1814, Four years before everything.
Hugo was a stowaway of the ranks. He was what a regular lordship would call a "Bastard" but the kinder, less condescending ones would call him "Nobody" and with his standing in society, that was just about the best as it could get.
Because dashing Baron, William Hunt loved the sorry young lady, sweet Diana De Vere, they married but unfortunately not a day before the ton noticed Hugo in her body. Many assumed the child wasn't even William's, and Diana's family had exhausted their influence just to prove it so, yet still many of the ton remained skeptical at present.
Diana loved William likewise William loved her, but he loved his name more than he loved anyone, so when Hugo was born, he only had fondness for him as much as anyone adored their breakfast cold in the morning of winter.
Because William cared about Hugo, at five, he sent him away from his Mother's to live in London, thinking it might be good for the child to learn some independence. Unbeknownst to Hugo, that London would be his home for the rest of his childhood.
Even if his family was a trifle controversial, Hugo managed to captivate society with his green tinged eyes—so characteristic of the Hunt family, however, the remainder of his comeliness were a hallmark to his mother's beauty, such as his inky, wavy locks and his darling smile, both of which the ton found universally found charming.
In London, with the poor old staff, joy hanging by the thinnest, cheapest, yet most strenuous thread in England, Hugo desired nothing more than amusement, and thus made the home his playground—and perhaps illuminated reasons why a house shouldn't have a hearth, and how high knives should be kept in the kitchen.
What they; the maids, nurses, servants and the governess had in common, apart from servanthood, was their exhaustion from Hugo's unbridled passion for humor. He never listened, the boy always ran, and he—as reported by his caretakers—was the most irritating, infuriating, insolent imp they've ever met.
By her poor, exhausted governess, Hugo slowly became a proper gentleman. He was a good chat among his peers, and a fun memorable anecdote with a charming smile to his father's friends, dashed irritating it was, to advertise his father's good name, but regardless, Hugo became a popular name amongst the upper echelons, nearly beloved by everyone.
But once, his father's tether, at a slow pace, loosened, only god knows why, Hugo lead his life at full swing. Tea for the morning, whores for the night. It was debauched. He always comes home bloody late with a peculiar scent about him, it smelled close to wine, women's perfume and...sweat.
It was not long before matrons, mamas, and fathers caught wind of Hugo's lascivious affairs, and before long, Hugo's name and reputation subsided into taboo. Young ladies, impressionable and naive young women, vying for his sultry eyes could only weep from their window, forbidden by their family to even speak of his name.
He was, in every way, happy it seems. He feeds on the satisfaction that he is able to stain the good name his father religiously fostered. Hugo loved what his life had become. Which is why, he thought with a frown, he'd been crestfallen when his younger brother, whom he had not seen all his life, summoned him to Barton Hall from London.
The letter had nothing more than a note of urgency, about their mother, who had been ill for the last few years. Hugo was already twenty, and he never heard of his mother's ailment prior to this.
Hugo's memories of Barton Hall were ambiguous, but even he could remember his mother singing to him and crying about how they were going to escape his father someday. It had been more than a decade since then, since he last saw his own home, only it was not his home, it was his father's. A stronghold it was to many.
As he stepped out of his carriage, he let out a groan which meant to replace the unsettling quiet he wasn't used to. He froze infront of the door. His mind a pool of unending questions. What will happen after this evening, he thought, taking a deep breath before he mustered enough courage to open and enter the house.
He glimpsed around the foyer, all imaginative nostalgia sinking in as if he had a long life in the Hunt Residence. He had made a long trip from London and was too troubled to stop for an inn. His drivers, poor things, must be relieved to finally sleep after jumping in and out of conscience for the past two days.
No one could have been awoke three hours before sunrise, so it made sense why everything was half-lit by the moon, and dreadfully quiet.
But then he saw a figure, descending the staircase hurriedly with such loud, nearly explosive footsteps which Hugo found blasphemously criminal.
"Well if it isn't my favorite man in all of London!" Hugo, assuming it was his father, called condescendingly, his voice echoing through the corridors. "How have you—"
The figure stopped at the foot of the stairs. The light of the moon stretching just far enough for Hugo to make out a silhouette. It was not his father's, he did not stand like that, but it looked the same—uncannily the same. Every argument he rehearsed were replaced by a simple, every insult, every thought that came to mind was replaced by a simple Who is this?
"Are you Hugo?" The enigmatic figure asked, "Yes? Pardon...who are you?" Hugo's eyebrows furrowed, tilting his head slightly to the left, trying to find a face. "By god! It is you!" The figure continued, walking to the light.
He was a boy? perhaps three years younger than him. It was difficult to tell what color was his hair nor his eyes, but his face possessed a grim similarity to his father's.
Hugo rarely felt astonished by something nor by someone, and it would take a bloody sum of effort to do so, yet it came naturally for this moment. It did not take a second for his mind to register that it was his brother. The lad stood a few feet away...smiling gleefully at him.
"You are my brother...?" Hugo said asked, pichinghis temples.
"Indeed...I thought you'd arrive not three days less!" He said, practically exhilarated. "P-Pardon, but which brother are you?" Hugo asked waving his hand dismissively.
"Nicholas, brother. The youngest of us three!" He replied. For someone in such a gloomy home, he was oddly a beacon of joy. "You must be tired from the trip, I-I'll prepare a chamber for you." Nicholas practically stammering from joy.
"No need, I am not exhausted." Hugo smiled, while Nicholas awkwardly smiled back, before taking a deep breath.
"Why are you still awake?" Hugo asked, his curiosity masked by the strange kindness in his voice.
Aaahhhhhh!! Ahhhhh!!! Ahhhh...Ahhhh!
In the house, a chilling scream pierced the silence of the night, shattering the stillness like a thunderclap. Hugo, struck dumb by the sudden onslaught of terror-laden cries, cast his wide eyes about the room, his countenance aghast and his lips parted in mute horror.
Each mournful moan that followed seemed an ominous harbinger, like a prelude to someone's death.
"Oh goodness mother!" Nicholas, as if a natural reaction, rushed the stairs, as he cried. "Mother?" Hugo queried, his tone tinged with concern and confusion, following Nicholas through the dim corridors.
"Just follow me!"
•••
In the cobwebbed halls and along the dusty carpet, Hugo was confounded to the bent and breaking furniture, the dead houseplants, and the broken glasswares which he could only assume was Father's beloved treasures. Everything seems to lead to the thought that this house had been long abandoned by perhaps a few years or so...but his father—he could not have let this happen...could he?
Hugo and Nicholas paused, facing a daunting door. It was their mother's bedchambers, but good god...what in the world happened here?! For all of the oddest things Hugo had seen, this was by far the worst in the lot.
"Seth!" Nicholas roared, opening the door. Hugo, in a fit of shock, stood afraid at the sight before him—their mother, barely breathing on the bed. Her life held by the most tenuous of means, as if sustained by a mere thread, ready to snap at any moment.
"My lord!" Cried an old woman tending to his mother. "There is little time, my lord. she...my lady is...her condition's worsened." She continued.
Hugo stood a few steps from the door, all eyes at him. "Will someone tell me what had happened?!" He exclaimed, lost at the state of things.
"I shall do so. Forgive my hasty formalities, but I am Seth, your brother," not exactly sure how to respond, he just nodded. "Charmed," Hugo replied. Under in different circumstances, he would have shook his hand, maybe even hugged him—perhaps that was an exaggeration, he, in fact, would probably just greeted him in the same manner.
What he knew of his brothers was gleaned from the missives his mother had written, and occasionally from the brothers themselves. He barely read them; in truth, he never did. Now confronted with them, he felt a profound regret, but even more so, guilt.
"I thought you'd arrive later," said Seth, "You wouldn't have seen her like this," he added. "Just please explain the situation," Hugo retorted.
Hugo walked to his mother and there was a stench about her, a god forsaken aroma worse than rotting meat. She looked awful, God help her, she looked worse up close. A sparkling beauty she was the last time they have seen each other, he could remember her tousling his hair and smiling demurely, laughing at how he was always cunningly vicious.
"God...For g-god's sake! where is father?!"
"He's gone..." Hugo, with eyes widened, sneered at Seth's remark.
"Gone?" Hugo asked again,"What are you trying to say?" He added towering over his two brothers with a furious, frightening, almost murderous glint about his eyes. Gone? How could he—did he pass? Surely that couldn't be, the man was—in great misfortune—was a healthy curmudgeon. If not that then...Oh good lord, where has he gone to?!
"We have not seen Father for a year now," Seth said. "A year? Pardon a year?!" Hugo exclaimed. Bloody hell it's been that long? Dash it! The man was a despicable villain, but even he wouldn't think he had a studgy backbone.
"The day he left, we discovered a note in his office. Our father was subjected to an insurmountable sum of debt with his club," Seth looked over Hugo's shoulder to look at ther mother and frowned.
"And we later discovered that he used what was left of our money for a ship to India, taking all the jewelry and many valuables in this house to keep himself steady for a new life." Seth added.
He blamed his father for most things. Even with small unfortunate inconveniences, he always cursed his name. William, with a sick fadcination on control, enjoyed whatever despair he could squeeze out of his eldest. Which is why, unfortunately, in Hugo's more than a decade life in London, his father visited him in doses. Sometimes one or two times a year, but only when the season was in full swing, or if he felt like he needed a boost of spirit, then he'd always take great care to emphasize that Hugo will never fulfill his legacy—that he'd never amount to anything.
Which is why, since his father never came back, he thought he had finally let him go. Hugo thought, he might be able to forget him, and he had been trying to, and in the process, altogether forgotten his family...
"God," he paused aitting down on a stool. He brushed his hand through his hair, and tapped his foot at full tilt. What was he to do now? With their father absent, he would have to—dear lord, taking care of the estate was the last thing he expected in his return. "I...I do not know what to say, this...oh it's a lot," he added, groaning, he looked bewildered at the wrinkly old woman. He squinted his eyes as if trying to recognize her.
"How is she? Miss...?" Hugo asked, trying to fill the tense quiet. "Agatha," Nicholas answered, which made Hugo shoot him with a puzzled stare. "She's worked here all of her life, and she's one of mother's dearest friends. Even if we couldn't afford to have household staff anymore, she insisted to stay without any exchange," Sett explained.
"Her condition's calmed down, my lord," Agatha replied, standing weakly from the bedside, sweating as she let out a sigh of relief.
•••
By morning, everything thankfully, had calmed down. Agatha stayed with the Baroness, and Nicholas was helping her, while Seth and Hugo chatted in their father's.
Hugo found himself slightly more at ease with Seth, perhaps due to Seth's dissimilarity to their father—his wavy black hair and blue eyes, and an earnest countenance. Yet, inexplicably, he sensed a faint undercurrent of hostility from his character.
"It is a great surprise that you answered one of our letters," Seth said rereading their fathers note, slightly furious at Hugo's irresponsibility. Hugo, tensely leaning against the wall, furrowed his brows.
"Nevertheless," He added. "We are thankful that you are here now," Seth said, with a smile, shooting Hugo a look of comfort before he walked up to him, offering him a bottle of brandy.
"I do not drink in the morning," Hugo said pushing away the bottle. "Suit yourself," Seth responded, filling his glass, before gracefully settling himself upon a settee by the window.
"Our grandfather died recently, and well..." Seth, before continuing, let out an exhausted sigh, crossing his legs while he tried to gather his words. "Mother and her family were inconsolable, and painful as it was, we made an attendance, Hugo fell silent, but all the more concerned. He had no inkling of the gravity of his family's situation. How could he? He was blissfully dropping his loins by sorrows in London, heedless of anything said nor done.
"I did not know..." Hugo muttered, pinching his brows together as he sat down beside him.
He watched as his brother, pitiful looking man, took a swig. The gilded brandy, halved the moment Seth stopped. It was a Wellington's drink, the finest of it's kind, good flavor, well enough for any men to forget their turmoil. Which was feeling Hugo was very familiar with, and in a solemn coincidence, similar to his brother so when Seth gave him one last chance to drink, he shared his sympathy, and took a sip.
"He was a kind man, our mother's words not mine," Seth huffed. His grandfather —in their mother's eyes—was very astute, a man with admirable moral fiber, but he loathed everything about William so when Diana married him, her family was distraught, and his father told the mother, which told her sister, which told her maid that she was forever more a damned woman, and the greatest of wenches, yet she hoped that her children be spared from their hatred, which was why Hugo was untouched in London, and exactly the reason why he had opportunity for university unlike his brothers.
"We are poor now, but thankfully, the duke took pity on us. After all, we were still their family." His brother scoffed. While Hugo loathed the notion of poverty, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth, he
"I assume even the letter of that news got lost in your amount of...duties," Seth snarked.
"Apologies, I...well," Like many men, adorned and pampered with, Hugo hated being wrong, and admitting that he was wrong, he hated even more so he couldn't bring himself to confess all of the nefarious things he had done, which was why he was fortunate that Seth wanted exhaust this conversation elsewhere.
"It does not matter," Seth, with a weary sigh and a furrowed brow, drained his last glass of wine. Rising from his seat, he ambled over to their father's desk, where he began to sift through the papers with a deliberate air, seeking out the letter penned by the Duke of Leinster, their grandfather.
"It was sent for our Mother, our grandfather may have been unkind to her, but she was his only child," Maybe she was, but she was less than beloved. "The old man still felt some obligation to her. Perhaps to the title, but nevertheless, his generosity is, to be honest, a bit of surprise," Seth added holding out the missive.
"Had he left us something?" Hugo asked, abruptly standing up.
His hands then meeting with the rough cotton rag corner of the paper indicating age, but it was still legible. "He left you with everything," Seth retorted, before he crossed his arms.
"What?!"
The document began with pleasantries and greetings in the first half, then delved into specifics in the latter. It explicitly states that Hugo would inherit the title, the estate, the properties—everything. Hugo, understandably so, felt a bit of joy knowing he was secure. As Duke, he could fulfill every desire with a fortune that seemed relatively infinite. But there was a condition to it.
"Marriage? Out of all the things..." It was unthinkable! Marriage? To a gentlewoman? Although it had become an undeniable truth that he, who had seduced countless innocents, squandered fortunes on alcohol, and shamelessly belonged to society's notorious lineage of the greatest rakes, had little, if no chance at all in a respectable marriage...
"It is what they want, and it is you that they want. I could not understand why, or even know why, but it will benefit all of us." Seth drew a deep breath, shooting a piercing look at his brother before turning his gaze to the side with a heavy heart. His eyes settled on a neglected and dusty portrait of their mother, its worn frame and faded colors stirred a greater deal of guilt in Hugo's already heavy chest.
"If I take this, what would become of you? and mother?" Hugo asked. Seth, his back turned on Hugo, let out a long sigh. "And of mother?" Hugo added.
"I...do not know," Seth turned to the side gently brishing his hand across the mounds of paper of their father's desk. "But they're our only hope. Perhaps they'd be willing to listen or better yet, help if you accepted their terms. They are what we have left to save mother," Seth explained.
Hugo pitied Seth deeply. Seth possibly employed every means possible to grant his mother a few more weeks of life. He may have toiled tirelessly, sending numerous appeals to relatives, yet perhaps only a scant few deigned to offer even a pittance. Oh and poor Nicholas. He might have felt a great deal of fright the moment abandonment sank in his mind...It was a sorry...tragic thing to imagine.
"I am truly sorry..." Hugo apologized weakly, which made Seth walk towards the door, a bit teary. He, sorrowfully young, had gone through a great deal of desperation, he wept in his heart, and when Hugo tried to reach out for him, he looked back, eyes glossy, sparkling from faint sunlight.
"This is for our mother... it's her life or yours,"