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Gareth looked up at the sound of the butler’s voice As always, Guilfoyle spoke in flat sentences, never queries
“Your father will see you now,” Guilfoyle intoned “He is in his study”
Gareth nodded at the aging butler and made his way down the hall toward his father’s study, always his least favorite room in the house It here his father delivered his lectures, where his
father told hi, where his father icily speculated that he should never have had a second son, that Gareth was nothing but a drain on the family finances and a stain on their honor
No, Gareth thought as he knocked on the door, no happy memories here
“Enter!”
Gareth pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside His father was seated behind his desk, scribbling soht idly His father always looked well It would have been easier had he turned into a ruddy caricature of a ave the appearance of a er than his fifty-odd years
He looked like the sort of ht to respect
And it made the pain of rejection all the more cruel
Gareth waited patiently for his father to look up When he didn’t, he cleared his throat
No response
Gareth coughed
Nothing
Gareth felt his teeth grinding This was his father’s routine—ignoring hih to act as a reminder that he found him beneath notice
Gareth considered saying, “Sir” He considered saying, “My lord” He even considered uttering the word, “Father,” but in the end he just slouched against the doorjamb and started to whistle