Faces of the Wind

Chapter 24

Richard took a deep breath then huffed loudly like a charging bull. He did not turn to look at Adrian, who sat to his right but on a different sofa and stared blankly at the coffee table in front of him. Silence fell over the room and all eyes were fixed on Richard, anticipating his next move, and just as Arthur began to let out a sigh of relief, Richard jumped on his cousin and grabbed him by the collar, spilling the steamy chocolate on the sofa, the carpet, himself and Adrian.

"You little rascal," he said from between clenched teeth as Adrian very gladly fought back.

In a split second, the two were rolling on the floor like two fierce bulldogs. Jeffrey laughed heartily whereas all the women jumped to their feet, trying with all their vocal might to break up the brawl while Arthur stared across in disbelief at his brother. Charles sipped his chocolate at leisure but no one seemed to notice.

To Adrian, this brawl couldn't have been timed better. He was on top of his cousin and didn't hear his uncle Arthur bark out as he pulled him by the shirt to get off Richard before he killed him. Finally, someone almost tore his ear off his head, prompting him to fall back and release his opponent.

His face covered in red blotches and blood from his nose, Richard began to cough as air rushed back into his lungs. Arthur helped him sit up and Lydia hurried to him.

"By God, Jeffrey," Catherine yelled, giving Adrian a shove on the head as she released his ear, "will you ever teach this ape how to behave?"

"It wasn't him this time," Jeffrey giggled, "Richard started it."

"I'm sure he said something to provoke Richard!"

"I cannot argue with that."

Adrian pressed his ear with one hand as he got up. "Well, he is right here, so maybe you should address him," he snapped at his aunt.

"Clean this one up while I deal with the other," Arthur said to Lydia, patting Richard's back. He turned to Adrian and said, "How many times do I have to tell you not to answer back?"

"How very firm!" Catherine said dryly. "And why on Earth are you still in your lounging robe?"

"Why on Earth are you late?" Arthur asked.

"I had an urgent matter," she replied as she made herself comfortable in the spot where Adrian was seated before the brawl.

"May we know the nature of this matter?"

"An unexpected visitor," she turned to look at Natalie, "what other entertainment activities are on tonight's agenda... besides that sorry excuse for a wrestling match?"

Natalie laughed. "There will be dinner in less than an hour."

Arthur turned to Jeffrey. "You look much better than when I last saw you," he said, "I am very glad."

"And I'm feeling stronger," Jeffrey replied.

***

Adrian smoked his father's pipe in the study when Lydia came looking for him.

"Dinner will be served in a few minutes," she said, her tone nonchalant, and just as she turned to leave, Adrian replied while staring at the bookshelves, "How very generous of you to come and call me yourself. Next time send a servant."

She turned to look at him but didn't leave her spot. "You're in no place to sulk, Adrian."

"Why?" He put the pipe between his jaws, "because I'm the bastard son of an ill-bred French dancer?" His voice reeked of bitterness.

Lydia's expression changed. A half-bewildered, half-offended frown puckered her forehead and her stare grew wider with disbelief. "What's possessed you all of a sudden?" She retorted, "I told you to stay away from Joshua's fiancée but you did not listen! Did it occur to you that if anything went wrong I would get the blame because I was the one who persuaded you to escort me to the ball?"

"Nothing went wrong."

"Oh, Adrian! Don't you ever grow tired of these lies?"

He smoked grudgingly and as if the faster and deeper he smoked, the sooner his anger would diminish.

"What's wrong?" Came his father's voice, "I sense some unusual tension in this room."

Lydia forced a smile. "Nothing," she hesitated, "w-we were... we were just chatting." She paused, smoothed her frock agitatedly then added before leaving the study, "excuse me; I'll go help mama."

"Is anything the matter?" Jeffrey asked his son.

Adrian faintly shook his head.

"Why do I not believe you? You haven't been yourself since we left home."

Adrian blew out a cloud of smoke. "And you are that eager to find out why?" He placed the pipe on the large wooden desk.

"Of course, I am concerned."

Adrian turned to face his father, his eyes surrounded by bluish halos and his hair a mess. There was a faint green bruise on his temple. "Today I learned what trouble I must be," he said in a steady voice, "maybe someone should have warned you about mixing with ill-bred women like you warned me."

A puzzled scowl upset Jeffrey's forehead. "I don't follow."

"You don't follow," Adrian repeated. "Today, you told me that mixing with ill-bred women bears nothing but trouble—you spoke from experience. You mixed with an ill-bred French dancer more than twenty years ago and ended paying a very high price for it. If not for me, no one would have learned of the affair and you wouldn't have lost your family and developed a terrible reputation."

"Nonsense!" Jeffrey snapped, "That is certainly not what I meant!"

"That is exactly what you meant," Adrian's voice was still steady, "and I cannot do anything about it but remind you that the fault is fully yours, not mine. A man of your intellect and status should've known better... and I deserved a real family like all of my cousins."

Neither Adrian nor his father was happy that Christmas Eve and none slept well. Jeffrey had plans to take Adrian and pay his older son, Joseph, a visit in Yorkshire and try to reconcile with him and his mother, but Joseph's response has made it clear he had no interest in seeing his father, much less his illegitimate half-brother. Adrian's words echoed in his head, making sure his heart broke several times as he remembered the estrangement and pain he had brought upon the people he loved most.

Adrian went to bed early but tossed and turned for hours. He was still bitter, but the calm tirade he delivered earlier to his father added a bite of guilt that clouded his bitterness. He loathed himself and dwelled on every word he uttered in his uncle's study. He should have at least waited until Christmas was over but he was not thinking... or maybe he was supposed to tell his father he loved him. After all, he was his only family and the only person who truly cared for him.

He was not in his right mind—but when was he ever in his right mind? The image of his father's face as he listened to his tirade strangled him. Maybe he shouldn't have been born. He only brought trouble and inflicted pain on everyone who mattered and everyone who loved him and whom he loved.

With the earliest signs of daybreak, Adrian jumped out of bed and headed to his father's bedroom, adamant to make amends. He knocked softly on the door and waited, but apparently, his father was still sound asleep. He knocked stronger now—no response. The door gave a soft screech as he slowly pushed it open and walked in.

"Father?" He cooed, "Are you up?"

He drew closer. His father was sound asleep, so he sat on the bed next to him. His skin was very pale. He placed his hand over his father's. It was cold... although the room was pretty warm.

His heart skipped a beat. His mouth became dry and his breath louder. "Father?" He shook him softly, "Please, this isn't funny." His voice became brittle and the muscles in his forehead twitched.

He stepped off the bed and pinched his shirt's chest as he stared at his father's motionless body. In a brittle undertone, he said as one of his brows trembled, "I killed my father."

***