Not the type of betrayal he did to me.
You see, Anthony Wexley was my best friend. I use the word was in every sense of the word. I have not seen him in years, nor do I wish to. Though I suppose seeing him would be quite difficult now, wouldn't it? He betrayed me, hurt me, in ways I never could have imagined. Everything I did after that Christmas day in Brighton is on Anthony's conscious. Not mine. Mine is clear.
But I am getting too far ahead in this tale. I can't tell about the betrayal if I don't talk about what lead up to it. To a normal person, telling such events would be painful. For me, I feel nothing. If I could feel anything, it would be anger and bitterness. I'm not sure I can feel anything anymore. Strange that the one person who made me feel whole could have such an effect on me.
I saw Rebecca Eaton on December 23rd, 1799 on the top step of Wexley Manor. I loved her. She loved me. And a lie, a lie I could not see coming, tore us apart.
I was eighteen years old then, in school, knowing I would make something of my life. I had just finished up an incredibly hard quarter and relished in the much needed rest. Anthony invited me to his home in Brighton and I gladly went. Christmas wasn't celebrated in my home. My mother believed in the gift portion of Christmas — especially if someone gave her the gift — but the deity party — the Jesus and Mary and Joseph and angels we have heard on high — not so much. See, my mother believed in making her own luck, her own future, her own legacy and I was her golden ticket.
But, like I said, I knew none of that then.
Back to that day out in front of Anthony's mansion. It wasn't as big as mine is now, mind you. This one is much grander. I made sure he knew it too before he passed. Still, it was the biggest home I had ever seen up until then. Nearly four times larger than the home I shared with my mother, the Wexley Manor caused the first stirrings of jealousy inside me. I was never a cold man. Never a callous boy. I obeyed my mother without complaint and did everything I was asked — with the exception of the one and only time I drowned the neighbor's puppy.
My friend Anthony was, I admit, a handsome man. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes. He reminded me a lot of his son Vaughan. Poor boy.
Even with his looks and his money, I had never been jealous of Anthony. I admired him. Loved him like a brother, but never had I ever been jealous, for, in my mind, after university, I would be wealthy and able to have a life mirroring his. But in that moment as I watched Miss Rebecca enter Anthony's home, his grand home with his nice things, I became jealous. I wanted what he had. I needed what he had. I deserved what he had.
All of those statements were little tiny voices at the time. Just small bits of chatter floating through my mind, but I admit now that they planted a seed. In my business, I deal in sins.
What is sin? What causes sin? A voice. A chatter. One idea. One seed implanted in a person's mind at just the right moment, at just the right time. A person can do lots of things if he knows how to control sins, if he knows how to plant seeds.
I learned all of that in time, I had to learn it to get my revenge.
But I like to think of myself as a well-educated, well meaning, but a very naive boy back in those days. I had the desire and the drive, but I lacked the motivation. I lacked the harsh reality of life. I would learn it soon enough.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Anthony slapped me on the shoulder and watched as Rebecca, though I didn't know her name at the time, disappeared through the front door.
I couldn't say anything at first because my mind raced in a thousand directions, but one thought eclipsed them all: I wish this was my house. I wish this was my house. She deserves this house.
"He's so smitten he's speechless." Anthony patted my shoulder harder and laughed in Simon's direction. I took the moment to glance that way and, to my surprise, he had the same befuddled look I felt I had on my face. At the time, I knew what it meant, but I didn't want to believe it. Simon had a lady he called on a few times in Ravenston. He had even proposed marriage, but the lass hadn't given him an answer yet. He would be a marquess someday, and, I believe, the lovely Lady Francine Dragenshire desired a duke.
I didn't know Simon well, but I knew what Anthony spoke about him and from what I gathered, he was a loyal man. He wouldn't ask for a woman's hand in marriage and then become bewitched by another. So, you laugh now, but I assure you it is not a jovial matter, I saw the look in Simon's eyes. I knew what it meant, but I shrugged it off as a man appreciating a beautiful woman.
Harmless.
It wasn't harmless.