Old Fashioned

Chapter 1

1815

Brendon Boyd Urie came from wealth. His father, before his sudden death five months prior, had been a rich lawyer, accepting cases from only the wealthiest of New York's citizens.

He had grown up on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, in a more than sizeable mansion housing eighty rooms in total, including twenty bedrooms, fifteen drawing rooms, ten bathrooms and two large ballrooms. Astor House had been built in 1785, before being purchased by Brendon's grandfather in 1791 for $20,000,000 as a wedding gift for his mother and father.

It was valid to say that Brendon and his family had never struggled with money problems.

Brendon was born that same year, his father delighted to have a heir to his fortune. Six years later, after a number of lost pregnancies and struggles to conceive, his younger sister, Francesca was born.

Being the 'miracle child' she was, Francesca was loved and adored by Grace and Boyd. But that didn't mean Brendon was loved and adored any less. He was their first child, the heir to their legacy. Their parents made sure they knew just how much they adored them every single day.

Their childhoods were nothing but wonderful. They were educated at Astor House, nothing but the best governesses from all over the United States travelling miles to be able to teach the Urie children for no less than $30,000 a day. Brendon was taught interesting subjects such as maths, religion, Latin, French, and all of the sciences. He adored his education.

He studied at Columbia University in the art of music, as music had always been something he was interested in. From the age of just four he had played the pianoforte, and over the years had gotten, dare he say, incredibly good at it. He could play all sorts of complicated pieces, from Beethoven to Von Weber. He thrived on being able to perform them all. And though he kept it to himself, he had also written pieces of his own.

But his musical interest wouldn't get him or his family far right now.

"Brendon, make haste!" Francesca called eagerly from the doorway, excitement evident in her voice. "The ship is almost docking! We're here!"

By 'here', Francesca meant that their ship had finally docked in Liverpool. After an incredibly long and tedious six day journey, stopping off in Dublin briefly the previous day, their ship had finally arrived at it's destination.

Brendon had never been more glad to hear those words. He had never travelled by ship before, but he sure wasn't considering making a habit of it. He had never felt so sick in his life. Even surrounded by the stunningly decorated walls of their 1st class four-bedroomed cabin, he still spent the majority of it feeling dizzy and lightheaded. He was dreading the journey home.

If there was going to be a journey home. Brendon just didn't know what was to come of him anymore.

"Already?" Brendon replied, sarcastically, to which Francesca snickered in reply.

"Yes! Oh, do come on, brother! The view looks so beautiful from the deck!" Before Brendon could even reply, she had rushed out of the room.

Brendon stood up from the bed with a sigh, brushing down his blazer. He walked slowly over to the mirror, staring at himself.

He had barely eaten, and not just because of the overwhelming feeling of sickness that he had been filled with these last six days from the rocky journey, but from the guilt.

Five months ago, Brendon's father passed away. It was all so sudden, none of the family or their friends could believe it had actually happened at first. A stroke, the doctors called it. Evil is how Brendon would have described it.