The House on Durrow Street by Beckett Galen

Author:Beckett, Galen [Beckett, Galen]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Spectra
Published: 2010-09-27T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IN THE PAST, after a visit to Asterlane, Rafferdy had always been greatly relieved to return to his house on Warwent Square. From the moment he left the house of his father, the coach could never travel the roads fast enough, and the distance behind it was never great enough to satisfy his craving for flight. Not for a moment, during all the hours as the countryside passed outside the window of the coach, would he know any tranquillity or comfort. Not until he was back in the city, amid all his usual surroundings, would he at last allow himself to draw a breath, exhale it, and believe that he had once again made his escape.

“May I take your hat and cane, Lord Rafferdy?”

Rafferdy recoiled a little. He was not yet accustomed to those words being spoken to him.

“Yes, thank you,” he managed to say, handing the objects to his man. “And I’ll have a brandy. Make it a generous pour.”

The steward bowed and retreated from the parlor, leaving Rafferdy alone. He looked around the room and despite its familiarity, this time it offered him no comfortable refuge. There would be no fleeing now. He had left Asterlane and was back in the city, but he would never again escape from Lord Rafferdy’s house so long as he lived, for he was Lord Rafferdy now.

He crossed the parlor to his writing desk. The warm light of a long afternoon spilled through the window, falling upon its empty surface. Not so very long ago, upon returning from a visit to Asterlane, he would have found the desk heaped with letters of greeting and a multitude of notes asking for his presence at various dinners and parties. However, the only thing that covered the desk now was a thin layer of dust.

Not that this deficit of correspondence surprised him. One could turn down only so many invitations before they ceased to come at all. Everyone wishes to secure the attendance of a guest who is known to attend only the most fashionable parties. Unless, of course, that person never attends their parties, in which case the other is wholly unneeded. Discerning persons, Rafferdy had learned, are only wanted when they offer themselves to anybody.

Despite the lack of invitations, he felt no regret. He no longer had dinners or fetes to divert him. These days it was often the case that he had another sort of gathering to attend when evening fell. And while the people he met there frequently sent him messages, these missives did not come by the usual routes of post or messenger.

His man returned with the brandy, which Rafferdy accepted gratefully. He sat in a chair and took a long sip, then another. It was only when he set down the empty glass that he realized he was sitting in the very chair where he had last seen his father alive. Had he unconsciously chosen it for that very reason? While it was the grandest chair in the

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