Free Reads!! Wednesday Briefs – Innocence & Carnality Part 47

Just a reminder: Part One of Innocence & Carnality is coming to a close, and later pulled from the blog for future publication purposes. Part Two will be part of the finished novel. I will keep you up to date. Promise.

There will be future stories with the Wednesday Briefers and some version of I&C will still be found on Gay Authors.org along with most of my written work. Be sure to check it out.

Now… onto the next installment.

Where will Nathan find himself after all the recent events?

Click here to start from the beginning

Part 47

Standing at the basin, I splashed water in my face. I must have cried myself to sleep and when I woke I couldn’t stand the tightness of my skin across my cheeks from the dried salt. Each little movement made my neck ache, yet I worked fast trying my best not to look in the mirror. It was proof of my situation I couldn’t face.

Once dry, I walked back into the bedroom, unable to feel the warmth. No daylight crept between the shutters and no murmurs of conversation or general chaos greeted me. The quiet amplified my isolation.

At some point, someone had covered me with a blanket and turned on the fireplace. It was the kind of caring gesture I’d expect from Harston.

Here in Delaga House it felt out of place and Harston was gone, possibly forever.

A glass of water sat on my bedside table next to an apothecary vial. The handwritten label’s instructions called for five drops in water as needed for pain. I recognized the drug from my mother’s endless assortment of medicinal tonics. I wanted nothing to do with it. The solution could stay on the table until it dried to dust. I didn’t want it to haze my thoughts and I needed this pain to remind me of where I stood.

And it wasn’t a particularly sought after location.

Rother had played his part well. Some part of me had wanted to erase his indiscretions and find a common ground, but I discounted the lifelong talent of a man whose profession revolved around satisfying the fantasies of others, no doubt through the use of convincing lies. I always believed myself to be clever and difficult to deceive. I suppose in Victorian circles it was true, but Rother could charm the vicar into serving his clients.

He masked the knowledge of the secrets he held as some kind of honor rather than the blackmail fodder it truly was, and I listened to every word without an inkling of reality. Topping it off with the unmasking of my father was brilliant on his part. I fell into my role better than he’d expected and cemented myself here.

I had nowhere to go.

Victoria and Francine were all I knew, and I couldn’t go home after the beating I gave my father. I doubt either of us would survive a new encounter. Plus, the truth about Delaga House would make me a pariah in all the social circles. There was nothing in Victoria left for me, and I didn’t know enough about Francine to hide away from the powerful men Rother vowed to send after me. If Rother kept such hold on everyone around him, there would be no one I could enlist to help me flee. Even if they would, I couldn’t bring myself to put anyone else at risk.

Harston was gone.

The opened crates my father shipped still cluttered the floor, only partway emptied. Thanks to Vivian’s interference, I’d left in the middle of unpacking, and afterwards was far too distracted to continue.

Sifting through the contents left me with less nostalgia than my earlier attempt. Whether I suffered from a melancholy derived from all the chaos of my life, or my life in Victoria lacked importance in my current state, I couldn’t tell. There was sufficient ache and recrimination within me to vote for either.

Inside I found my copy of A Nobleman’s Guide to Etiquette. The leather spine was cracked and the pages worn and soiled from endless study at my hands. So determined to somehow earn my father’s respect, I devoted countless hours to its reading, absorbing the primer’s every word and idea. What a colossal waste of time. Referring, of course, to gaining my father’s respect. The social etiquette was useful in the right setting, but the Victorian life standards we were expected to uphold was based on hypocrisy. My father was a prime example. Human beings would explore their desires regardless of the obstacles placed before them. If not, places like Delaga House wouldn’t exist and Victorian gentlemen wouldn’t be so easily seduced by its pleasures.

Having the real world crash in and dismantle your juvenile illusions leaves a fair number of invisible scars. My neck twinged as I stepped forward, reminding me of the visible wounds I’d earned as well.

I knelt before the fireplace where remnants of my destroyed chastity belt could still be found. Throwing it into the fire had marked a moment of freedom for me, a casting away of unpleasant thoughts. Little did I know what would come next. A new cage of threat, implied and real, held me here.

With a flick of my wrist, the book opened, landing on a random page discussing the family hierarchy and public decorum procedures. I scoffed. The sound of the page tearing free was satisfying. Even more when I spun the paper into the flames. The edges blackened at once, curling the parchment as the heat consumed it. Pieces of charred embers broke free, drawn up the chimney on the wings of updraft.

It was sad to find myself envious of ashes.

I fed another series of pages to the pyre as sacrifice. Rother expected me to be the man from these pages. He enjoyed my willfulness, but ultimately wanted my innocence.

That was gone now, much like Harston.

Another chapter versed in posture and formal attire vanished in smoke, as one by one, I watched the book pages burn.

My chaotic dreams of burnt paper and squealing pigs were interrupted by a knock on my door. It was unwanted, yet continued in spite of my refusal to acknowledge it. For some reason I pulled myself from the bed and opened a small gap to see through.

“May I come in?” Samantha asked.

I hesitated, resistant to defiling my illusion of sanctuary. When I woke enough to understand how much of an illusion, I let her in. Samantha walked a wide circle, noticing the charred book binding in the hearth and the uneaten meal on the table. She didn’t say a word as she closed in on me, cupping my cheek. I knew how wretched I must have looked. I could feel the deadening circles under my eyes. Her usual edge softened and I welcomed it.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” she said.

“You mean the history of my father’s indulgences?”

“No. I’m not sorry for servicing a client. For the way you were brought into it.”

“I won’t say I understand your work, but I’m not angry with you. Only him.”

“Your father? Or Rother?”

I refused to answer. I wasn’t sure how.

“You need to eat,” she said.

The thought of cooked meat held little appeal. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t touched the food I brought in yesterday.”

“Thank you for bringing it, but I wasn’t hungry then either.”

Samantha brushed her fingers through my hair, as if the unruly mess could be tamed so easy. “I don’t want to argue, but come to breakfast. Please.”

I wanted to say no. The word perched on my tongue, waiting to fly forward. But this domineering woman, the one always in control, pleaded for me to accept her offer. No demand, just soft request. I couldn’t ignore the quiet entreaty so I nodded, wincing at the painful movement. The pleasant sigh she released at my acceptance was comforting somehow.

Samantha noticed the clothes I still wore and slept in since the night of the viewing room with a tiny frown. “Let’s make you presentable, shall we?”

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

“I’ve never known a Victorian lord to be seen dressed so poorly.”

I scoffed. “Hadn’t you heard? I’m not a Victorian lord anymore.”

“And I’d rather not be seen walking the halls with a street urchin. There might be talk.” Samantha crossed her arms across her ample bosom. “I’ll wait. Take your time.”

Again, I complied. Not wanting to disappoint her, I wet my hair and cleaned up in the en suite. In the room, I chose a fresh outfit from the wardrobe. When I motioned for her to turn around while I changed, she did so without comment or attitude. The woman who shackled and brought naked men to her knees through discipline and cruelty, honored my simple need for modesty.

She only turned around once I was almost done, struggling to finish the fasteners on my cuffs. Silent again, she helped, unhappy at the sight of fading bruises on my wrists as she fixed my sleeves. Neither one of us mentioned how this should have been Harston’s job.

“Will Rother be there?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Did he send you?”

“I would have come regardless.”

I couldn’t hold back my sarcasm. “Well since it’s an order, how can I say no?”

“You’re not a prisoner, Nathan.”

“It may be a little outside of my experience”—I tugged my collar open to show off my bandage—“but being branded like chattel doesn’t exactly mark me as a free man.”

To her credit, Samantha averted her eyes. “I can’t say enough how sorry I am for that.”

“Not to be rude, but you surprise me. I may be oversimplifying, but you abuse people for a living.”

“With, and only with, their consent. That is everything, even inside my profession. What happened to you has left its mark on Delaga House.”

“How?”

Samantha sighed as she buttoned up my collar to better hide my bandage. “Last night, two staff members packed and left. Rumors fly about. There could be more.”

“They know what happened?” I started to retreat at the horrible idea, but she held me tight and continued prepping my attire.

“There’s no way to keep that kind of secret in such a small place. Rother is starting to learn the word: consequences. He’s worried about what could come from it all. For the first time, I could see the end of Delaga House.” Her gentle exhale betrayed her worry. “This is my home. I don’t know where else I would go.”

“You’re not actually going to defend Rother’s behavior?”

“Not in the least. I owe Rother my life and for that he’s earned my loyalty. But there are limits and he’s sorely reached them. If I could, I would start the evening over, so it could end differently. Do you still want to leave?”

“There’s no point. This is my home. I don’t know where else I would go.”

Samantha paused and gave me a sad smile, knowing how my repeat of her words came to be. Smoothing my jacket with quick short strokes along the seams, she gave me a nod of approval. It gave me a bit of strength I’d need to cross the threshold.

Cupping my face in both hands, her beautiful features hardened, and her sharpness returned. “If you need anything, you come to me or Blythe. Anything. You have my word that nothing like this will ever happen to you again. I won’t allow it. Ever.”

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate your candor. But just like when it happened, you can’t be next to me every moment.”

Samantha’s hands dropped at my revelation, melting her resolve. It was a harsh truth, but still a truth. I took her hand in mine, uplifted by the touch of reverence in her eyes.

“But for now, I would love you to accompany me to the dining room. Even if there’s talk.”

Arm in arm, Samantha walked me down the hall, the contact smoothing my ragged nerves enough to move forward. I feared the reactions of others, what they might know, and how they might view me. I worried enough to stiffen as we approached a young male member of the staff. His expression brightened as he caught sight of us.

“Good morning, Nathan,” he said.

I was nearly taken aback by the unexpected greeting. Worse, I found myself ashamed to admit I didn’t know him by name. Other than Samantha, no one ever spoke this kindly to me and it was largely my fault. Blythe’s comments about the staff’s perceptions were proof. The unseen barrier between lords and staff was as substantial as a wedding veil, and my part in standing behind it needed to end.

I hoped my smile didn’t seem weak in my surprise. “Thank you. Good morning to you too.”

My stomach growled and Samantha tugged me along with that sultry chuckle of hers. We saw other staff as she escorted me, and while there was hardly a flood of exuberance from the lot, a new, polite civility existed with even simple acknowledgments.

All my growing calm faded as we entered the dining room to find Rother seated alone at the table. Thorns of unease pricked at my composure, but I was determined not to allow my anxiety to bleed out.

“Good Morning, Nathan. We were waiting for you,” he said.

Without Samantha’s guidance, I might not have found my chair across from my husband. I was more amazed to find my voice sounding far more collected than I felt.

“You didn’t need to, but thank you.”

Rother shifted in his chair, assessing me with his gaze. Was he expecting something confrontational? Given our brief history, it wouldn’t be uncalled for. A slight twitch quirked his eyebrow. Rother was trying to read my mood, but in all honestly, I barely understood it. How could he hope to?

The tension broke as the cook burst into the room with a food laden platter in each hand. Full figured with her dark hair tied in a bun, she circled the table with confidence. The kitchen and dining room were her territory.

“Ah, Mister Nathan. I’m so glad you’re here. You worry me, not eating. I make you extra, to keep up your strength.” She tutted at me with her thick accent, and fine creases at her eyes made her usual stern face sparkle somehow. A plate loaded with luscious pastries, cheese, and bright fruits floated to the table before me. I barely heard it touch down.

“This looks delicious, Dahlia.” I took pride in knowing her name, but it was smart to know who prepared your food day to day. Especially the woman who prepared the meals for everyone in Delaga House daily. Praising her skills was easy. If Victorian nobles knew of her ability they would fight over one another to touch the leftover scraps. I should have done more in the past.

Dahlia smiled and patted my shoulder in a doting manner. “Such a good boy.” The smile vanished as she moved on. Scowling, Dahlia dropped the second plate in front of my dining partner with a noisy clatter. “Rother.”

I flinched at the daggered glare he threw Dahlia’s way, preparing myself for an explosive reaction, but Rother did nothing. No reprimand or sharp comment. He merely dipped his head to her with a cautious gesture of thanks, which she didn’t return and headed back into the kitchen.

The silent exchange confused me. While the staff’s attitude towards me shifted in one direction, had they truly shifted in the other for Rother? Samantha’s words took on more solid meaning. Did the murmurs of mutiny in the house hold a true threat to Delaga House?

It was far too early to be sure. Even if Rother’s influence over the staff had unraveled, it hardly placed us as equals.

Now I found myself trying to assess Rother as he’d done me. Squaring himself in his seat, he poised to eat. Rother looked positively uncomfortable as he threw annoyed glances as Samantha who continued to stand by my side.

Exhaling hard through his nose, Rother spoke staring at his disheveled platter. “If it’s no trouble, I’d like to dine with my husband alone.”

A line of tension flew through Samantha, drawing her taller. The bright color of her hair fit the hostility radiating off every inch of her body. It rivaled the intensity I’d seen from the bondage room, leaving me no less alarmed. An unhealthy shiver washed over me. I wasn’t prepared to watch another conflict. I’d barely survived the last.

Reaching out, I covered her hand with mine, hoping it might quell the fire. “It’s all right, Samantha. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s what I told you earlier. It would happen at some point, sooner or later.”

Samantha deflated. She couldn’t watch me every moment and it needed to begin sometime if I would have any opportunity to regain my self-respect. A gentle hand on my shoulder and a quick nod of acceptance were all mine. The renewed glare as she whirled in Rother’s direction was a gift uniquely for him.

“Remember what I told you last night, Rother.” Her sharp tone was laced in ice.

The tick of Rother’s jaw illustrated the restraint he exercised. “I haven’t forgotten.”

His eyes flashed between us more than once, and I took some perverse gratification in the displeasure he found in Samantha’s allegiance to me. But I kept it off my face. Being alone with my husband continued to bring back foul memories and who knew what the rest of the meal would bring.

I refused to say a word. While I might guess, I couldn’t be sure of the specifics behind Samantha’s comment to Rother. It was impossible, however, to miss the threat behind it, or how it lingered in the air as she left my side. I didn’t feel safe alone with him in the house full of people, but I didn’t want him to see my nightmares or know they held power over me. So we sat across from each other with only the sounds of cutlery and chewing to break the mausoleum the dining room had become. Rother was scrutinizing me without staring me down. His eyes were in his plate but the rest of his senses were as alive as mine.

My appetite also helped kept me seated. It had been days since I’d eaten and continuing to refuse food would get me nowhere.

The food of course was marvelous. Dahlia was a culinary genius. In my zeal, I took too large a bite of pastry. The swallow’s tension pulled at my wound and dragged an involuntary whimper out of me.

“I’m sorry for needing to take such drastic measures with you.”

If there was going to be conversation during the meal, I knew Rother would have to instigate it. But this… was classically him. An apology wrapped in redirected blame. It sounded convincing and contrite, but if I didn’t know he made his fortune by reinforcing the fantasies of others, I might have accepted it outright. He was my husband, after all. But in reality, fantasies were nothing more than lies.

“If you hadn’t forced my hand, it wouldn’t have been necessary. But you needed direction.”

And the apology proved to be a fantasy. The room lost all warmth with the implication he wouldn’t hesitate to do something drastic again. A chill settled into my bones yet it did nothing to dampen my rising anger, but I refused to let it free. Releasing my frustration would gain me nothing. If anything, I’d guess he was goading me. Remembering my decorum lessons, I calmed my reaction by sticking my fork into my palm to distract me.

It couldn’t, however, extinguish my sarcasm. “Forced your hand? Strange. I recall my hands were lashed to the cross at the time.”

“To prove a point. Knowing I’d send men after you wasn’t sufficient.”

“I overreacted and made a mistake the first time. I wasn’t planning to leave again.”

Rother sampled Dahlia’s cooking between sentences, keeping an infuriating casual tone. “You’d already ruined my trust once. I had to make an example. I didn’t enjoy having to go so far.”

“Yes. I can see how very difficult this must be for you.” I stabbed my palm once again to deflect my anger. I would not allow him to break my self-control. I would not lose what little threads of self-respect I’d managed to weave, but it was so hard.

“You can be upset over everything that happened, but in the end you’ll see it was for the best.”

I scoffed. “So you’re saying this was all done for my best interests?”

“Nathan. Tell me you aren’t better off for knowing what a hypocrite your father is. Tell me how important the values of being a Victorian lord are. To be so far above the people of Francine while they hide their secrets behind the veil of criticism and control.

“You no longer need to be ashamed of who you are. You’re free from the bullshit where you’re made into a dirty slur on your family simply over the fact of who you’re attracted to. Can you really tell me you’d rather go back to the people who were only too happy to engage you to a man they saw as beneath them? Did they agree to give me your hand for your benefit or theirs?

“You’re a man of Francine now. I’ve broken all your ties to your former life. It’s time to shake off the smothering past and revel in it at my side.”

I wished I could simply accept his words, but the searing ache of my neck reminded me of the fantasies he made come to life every evening.

“You scarred me.” I barely restrained myself from screaming as I relived the moment.

“I freed you.”

“And Harston?”

“It had to be done. You can’t expect me to allow a man who would openly conspire against me to roam my halls, do you?”

My volume dropped to a near whisper. “He was my friend.”

“You’ll find others.”

How bizarre the half-truths pouring out of him and the conviction at their foundation. It was difficult to divine whether he truly believed his assertions or if his deceptive talents were aimed at confusing me. I’d underestimated Rother. His skill at manipulation rivaled the upper echelon in Victoria, coupled with the fact he was willing to go to unforgivable lengths to win.

I hated how he’d severed my connections to my homeland and how lighter I felt without Victorian society’s moral judgments lording over me. Part of me wanted to cry, but the other part wouldn’t give him such satisfaction. No matter how enticing his silky argument, the fact remained: I was as much a prisoner here as back home. Free? Only in metaphor. Reality told a different tale.

Rother calmly wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin and gave me a handsome grin. “You’ll see. Once you accept my rules and how they will help you be the husband you were meant to be, we’ll find happiness together.”

The meaning within his calm words and congenial visage couldn’t be mistaken. Accept my rules. No matter what, my life would only be pleasant as long as I played the good spouse. Well, if I could survive the degradation of being my father’s leper, I could learn to do that too.

I nearly choked down a piece of fruit along with my pride. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Right now there was little I could do. Fleeing Delaga House wasn’t an option. I had no idea how to hide myself or properly function outside these walls and I would only be dragged back by the men who would wish Rother stay silent about their vices. Life in Victoria? No. That idea evaporated the day I married. My father’s revelation in Samantha’s dungeon only cemented it.

To keep myself safe with the implied threat hanging over me, this was where I’d stay. I would find a way to embrace the carnality of this house while planning my eventual future. There would be no more sudden bursts of ill-planned escape. No more flashes of bad ideas. I had to think in longer terms, and stop thinking and behaving like some sheltered debutante. I would learn my new home, find a way to prepare, and when the time was right…

Rother held the advantage, but I was damned if he’d keep it forever.

I could wait. I had the time.

END of Part One

Yes, this is the end of Part One, but the story isn’t over. I’ll be leaving this up for a while as a nice teaser until the second part is well underway. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you all up to date on where we’ll be. Thank you so much for the continued support. I didn’t realize how much readers would enjoy my little steampunk romance.

You flatter me.

Because of the extended length of the chapter, technically this doesn’t fit under the Wednesday Briefs. But without them, this story might not have become a thing for a long time to come, so I’m leaving this link here.

Be sure to take a read at the other briefers free reads this week here: Wednesday Briefs