years that I had abandoned her? That I had used and discarded your mother?"
"Of course. What else should I think? Happens all the time." David gave a short bark of laughter and the pain in his eyes was evident. "You'd be surprised how many of us there are in those schools... winding up on the fringes of society. The by-blows of the mighty aristocracy. Not quite of one world and never part of the other. It's a limbo I would not wish on any child of mine."
"I cannot change what I've done. But you can see that I have tried to do my best for you. I had no idea that you suffered so. Always thought you enjoyed your London life, and it just never occurred to me that you might be less than happy."
"On the meager stipend you provided for me?" David spoke with more sorrow than anger. "Without an introduction to polite society? What good my classical education and my antecedents if I could not meet the right people? Could not dress and live in the manner to which I should have been born?" His voice held a tinge of bitterness, and, for the first time in his life, David allowed that resentment to spew forth.
It was a cleansing experience, though he was unaware of it at the moment. He turned back to the fire, busying himself with the kindling and waited for the scorn that would surely be heaped upon him for his impertinence. It did not come.
"We have never talked before, have we David?"
"No, I should think not. You have been too busy avoiding me. Tell me sir, was I such a burden to your soul? Could you not have given me at least a modicum of your time? I am a bastard, 'tis true, but I am not deformed or wicked and your indifference has caused me great harm."
"Yes, I can see that. Would that I could change it David, but I cannot." The Marquis raised a hand in supplication. "Surely we can go on from here?" He looked hopefully at the stiff, unyielding posture of his son's back and waited, in his turn.
"I would not want to trouble your life, sir. I will just do as you have asked and then return to London. Actually, I have plans for my inheritance and wanted to ask your advice."
He avoided a direct answer to his father's question, still smarting from all the years of neglect and unwilling to cave in and give the old man his due. Though he was tempted for a small moment to throw himself across his father's lap and be hugged.
Unwilling as well, to be gainsaid, the Marquis lifted the stick again but before he could poke David in the back he turned around quickly, grabbing the offending object and tugging it from the other man. "That won't be necessary, I can assure you."
David then eased himself into the chair opposite, having finally managed to draw a nice little blaze. "I think perhaps you have made a peace offering. Am I right?"
"You are."
"Then allow me time to overcome my astonishment, and we will talk again soon." David spoke low and soft, his eyes misting as well. "I just need to adjust, father. I am unused to kindness, you see... " and to both of their astonishment, David burst into a great sobbing display.
Since the age of six, he had been away from the soft influence of women; he was melded from stern discipline and rigorous punishment. His entire life had been spent in the company of school masters without pity, fellow students, sometimes cruel, and later, dissolute companions, bent only on wenching, gambling and idling about, with no thought to the consequences of their behavior.
David winced at the thought that only a few weeks ago he had been one of them. So much had changed, in so short a time, that he was ill equipped to deal with the onslaught of emotions. Wiping his eyes, he looked into the fire, embarrassed by his outburst.
"Sorry," he mumbled, his eyes brimming once more. He blinked away the fresh tears, and tried for a lighter note. "Must think me a veritable water works."
Sensing that his son needed time alone, the Marquis motioned for David to help him up. "I should be going now. We'll talk again
"Of course. What else should I think? Happens all the time." David gave a short bark of laughter and the pain in his eyes was evident. "You'd be surprised how many of us there are in those schools... winding up on the fringes of society. The by-blows of the mighty aristocracy. Not quite of one world and never part of the other. It's a limbo I would not wish on any child of mine."
"I cannot change what I've done. But you can see that I have tried to do my best for you. I had no idea that you suffered so. Always thought you enjoyed your London life, and it just never occurred to me that you might be less than happy."
"On the meager stipend you provided for me?" David spoke with more sorrow than anger. "Without an introduction to polite society? What good my classical education and my antecedents if I could not meet the right people? Could not dress and live in the manner to which I should have been born?" His voice held a tinge of bitterness, and, for the first time in his life, David allowed that resentment to spew forth.
It was a cleansing experience, though he was unaware of it at the moment. He turned back to the fire, busying himself with the kindling and waited for the scorn that would surely be heaped upon him for his impertinence. It did not come.
"We have never talked before, have we David?"
"No, I should think not. You have been too busy avoiding me. Tell me sir, was I such a burden to your soul? Could you not have given me at least a modicum of your time? I am a bastard, 'tis true, but I am not deformed or wicked and your indifference has caused me great harm."
"Yes, I can see that. Would that I could change it David, but I cannot." The Marquis raised a hand in supplication. "Surely we can go on from here?" He looked hopefully at the stiff, unyielding posture of his son's back and waited, in his turn.
"I would not want to trouble your life, sir. I will just do as you have asked and then return to London. Actually, I have plans for my inheritance and wanted to ask your advice."
He avoided a direct answer to his father's question, still smarting from all the years of neglect and unwilling to cave in and give the old man his due. Though he was tempted for a small moment to throw himself across his father's lap and be hugged.
Unwilling as well, to be gainsaid, the Marquis lifted the stick again but before he could poke David in the back he turned around quickly, grabbing the offending object and tugging it from the other man. "That won't be necessary, I can assure you."
David then eased himself into the chair opposite, having finally managed to draw a nice little blaze. "I think perhaps you have made a peace offering. Am I right?"
"You are."
"Then allow me time to overcome my astonishment, and we will talk again soon." David spoke low and soft, his eyes misting as well. "I just need to adjust, father. I am unused to kindness, you see... " and to both of their astonishment, David burst into a great sobbing display.
Since the age of six, he had been away from the soft influence of women; he was melded from stern discipline and rigorous punishment. His entire life had been spent in the company of school masters without pity, fellow students, sometimes cruel, and later, dissolute companions, bent only on wenching, gambling and idling about, with no thought to the consequences of their behavior.
David winced at the thought that only a few weeks ago he had been one of them. So much had changed, in so short a time, that he was ill equipped to deal with the onslaught of emotions. Wiping his eyes, he looked into the fire, embarrassed by his outburst.
"Sorry," he mumbled, his eyes brimming once more. He blinked away the fresh tears, and tried for a lighter note. "Must think me a veritable water works."
Sensing that his son needed time alone, the Marquis motioned for David to help him up. "I should be going now. We'll talk again
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