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Hathford was an eighteenth century country house located adjacent to the town of  Warwick and sat on twenty five thousand acres. It existed as one of the finest examples of the Palladian revival style of architecture. 

The interior of the hall is opulently but, by the standards of the day, simply decorated and furnished. Ornament is used with such restraint that it was possible to decorate both private and state rooms in the same style, without oppressing the former. The principal entrance is through the "Marble" Hall, which leads to the piano nobile, or the first floor, and state rooms. The most impressive of these rooms is the saloon, which has walls lined with red velvet. Each of the major state rooms is symmetrical in its layout and design; in some rooms, false doors are necessary to fully achieve this balanced effect.

Cassius thought the whole place tacky. And, as they were lead through the house by the butler, his scowl revealed this.

Duke Winslet was not in good health. He hadn't been for the past two years but, in the recent months, it had dramatically taken a turn for the worst causing him to be confine to his home and mostly to his bed.

He was impossibly old. Older than Cassius by at least a century. Perhaps more. He did not recall when he first came into this world. Anyone who would have remembered was gone now.

In his fading health, he took on an almost lizardly appearance. His skin was an ashy crackled white that hinted at yellow. The way his wrinkles fell, it caused his mouth to appear elongated, his eyes a bit too far apart, his chin disappearing into his neck. But yellowed eyes turned firery at the sight of Cassius.

Lord and Lady De Beaumont, when escorted into the mannor, found Winslet in the garden. Propped into a chair, a blanket had been placed over his legs. Winslet found he was frequently cold these days. The warmth of the sun did wonders but not enough.

The warmth of his hatred for Cassius, however, caused him to forget this.

"Who is this man? Hmm? He looks familiar but I certainly don't know a name." the old man's eyes narrowed.

"I suppose being senile would cause you to forget." Cassius spat the sentence in the most gentlemanly manner he could manage. "Uncle, may I introduce my wife, Lady Book De Beaumont."

Cassius did not dream. He hadn't since he had been a child. 

The previous night was of little difference. The sensation of Book running fingers through his hair had provided a calm he had not known nor expected. It was an action he found soothing. Focused on the sensation along with the fluttering of blood in her veins, Cassius felt himself lulled into heaviness. He hardly noticed she had drifted asleep except moments later when her fingers had stopped in their movement. Storm colored eyes had opened, he breathed in her scent to find her stilled, and they closed again to offer his own sleep. 

When he awoke, things were different. Cassius was not fond of mornings. He was a being of darkness; the early light was distasteful. But the human race moved on mornings and so he grudgingly awoke to begin business. As he dressed, storm colored eyes stayed focused on Book. He considered the way brunette hair tussled around her face. How she looked so peaceful.

Ignorant little thing.

Once finished dressing, he made his way out of the room only to stop as Molly approached.

"Lord De Beau-mont." she paused, her expression the same stern seriousness. "Her Lady-ship re-ceived a letter from Duke Win-slet."

The letter was handed over. His brows furrowed as he read over the words. The fact that man had not yet died infuriated him. 

"The letter was all?" he asked, his annoyance showing.

"Yes, sir."

"Deliver it. I'll send response. I'm not to be disturbed, understood?"

"Yes, sir." As was proper, Molly looked down as he passed her by. She moved to knock on Lady De Beaumont's door only to find the room vacant. She turned to knock on her Lordship's door before entering. "Lady De Beau-mont, it is morn-ing." Molly's shoes clicked on the floor as she moved to open the curtains and allow light in. "You have re-ceived a letter."

The envelope in question was handed over. A gold crest resided in the top right corner, the words written in fine cursive. 

Lady De Beaumont

My deepest sympathies at your recent wedding. May you find solace in the thought that nothing lasts forever. May Lord De Beaumont die painfully and the world forget his name. 

I should like very much to have you to tea. I should expect a carriage would have you here by tomorrow afternoon. You could stop to rest in Warwick. I hear the hotel there provides a lovely dinner. After all, something should be lovely if you are traveling with his Lordship. 

What do you find disgusting?

As the carriage pushed onward through the rain, Storm colored eyes stayed glued to the face of the young bride across from him. The cluster of storm clouds above them kept there from being much light in the small compartment but Cassius could sense the expressions she dared not show. Lady De Beaumont was quiet. This did not seem her nature. 

He found her discomfort amusing.

Perhaps that was why he watched her in the half-light without offering the comfort of conversation. He watched her because, as her husband, it was within his right. He watched her because, if she were to complain to anyone, they would find her silly. He watched her because he wanted her nervous. A blushing bride was expected but blushing and trembling far more preferred. He would not harm her, no, not yet, but who could blame a little fun?

He had certainly had none of it during the ceremony. Oh, the wedding had known grandeur; there was no mistaking. Only the finest for his dear bride and the rest of society to see. He needed them to whisper his name, to idolize it, to fear it. It was how it should be. The problem existed not in the consequence but the very action. To sit in the house of 'The Lord' and listen to a fat 'Shepard' preach to his flock disgusted him to his core; offended his sensibility. For a moment he had tuned out the disgusting songs of praise only to be brought to attention by the loud crack of thunder and the downpour that followed. Cassius had smiled. He wonder if 'God' was offended His church was used for such an 'unholy' union. 

Oh, he certainly hoped so.

Now, in the carriage and only a short distance from his estate, Cassius memorized the face of his bride and the few strands of hair that had not managed to escape the rain. He followed the curve of her jawline and the delicate lips and how her wedding dress proved to be so white for a lady tainted. The thought had him grinning almost cruel.

Miss Book Safford, eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Safford, will be married on the eighteenth of August to Lord Cassius De Beaumont at Fatherford Parish.

The announcement in the newspaper went on to briefly describe the Safford family as well as Cassius'; standing but the man saw no reason to read further. He had been married countless times before, it ceased to be of interest. His thoughts were elsewhere.

Merry's Pub was a seedy establishment ripe with the stink of the nearby fishery and the thick haze of it's patron's cigarettes. It was a place gentlemen did not frequent and in a section of city the upper class did not travel. The only 'ladies' who dared make themselves present were one's who charged by the activity. Cassius rather liked Merry's Pub if for no other reason than people who left there wouldn't be missed by much of anyone.

Dressed in a tacky brown suit and bowler cap, he sat at the bar, bringing a cigarette to his lips and pretending to read the paper when really he was listening.

The lies and crude gossip they spewed were almost animalistic in nature. He should wonder if he would be more at home among them? Hmm, no, he thought not. Money was a comfort he could not do without. Pausing to drink from his scotch, his ears perked at the sound of a familiar name.

"--Safford. I seen 'er before. Yea, shoppin with 'er mum in some posh shop. I says to me friend Tobby, if I could have a moment to speak with 'er, that pretty litt'l thing wouldn't be wearin white."

The men at his table laughed. Cassius found himself intrigued. 

"Johnny, you're a tosser."

"Too right."

"What you doin' out this way on a midday? You not workin again?"

"Nah," he spoke the word with a crude exhale. "That ole boss of mine ain't worth the piece he gives me. I tell 'im straight to piss off. I got me an interview with Mr. Fontaine from the fishery. Tol' me ah wait outside 'is shop at noon but the bastard never showed. I came in 'ere for a nip."

Ah, possibilities...

Cassius didn't bother rising from his seat but turned in his chair to look over at the table. His voice and dialect was one his 'peers' would never know. "'Oy. One of yous say you were Johnny, yeah?"

"I am." A skinny fellow with hair as dirty as his complexion nodded but raised a brow in suspicion. "What the fuck you want?"

Two of the other men at his table turned to look at Cassius with suspicious eyes and scowling irritation.

"I'm Mr. Fontaine." He lied smooth and confident with an air of his own irritation. "I'm a bastard, am I?"

"'ey, we was just talkin'" Johnny backpeddled. His suspicion and irritation had been replaced with genuine worry. "No disrespect--"

"Shut it." Downing his scotch in one go, he made a face at the taste and took a long drag from his cigarette. The men waited in silence. Apparently whoever Mr. Fontaine was, he was a feared man. "You a real pisser but I still got a position need to be filled. Business is business. You still want it, yeah?"

"Yes, sir."

"Come on then." Pushing up from the table, Cassius lead the way and Johnny eagerly followed. 

"Chris, where are you!" Damnit. They shouldn’t have taken that short cut. She had told him that it was a bad idea. But no, he was positive he had been this way before, and now look what had happened. 

Giving a small sigh she slung her bow over her shoulder and began climbing the nearest tree. Maybe from there she could spot him. The forest was thick, but it was worth a shot.

The orcs had been passing through when they had encountered a lost traveler. Being who they are, instead of offering the poor man directions, they thought it best to take him captive.