to?” Tristan was foaming at the mouth.
“With someone who has many bills but zero education. Please, take your bills and leave my shop.”
Tristan stormed out of the store, fuming like a dragon.
On the following morning, all the Wellington House students, upon waking up, found an envelope in their rooms. It didn’t have any identification of the sender or clue about the content.
When Ernest opened his, he dropped the contents. Looking at the photographs scattered on the floor, he didn't realize exactly what they were at first. Only later, upon closer inspection, he realize that they were intimate photographs of a woman.
Hearing a commotion in the hallway, Ernest opened the door. Clearly, the other guys had received something similar.
Some seemed embarrassed; others were letting their hormones take over. The neighbours were saying that the woman in the photos was the Maths teacher.
Ernest looked at the photos again. They didn't seem like the typical nudes that some of his colleagues received and showed off. The teacher seemed oblivious to the camera. Almost all of them were in the shower or getting dressed.
Mr. Webster tried to remain calm, but he was furiously snatching the photographs from the students' hands. “Miss Law is a respectable lady. You should be ashamed of yourselves for laughing at this hideous prank. I hope the culprit wasn't anyone from this house! No one leaves or enters! I'm going to talk with the principal now. If anyone here was complicit or knows anything about this matter and isn't man enough to admit it, you all will suffer triple the penalty!”
Ernest joined Bart in his room while they waited for the master to return.
“Poor, Miss Law. I'm not a fan of Maths, but I'm a fan of hers. Only someone very Machiavellian could do something like that.” Bart commented. He noticed that Ernest was pensive. “A penny for your thoughts, my friend?”
“The photographs, besides being...well...revolting...has a strange perspective.”
“What do you mean?”
“It looks like they were taken with a spy camera.”
“Do you think someone installed spy cameras in her bedroom?”
“It's quite possible.”
“But who? Who would want to harm her? Sometimes she's a bit harsh, but everyone knows that's tough love.”
The Dame went from door to door announcing that everyone should stay in their rooms all day as punishment. The students had until the following morning for someone to confess or denounce the culprit. Otherwise, harsher measures would be taken.
From the window, Ernest saw Miss Law leave the building. Some bolder boys whistled at her from the windows. The teacher was so devastated that she flipped them the middle finger.
It was whispered in the hallways of the house that the police were already involved.
Although he was studying, Ernest couldn't stop thinking about the case. He felt like he was in one of those mystery series where the key clue is right in front of the eyes, but nobody sees it.
During the night, Ernest woke up suddenly for no reason. That's when he remembered: he had seen Richard and Gideon in town printing many photos days before. He was almost certainly involved.
Nevertheless, Ernest was afraid they wouldn't believe him. Most people treated Richard like a prince.
As soon as the sun rose, Ernest went to see Mr. Webster, but he only told everything he knew in front of the principal. “That's a good lead. Thank you for coming forward, Ernest. We will investigate in the coming days.”
The punishments were temporarily lifted during the investigation.
In the following days, they had another Maths teacher...one of those boring ones.
“They say the punishment is temporarily suspended, but these classes are pure torture.” Bart complained. “I chose punishment!”
A couple of days later, around bedtime, some police officers entered the house. All the boys stood at the door to see who would be taken away.
Everyone was speechless when they saw the police officers knocking on Tristan Richard's door. As if by magic, a lawyer appeared minutes later to accompany him and Gideon to the police station.
Mr. and Mrs. Webster couldn’t calm the boys' agitation.
Tristan and Gideon returned to the dormitory early in the morning. Despite the masters' orders, all the boys were peeking through the door.
Tristan stopped at Ernest's door. “I know what you did. You'll pay for this, you rat.” He didn't speak loudly, just loud enough for Ernest to hear inside the bedroom.
“How did he know it was you? Isn't there a rule protecting witnesses in this institution?” Bart, who had sneaked into Ernest's bedroom during the night, was outraged. “Why didn't you tell me about your suspicions?”
“Precisely because they were just suspicions. Furthermore, I was afraid that someone would break the confidentiality of the complaint. You don't need more problems than you already have, Bart.”
“Thank you for your consideration, but I wouldn't have minded teaching that pompous duke a lesson. Not even at Eton are we all equal.” Bart sighed. “Last night they were saying he did it as revenge for a bad grade. Others said he tried to flirt with her, and Miss Law rejected him.”
“Whatever the reason he claims, it was a very low blow. He may be royalty, but he lacks nobility of spirit.”
“You’ll have Miss Law’s eternal gratitude. You are now her knight in shining armour, which will be useful at the grades… Unfortunately, I think you've made an enemy, Ernest. This guy isn't used to losing a play.”
“A Sinclaire doesn’t have enemies," Ernest said.
“Don't know what Charles Mackay said.? ‘You have no enemies, you say? Alas, my friend, the boast is poor. He who has mingled in the fray of duty that the brave endure must have made foes. If you have none, small is the work that you have done.’”
Many had warned him that bad things were going to happen. Tristan Richard was powerful and had many lackeys in his service. Impeccably polished shoes that mysteriously became dirty, the detachable collar that disappeared, sports equipment that disappeared and reappeared in the most unusual places, messages that never reached their destination…even an invasion of frogs in the room that almost caused Bart to have a heart attack.
Ernest knew who was behind it, but he couldn't prove it, or no one seemed interested in . investigating it. More than the pranks, the reprimands were what annoyed Ernest the most. He was striving to be exemplary, and that pompous duke was tarnishing his first year.
∭
Years later
Minerva said she would come to the Christmas market opening with her sisters after lunch. Ernest had arrived sooner, determined to not waste any minute. Even if he didn't do it consciously, the young Sinclaire killed time was pacing around, looking in all directions.
Despite his gloves, his hands were cold from nervousness.
He touched his coat pocket obsessively, afraid of losing the fancy box. He almost regretted having bought it already. Maybe it was soon to give it to her.
Distracted by his anxieties, he almost got rammed by an unruly group of children running to Santa Claus's house.
When she turned his head, there she was: beautiful and elegant, even though she was being dragged by the twins.
When their eyes met, Minerva smiled at him, turning his legs into jelly.
The nanny he got to look after the Parsons girls had just arrived.
“Don't look at expenses to keep them busy, Annabeth.” Ernest asked the girl.
“Don’t worry, Ernest. You will not see them all afternoon. Good luck!” Annabeth pinched his cheek.
It took Minerva a few minutes to persuade the twins to stay with Annabeth. When they finally released her, Ernest went to her.
“Is she trustworthy?” Minerva asked concernedly, looking back.
“Yes, don't worry. Even though she's not much older than us, she looked out for me a few times. She’s amazing! They won’t even notice time passing. Shall we?” Ernest offered her his arm, and Minerva took it.
“Why is that big backpack?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise,” he smiled.
During their trip to the market, Ernest bought several delicacies.
“Are you thinking about giving someone a sugar rush?” Minerva tried to sound him out.
“I can’t resist sweet things.” Ernest smiled enigmatically.
After a walk around the market, Ernest led her towards the forest.
“Where are we going?” Minerva pressed him to spill the beans.
“To one of my favourite places.” He kept an inscrutable tone.
They walked for a while in the snowy forest.
“I guess I didn't think about it very well after all...” Ernest murmured when they arrived at the frozen lake.
“What’s wrong, Ernest?”
“I... It was my fault... Would you mind if I blindfolded you?” Ernest felkt embarrassed by his own question.
“What?!” Minerva wasn’t expecting such request.
“I'm sorry; I really wanted it to be a surprise, but my plan failed in some details.”
“Very well, I trust in you, Ernest. Blind me then.”
Ernest did it with his scarf. When trying to put things together quickly, he slipped on the ice a couple of times.
“Is everything alright, Ernest?” Minerva sensed something was happening.
“Yes... I am almost ready.” Ernest sped up the preparations.
When he finished, Ernest felt himself sweating like a summer day. He hoped his body didn't smell like it.
He took one last look before removing her blindfold. Several fur blankets covering the ice, two cushions each to lean on, sweets carefully arranged, and two big thermos bottles of spiced hot chocolate.
Ernest took a deep breath as he took off her blindfold. If she didn't like it, it would be the end before it even began.
Her squeals of joy soothed his heart. “What a wonderful idea, Ernest! It feels like we are in a winter postcard!” She kissed his cheek.
“I’m happy you liked it.” He smiled, relieved. “Shall we?” Ernest helped her to get installed.
He poured her a chocolate drink. “I hope it isn't too strong.”
“It’s perfect; don’t worry! I still have Indian blood, remember? A little of spice doesn’t scare me.” She laughed.
A cooler breeze swept across the valley, sending a shiver down Minerva's spine. Since there weren’t any more blankets, Ernest offered her his coat.
“No way! I have a better idea.” Minerva opened the buttons of his coat. A not-so-pure thought crossed his mind as he observed her delicate fingers dancing with his buttons. Then, Minerva leaned against his body, making his heart skip a beat. He could have sworn his blood was boiling. “Much better.” She smiled at him.
As time passed, Ernest's nervousness dissipated. Calmer, he let himself enjoy these new feelings that Minerva was making flourish within him.
“If I had known we were coming here, I would have brought my skates!” Minerva commented. “Please note this is not a complaint. I am really enjoying this moment with you.”
“Maybe that can be arranged.” He smiled. Ernest had been debating until the last moment whether to take the ice skates or not, but now he was very glad he had taken them.
“Would you mind if I see if the shoe fits, Miss Parson?” He took a pair out of the backpack. Ernest helped her take off her boots. Even though she was wearing thick stockings, he felt for a brief moment like he was in a scene from a Regency-era film. Ernest assumed Minerva thought the same because she was blushing a little. He put her ice skates on.
“How did you know that...that I might want it?”
“I, well... I've seen you skate every winter since ever... You're really good at it, by the way.” He felt foolish, but it was the best compliment he could come up with at the moment. Ernest was afraid he was making a terrible impression. His feelings were clouding his eloquence.
Once Ernest was sure the ice skates were securely fastened, Minerva flew onto the ice. She looked like a feather floating in the summer breeze. Looking at her marvelled, he forgot to tighten his own skates.
“What are you waiting for? Come on, Ernest!” She called him.
He gladly followed her. Minerva took his hand, and he followed her lead, letting himself get lost in her dance.
One of her pirouettes made their noses brush against each other. His lips were a breath away from hers. Would she want it as much as he? He was still tilting her chin up but changed his mind and made her spin again. Everything was going well so far; he didn't want to risk a false step.
He didn't know exactly how much time had passed, but when he came back to reality, the sun was disappearing on the horizon.
“I think we'd better get going. Annabeth must be about to go crazy with the little terrors.”
Hand in hand, they headed back to the market.
Arriving there, they say the younger Parsons were still in line for Santa's house.
“I think we just got bonus time.” Minerva smiled, squeezing his hand. She led him behind Santa Claus's house. “Thank you, Ernest. It was a wonderful time.”
“I am happy you enjoyed our time together.” Ernest cringed at his own words. He hoped it had not sounded as ridiculous as it did in his head. “May I see you again soon?” He caressed her cheek.
“I’d like it very much.”
Ernest couldn't tell who made the first move, because in the next second his lips were so close to hers that he could feel the soft tickle of her breath. That was the moment. That was the moment he had been imagining for the last few weeks. Ernest wanted to do this right so badly that for a couple of seconds he felt as if he had fainted. Coming to his senses, Ernest looked into Minerva's eyes and let his heart do the rest. He feared rejection, yet brushing her lips tentatively, he found the greatest softness he could imagine. Not only did he feel welcomed but also felt her pulling him closer. When his mouth closed over hers, the door to a new world opened for him. Ernest thought his heart would burst at any moment with such new and blissful feelings. His body gently pressed her against the wall as her lips claimed more of him. Ernest could barely breathe, but he didn't care. He just wanted that moment never to end.
Panting, they rested their foreheads against each other. “I want more than this… I mean, I’m falling in love with you… and I want to fall even more. “Would you consider being my girlfriend?” Ernest hadn't planned to ask at that moment, but he couldn't help himself any longer.
“Yes! A thousand times yes!” She accepted it with happy tears in her eyes.
Ernest hugged her, spinning her around in the air, possessed of utter happiness.
Annabeth cleared her throat to draw their attention to her and the girls' presence. Cordelia's face was still wet from tears.
“What happened?” Minerva asked worriedly, caressing the twin' cheeks.
“Cordelia was afraid of Santa, but now everything is fine. They made peace,” Annabeth explained.
“Look, sis, he gave me this giant lollipop!” Cordelia showed it off proudly.
“Good, but it’s enough adventures in the market. Let’s go home!” Minerva took each twin in her hand. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “I will text you later today.”
Ernest stared at her until she disappeared into the middle of the crowd. However, when he turned to take his way back home, he saw Annabelle still standing there. “What are you doing here? Come, I’ll take you home!”
“I thought you might like to know that my silence is for sale.” Annabelle told him, ignoring his question.
“What do you mean?” Ernest frowned.
“Exactly what you heard.” Annabelle smiled.
“What did you see or think you saw... There's nothing wrong. We are mature enough for that.” Ernest argued.
“I don't know if my father shares the same opinion.” Annabelle immediately counter-argued.
He sighed. There was no point in denying it; all he could do was bribe the girl until he asked Mr. Parson for the official permission. “What currency do you trade in?”
“Preferably in cash. I no longer sell myself for sugar.”
Ernest rummaged through his wallet and found a twenty-pound note. “It’s all I have now.”
Annabelle took the note from his hand. “I am not worried. I know there's a lot more where that came from. You will hear from me soon.” The girl ran into the crowd to catch her sisters.
“Damn! I forgot to give her the bracelet!” Ernest remembered as he put his hand in his pocket.
The young man was so ecstatic that he didn't even remember how he got home. Ernest closed the door behind him and leaned against the old wood for a moment to catch his breath. He still couldn’t believe in himself. He had kissed Minerva Parson, the most beautiful girl he had ever met! Ernest still could feel her scent on his sweater.
The things had not happened exactly as planned. Now that Ernest thought about it, it was a little embarrassing. A kiss behind Santa Claus's hut didn't fit the cinematic moment he had envisioned. He would have preferred it to have happened somewhere more romantic, but with the younger Parsons around them, it was for the best.
So, that was love? He was unsure about what to do next. He needed some advice. However, he didn't feel comfortable approaching the subject with his father. Not that he had been around much lately anyway, spending most of the week in London, sunk in work. Much less with Mrs. Lewis. The very thought of it made him blush. Maybe with the Earl? Ernest would have to act soon. The Parsons would spend the holidays in London that year.
Still a little dazed by what had happened, Ernest went upstairs. Nothing like some maths exercises to organise the ideas.
Passing through the corridor, he heard voices coming from his father's office. Approaching the door, he made out his father's and Earl's voices.
“Mary,what?!” Matthew raised his voice, incredulous.
“Exactly what you heard, Matthew. Mary was pregnant. We broke up in February, and the baby was born in November. It’s a girl...Beatrice.”
A baby...born in November? How so? The Earl had a baby daughter? And who the hell was Mary? Ernest couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't imagine Vincent doing such a thing. The Earl was a model of the family man...at least in Ernest’s eyes. Of course, he knew better than to listen behind the door, but not even the good English manners could resist finding out more.
“The test results arrived in the mail today... They are positive... Not that there were any doubts...” Vincent continued.
“She has much of you, indeed. And she’s very cute! Look at this face!” Matthew's voice It had a sweetness that Ernest hadn't heard in a long time. “But she has Mary’s sassiness in her eyes… And she'll definitely have it on her tongue too, I bet. If she inherited her mother's voice... it's the fatal combination. Better you get your shotgun ready to scare away the suitors.” He joked. “Talking seriously, what are you going to do about it?”
“Bring her home, of course! She is my daughter!”
“I'd do the same, obviously, but you're going to cause World War III in Edgewater, you know that.”
“They both already know. At first, my mother was a little shocked, like any proper lady, but I know that deep down, she is loving the idea of having a granddaughter to pamper.
“Henrietta is more hysterical about this, but eventually she will calm down. Be that as it may, she was warned: I will not hesitate in choosing my daughter over her. I just have to explain it to the boys. They the truth. I don't want to make the same mistakes. If I only knew...”
“Would you have done anything differently? Would you have changed your decision?” Ernest recognised his father's tone o skepticism. m. He was becoming more and more intrigued.
“I don’t know... Maybe... Maybe not... But I would have done things differently, that’s for sure. At least towards my daughter. She is completely innocent of this mess.”
“It's unbelievable that they were so close all this time. It's almost a miracle they didn't cross you sooner.”
“Believe me, there were times when I thought about going to Grovenshire and turning over every stone looking for her, for some information...”
Ernest felt a light tap on his shoulder. He almost jumped out of his skin.
“Here you are!” Mrs. Lewis caught him in the act. “I need help from a tall guy in the library, please. Are you free by chance?”
“Yes, Mrs. Lewis. I’m coming.” Ernest turned red.
Even though unconsciously (and his conscious side knew it was none of his business), Ernest couldn't stop thinking about it all day.
At dinner, even Mr. Sinclaire noticed his son was quieter than usual. “You're very quiet tonight, Ernest. Is everything okay? How are things going with Minerva?”
“How...?” Ernest didn't imagine his father knew what was happening. Mrs. Lewis had probably told him. Those two were gossip experts. “Yes...It’s fine.” Ernest opened his mouth several times before he could verbalize the question. “Is it true that the Earl has a... let’s say... a natural daughter?” He could barely speak because of delicate nature of the subject.
“Did you hear our conversation?”
“I... I was walking down the hall, and I heard you talking louder... I had no intention of eavesdropping, but my curiosity got the better of me.
His father laughed at his embarrassment. A hearty laugh from his father was a rare occurrence. “Yes, it’s true.”
“So... does the Earl have a mistress?”
“No.”
“So how...?”
“Did you really think Henrietta was Earl's first choice?”
“I...I mean...I never thought about it... But you mentioned a baby!”
“She's not a baby anymore. It's a young girl. Her name is Beatrice.” Matthew Sinclaire was amused by his son's naïve observations. “This isn't my story to tell, but I think I can sum up the facts for you. Some years ago, I threw an enormous party at The Trafalgar St. James. At that party, the Earl, who was single at the time, met a singer called Mary. I guess we can say it was a case of love at first sight. They were together for a couple of years. The Earl had proposed to her, but there was a misunderstanding between them, and they broke up. After that, Mary simply vanished from the radar screens, and Vincent ended up complying with his family's wishes, marrying Henrietta. However, as you heard, Mary was pregnant, and a girl was born. No one knew about her until now.” Before Ernest could ask, Matthew answered. “Sadly, Mary passed away last month. That's why the truth has came to light now. The girl has no family left other than the Foredale.”
The girl's situation moved Ernest. He knew well what the girl was going through. Losing a mother was a wound that healed, but it was a throbbing pain that never went away.
Despite his initial surprise, the weeks passed, and Ernest, with all his time taken up by studies and Miss Parson, almost forgot the matter.
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