PROLOGUE

3 years ago…

“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Christopher sighed heavily. He had spent many a time inside his father’s study, staring at the endless rows of books on his father’s giant looming book shelf as he ignored yet another lecture about his life choices.

“I do not know what you wish for me to say.”

At five and twenty years of age, Christopher was sure that he should have been able to follow his heart in life, to do what he desired and to enjoy what he was passionate about. He could not see any reason why he had to have this conversation over and over again.

“Christopher, our family name is important,” his father continued, growing increasingly frustrated by the moment. “The Fitzhugh name means something in London, and I would like to keep it that way. Your brother, Graham, is doing everything that he can to ensure his future rule is a prosperous one. Yet you do not seem to care much.”

There was an art piece hanging on the wall painted with the dullest colors. That was so typical of his father, to not even be able to enjoy the beauty in art. He had to display some, because everyone who was anyone in London had art adorning their walls.

But only art colored with browns and beiges. Nothing to capture the eye.

“I am your second son, Father,” Christopher declared flatly, just as he had done many times before. “I am not the one needed to rule. I can live my life as I choose.”

Christopher jumped a little as his father banged his fists down on the giant mahogany table. These conversations always got a little heated, but never quite like this. He automatically took a step backwards, to create some distance between them.

“You do not get to besmirch the family name, Christopher, simply because you were born second. I know that you have always been jealous of your older brother. I am not surprised by that at all. From what I know, younger brothers are always jealous of the ones who will inherit everything. What you are feeling is completely normal.”

Christopher just about managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He could not have been less jealous of Graham if he tried. Graham was perfectly set up to inherit the title and the duties that came with it. He relished society rules and functions.

“But that does not matter. You must push your feelings to one side to support your brother in all of his endeavours. That is your role. You can not continue to waste your life with paints and canvases, making silly little drawings that no one will ever care about.”

The way that his father disregarded his art cut Christopher deep. He should be used to it by now, but it always hurt. He had such a passion for creativity and for his art work, and he had spent his whole life perfecting his craft as much as he could, just to have his father treat it as if it were some silly little hobby of his was just horrible.

“You do not know that nothing will ever come of my art, Father…”

“I do not wish to hear it, Christopher. We have had this conversation many a time, and I have tried to listen to you, but you do not seem to understand that this is all a waste of time.”

Rejection washed over Christopher. He knew that he was never going to see eye to eye with his father, they had always been such different people. His father was so much more like Graham than Christopher, he also loved following the rules of the ton and impressing the important people of London. But he wished that his father would at least try to hear him out.

There had been many a time when Christopher had desperately tried to show his father pieces that he had been working on in the hope that he would understand and be seen for once. But that had never happened. He had simply been dismissed every single time.

Christopher knew that he was always going to fall short, no matter what.

“Right, well I will try much harder,” Christopher replied in a monotone voice. He could say what his father wanted to hear, but that did not mean he would follow this path laid out for him. He could not and would not push his art to one side. This was his life and his purpose, he was sure of it. Even if his family did not understand that. “I will go now and see what Graham needs me to do. I am sure he is desperate for my help.”

His father completely missed the sarcasm in Christopher’s voice. He nodded as if this was the resolution he needed. Once his father picked up a pen to start working once more, Christopher knew that the conversation was over. It was time to leave.

He paused for just one second at the door frame, looking back at his father, wishing that he could have any kind of positive bond with this man, but all he did was make him angry. He still had a painful looking redness in his cheeks now.

With a sigh, Christopher left and took a moment for himself outside the manor house, staring out at the beautiful gardens that surrounded him. The flowers and the colors of the outside world always inspired him, but today he did not feel any of that. He simply felt flat.

He remained where he was, allowing the thoughts to rush through him. Panic and worry, shame and upset, thoughts of all the things that he should have said to his father, to defend himself properly.

But he was never going to be understood, was he? They were never going to agree which was one of the hardest things of all.

“My Lord…” The worried voice of a house maid disturbed him from his spiraling thoughts. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, but he felt a little shocked to be distracted. “You must come inside, right away. It is your father…”

The summons was urgent. Christopher had no idea what he was being called back inside for, but his heart began to thunder in his throat. This was bad, really bad. Ice cold fear over came him. Instinctively he knew that everything was about to be tilted upside down in the worst way possible, he could not stand it.

But nothing could have prepared him for what he was faced with. The scene displayed in front of him was devastating and shattered his heart in to a million pieces. He could not even process what he was seeing, he felt like he was frozen to the spot, completely unmovable.

Nothing in the world was worse than this…

***

Guilt wracked through Christopher.

He hated this, all of it.

He might have been just one person in an ocean of black clothing, he might have looked like he was just another grieving person in the crowd attending the funeral, but Christopher knew that he was different. He was not just another mourner, far from it.

He felt like he was to blame. For all of this.

If he had not been arguing with his father again, talking about his art another time, and making his father mad, then maybe there would not have been a heart attack. Perhaps his father would not have passed away. He had noticed the red face, he just did not know what it meant.

If he had taken a second to wonder, then everything might have been different.

That icy feeling in his veins, and the horrible feeling that his whole life was about to be changed forever in the worst way possible stuck with him, and he could not shake it off. He was starting to think that he would never be able to shake it off.

He wished that he could take it all back and change it. He wished that he could have said something kind during their last conversation. He wished that he had not been sarcastic…

But there was nothing that he could do to take it all back.

He was going to have to drown in these feelings forever.

It did not help that Graham was stepping up perfectly, just as was expected of him. Christopher was hidden in his shadow now, completely consumed with his brother’s new role. Graham was the perfect new Viscount, already showing that he was going to effortlessly meet all expectations, with their mother already clinging proudly to his arm, looking up to him as if he were perfect, and just what she needed to get her through this terrible time.

A cold sense of hopelessness overcame Christopher. He had always felt inadequate, but not as much as he did right now. He could almost sense the crowd looking at him, seeing how unworthy he was. It was not a pleasant place to be.

This was why he preferred to hide in the shadows, not to be seen.

That was, of course, just another failure of his.

Not like being the center of attention like everyone else in his family did. Not to want the ton to stare at him as if he were a spectacle to be judged by everyone else depending on whether or not he was acting in a way that they deemed ‘appropriate’.

Was he always going to be a let down? Would he always yearn for the approval of people who would not give it? Who could not give it, because they were in a coffin being lowered in to the ground? His father was never going to approve of him, not now.

What on earth was he going to do with his life now?

That was the ultimate question pressing down on his shoulders. What could he do? He knew that his role was to support Graham in all of his endeavours, just as his father had told him over and over again. But Graham did not look like he needed help. Certainly not from Christopher anyway. He had everything firmly in hand, as customary.

Graham had always looked down on Christopher, almost as much as their father. He hated his art just as much, and thought of it as a silly hobby, a waste of time. If Christopher did decide to dedicate his life to a man who did not even want him, then he would have to put his creative side to rest forever.

It might finally make his father proud, but it would not make him happy.

That would not be a way to let go of these wounds that cut deep within him. That would never leave him fulfilled. Only art would. But how could he do that and become independent as well? Because this was something he would certainly have to do alone.

He balled his fists up by his side, painful emotion surging through him as he tried to work out the plan for his life. The only thought that came to mind was the idea of teaching his art, tutoring young people who had a passion just like him, from noble families who would be willing to pay for his services. He had done it a couple of times in the past, and it had been more rewarding than he assumed it might be.

Maybe that would not be making money from his art in the way that his father meant, by selling pieces to collectors all over the world, and making thousands from it, but it would be something.

As he watched Graham greeting the crowds as if this was a party to celebrate his new role in life, determination surged through him. He was going to have to make a life for himself. He had no choice but to go his own way. No matter what it took.