Page 59 of Unchaining the Heart of the Marquess
He would have taken her up upon his horse and rode away no matter the consequences, but love is not like that. Love is putting the other person’s needs and desires before your own. Love is respecting their choices even when you do not understand them. Love is… Love is Josephine.
* * *
Josephine lay in bed with little Abigail snuggled beside her and stared up at the ceiling.He waits until now to tell me that he loves me.The moment Frederick had left Owen had informed his family of her acceptance of his proposal. Celebrations had ensued, and she had not had time to think until all had retired to bed for the night.
How could he do this to me now after all of these years? I finally do as he asked by finding a good man to marry and then he changes his mind as if all the hurt and pain of the last years did not happen.
She felt guilty for having shrieked at him.I should not have done that, no matter how angry I was at him.She knew he was hurting with everything he had been through with his mother, and now she had rejected him.I should not have sent him away as I did.She had not meant to be heartless, she had just been so hurt for so long that his confession of love had been more than she could take.
She had accepted Owen’s proposal of marriage more out of a need to emotionally survive the moment than in any real effort to spite him, but she feared that he would believe otherwise and be further harmed by it. The pain in his dark brown eyes had been undeniable, and she very much regretted causing him that pain. She was not heartless by nature, but she feared she had been so with Frederick. Part of her believed he deserved it for having put her through the same for so many years. The other part of her regretted her actions deeply.
She stirred restlessly, unable to sleep. Not wishing to disturb Abigail with her restlessness she slipped out from beneath the covers, wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, and stepped outside. The cool night closed in around her, causing her to shiver the moment her bare feet stepped into the dew-covered grass. She moved through the night down to the stream and gazed up at the moon overhead. A flash of light below caught her attention, and she looked down to find its lunar reflection rippling upon the water.
She thought of all the nights she and Frederick had sat on the banks of the pond as children and marveled at just such a sight. They had taken turns making up stories about what caused the reflection. As Josephine stood at the stream’s edge, she could almost hear Frederick’s young voice proclaiming that when the moon came out every night, it was looking for its lost love and that the reflection in the pond was that love trying to get back to it. Unable to rejoin its lost love the moon gave way to the sun.
The story reminded her of the love between herself and Frederick.
But who is who? Am I the moon or the reflection? Is Owen the sun? Am I letting go of love just as the night gives way to the day?
Shivering from the cold, Josephine returned to the house and crawled back beneath the covers. She snuggled up beside Abigail, allowing the heat of her tiny body to warm her and ease the pain in her heart. She had not wished to hurt anyone, but now no matter what choices she made there was no way around doing just that.
Silent tears streamed down her cheeks as her heart broke twice over.Oh, God in heaven.What am I to do?
* * *
When Frederick arrived back at Chescrown, he found his father much as he had left him. He had stopped by Pentford on the way to tend to the affairs of the estate, taken his aunt her annuity and informed her of the events that had transpired since his last visit, as well as sought out the Evans brothers in hopes of changing their minds about divulging information regarding the Duchess, but had failed much as he had before.
Hunting down the head housekeeper in order to ascertain how his father had been during his absence, Mrs. Sands revealed that the Duke had not left the house since his son’s departure. “His Grace has hardly left the library, My Lord. He barely eats and has been consuming a much larger quantity of spirits than he ever did before. He misses Her Grace.”
“As we all do.” Frederick nodded his head in agreement with her assessment. “Thank you, Mrs. Sands, for your honesty.”
“Of course, My Lord. I will have a bath and a tray of food brought up to your room. I believe Mr. Withers awaits you there as we speak.”
“Thank you.”
Frederick ascended the stairs and entered his room. He had been gone for so long he almost felt as though he no longer belonged there. “My Lord,” Mr. Withers greeted. “It is good to have you home at last.”
“‘Tis good to be home,” he lied. In truth, he wished to be anywhere but there without Josephine.
“Was your journey fruitful, My Lord?”
“No, Mr. Withers. I fear it was not.”
“I am sorry to hear that, My Lord. We are all quite fond of Miss Merton.”
Frederick looked up at his valet in surprise that he would know what he had attempted to do. “How…” he began.
“Your love for Miss Merton has never been a secret, My Lord. We knew that when she left with Mr. Greeves, it would only be a matter of time before you returned to reclaim her heart. It grieves us all greatly that she has not returned with Your Lordship.”
Frederick sat down on the edge of his bed stunned at the valet’s words. “You all knew?”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“For how long?”
“Your entire lives, My Lord.”
“I have been so foolish, Mr. Withers, and now it is too late.”
