Chapter Three – Misfortunes
“I must say I am thoroughly disappointed, Tristan, and I cannot refrain from speaking my mind any longer.”
Gritting his teeth, Tristan Turner, Viscount Elton, kept his gaze fixed on the spoon in his hand and continued to eat his soup as though he could not hear his uncle’s words or the insult and degradation laced within. Had it not always been thus? He wondered. Had his uncle ever refrained from speaking his mind where Tristan was concerned?
Tristan could not recall a time like that. Even as a young boy, he had never been able to please his uncle, let alone live up to his expectations.
“A gentleman of your position does not frequent such establishments,” his uncle continued, his eyes hard as he fixed his nephew across the supper table. “Especially not in such dishevelment and portraying manners that bring shame to his whole family.” He swallowed, then looked at his son. “Do you not agree, Matthew?”
Tristan sighed in annoyance as his cousin nodded, his eyes holding the same judgement as his father’s. “Certainly, Father.” He nodded his head once more before his gaze shifted to Tristan. “I do not understand why you would insist on living under such conditions. Considering everything you have, can you not find another pastime? One less scandalous and damaging to your reputation? As well as ours?”
“Well said,” Uncle Randolph echoed, nodding his head vigorously. “It is not too much to ask, is it?”
Sitting back, Tristan glanced at his aunt, her head bent over the bowl of soup before her, doing her utmost to ignore the argument between them as always. Then Tristan met his uncle’s gaze, uncertain how to answer, but forced himself to remain calm, trying his best to find the right words. “I assure you, dear Uncle, that it was never my intention to bring shame to this family, nor do I believe that I have. Yes, I admit I’ve stumbled into the occasional…dispute, but,” he leant forward and held his uncle’s scrutinising gaze, “you can hardly fault me for being robbed.”
Shaking his head, his uncle huffed, “Can I not?”
“No,” Tristan insisted, wondering if there was anything he could say that would change his uncle’s opinion of him. After all, hadn’t he done his utmost these past twenty-odd years? Had he not tried time and time again…only to fail in the most miserable ways?
“Only you weren’t robbed once, were you?” his cousin asked, then glanced at his father, who once more nodded his head in affirmation. “To tell you the truth,” Matthew continued, “I do not even recall how often it has been. Three…or rather four times?”
“Three,” Tristan admitted, feeling his tense muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt and jacket. He inhaled deeply, seeking to steady his nerves. His uncle tended to have that effect on him, and in the past few years, his cousin had been trying his best to equal his father in that regard. “Why would it matter though? If I am robbed once, you wouldn’t consider it my fault, but if it happens thrice, then it certainly must be?”
Though slightly hindered by his massive belly, his uncle leant forward, cold eyes narrowed into slits as though he were a hunter taking aim. “You go where you’re not supposed to be,” he hissed. “You frequent places where you present an opportunity to those with a shady occupation and no moral or manners to speak of.” He jerked his head up and down. “So, yes, it is your fault! If you would only act as you’re told, if you would only adhere to the generally accepted code of conduct, none of this would have happened.”
Staring at his uncle, Tristan shook his head. “I was robbed on my way home. I didn’t−”
“And where had you been that night?” his uncle snapped, his head turning a darker shade of red. “A tavern on the wrong side of town? Who knows what criminals you encountered there who thought you an easy target? Do you truly not understand my concern?”
Concern? Tristan wondered, then shook his head. The only concern his uncle had ever felt had been for himself and his reputation, hadn’t it? But had he ever felt concerned for Tristan’s safety? Although Tristan wished with all his heart that it would be so, deep down, he knew it to be wrong.
Shoulders slumped, Tristan swallowed. “I do apologise for displeasing you, Uncle,” he admitted, knowing that despite his hurtful words, his uncle was not entirely wrong to speak as he had. “I do assure you that I am doing my utmost not–”
“But it keeps happening,” his cousin interrupted. “Doesn’t it?”
Shrugging, Tristan shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know why.” He swallowed as a nagging fear slowly soared to the surface. “Sometimes I don’t even remember how I got there or how I ended up in a fight with someone or why.”
“Just like your father!” his uncle snapped.
Tristan gritted his teeth, feeling his uncle’s words like a punch into his stomach as they continued to echo in his ears. Just like your father! Fighting the urge to push back his chair and rush out of the room, Tristan stared at his uncle, wondering for the millionth time if his uncle couldn’t see the torment his careless words caused his nephew. Or did he simply not care?
Whatever the reason, those words were the worst Tristan had ever heard, and whenever they would come again, the impact would be the same as they did not dull with use. They were his Achilles’ heel, a mortal wound, and in moments like these, Tristan felt crippled, air knocked from his lungs and blackness threatening to engulf his vision.
“Do you truly wish to go down the same path as your father?” his uncle demanded, a satisfied gleam in his eyes that confused Tristan even more. “Do you truly wish to end like him? If that is your wish, I will not hinder you. My only regret is that the noble title of Elton was bestowed on such an unworthy man, just like your father before you.” Shaking his head, his uncle pressed his lips together, disgust marking his features. “It truly is a shame that titles are passed on to the firstborn of a line, instead of to the one most worthy. All his life, my brother was nothing but a drunkard. He did not care in the least for his family, the responsibility of his title or the fortune that grew smaller and smaller under his care. Had I not stepped in and taken over, everything would have been lost. And what do I get in return?” With anger in his eyes, Tristan’s uncle flung the napkin across the table and onto the floor.
Aunt Clara flinched, then continued to eat her soup.
“Disrespect and disgrace brought on by those I’ve sacrificed everything for,” he growled, then once again leant forward. “Do what you must, but know that your father walked down the same path as you and it destroyed him. You’d do well to look to others for direction. My son as well as myself are upstanding members of society and more than anyone deserve your respect. After all, it is us who seek to conceal the truth about you and your father from society at large. How do you think people would meet you if they knew? You would be an outcast! Shunned! Feared!”
Frozen in his chair, feeling paralysed, Tristan bent his head, knowing his uncle’s words to be true, and yet, he wished there were some way he could defend himself against the man’s accusations.
If only he didn’t fear the very same thing his uncle continued to prophesy.
That his father’s madness lived in his blood as well and would sooner or later rear its ugly head…
…and destroy him as it had destroyed his father and his mother as well.