Page 57 of Legacy of Succession

The dots appear again.

William: You love her?

Nicholas: With all my heart.

I wait a few minutes, but nothing comes back. I put my phone down on the dresser and head toward the bed. I need a shower — I’ve been in the same clothes for days. Removing my jacket, I place it into the linen basket for cleaning. My heart pangs for Reggie. This would have been his responsibility. I’m defeated and can take no more. I sit on the bed, place my head in my hands, and exhale deeply. I don’t know how to win this game that I find myself in. I feel as though I’m drowning. I’ve been an arrogant sod most of my life: spoken down to people beneath me, fucked anything with a willing pussy, but Victoria Hamilton has floored me with her spirit. I’m not sure that I can continue with my life the way it is. I don’t want to marry Elizabeth Sandford, nor do I trust my father that this will all end, now. I flop back onto the bed, allowing my eyes to shut. I need sleep. Hopefully, once I’ve had some, I’ll be able to comprehend my situation better and deal with it. A rap at the door destroys my plans, though.

“Enter,” I call and pray it isn’t Elizabeth Sandford come back for round two. I exhale a long sigh of relief when I see it’s a uniformed servant.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, My Lord.” He seems nervous, and his soft Scottish accent’s tinged with trembles of worry.

“What is it?” I grumble.

“I have something for you. It’s” ?he stutters? “it’s a letter.”

“From whom?” I don’t even bother to sit up on the bed. I lay my head back and close my eyes.

“Your mother.” That brings me upright.

“What?” I demand. “If this is some kind of joke, I'll have you castrated.”

“It isn’t, My Lord. You have my word. I knew your mother well. I tried to help her and make her life easier, but I met her after it was too late. Her mind had already gone. She didn’t deserve what happened to her…” He pauses. “It’s not my place to say, but I don’t believe she took her own life. Your father…” He stops. “I speak too freely. I’m sorry.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a letter. “Shortly after you were born, she gave me this. It’s always been the tradition to come here for the wedding, and she asked me to give it to you before yours.”

I shuffle from the bed and stare at the man in front of me. I’m trying to size him up. He seems genuine, but I’ve been fooled already by my father, and I don’t want to fall into his trap again.

“Why should I believe you?” I ask.

“You don’t have to believe me. I’m just doing what I promised your mother.” He drops the letter onto the dresser. “You have her eyes, and the sparkle behind them that I watched die. Read the letter, My Lord. Don’t let your light die.” With those words, he disappears from my room, not waiting to be granted permission to leave. I look down at the letter like it will bite me. My name is written on the front, and it seems like my mother’s handwriting. I’ve seen it often enough in her diary. I reluctantly reach out and open it. There's a single sheet of paper inside, and what looks like a much older letter. I read the newer one first.

Dear Nicholas,

My handsome son,

If you’re reading this, then I’m dead, and you’re about to be married. I can pray until I’m blue in the face that it's to a woman you’ve fallen in love with, via conventional means, but I know your father too well. Your marriage will come as a result of the Society’s rules placed upon you. Your bride will have gone through tasks, unimaginable to others, to finally be chosen. The girls who have failed will be lying in barely cold graves.

I’ve known, since the moment I looked into your blue eyes for the first time, that you’d be the one to end this nightmare. I saw more compassion and kindness in the eyes of a mere, few moments old, baby than I had seen my entire life. I knew then you were special, and I had to protect you as best I could. When William was born, I saw the same unique qualities in him. Despite the dark blood that runs through your father’s sovereignty, you’d both inherited mine. My pure and gentle abilities. I spent all the time I could with you both — Firstly, in the hope I could keep it hidden from your father, and secondly, to stop him from beating it out of you. I took the blame for misdemeanors. I hid your brother’s eccentricities. I prayed as hard as I could you would stay strong. Your father hated me for it. I don’t like to speak evil of the man who’s half of you, but I can’t find a good word for him. He’s the devil, my son. I’ve seen the things he’s done to people, not just women. He’s a tyrant and a dictator with delusions of grandeur. I’m sorry if this hurts you. I wish there were some other way. I know he’s your father. The night I conceived you was shortly after our wedding. I’d been a virgin until that night, and I’ll never forget how brutally my innocence was stolen. I’d not healed, physically or mentally. Your father became angry when the doctors stated I needed another week’s rest before he could resume his activities with me. As always, he chose to ignore them. I was stripped by my guards and brought naked through the house to him. He was already in bed with another woman. I remember the fear in her eyes as I came in and was introduced as his wife. I don’t know the story that he’d spun her about our relationship, but I could tell she wasn’t willingly in his bed. She was chained, her lip was split, her eye black from bruising, and his rough marks had already left blemishes on her body. He started to penetrate her from behind, and she screamed so loudly. Then silence. An overwhelming and deafening silence. He had a knife hidden under his pillow and had slit her throat. She’d have seen her death coming but couldn’t have prevented it. I mourn her every day, especially after what happened next. Your father withdrew from her and grabbed me around the neck. He shouted at me for being unready for him. He blamed it on me that he’d needed to treat the woman in that way. I had tears streaming down my eyes. He called me weak and useless and said that it wasn’t the doctors’ decision to make, regarding how he treated his wife. After that, he bent me over the bed, I looked at the dead girl, and we conceived you. I was bedridden for months after. They were terrified that I’d lose you due to the damage I had suffered. I’m sorry, my son, to tell you this. I’ve only ever wanted you to think that you were conceived from love, but I can't. I can't lie if it means that you remain ignorant of the truth about what your father and this society are. They’re evil men, and you aren't. You're the one who can put a stop to this.

Contained within my letter is another. It’s from the first Duchess of Oakfield who was submitted to the trials. There’s a prophecy that one day a boy will be born who'll end this. He’ll be pure of heart and able to cast off the evil of the legacy of his succession. The letter, it states, will only come to light when that boy is born. It’s you, Nicholas...you’re the child. I found it shortly after you were born. It proves you’re better than this. It demonstrates that you can put an end to the suffering of the women who have followed my fate. Utilize the strength that I know is in you and stop the society. Don’t let them win. If you truly love the woman you’re due to marry, then go ahead with it and make her your wife, but if there’s any doubt in your mind then end it here. Please, please my son, don’t let another generation suffer. Have courage, I’m with you always in spirit and know that I’d never leave you unless it was through no choice of my own.

I love you,

Your mother.

The Duchess of Oakfield.

I take a stumbling step back onto the floor. My legs won’t hold me. To read of her suffering, during a time which should have been romantic and filled with love, brings tears that tumble in rivulets down my cheeks. ‘Grown men don’t cry’, my father would say to me. But I’m not weeping for myself, I’m mourning for the woman who nurtured me within her for nine months despite being broken and destroyed. I wipe away tears for a mother who fought hard to give me compassion and love when she was shown none for herself. She was an angel the day she was born into this society, and now she's an angel in heaven, giving me the strength I need to end this.

I take up the other letter and carefully open it — it must be over four hundred years old.

To whomever reads this,

My name is Alice, Duchess of Oakfield. I’m the first Duchess to be chosen under the rules of the Oakfield Society. But, I hereby declare that they are false and should have no future bearing on the generations to come. The rules are governed by men who were intent on the destruction of my husband. You see, you cannot choose to marry when you are already wed. The Duke and I were married before the trials began. I wasn’t a virgin going into them, and I carried his child after the third trial. They were a sham, and the only reason I went through with them was to protect my husband’s place in the society and to save his life. I loved him, and I couldn’t lose him. The Oakfield’s have a great name, an honest and trustworthy one, or so it was once, before the society’s rules. Whichever future Duchess discovers this letter will be the mother of the son who is destined to return our name to greatness. We shall once again be the Oakfield’s of my husband’s previous generations, and the legacy will finally be forgotten.

I’m sorry for my part in the terrible pain that others have experienced. I was weak and blinded by the love I felt. I hope one day I shall be forgiven.

Alice, Duchess of Oakfield

I can't believe what I’m reading. I’ve spent years thinking that this was forced upon women, but the first Duchess chose her fate, misguided through love or otherwise, and sealed it for future generations to come.

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