People were staring.

 

As he walked next to his father, young Hugh Wilkinson was acutely aware of the stares of everyone around them. None of these stares, however, seemed kind or gentle - instead, they looked at his father with enough disdain for the six-year-old to notice it.

 

“Faither...”

 

Hugh’s voice was soft as he looked up at his father - a tall, proud figure with a shock of red hair and a face white as sheet.

 

“Why are people starin’?”

 

Graham Wilkinson, the Duke of Frighton, swallowed dryly, then looked down at his son with a rueful smile. “People are dobbers, sometimes, laddie,” he said - and though his voice was light, it was clear from the look in his eye that he was not unaffected by it.

 

“They daenae like what they daenae ken,” Graham said simply. Hugh resisted the urge to cling to his maither’s skirts like a bairn. Instead, he lifted his chin in a...