(Author's Note: So, how did the ninth son from a violent family become the powerful Neocount renown for beginning a religion of peace? Behind every great man is a great woman, and one that isn't too shy about getting what she wants... This is non-cannon, obviously. The Hunter didn't like talking about his mortal lifetime. I believe he said he was "naïve" then. Yes, very much so. Despite the abuse, he was innocent of the world in that he only knew the world through books. As you will see, Gerald is a Monreau here. He becomes the famous Tarrant after he's married into a powerful family that encourages his gifts and curiosity. If you are interested in more of the young Monreau's adventures, my website has a blog "he" is writing in. Feedback is always welcome and suggestions as to what accidental trouble he may find on a given day. He just turned 16 in the blog and he has about four months before he meets Almea to be childlike. Almea will introduce him to adult feelings, tehehe. Oh, right. Read and Review ;-)
(Chapter one)
The ballroom hummed with cheerful conversation, delightful music, and laughter made easy with sweet wines. Bright silk and satin gowns flashed among the somber, manly suits, teasing the eye with bits of color and softness. The whole hall was draped in sun colors, floor to ceiling, in honor of the longest day of the year. The place throbbed with gaity.
And Gerald was hating every minute of it.
The hostess of the party was the widow of his long-dead uncle, so he was obligated to attend. Aunt Selda had been annually hosting the region's Summer Solstice party for her loving audience many years before marrying Uncle Mitchel. Even the year of his death a decade ago, the gala had to go on. It was as expected of her as was Gerald's attendance to it.
Gerald sighed and dog-eared the nickel novel he was reading. The hum of the crowd was more like a buzz to his ears. He looked around the room and reflected on how "audience" was perhaps a good term for the attendees. Aunt Selda flowed from group to group, playing the graceful hostess perfectly. She was well into her forties, the laugh lines and silver in her chestnut locks betrayed the youthful spirit in her eyes. By chance, her sparkling blue eyes caught his and she made her way to his booth.
Gerald exhaled sadly. He was about to be roped into something.
"Gerald," she began sweetly, turning her full charm on him as she pulled a dance card from her purse.
"I won't."
"But the girls..."
"I'm invisible."
"...the wallflowers."
"But..."
"Just three?"
"I..."
"Please?"
"...alright."
Selda gave him a kiss on each cheek and then grinned as she brushed the lipstick away. "You are a good boy, Gerald." Her smile faded as her fingers traced a purple mark on his jaw line, a gift from his brothers. "If only you had been born mine." He flushed and turned his face into her hand, ashamed of the bruise.But he didn't hide it from her, she who had been as a mother to him. Her eyes were dark with pain as she brought up her other handto caressed his hair, reflecting on what they both hated about the Monreau family.
She inhaled sharply, stepping away from him, and her mask of happiness fell firmly back into place. "Remember, you promised to dance with three girls! The wallflowers don't bite, I swear."
With a wink, she turned and left, smoothing her hair as she returned to her guests. Appearances. Always appearances. He suspected that was why the highborn noblewoman agreed to marry a lowly baron. While it is common for new brides to deliver their first baby two weeks early, it's uncommon for them to be four weeks early and still have a ten pounder. Gerald supposed his uncle had been handsome, but...
He gave a mental shrug and glared at the dance card. Why bother? Not even wallflowers wanted to dancewith the scrawny ninth son of a minor noble.
A motion beside him announced company.
"Hello Gerald," a soft voice purred. "I see that you aren't a little boy anymore."
Gerald looked up. Before he could draw breath to gasp in surprise, he had the names of their children already picked out.