Excerpt: Ripped

Prologue
It is barely turning autumn and the air is already becoming chilled. Especially on the open seas.
The steam ship’s tall shafts cast shadows on the deck below as its passengers wear their heaviest coats. Those without coats stay inside, watching the passing sea through the glass. The sky has become cloudy gray-white; even the sun’s rays are grayed by the sky around it. Barely fall and the sky already looks as though it may be in the middle of November.
Adrien Rose sits quietly in a wicker chair. His blue eyes scan the ocean’s surface with languid calmness and empty coolness. He holds a copy of an American-printed book in his pale hands, opened though he does not read. He wears a long brown coat, buttoned to his neck, which he bought during his time in America; his time of three years. His blonde-brown hair blows in the gentle wind and eventually the soft waves loosen to blow in cool sea wind. He listens carefully to the women around him, gazing at the sea and neglecting his book.
A lady in a large, red hat manages to look past her older, gossiping friend and sees Adrien Rose sitting quietly, hiding in the fur collar of his coat. She gasps and taps her friend roughly on the shoulder, pointing histrionically to where Adrien Rose sits.
“Isn’t that the son of the Rosenblacks?”
“Alfred Rosenblack?” asks the other lady, craning her neck. “I think it is!”
“He’s finally coming back to London then?” asks the older lady, looking in the same direction.
“I suppose so. I didn’t know his father wanted him to come back so soon…”
“Well, he has been gone for nearly three years. Maybe he has learned his lesson and will actually listen to his father’s words.”
“Surely, you would think so but I heard he had affairs with American men. Even after being sent away for his sins in the first place, he continues them overseas! He has truly blemished the name of the Rosenblack family.”
“Oh I certainly agree! Have you heard that he now refers to himself as simply Rose instead of Rosenblack.”
“I heard rumors, but I never knew if they were true or not. Do you think his father knows if his actions?”
“I should hope so! I would not accept my son back into my household until he had stopped his filthy habits.”
“I agree, Delia--”
As they speak, Adrien Rose rises from his seat. He is still wrapped tightly in his fur coat, his arms crossing his chest and his leather bound book tucked gently under his arm. The women stop talking, watching him pass by.
“Excuse me,” cries the younger of the two ladies, her red hat blowing in the wind. “Aren’t you Adrien Rose?”
Adrien Rose, however, continues walking, his head turned away. Yes he is within a clear earshot of the woman’s shrill voice, but he chooses not to acknowledge her. Even the second lady attempts to grab his attention. And like the first lady, Adrien Rose ignores her as well. Ignores her as though she does not exist.
Adrien Rose simply does not care. No, he is far too above their status. Adrien Rose is now a young lord. A lord at the age of seventeen who already holds a superior disposition as naturally as breathing. Born with his superiority and has managed to happily live with it for years now.
“Sir,” calls a sailor, tapping Adrien Rose on the shoulder.
“Yes?”
“The two women,” he points to the ladies who have gone back to gossiping. “They were calling for you sir. I was unsure if you heard them.”
“Thank you, sailor, but yes I did hear them. In fact I heard them quite clearly because they have the voices of birds. But I must wonder why I should answer that call of such low class women?”
The sailor does not respond to Adrien Rose’s remark and does not stop him as he continues to walk away. The sailor’s attention was turned to the women, still talking noisily to each other. Adrien Rose moves to the other side of the deck, finds an empty wicker chair and sits. There he reopens his book and begins to read in silence.