Scoundrel With A Noble Heart (sequel of Disgraceful)

Chapter 1

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The gentle wind passed through a lively street in the seaside town, carrying the salty scent of the ocean and the relaxing sound of the waves crashing onto the shore.

The sidewalk was packed with people passing and coming in and out of the fashionable shops and tea houses lining the street. Almost everyone flaunted themselves in the latest style, gracing the walkway with their bright and vibrant presence. This pedestrian precinct was ultimately the town's attraction with its fancy-looking crowd and pretty sights every which way one turned, but close to this charming part of town, the shadier sides lay hidden between the buildings across the street, where rogues and scoundrels lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

From his hideout in the narrow and pungent alleyways, a little pickpocket peered out, observing the crowd, picking out his next victim. His gaze fell and lingered upon a middle-aged gentry walking alone down the sidewalk. The chain of his gold watch caught the light of the midday sun, glinting on his wine-coloured coat.

The boy's bright blue eyes widened, sparkling with hope. There hadn't been much edible waste in the trash lately. He'd eaten anything he could find, a darkened apple core and a moldy bread that he'd snatched from a hungry rat, but it was barely enough to satisfy his hunger, and his little belly screamed for more.

Eyes locked on the gentry like a cat on its prey, the boy scurried across the street. Pretending to be in a great hurry, he ran toward the man and crashed into him, knocking him hard on the shoulder. The man snapped at the boy, but after flicking some ash off his sleeve, he continued walking, not the slightest bit aware that his precious possession was no longer in place.

The boy thought he'd managed to escape notice, but suddenly his arm was caught in a strong grip, the watch slipped from his hand and fell onto the ground. Startled, he tried to wrest his arm free, but it was held fast. He looked up and met a pair of glacial eyes that strangely bore a startling resemblance to his own. Realizing that he'd been caught red-handed, the boy froze in terror.

"Wait, please." He heard a gentle, feminine voice nearby, trying to stop the man, but he ignored it.

"Sir!" His captor called the gentry. "You dropped something."

The country gentleman stopped and turned around, groping into his pocket as he looked down at the watch on the ground. The boy blanched, an instant shudder racked his body and for an instant he thought it might well be the end of him.

"Thank you, Sir."
The gentry came and picked up the watch. Eyes fixated on the urchin, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"Tell me, Sir. Did that monkey try to steal it?"

The boy flinched in distress, but to his great surprise, the young gentleman answered,
"By no means. And this boy is no monkey, he is my coachman's son."

"Very well, then. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it."

Tipping his hat, the gentry turned and left. The gentleman waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to the frightened boy and asked,
"How long have you been doing this?"

The boy winced. He opened his mouth but his breath was stuck in his throat and he couldn't form a word. The gentleman regarded him with a suspicious stare.
"Are you doing this job for someone?"

"Nnn... No, Sir." He stammered, finally managed to find his voice.
"I'm an orphan, Sir. I'm on my own. I have no other way to buy me food."

The gentleman fell silent for a while, the words seemed to strike him.
"What's your name?"

"Matthew, Sir."

"Have you ever been caught in your thieving ways before, Matthew?"

"No, Sir."

"Do you know what might happen to you if you're caught by somebody else?"

"If you're lucky, you will be arrested and put in jail for some time. If you're not, you'll be beaten until you're bruised and battered, probably until you catch your death."
The words struck terror into his heart. As if recognizing his instant fear, the gentleman paused for a second before resuming,
"I wouldn't like it either way if I were you."

"Me neither, Sir."
He replied quietly. The gentleman studied him for a while, then asked,
"Where do you live?"

"I... I live in the streets, Sir."

"Where do you sleep at night?"

"Anywhere, Sir... Mostly in an alley..."

"Have you no relatives?"

He shook his head. The gentleman pulled out some coins from his pocket and handed it to him.
"This is to buy your food today, and this one," The man produced a name card and gave it to him.
"Find a man named Freddie in Magnolia Inn and show him this card. He'll take care of you."

The boy took the card and stopped dead in his tracks. Unaware of his sudden change of expression, the gentleman added,
"You can come anytime. Just remember we will be leaving tomorrow morning at nine. We won't wait for a latecomer."

Speechless for a long moment, the boy could do nothing but stare unblinkingly at the gentleman, until he eventually managed to get the words past the lump in his throat.
"Thank you, Sir."

Then he turned around and ran off. He didn't care where he was heading, his mind racing with the shocking discovery of the gentleman's identity.

The Duke of Vermont

Matthew never thought he'd have the chance to ever see him. They occupied separate worlds, much as they were closely related to each other. As unbelievable as it might seem, the gentleman and he shared the same blood. The duke was his very own brother. They were born from the same father, and their lives couldn't be more different. The fact that his duke of a brother was out of his sphere, and he had moved miles away from his brother's land made a chance meeting almost impossible, yet now by some quirk of fate, he'd crossed paths with him in the most unexpected way.

Ever since he was born, Matthew lived only with his mother, and when she was alive, she hadn't told him about his father, never so much as mentioned him. Unlike any other people, they had no other family. No grandparents, no uncles and aunts, and definitely no cousins. When he was nine, his mother died, and for a short period of time, his family background remained a mystery, until he found his mother's diary, hidden in a secret storage in the nightstand.

He discovered that his mother was a nobleman's mistress and he was their illegitimate child. A bastard. His father was the late Duke of Vermont, a prominent noble, and his mother was a mere commoner. The star-crossed lovers lived together for years before his father suddenly met his untimely demise, leaving his mistress and his unborn child without any means to survive.

He looked up at his brother in his impeccably tailored clothes. He carried himself with dignity, looking about him like he owned the world. Bile stirred in his chest at the irony of their situation. His brother had everything most men could only dream of, while he had next to nothing. He knew most noble bastards had the privilege of a sheltered upbringing, but he wasn't that fortunate. Knowing the fact that his mother was pregnant, his father's family had spurned her at the duke's funeral, not even giving her the chance to see the man she loved for the last time. Already disowned by her own family, and snubbed by the townspeople, his mother moved to another town and tried to build a new life. With no help and support from anyone, she had to struggle on her own to make a living for them both, until the strain of overwork and stress took their toll on her health and she died through an illness. After her death, the landlord let him stay at the rent for several weeks, but eventually he had to make way for those who could pay. He found himself out in the street, alone and penniless. He'd been doing whatever it took to survive since then.

At the thought, a tide of rage swept over him. He crushed the namecard in his fist. He would never take charity from a family who had refused to acknowledge his mother's existence, as well as his own. They owed him and his mother a lot more than mere pity. Indignantly he tossed the crumpled paper to the ground and turned to leave. He didn't need his noble brother's help to look after him. He'd managed on his own, like he'd been doing all this time.

To be continued
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