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Rough Seas

Cornwall, 14 February 1885
Cornwall?s majestic cliffs were veiled in dense fog when Sebastian Ashdon, Earl of Hartland, stood on the precipice and looked straight ahead. No light, as far as the eye could see. Instead, a thick grey blanket of nothing stretched out before him. Stiff winds blew drops from the rough sea into his face. His dark woolen coat swayed with the breeze. Add in the crashing but invisible waves on the shoreline, and even he had to admit he cut the perfect picture of a brooding Gothic hero. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Sebastian stood firm, lost in his grim thoughts. Maybe he was closer to a gothic hero than he?d like to admit.
Legs wide, steady. Eyes ahead, certain. His father?s mantra wasn?t the only memory tumbling through his mind. Scenes from his childhood flashed before him: sun-drenched picnics in the meadows surrounding the manor. Expeditions through fields and overgrown forests. And every summer until he was shipped away, swims in the cool sea.
Yet, nothing was the same. Not the sea, not the air ? and certainly not the ground beneath his feet. Fog blocked his nostrils, and the wet mist soaked his trousers. It seeped into his bones.
Sebastian sighed. Staring off into the distance was vastly overrated. Especially when the grey mist was too thick to see beyond his nose.
More than ten years away from England could make a man forget how the weather always interfered with a one?s best, or worst, intentions. Even when his only aim had been picturesque rumination.
What a fool he was. As a rule, Sebastian Ashdon didn?t tolerate foolishness, least of all in himself. He rolled his eyes, pushed an errant lock of black hair out of his eyes, and turned around, leaving behind the sea.
The same evening he finished his studies in Cambridge, Sebastian had packed his few belongings, and bid farewell to his many acquaintances and few friends. He had been on a boat out of Southampton the next day. Until now, he had never looked back.
As he strode along muddy fields, his fields, towards the waiting carriage, he forced himself to ignore the signs of decay around him. As soon as Sebastian had touched English soil, he had set out for his estate in Cornwall, expecting to find the thriving lands of his youth. Hoping for a warm welcome by his father?s, now his, staff.
Instead, he had encountered uncultivated fields. Bewildered, he had continued his journey to Hartland Manor, where the door was slammed into his face by an unfamiliar butler. Faced with a closed door and curtained windows, Sebastian had been seething ? anger a pulsing beet in his chest.
Looking around, he could no longer ignore the truth. In his absence, his guardian, the Earl of Norwood, must have believed him lost. To his dismay, but not surprise, his uncle had shirked his responsibilities. To the earldom and to his nephew. On a good day, Sebastian may be willing to forgive the latter, but never the former.
Now, it was time to prepare his coming out. There would be no pastel-colored attire, nor a presentation at court, or so he hoped. But Sebastian had to plan his entry into society as scrupulously as any society matron would her daughter?s. Bearing in mind his mission to avenge his father, there was no alternative. Failure was not an option.
Entering society for the first time posed a few problems. Although his title was well known - if besmirched - Sebastian was nearly foreign to the ton. Polite society hadn?t heard from the new Earl of Hartland in over a decade, his past as shadowed to them as his own future was to him. To succeed, he would need to call in favors with anyone who had been part of his father?s set before he disappeared. Anything to avoid relying on his relatives.
Sebastian had almost reached the carriage when the door was opened. Jo Greenblatt, his friend and confidante since one fateful night in the streets of Berlin, pulled him inside. Sebastian tapped against the front of the carriage and signaled the driver to depart.
He leaned back against the soft cushions and looked over at his friend. The first years abroad, Sebastian had been lost and lonely. Their friendship had saved him, both literally and figuratively. Jo?s arms were crossed, dark shadows played along his face, making it unreadable.
?Found what you were looking for?? After years of traveling and living across the continent, only a hint of an accent remained in Jo?s voice.
?I?m afraid not,? Sebastian said. He wasn?t sure why he had insisted on visiting the place where his childhood had ended abruptly and prematurely. Perhaps he had hoped to recover a connection. A sense of belonging. To this place, this country, but most of all to his father.
In every memory from his childhood, Sebastian?s father, the Earl of Hartland, played the leading man. Though, over time his image became equally as imposing and foggy. In hindsight, he couldn?t separate man from myth. That was before his father had lost face, family, and fortune.
He sank further into the cushions. ?It doesn?t signify. We?re here for one reason only. Once our mission is achieved, we can return home.?
?Home? Where would that be??
?Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, wherever we decide to make our home.?
Jo raised one eyebrow. ?If you say so. Depending on how the season goes, we may stay for longer than you expect.?
?One season. No more.?
Jo put his feet up next to Sebastian and smirked. ?Famous last words??
?No, just confident.?
?We both know where that confidence has led us in the past.?
It was Sebastian?s turn to raise his eyebrows ? both. To his great dismay, he?d never acquired the skill of raising just one. ?And we both know, you enjoyed every minute of it.?
Jo leaned forward and took Sebastian?s hands into his. ?As did you. Except for our failed heist in Budapest perhaps, which I count among my favorite memories.?
Gratitude and affection warmed Sebastian chest and spread until it tightened his throat. In response, he lifted the left corner of his mouth and sent Jo a half-smile.
There was no one he would rather have by his side over the next few months. Together, they would claim Sebastian?s title and inheritance, establish him in society, and restore his estates ? all while discovering who had blackmailed his father. Child?s play.
Most importantly, no one could find out his father?s sudden and permanent exile from England had been Sebastian?s fault.
He would make sure of that.

Cornwall's majestic cliffs were veiled in dense fog when Sebastian Ashdon, Earl of Hartland, stood on the precipice and looked straight ahead. No light, as far as the eye could see. Instead, a thick grey blanket of nothing stretched out before him. Stiff winds blew drops from the rough sea into his face. His dark woolen coat swayed with the breeze. Add in the crashing, but invisible waves below, he cut the perfect picture of a brooding Gothic hero.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Sebastian stood firm. Lost in his grim thoughts. Maybe he was closer to a gothic hero than he?d like to admit.

Legs wide, steady. Eyes ahead, sure. His father's mantra wasn't the only thing he remembered from before. He remembered everything. Sun-drenched picnics in the meadows surrounding the manor, expeditions through fields and overgrown forests, and, every summer until he was shipped away, swims in the cool sea.
Yet, nothing felt, smelled, or sounded the same. Not the sea, not the air. And certainly not the ground beneath his feet.

Instead, the fog blocked his nostrils and the wet mist soaked his trousers. Seeped into his bones. Sebastian decided then and there that staring off into the distance was vastly overrated. Especially, when one couldn't actually see beyond one's own nose.

More than ten years away from England could make a man forget how the weather always interfered with a man's best, or worst, intentions. Even when his only aim had been picturesque rumination.

Sebastian felt like a fool. As a rule, Sebastian Ashdon did not tolerate foolishness, least of all in himself. Irritated, he pushed an errant lock of black hair out of his eyes and turned around, leaving behind the sea he remembered from his childhood, but had not found upon his return.

As he strode along muddy fields, his fields, towards the waiting carriage he forced himself to ignore the signs of decay around him. As soon as Sebastian had been back on English soil, he had set out for his estate in Cornwall. The thriving lands of his youth were gone. In Sebastian's absence, his guardian who had believed him lost, had evidently decided to shirk his responsibilities. To the earldom and to his nephew. The latter was more easily forgiven than the former.

Sebastian had left his home and country as soon as he had completed his studies in Cambridge. The same evening, he had packed his few belongings, bid farewell to his many acquaintances and few friends. He had been on a boat out of Southampton the next day. Then, he hadn't looked back.

Now, it was time to prepare his coming out. There would be no pastel-colored attire, nor a presentation at court, he hoped. But Sebastian had to plan his entry into society as scrupulously as any society matron would her daughter's. Bearing in mind his mission, there was no alternative. Failure was not an option.

Purposefully ignoring the crumbling tenant farms along the road, he went through each step of the plan. What he saw around him fueled his determination, and his rage.

Entering society for the first time would pose a few problems. Although his title was well known - if besmirched - Sebastian was nearly foreign to the ton. Polite hadn't heard from the new Earl of Hartland in over a decade, his past as shadowed to them as his future was to him. To succeed, he would need to call in favors with anyone who remembered. Anything to avoid relying on his relatives.

Sebastian had almost reached the carriage when the door was opened. Jo Greenblatt, his friend and confidante since one fateful night in the streets of Berlin, pulled him inside. Sebastian tapped against the front of the carriage and signaled the driver to depart.

He leaned back against the soft cushions and looked over at his friend. The first years abroad Sebastian had been lost and lonely. Their friendship had saved him, both literally and figuratively. Jo's arms were crossed, dark shadows played along his face, making it unreadable.

"Found what you were looking for?" After years of traveling and living across the continent, only a hint of an accent remained in Jo's voice.

"I'm afraid not," Sebastian admitted.

He wasn't sure why he had insisted on visiting the place where his childhood had ended abruptly and prematurely. Perhaps he had hoped to recover a connection. A sense of belonging. To this place, this country, but most of all to his father.

In every memory from his childhood, Sebastian's father, the Earl of Hartland, played the leading man. His image equally imposing and blurred. In hindsight, he couldn't separate man from myth. That was before he had lost face, family, and fortune.

He sank further into the cushions. "It doesn't signify. We're here for one reason only. Once our mission is achieved, we can return home."

"Home? Where would that be?"

"Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, wherever we decide to make our home."

Jo's face remained skeptical. "If you say so. Depending on how the season goes, we may stay for longer than you expect."

"One season. No more."

Jo put his feet up next to Sebastian and smirked. "Famous last words?"