Free True Story (The Deverells, Book One) by Jayne Fresina Page B

only yourself to blame for how it all turns out."
    His son's eyes narrowed, his jaw
jutted out.
    "If I were you," True
added, "I'd return to Eton and finish my education." His son had no
idea how much he would have given for such an opportunity himself
as a boy, but everything he learned was self-taught. Well, almost everything.
Alas, while he wanted all these chances for his offspring, they did
not appreciate it. "In another year, if you are still averse to
Oxford or Cambridge—"
    "I shall be."
    "Then we'll address the possibilities
at that time. I ask simply that you think a little longer on the
matter. But, naturally, that is only what I would wish for you to
do. As you keep pointing out, you are old enough to choose for
yourself. I must stand aside."
    It was clear that Justify's successful
advance through the naval ranks had caused this jolt to his younger
brother's prideful spirit. True's children all had that urge to be
noticed, to distinguish themselves in some way from the
pack.
    Damon fidgeted with the cuffs of his
jacket. His very stance— heels apart, toes tapping— seethed with
irritation.
    "You are young," True added. "It may
not feel like it now, but there is so much life ahead of you. Time
enough to go out into the world and make your mark. But you must be
well prepared for it. Whatever successes your brothers have found—
whatever adventures they have had— remember they were once sixteen
too and restless as you are now. You will find your purpose, just
as they have."
    Perhaps he should explain to the boy
that he had hopes of Damon one day taking over the helm at
Deverell's, but no doubt that would sound very dull to a sixteen
year-old. At that age True was working a fishing boat and
contemplating a life of piracy, having narrowly escaped a swing
from the hangman's noose. He'd had nothing to his name back then
but reckless courage and a quick mind for numbers. He could never
have imagined where he'd end up, presiding over London's most
notorious and successful gentleman's club, which he hoped to hand
over to his ungrateful brood.
    Currently it was Ransom, his eldest
legitimate son, who was being groomed to take over at Deverell's.
But True felt something special in Damon. Was it because the boy
used to be so close, so full of unconditional admiration for his
father? Ransom, on the other hand, still strongly favored his mama
and thought her the wounded party. She must have whispered plenty
of her lies into the boy's ear over the years, and prodded at him
with her cruel knives of jealousy, so it wasn't Ransom's fault he
was confused.
    True didn't even blame his son for the
bullet which, two years ago, chipped the bone of his right
shoulder.
    "Accidents will happen," he'd amiably
exclaimed to the Justice of the Peace.
    Fortunately that "accident" had put a
stop to Ransom's engagement with Miss Pridemore, who would have
caused the boy endless pain. True was happy to sacrifice more than
a bit of shoulder to keep his son out of trouble. It only gave him
a little stiffness from time to time, the odd twinge if he'd been
sitting still for a while and then moved suddenly. Fortunately,
since he wasn't a man who spent a great deal of time sitting still,
his shoulder rarely had a chance to seize up.
    But really, he mused, none of his boys
understood the lengths he would go to protect them. As for his
daughter, she may as well be from another planet, or France. That
was why he felt it necessary to get his memoirs down for
posterity.
    "So the choice, dear boy, is yours,"
he said to Damon. "But remember, once made it cannot be undone. You
will then be trapped. I suggest you give the idea more than a few
hours to ferment, but beyond that I cannot make you do anything. I
wouldn't dare try."
    With one final groan of frustration,
the young man turned sharply, strode to the door and jerked it
open.
     
    * * * *
     
    Olivia stumbled, swaying back on her
worn heels.
    The young man stared in surprise, one
hand on the door handle.