The House of Gray (A sequal to Oscar Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'

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 “I Beg your pardon, did you per chance say ‘father’?” queried the young man, biting down on his lip to hold back upcoming laughter. From the looks of it, Monsieur Ulliel word was not taken as a truth. He glared into the now comical yet dim blue eyes of his son with a new found courage, now only slightly shaken by the resemblance of this young man to his ancestor, long deceased.

            “I kid you not young man, you stand before Richard William Ulliel II this is no laughing matter son. I come with a message”

Seemingly serious the young man straightened himself and cleared his throat yet again. He seemed at a loss of words or stuck on an ongoing train of thought. As Monsieur Ulliel’s patience grew thin, all at once did the boy flood him with questions and all at once were they lazily answered. How little the young man knew of his newly discovered father’s past. How little he knew of his own fate.

             As the young man was handed the paper in the Monsieur’s hand his curiosity caught hold of him and he unrolled it hurriedly.

            “Why, this is a deed father,” he stated questioningly. The man nodded plainly unable to show much emotion over such a dooming subject that he was bound to explain.

            “Your Grandfather owned land in London, England that is now yours. You must go and claim it before the mansion is torn down.”  Stated the old man dully, fully aware of what lay ahead.

            “When shall I be off? Will you be accompanying me?” bombarded the young man. Monsieur Ulliel stood from his place on the grandiose fauteuil he had been seated upon.

            “You will depart tomorrow evening in order to arrive in time, I shant be coming with you, I’m afraid my place is not there.”

This brought a grimace to the young man’s face as he rose from his place exceeding his father in height by several inches. The dismay was present in his features as he summoned une femme de ménage. Seconds later a petite young woman who looked to be no older than 16 years in age scurried over with her head facing the ground.

            “Marie, lift your head up you know I despise such customs,” demanded the young man. The girl nodded lifting her head up, revealing her fair face that opt not be cowered so.

            “Bring together my belongings for travel; I’ll be off to Londres to-morrow. That is all. Oh! And run me a warm bath, if you please”

 Monsieur Ulliel watched the young man as he spoke in such a modest demeanor. He watched as the young man pushed back the strands of ivory silk finding their way loose past their place tucked behind his ear. He watched as the young man waved her away graciously. Now the young man turned to him,

            “Forgive me if I falter, I must grow used to calling you by the title of father. It will take some getting used to.” He stated shyly,

            “I know not what I will call you by. Do you prefer your name, or simply son? I’m fine with either really,” he smiled shortly and unintentionally,

            “I would prefer being called Sebastian; I’m not quite comfortable with son just yet. Call me Sebastian.”