Chapter 199

Simon turned his head slightly, attempting to catch a glimpse of the man’s face, but the arrangement of the chairs kept him out of view.

"Tell me, are you not tired of it?" the man continued. "The endless quarrels, the resentment, the constant need to draw blood and hurt each other whenever the two of you find yourselves in the same room?"

Simon remained silent.

He could have offered any number of answers to explain his behavior or why he did the things he did. He could have insisted that Draven was the one who truly despised him, that every attempt at civility was met with coldness, or that there was little point in reaching out to a man who seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length. All of them would have contained some measure of truth but weren’t entirely accurate, and none would have answered the question.

After several seconds, the man spoke again. "You should make peace with him."

"What makes you think Draven wants the same?" Simon was growing increasingly irritated. What gave this man the right to pass judgement on a matter that had nothing to do with him? An outsider who seemed to believe he could dictate how Simon ought to conduct himself. "You should see the way he looks at me. As though I am insignificant dirt beneath his shoe, not worthy of breathing the same air as him."

His bitterness came easily, but beneath it lay something far older than their recent quarrels. It had taken root long before Simon became a man who sought oblivion in drink, long before he discovered how effectively cruelty worked as a defensive weapon.

They were both Montagues, born into one of the wealthiest families in Arden. Their name opened doors, their inheritance guaranteed them security, and their place in society was assured long before either was old enough to comprehend the privileges that came with it.

Yet sharing the same name and privileges did not mean their childhoods were similar.

Draven grew up surrounded by affection. His mother adored him, his father took an active interest in his wellbeing, and he had the support and devotion of the rest of his household.

Simon, on the other hand, had spent his childhood at the mercy of his father’s mercurial moods.

Alexander was a man whose temper could turn violent without warning, ruling his household through fear and intimidation. His son grew up learning that affection was neither freely given.

He received scraps of kindness thrown his way and learned to make do with it.

For years, he envied Draven. What began as childhood jealousy gradually hardened into a resentment that had followed him into adulthood.

Somewhere within him he recognized that his anger was misplaced. Draven did not choose his childhood any more than Simon had chosen his own. Knowing that had never been enough to make the disparity hurt less.

And so, Simon made Draven the target of his accumulated anger and frustrations. From childhood well into adulthood, he took every opportunity to make him suffer, caring little about the lasting damage his actions might inflict. He simply wanted Draven to experience some of the misery he had known growing up.

But Draven had never been an innocent party in their feud. He was no victim. He gave as good as he got, and there were times when he was the one seeking out trouble. Neither was willing to back down, and more often than not, they ended up hurting each other.

From behind him, the man asked, "And what has antagonizing him done for you so far?"

Simon opened his mouth, ready with a retort, but a faint sound behind him caught his attention. Retreating footsteps prompted him to turn slightly.

The man was already gone.

---

Edmund Ashford entered the ballroom with his mother on his arm, and they were greeted by the lively scene.

The orchestra played beneath the glittering chandeliers, while guests fluttered around adorned in expensive silks and jewels.

Try as he might, Edmund could not rid himself of the feeling that their arrival had altered the atmosphere of the room.

He and Vivienne paused just past the entrance, surveying the gathering. Several faces turned towards them but they were largely ignored.

Edmund’s fingers tightened around his mother’s arm.

"Are you certain coming here was wise?" he asked quietly. "The newspapers have hardly given anyone time to forget."

The story of Nathaniel’s transgressions had spread far beyond the papers of the Arden gazette in which it first appeared.

Other newspaper houses had seized upon the allegations against Nathaniel, repeating and embellishing the story until the Ashford scandal became the most eagerly discussed subject across the country.

Edmund had no doubt that people in attendance had discussed his father and his presence there tonight would only pour fuel on the fire. Many times he explained why coming here would be a bad idea but his mother would not be deterred.

Vivienne, however, found his apprehension rather tiresome.

"We shall not allow a pack of gossiping scribblers to dictate where we may go," she replied, offering a gracious smile to a passing couple. "Really, Edmund, I will not have you behaving like we have something to be ashamed of. We are the Ashfords. Your father may be the subject of their scandal, but we remain the family of a count. Our position was established long before these wretched newspapers discovered they could make a living by dragging respectable people through the mud."

She spoke with an unshakable conviction.

Vivienne had always been accustomed to being deferred to, having her opinions sought and enjoying the attention of those around her. She had no intention of allowing her husband’s indiscretions to diminish the respect and consideration she was accustomed to receiving. If anything, the prospect of being treated as an ordinary woman was an affront in itself.

She would not make herself smaller to spare others their discomfort. If anyone had reason to feel embarrassed that evening, it was those who presumed to look down upon the Ashfords.

She cared little for Lady Sinclair’s ball. Her presence tonight served a far greater purpose: to make it abundantly clear that she would not be cowed by their insipid gossip and idle speculation, nor would she tolerate anyone dragging her family’s name through the mud. She was a countess, and she intended to conduct herself accordingly. Whatever opinions they might have formed of her, she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her humbled by their contempt.

They continued walking and Vivienne maintained her usual imperious bearing.

Edmund offered no further comment. He recognised several acquaintances, gentlemen with whom he had once exchanged pleasantries at dinners and other social gatherings. Yet none made any effort to approach him.

One man even caught his eye before promptly turning away, as though the mere sight of Edmund had become distasteful.

He tried to convince himself that there might be other explanations for their sudden behavior, but he was hardly foolish enough to believe the recent scandal had nothing to do with it.

Mother and son eventually parted ways. Vivienne made her way towards the section reserved for ladies and chaperones, where several chairs had been arranged for their comfort.

She selected an unoccupied one and calmed it for herself.

From her reticule, she produced a folding fan and opened it with a graceful flick of her wrist. She began to fan herself, her posture immaculate, her chin held high as she took up space she believed she was owed. If the other ladies wished to pretend she was not there, they could do so at their own expense.

The women seated behind her were engaged in a hushed conversation. Vivienne initially paid them little attention until a familiar name reached her ears, followed by a remark so openly contemptuous that she couldn’t believe anyone would be so brazen as to utter it.

"I cannot believe she has the nerve to show her face after everything her family has done," one of the women remarked scathingly.

Another sniffed haughtily. "She truly has no shame. If my husband were caught up in a scandal of that nature, I would be too mortified to show myself in public. But the rest of the Ashfords are no better than he is. A thoroughly shameless family."

Vivienne’s hand stilled. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Were they seriously discussing her in such a manner, and in her very presence?