Page 3 of A Father's Insistence

Chapter Two

Joanna

The last few days have probably been the most peaceful of the year I’ve spent in captivity. I’ve not seen anyone apart from Camilla when she’s dropped my food off. Today’s meal was a bit more elaborate than the others. Most of the time, it’s been a standard fare of brown toast for breakfast followed by a sandwich of some sort for lunch, and then fish or chicken with vegetables and potatoes for dinner. I’ve lost so much weight the clothes I was originally given now hang off my skeletal frame. I wasn’t a big person a year ago, but I wasn’t a skinny supermodel size either. I liked my food, especially steak, and I had a terrible weakness for chocolate. My favorite dessert was one of those chocolate cakes where the middle was still like molten lava. My mouth waters at the thought of it while my stomach cramps at the richness of the steak I’ve just eaten. Why after so long would they give me a steak? I can’t help but think of myself as a prisoner on death row, and the meal I’ve just eaten is my last. If it is, I’m ready. I’ve got nothing left to live for. I don’t know what living is anymore. I’m a girl whose father gave her away only to be sold to a monster. I’ve thought often about the other girls from that terrible night and wonder what has happened to them. I know the man who bought me is the father of one of them. I guess he exchanged one woman for another in effect. He told me once that she’d married Nicholas Cavendish. I can’t help feeling sorry for her, wondering whether she or any of the other girls are still alive. No, if I’m to die tonight, I’ll welcome it. I’ve been trained to within an inch of my life to obey Viscount Hamilton’s rule, and should I fail, I’m fully aware of the disastrous consequences. I don’t want to be raped by him anymore. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up.

I push aside the book I’ve been engrossed in for the last hour—reading provides the only form of sanity I’ve not been deprived of, yet—and getting to my feet, I stretch my legs and arms. The steak was far too rich for me, and my stomach still doesn’t feel right. I’m rubbing it to relieve the discomfort when I hear my door being unlocked, and Camilla comes barging in. Without saying a word, she grabs me by the wrist and drags me from the room.

“No!” I try to force my feet into the ground, but she’s too strong.

“Shut up,” she shouts at me and whips her hand across my face. I reel back in shock. Although I’m used to beatings, I wasn’t expecting that tonight. Camilla is joined by a man who lifts me off my feet and carries me down the hall. I initially panic before a calm sense of fate descends over me. This must be it…the moment I die. Why do I feel so happy? I surely shouldn’t. After death, there is nothing: no coming back, no feelings, no pain. The. End.

I’m deposited into a room where the Viscount is already standing. It figures he would want to be the one to finish this. I kneel down before him as I’ve been taught.

“I warned you the time was approaching for you to fulfill your destiny, didn’t I?” He informs me, patting the top of my head.

“Yes,” I reply quietly. A speck of dust catches my eye on the floor, and as I let out a breath, the dust flutters along like an angel on a floating cloud. I wonder if I’ll get wings? I must have earned them. Death can’t be it…all there is left when life in this world ends. I’ve always believed in some sort of afterlife. Men like Viscount Hamilton deserve it, so they can be punished for their atrocities in this life. They can’t just end. I have to know that somewhere they’ll suffer for what they’ve done. My breath catches at the thought of there being nothing. This being the end for me. My twenty-two years on this planet equating to little more than an abuse victim who dies at the hands of her tormentor. I’m too busy trying to remember how to breathe when the first punch comes. Any chance I had of getting air into my lungs is ruined when pain explodes into them, instead. Several more hits rain down on me, and I curl into a little ball, desperately trying to protect myself. It doesn’t work, though, and I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow…if I’m still alive. I’m pulled to my feet by my frizzy, blond hair. My father always hated my hair with its natural curl. He said it left me looking like a wild child who’d been dragged through a hedge backward—an image I most definitely resemble, currently.

“You remember what you’ve been taught. I’m going to have to trust you from this point on, but remember I’ll always be watching. I’ll be there should you falter, ready to bring down hell upon you if you ruin this. I’m your master, your ruler, your everything. Without me, you’d be dead,” Viscount Hamilton spits into my face. “Get her dressed,” he orders, and my clothes are ripped from my body. Red marks, precursors to bruising, litter my porcelain skin. I’m forced into a white linen dress like the one I wore the night I was given to Nicholas Cavendish. I’ve traveled full circle. I’m back there, waiting to discover what my future will be, and only too aware of the trials. I’d been taught about them as I’d grown up, but my part in the Oakfield Society was short-lived. I was not one of the chosen girls, and I was sold off instead. I sometimes think the trials would have been easier than this existence.

Camilla grabs my hair out of the hands of the man who’s been holding it tightly and rips a brush through the dry and tangled ends. I have my own shower, so I am able to keep clean, but the products aren’t really suitable for my type of hair. I need a good haircut and conditioning treatment. I suppose, if I’m to die, it doesn’t really matter. From the little I know of God, I don’t think he’s the type of person to judge someone for the style of their hair as they enter through the pearly gates.

Viscount Hamilton looks down at his phone when it makes a sound.

“He’ll be here soon.”

Camilla finishes re-arranging my hair and pushes me back down to my knees in front of Viscount Hamilton. The man who’s terrorized every moment of my last year, both awake and asleep, pulls my chin up, so he can bore his penetrating gaze directly into me. I want to shut my eyes, but I know I can’t, and even if I did, I couldn’t block him out, because he’s burned into my senses: I can see the little curl of his lip when he’s enjoying what he does to me, I can hear the grunts of his exertions, and I can smell the foul stench of his breath as he kisses me all over my face. The steak sitting in my stomach bubbles, and I can’t stop myself from heaving and then vomiting on the floor.

“What the fuck?” Viscount Hamilton steps back to avoid getting any on his designer leather shoes. “I was being nice to you and have provided you with a good meal, and this is what happens. You better not mess up your task, Joanna. You’ve been prepared. You’ve been trained, and you will lead us to untold power.”

My head is spinning from the sickness and the beating. I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.

“My son is nearly here. He’ll be your husband within the hour, and you will take him straight to your room and make a child. You’ve been left in peace the last few days because your contraceptive injection ran out. He’ll take you tonight, and together you’ll make a boy capable of ruling over the Oakfield Society. One who will run it properly, not like the Cavendish brothers.”

A bell sounds somewhere in the house.

“Get her up.” I’m dragged to my feet, and a blanket is wrapped around me. Camilla brings me into her arms and buries my head into her chest. It’s almost as if she’s comforting me, but I know the things this woman is capable of, and it’s nothing of the sort: it’s an act. Everything happening here is designed for a purpose. The beating, the outfit, the fake show of sympathy are all part of a show. The game continues, and I’m still a pawn in it. I’m not going to die today, but something much worse is about to happen: I’m about to be married to a man who doesn’t have a clue about the world he lives in.

I shift my head just in time to see two men enter the room, dragging a comatose body between them. A priest follows behind with his long garments flowing along the floor, and a bible in his hand. I would expect him to look shocked at the situation he’s seeing, but he looks all too accepting and comfortable. He’s clearly been hired specifically for his ability to turn a blind eye to the half-asleep groom and the battered bride.

“Theo,” Viscount Hamilton addresses his son. I recognize him vaguely from society functions we both attended growing up. He was always one of the confident men in the background, surrounded by women but not particularly interested in anyone. It appeared to me his behavior was guided by his responsibilities to his family name. He was never one to use his future title to advance himself, though. Not like Nicholas Cavendish who used his on more than one occasion to get a girl into bed.

The men lower Theo into a wing-backed chair, and I can see he’s trying his hardest to open his eyes.

“Father?” he groans and rubs his face. “What’s going on?”

The Viscount brushes his hand against his son’s shoulder, pretending to be the kind and caring father.

“I’m sorry for the subterfuge, my boy, but it’s all necessary. I’ll explain later. First, we need to make sure that this woman is safe, and there’s only one way to do that. You need to marry her.”

“Marry her?” Theo looks up confused. His eyes keep opening and closing. He’s struggling to come out of whatever drug-addled state they’ve put him in. “I don’t understand.”

“I couldn’t save your sister, Theo, please. We have to save Joanna.”

I’m thrust forward nearer to the father and son who are currently engaged in a conversation, which will shape my future.

“Joanna?” Theo rubs his head again. “Can I get water?”

The Viscount nods at one of the other men in the room. Minutes ago, they were beating me, but now they look as though butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. They are devils in disguise. A glass of water is brought over to Theo, and he drinks it down before trying to focus more fully on me, standing before him. I look down at my hands, and I realize they are shaking. I try to control them, but my body acts like it’s not attached to my brain.

---