The Beauty of Coincidence | manxman | (Historical Fiction)

I - The Lord Named Victor Ramsey

April 1820

Banemount, England

To hear of his eldest brother's death after such a long period of distance, Reynold Deighton wasn't too keen on discovering he would now have to take over the family business. For several generations, dating back to the mid-fifteenth century, the Deighton family carried the title of 'greatest craftsmen' in the beautiful English city of Banemount. It was a charming remark spoken most often by Lords and Ladies whose marvelous homes were furnished with pieces of their work: bed frames, wardrobes, dining tables, chairs, vanities, and sofas.

Reynold, however, while quite a good craftsman like every man to be born into his family, hadn't wished to run the shop a day in his life. While staying away from family affairs had been his life goal, now that his brother was dead, he felt he hadn't much of a choice but to return home and fulfill his duty as a son. After all, what kind of son would he be if he allowed his family name to crumble into the ground?

Today would be his first day running the place on his own, a horrid day now that it was pouring rain outside, but he figured himself lucky -- perhaps the rain would keep any customers away, and he wouldn't have to deal with anything for the hours he'd be there.

As he sat behind the desk at the far end of the shop, his boots kicked up on the surface, Reynold had his arms folded over his chest and the Roose Mingle Magazine was open in his lap. It was a weekly magazine published here in the city, filled mostly with short novellas, excerpted chapters from aspiring writers, and poems. His favorites were always poems, so much that he had three notebooks in his home filled front to back with his own writings. He never thought to get them published, though. The majority of his writings would likely get him in terrible trouble.

When he flipped to the next page then, Reynold paused when he read the name Chelsea Enfield at the top of a chapter. He wrinkled his dark brow in distaste before turning the page once more. He was the only person in the city who knew that name was an alias, a fake used by a man whom he now despised more than anything. It was the same man who'd previously driven him away from his family in the first place.

Averse to reading the chapter since he already knew he would hate the content; he suddenly felt the yearning to get back to his own writings.

Reynold closed the magazine and pushed it aside. As he stood, the legs of the brown leather and mahogany armchair scraped the floor, and he rounded into the back room of the shop. There were several pieces of furniture stored there, all of them acting as displays for customers to choose from. Passing three rows of various chairs, three wardrobe designs, a couple of tables, and bed frames, Reynold grabbed the knob to the door at the furthest end and entered the next room.

The shop was directly connected to the place his brother used to live in, a place that was now his to call home, and when he closed the door behind him, he moved down the narrow hall and to the curved stairwell that led to the second.

Everything was left just as his brother had it before, he hadn't moved a single thing, just moved his own clothing into what was his new bedroom. There were works of art hung about the dark walls, glass ensnared candles bolted to them as well, and when he reached the upper floor, he entered a room his brother once used as an office space. Now, it stored his writings and collection of study material, books he once used when he attended university.

There was a heavy desk sitting before a window that overlooked the main street and the waterway below, towering bookshelves built into the east and west walls, and there was a comfortable olive-green club chair on top of a circular rug.

From the bottom right drawer of the desk, Reynold took a notebook he bought not too long ago, along with a quill and ink. Although he would have much rather stayed there to write, he headed back to the shop and sat down once more.