F rom the moment of his birth, Callum Royce, son of the Duke of Baxter, was always ready for his next adventure. He had been eager to join the world and had been born, much to his mother’s shock, three weeks too early.
He had vaulted into the world, screaming at the top of his lungs, red-faced and ready to finally take part in the global excitement that surrounded him. He took his first step when he was but eight months of age, and his first words passed his lips at ten months of age.
Callum had no interest in pausing or waiting to get on with the exhilaration of being well and truly alive.
Now, some might say that this was simply him carrying on the line of Baxter men, and those who said it would be correct.
Callum, much like his father, could not rest. He could not stop. He had no desire to be temperate.
No, he wished to charge through this life fully aware, living it from moment to moment, wringing out every bit of joy in it, with no respite in between.
Callum and his father, the great duke, spent every moment they could together—though, in truth, there were not many moments. The Duke of Baxter also lived as if life was about to be stolen from him, as if he had more to do than could ever be done in the time that he was given.
That great duke, from sunup to long past sundown, worked and played.
He lived life with zest and made changes that the world stared at with shock.
After all, so many politicians and lords spent their time at ease and leisure—dining, gambling, and really getting very little done—but not the Duke of Baxter, and certainly not his young son.
For at a young age, the boy realized he had power and his own money, and he used both to do good. He also used his time and power to have a great deal of fun.
He watched his father with pronounced admiration as the Duke of Baxter went out night after night to parties, to the opera, to the theater, and then to Westminster the next day. His mother tried to keep up, but it was impossible to keep up with such a man.
So, she was frequently left behind at home, marveling at her husband but often alone.
Callum? He tried as best he could to keep up from the nursery and then from Eton, and then from university, a place that sons of dukes often did not go.
But eventually, the great duke, at forty years of age, stopped.
Not because he wished to, not because he had time or he had turned a leaf, realizing that sometimes it was indeed actually important to sit underneath the sun, soak up its rays, look out at one’s estates and simply enjoy them.
No, the great duke stopped because time made him do so.
That ever-present figure who follows one from birth to the end, Death, had finally come to make him stop.
Death was the only thing that could make the duke stop.
Now, some might’ve taken one look at this and decided that, of course, a lesson had to be learned—that rest was important. But Callum did not take that lesson to heart as he stared at the mausoleum in the cathedral on his family’s land where his father now laid at eternal rest.
Callum stood looking at the weeping angels and did not feel the urge to cry, though his heart ached for the loss of the great man who had overshadowed so many around him. No, Callum felt a surge of pride and determination course through him.
He, like his father, had no wish to rest.
Why would anyone rest when one had no idea how much time they had to walk upon this earth? No, he would be completely, totally, and vitally alive. He would live every moment and not a single second would go to waste.
He would change the world as his father had done.
He would soak up every moment. Resting was for those who did not understand what life was actually for.
Resting was for those who were small, who could not see how much there was in the world to be seized and used and enjoyed.
He crossed to his father’s name carved into the marble.
He traced his fingers along the carved letters, and he knew it did not matter if he died young or if he died old.
He would not take what he had for granted, just as his father had not done. He would not pause. He would not waste his life as he saw so many of his compatriots doing.
Oh, there was nothing wrong with gambling, enjoying the company of a beautiful woman, drinking a glass of wine or brandy, and enjoying life with laughter. He indeed intended to do that because that’s also what his father had done, but he would not ever sleep too late.
He would not ever nap away the afternoon. He would not ever spend a single moment in repose. Why would he do such a thing when he had been given so much and so many had so little?
No, he would let life wring every bit of life out of him.
Yes, he would let life take all of his use, all his capability.
He would be the greatest Duke of Baxter because he owed it to his father to be great, and his son would be great too.
And the next Duke of Baxter after that, because it’s what the Dukes of Baxter did.
They lived. They did not stop. And nothing would ever get in the way of that.
Not a single thing.
Because Callum was here to make a difference, and he would not be afraid of that companion who would one day finally come to take him away.
Yes, like his father, Callum Royce had no fear of Death because when he met Death, he would be able to say that he had actually used all the gifts he had been given.