Page 4 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
"Yes, Father."
He wiggled his fingers to dismiss me, a command I gladly obeyed.
My father was the most successful merchant in London, probably in all of England. Every high-born noble knew that whatever their hearts desired, my father would acquire for them. Despite his elevated prices, he remained their first choice. Shrewd and calculating, he knew that making money required spending it—a lesson he had never hesitated to act upon. Extravagance had never intimidated him; it was simply a tool to secure greater wealth—one he utilized on himself or me. I never lacked material things. Or education. I suppose for that I should be grateful.
No, what my father failed to provide ran deeper. Much deeper. For one, he was incapable of love. I didn't think he even loved himself. Not me, that was for sure, or at least not any different from all his other assets. Nor had he loved my mother, even though his greatest accomplishment had been marrying her. It had given him the in with the nobility he had always craved. It gave me that ounce of blue blood required for the Earl to even consider a marriage with me.
My mother was the third daughter of a minor baron. But that didn't matter to my father. What mattered was that he could finally add the covetedSirto his name. She had been a frail, sickly person, much too young to marry my father, let alone give birth to a child. I only had brief memories of her since she never recovered from my birth, and when, against the doctor's orders, she fell pregnant again, neither she nor my little brother survived.
Driven to further his line, my father remarried three times. The first wife also died in childbirth, the second of the pox only months into their marriage, and the third, my current stepmother, had proved herself infertile, making me a commodity among my father's treasures. A very blemished commodity since I was of the wrong gender.
But it seemed as if the wily old man had found a way around this obstacle. His grandson, whom he was already making plans for, would be the next Earl of Dunmere, and he would not want for money. I was but a vessel to my father's unfulfilled dreams—for the first time I didn't mind. Because for the first time, I saw a way of fulfillingmydreams as well.
"Mistress Wellington, psst," a whispered voice reached me when I exited my father's office.
"Peter?" My father's assistant lurked around the corner. His presence here made no sense to me. He never came to our house. My father made a point of separating home and office. Well, most of the time, unless it was an earl he invited.
Peter Farthington waved me over in a very intimate, inappropriate way.
"What is it, Mister Farthington?" I took a hesitant step forward.
He put his fingers to his lips, scrunching up his pale face like he was doing something forbidden. Now that awakened my curiosity. Peter was nothing but a stiff arrow, always poised. He spent hours searching the accounts if they were off by a penny. Just the kind of man my father liked to surround himself with. He was also deeply in love with me.
"I want to show you something, Mistress, if it pleases you." His normally composed demeanor was nearly giddy, intriguing me even more.
"Alright," I agreed and followed him against my better judgment. I wasn't afraid of him. He had never been anythingbut polite and courteous. Even after my father laughed him out of his office when he dared ask about my marriage prospects.
I was still rattled from the Earl agreeing to our marriage, but now my heart beat faster for a different reason. I was about to do something forbidden, maybe even dangerous. My stomach fluttered in anticipation as I followed Peter toward our basement. When he started down the stairs, where the gas lights had already been lit, a nervous tremor moved through me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I knew without the shadow of a doubt that I was standing on the precipice of a life-altering event. Whatever Peter was about to show me would change the course of my life; I felt it in every fiber of my being.
"Careful Mistress, watch your step." Peter's advice was sweet but unnecessary. I had mastered the treacherous basement steps as soon as I could walk. For most children, dark, musty basements were a fright, but to my overactive imagination, ours had been a mausoleum, a forbidden temple, a long-forgotten ancient tomb, a gateway to another world.
That had been before my father had the gas lights installed. An outrageous expenditure, but necessary in his eyes to always be one step ahead of his competitors and to impress his patrons. Now the formerly dark rooms were lit, taking away the mystery.
At least not until I sawit! That's when all my childhood adventures came rushing back to me. My eyes took in the ancient, carved hieroglyphs, faded over the years but no less fascinating to me.
"Oh, Mister Farthington, is this..." I didn't dare continue my question. My hand rose to my lips in wonder.
"Yes, Mistress. It's a sarcophagus. A true relict, brought straight from Egypt." He confirmed. "Your father acquired it for Mister Belzoni for one of his mummy unwrapping events. I thought you might like to see it."
"Oh dear." Carefully, I took a step forward. My hand moved from my lips to the sarcophagus, where it hovered, trembling, over the cold stone.
"You can touch it, Mistress, if you like," Peter smiled encouragingly. "We just brought it in."
"Why here?" My hand still hovered over the sarcophagus, something I had been wanting to touch since I could remember. Now that it was here, my nerves shook with trepidation.
"He thought something this valuable would be better protected here," Peter said. Then he pulled out a crumbled piece of paper, "at least until Saturday."
My eyes flew over the paper, but it took a bit of time for my mind to make sense of the words. A mummy unwrapping party. This Saturday. But then my brain went into overdrive. Surely I could talk the Earl into taking me? He would have to be on his best behavior, at least until we said our nuptials. Right?
I returned my attention to the sarcophagus. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. After taking a steadying breath, I carefully placed the tips of my fingers on the top of the stone.
"Boo," Peter hissed, chuckling when I withdrew with a startle.
I turned to him to chastise his manners, but the mischief in his twinkling eyes revealed a different side of him—a man I would have liked to know better. In that moment, I glimpsed the real person behind his stiff exterior. Someone thoughtful enough not only to show interest in me but to take the time to understand me, to learn what truly intrigued me. A man I was sure would have worshipped the ground I walked on. For the briefest of time, I allowed myself to wonder what it would be liketo be married to a man like him. One who would appreciate me, not think of me as adeed.
A small giggle escaped me, but my attention was drawn back to the stone coffin. This time, when I moved the tips of my fingers forward, Peter stayed thankfully silent, and I felt the full impact of the contact.
It felt as if a myriad of images had been let loose in my mind. Like butterflies, they flittered about without me being able to catch even a glimpse of one or to understand what I was seeing. My nerves felt like they were vibrating, as if the cold rock had stung me. Yet I couldn't let go or draw my fingers back. Instead, the need to press my entire palm against it became stronger until I gave in.
