Smout Hall was a dilapidated ruin on the outskirts of the village. It had been built in the early 1800s by Obediah Smout, a shrewd businessman who'd made his fortune during the cotton boom. Obediah had lofty aspirations to elevate his family up into the upper echelons of rural country gentry. Unfortunately for him, the lords and wealthy landowners of the area cared little for money. Birth was the only quality that mattered. To them, poor Obediah and his family were little more than upstarts with ideas above their station. Which made the fact his fortune was greater than all theirs combined rankle even more. The Smout family was shunned. The lavish garden parties Obediah threw were empty affairs attended by only the family and their servants. Obediah couldn't understand it. He had wealth. In his eyes that was all that mattered. Victoria Smout, his wife, who had a much better understanding of the cruel politics of human nature, understood only too well, and she passed her bitterness down to her children.
Obediah Smout was liked and respected as a tough but fair businessman who'd benefitted his community greatly with generous contributions. His son, grandson and great-grandson, however, were not. They were caught between two worlds—two strata—and belonged to none. They grew up to be dilettantes and ne'er-do-wells, each more shifty and debauched than the last. The worst of them a...
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