Page 59 of My Duke, The Stranger
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 façade 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.
