Dear Arabella

CHAPTER THREE - ELIAS

PAST — ELIAS

The scent of old books prickled my nose as I strode across the library, straight to the decanter. I looked around, my gaze bouncing from shelves to shelves as I poured the scotch in three glasses. I caught sight of dust shimmering in the sunlight and made a mental note to tell the maid about it.

My personal library was indeed my pride. I had a fancy for collecting all sorts of literature and I have been an avid reader since childhood. My mother would sit me down and read me stories for hours on end. Now that she was gone, I remembered those memories fondly. 

Her favorite books were on those shelves, untouched. 

I heard a sigh of impatience and then, “Are you listening?” 

“Somewhat,” I responded, turning around to face my two uninvited guests. With a grin, I offered each of them a glass of scotch. I would need alcohol for this pointless conversation. 

I took a seat on the couch, crossing my left ankle over my right knee and nodded at my guests. “Go on now. Let me hear what you have to say.”

I listened to my maternal uncle, and his best friend, Oscar Harrison speak, telling me a story that would cause a scandal if anyone else ever found out. 

The truth was that Mr. Harrison had an affair — multiple ones actually, but one of his mistresses ended up with a child. 

A daughter, who was apparently of age now. 

Oscar Harrison was a Viscount, a wealthy businessman — but his brother-in-law was the Duke of Manchester. A man of great power and more wealth than anyone could ever imagine. 

Oh, and of course, he loved his sister dearly.

It made sense that Oscar was practically trembling with fear at the thought of his hidden and illegitimate daughter being the new choice of gossip. Now that the mother was out of the picture, the daughter has been left without any family and defenseless against the rumors that had already started to spread. Oscar had to step up and claim his illegitimate daughter.

“You have to marry her,” Philip, the Earl of Dunbury, announced. My uncle held my gaze steadily, almost like he was trying to exercise his authority — to make me compliant to his arduous demand.

He was nearly as big as me, tall and with broad shoulders. And a scar that ran along the left side of his face. While he had once been a charming and jovial man, after he came back from the Crimean war, Philip Dunbury had become stone-faced. Uptight and rigid, he had earned his fair share of nicknames. People were scared of crossing paths with him.

But to me? He was just the man who raised me — who was more a father to me than my own. I had great respect for the Earl of Dunbury and if he had asked me for anything other than to marry a woman I didn’t know, I would have said yes.

But not this.

Not when I had already made promises to Rosa. 

Rosa with blonde curls and eyes of the rainforest. I told her we’d marry next summer. I’d give her the grande wedding of her dreams and all the babies she wanted. Rosa and I fell in love young; too young some people would say. 

Taking a slow sip of my scotch, my gaze rove over Oscar, taking in his stressful demure and the pleading in his own sunken eyes. “I can’t marry your daughter,” I firmly stated. 

“The scandal—

“Is none of my business,” I cut him off. “You can’t ask me to take responsibility for your mistake.”